Ch: 84-93
Chapter 84: Frozen Time and the Hanging Cat
Moen White's leather boots stepped into the spreading puddle in the second-floor corridor, making a very faint, deliberately suppressed "patter" sound.
The bone-chilling moisture instantly seeped through the leather into the soles of his feet. The air was thick with a nauseating stench, a mix of stagnant water's mustiness and the metallic tang of rusty iron—the scent of some creature's blood after oxidation.
He did not rush forward. Instead, like a cautious black panther, he hid his body in the shadows untouched by the torches and slightly raised his head.
On the mottled stone wall before him, two lines of large characters shimmering with an eerie red light glowed with an unsettling hue under the firelight:
"THE Chamber of Secrets HAS BEEN OPENED."
"ENEMIES OF THE HEIR, BEWARE."
Below the writing, Filch's cat, Madam Norris—who usually lorded it over everyone—was now as stiff as a piece of dried wood. Her tail was hooked onto a torch bracket, and her body hung upside down.
Her eyes were wide open, frozen in a state of extreme terror.
"A perfect composition."
Morn stepped out of the shadows. There was no pity in those deep blue eyes, only the fanaticism and calmness of an anatomist facing a rare specimen.
[Talent Activation: Eye of Truth · Deep Analysis]
The golden halo deep within his pupils suddenly contracted, pulling the deathly still cat into a microscopic field of vision.
Morn did not see death.
In his vision, the fire of life that should have been flowing within Madam Norris's shell had not been extinguished; rather, it had been forcibly frozen by a domineering gray power of rules.
The metabolism of every cell, the transmission of every neurotransmitter, even the soul's vibration within the flesh—all had been hit with an absolute "pause button."
This was not Transfiguration, nor was it Petrificus Totalus.
This was a localized necrosis of time.
Morn's gaze slowly shifted downward, landing on the puddle directly beneath the cat. The surface of the water was as calm as a mirror, reflecting Madam Norris's terrifying eyes.
"I see..."
In his mind, Morn quickly constructed a model of the crime scene.
"A direct gaze from the Basilisk represents 'Instant Death,' a rule that strips away life. But if it's through the reflection of water... the rule is weakened, becoming 'frozen time.'"
He slowly reached out his hand, his fingertip hovering an inch above one of Madam Norris's stiff whiskers.
The skin on his finger could clearly perceive a residual magical radiation, cold as ten-thousand-year-old ice. It was the aura left by a high-level predator, causing the [Source of Calamity] within him to produce a strong impulse to devour.
"If I could devour those eyes..."
Morn licked his somewhat dry lips, a flash of greed flickering in his eyes.
"If I devour that Instant Death rule directly without reflection... what would my [Eye of Truth] evolve into? Medusa's Petrifying Gaze? Or even further... the Mystic Eyes of Death Perception?"
Just then, hurried footsteps and heavy breathing echoed from the end of the corridor.
Morn's gaze turned cold, and that greedy desire was instantly retracted.
He tapped his toes lightly and, like a wisp of smoke, silently slipped into the shadows of the corner leading toward Ravenclaw Tower.
Harry, Ron, and Hermione came running up, panting for breath.
When they saw the bloody writing on the wall and the hanging cat, the three Gryffindors stood frozen in the middle of the puddle as if they had been hit by a freezing charm.
"The perfect scapegoats."
Morn stood in the darkness, looking at Harry's terrified face, a mocking curve playing at the corner of his mouth.
Ding-ling-ling—the bell for the end of class rang piercingly at this most awkward moment.
The originally quiet Castle instantly boiled over. Hundreds of students flooded into the corridor from the stairs at both ends like a tide. Then, the noisy crowd fell into a deathly silence the moment they saw the hanging cat, as if they had all been seized by the throat.
"Enemies of the Heir, beware! You'll be next, mudbloods!"
Draco Malfoy's sharp, excited, and malicious voice broke the silence. He pushed to the front, his pale face written all over with schadenfreude.
Morn blended into the back row with the flow of Ravenclaws.
He didn't speak, but merely cast a cold glance at Draco through the gaps in the crowd.
It was just a single glance.
Draco, who was about to continue his grand speech, suddenly felt a chill down his spine, as if that fear of being locked onto by an apex predator from the bookstore had returned.
He subconsciously shrank his neck and shut his mouth, looking back uncertainly, but saw only a sea of heads.
"Make way! Make way!"
Filch shrieked as he burst through the crowd.
When he saw Madam Norris, the scrawny old Squib let out a piercing howl that didn't sound human, his hands trembling as he covered his face.
"My cat! You've killed my cat! I'll kill you! I'll kill you!"
The moment the chaos was about to escalate, a massive and gentle magic suppressed the entire scene.
Dumbledore had arrived.
Behind him followed a stern-faced Professor McGonagall and a somewhat smug-looking Snape.
Morn narrowed his eyes, watching Dumbledore unhook the stiff cat, his long fingers gently stroking Madam Norris's fur.
The [Eye of Truth] captured that the moment the white wizard touched the cat's body, Dumbledore's fingertips trembled ever so slightly. It was an instinctive wariness when facing some ancient, evil, and irreversible Dark Arts.
"He knows."
Morn made a judgment in his heart.
"As the greatest Wizard of this century, he certainly knows what kind of monster caused this. But he can't say... or rather, he doesn't want to believe that Salazar's monster is truly still in the school."
The crowd began to be dispersed by the Professors.
"Back to your Houses! At once!" Professor McGonagall shouted sternly.
Morn turned around, blending into the silent line of Ravenclaws.
Beside him, Terry Boot and Padma were both terrified, discussing in low voices whether the cat was truly dead.
Only Luna Lovegood was still barefoot. Although Morn had made her put on shoes, she seemed to have lost one again, looking at the wall in a daze.
As he passed the corner, Morn placed his palm lightly against the cold stone wall one last time. [Void Body · Perception]. Even amidst the noise, he could still feel that deep within the walls, the behemoth that had just completed a perfect hunt was sliding slowly through the pipes toward the abyss underground with a post-meal lethargy.
"Sleep well, Salazar's pet."
Morn's fingers lightly brushed against the rough stone bricks, as if stroking the giant serpent that wasn't there.
"Once you've finished digesting this meal... we'll meet again."
Chapter 85: Cold Violence in the Eagle's Nest
Ravenclaw Tower hung high on the west side of the Castle. Outside the window, the autumn wind shrieked as shrilly as a crazed banshee, slamming violently against the arched blue copper window frames.
Inside the common room, magical firewood with a pine scent crackled in the fireplace, its flickering light casting wavering shadows upon the bust of Rowena Ravenclaw.
Moen White sat in his exclusive high-backed velvet armchair near the window, holding a heavy copy of 'A Guide to Medieval Witchcraft' in his hands.
Although the room was as warm as spring, he could still feel a thick, oppressive sensation permeating the air, one even more uncomfortable than the cold wind outside.
Ever since Madam Norris was petrified on Halloween eve, this 'Eagle's Nest' that prided itself on 'wisdom' had turned into a breeding ground for conspiracies filled with suspicion and whispers.
Students gathered in small groups, lowering their voices to analyze who the Heir of Slytherin might be, their eyes filled with scrutiny and wariness toward others.
"Patter... patter..."
A sound of barefoot walking, extremely faint but exceptionally grating to Morn's ears, interrupted his train of thought while reading.
He didn't look up, only frowning slightly as his finger paused on the yellowed page.
[Talent Activated: Void Body · Auditory Focus] The noisy discussions around him were filtered out like a receding tide, and the sound of bare feet was instantly amplified.
He heard the rustle of skin rubbing against the carpet and the slight thud of knees hitting the hardwood floor.
It was Luna Lovegood.
This 'loony' girl with pale blonde hair was crawling on the Persian rug in the center of the common room, poking her head under a long sofa as if searching for something.
Her oversized robes trailed on the floor, and her two feet were frozen red from long contact with the cold ground.
"Heehee..."
A few suppressed, malicious chuckles came from another small circle by the fireplace.
It was Marietta Edgecombe and several of her close friends.
They were pretending to discuss their Transfiguration homework, but their eyes frequently darted toward Luna on the floor, faces wearing that superior smile of someone watching a clown performance.
When Luna crawled out from under the sofa, patting the dust from her hair with a dazed expression, Marietta even deliberately stuck out her foot, clad in an exquisite leather shoe, to block Luna's path.
"Ouch!"
Luna was tripped and stumbled, nearly falling over.
"Oh, sorry, 'Loony'." Marietta covered her mouth exaggeratedly, her tone devoid of any apology. "I didn't see you. After all, you're always crawling around on the floor like a ghost."
A burst of cheerful, low laughter erupted around them. No one went to help Luna. Those Ravenclaws who usually prided themselves as gentlemen and ladies now chose to be cold bystanders, even finding it a pleasant diversion from the tense atmosphere.
"Snap."
The crisp sound of a book closing was particularly abrupt in the room full of whispers.
The small circle that had been laughing instantly fell silent.
All eyes instinctively turned toward the black figure by the window.
Morn slowly stood up, casually tossing the heavy book onto the armchair.
He adjusted his cuffs and walked expressionlessly through the crowd toward Luna, who was still standing where she had tripped.
The sound of his leather boots on the floor was steady and powerful; every step seemed to tread upon the heartbeats of the onlookers.
"Still looking for your shoes?"
Morn stopped in front of Luna, looking down at her.
Luna looked up, and in those silver-grey eyes, there was still no anger, only a heart-wrenching emptiness and calm.
"Yes," she said softly, her voice ethereal. "I think the Nargles probably wanted to go on a trip, so they took my shoes. I've looked everywhere."
"Nargles..."
Morn repeated the word, then turned around. His deep blue eyes swept over the group of girls by the fire—who instantly became uneasy—as if he were scanning trash.
"In this house renowned for wisdom, some people don't seem to have evolved brains to match."
Morn's voice wasn't loud, but its characteristic cold quality made the temperature in the common room seem to drop several degrees.
"Treating the bullying of the weak as entertainment and regarding the exclusion of outliers as unity. This animalistic tribal behavior... truly makes me sick to my stomach."
"What do you mean, White?"
Marietta Edgecombe's face flushed red as she stood up in a fit of pique.
As an upper-year Ravenclaw, she couldn't bear being so humiliated by a peer. "We were just joking! And she lost them herself. Who knows if that loony threw her shoes out the window?"
"Whether she lost them herself or not..."
Deep within Morn's pupils, a faint, divine, and icy golden halo quietly emerged.
[Talent Activated: Eye of Truth · Trace Backtracking]
Deep within his deep blue pupils, the surface of reality was instantly stripped away.
The dim common room turned into a three-dimensional model composed of countless lines in his eyes.
Morn clearly saw several pale yellow magic trails representing the Levitation Charm. Like a tangled mess of thread, they started from where Luna's shoes had originally been placed, extending and winding until they finally connected to the tip of the wand hidden in Marietta Edgecombe's robe pocket.
The evidence was conclusive; there was no room for denial.
Following these magic residues that had yet to dissipate, Morn's gaze easily pierced through the barriers of space.
One trail shot straight toward the massive crystal chandelier overhead. In a gap in the decorative top, a black leather shoe was wedged precariously.
The other trail was even more malicious; it actually passed through a slightly open window gap, connecting to the mouth of a Gargoyle outside the tower where the cold wind howled—with just one strong gust of wind, that shoe would plunge into the abyss.
"I see."
The golden light in Morn's eyes flickered. Looking at those clear 'guilt-linking lines', a cruel smile curled at the corner of his mouth.
"Since you like hiding things in high places that normal people can't reach so much..."
He took a step forward, closing in on Marietta.
The pressure of a superior being originating from the Dark Lord Candidate caused the girl, who had been aggressive just a moment ago, to instinctively take a step back, knocking over the chair behind her.
"Wh... what do you want to do? This is the common room!" Marietta's voice trembled slightly; she felt like a field mouse being stared down by a giant serpent.
"Nothing, Miss Edgecombe."
Morn withdrew that oppressive aura, returning to his harmless, polite expression of a top student.
"I just think that since you have such a unique obsession with 'height', I should give you back some... similar high-altitude experiences."
Having said that, he didn't spare the group of girls another glance, turning instead to the still-dazed Luna.
"Go back to your dormitory, Lovegood. Or find somewhere warm to stay."
"As for your shoes... someone will bring them back tonight. Along with their repentance."
Chapter 86: Inverted Gravity and Confession on the Ceiling
Luna blinked, appearing to understand yet not quite. She nodded and, like a sleepwalker, walked barefoot toward the spiral staircase leading to the girls' dormitory.
Morn watched her figure disappear before sitting back down in his chair and picking up the book again.
The surrounding students looked at each other in silence; no one dared to speak, and even their breathing became cautious.
Marietta and her friends exchanged looks filled with unease. Seeing that Morn hadn't acted on the spot, they forced looks of relief and hurriedly packed their things to leave this oppressive place.
Morn turned a page, his fingertips lightly brushing the rough paper.
"Don't be in such a hurry to leave."
He whispered softly in his heart.
"The show... has only just begun."
At the corner of the spiral staircase leading to the girls' dormitory, the air was cold and silent, save for the crackling of the torches on the walls.
Moen White leaned in the shadows, playing with a silver Sickle. The coin flipped and danced between his fingers, making a monotonous metallic scraping sound.
Ten minutes later.
A series of hurried and annoyed footsteps broke the silence.
Marietta Edgecombe came up fuming, followed by her two lackeys.
They were still quietly cursing their encounter in the common room, their high-heeled leather shoes stomping hard on the stone steps as if they were Luna's or Morn's face.
"That self-righteous freak..." Marietta said through gritted teeth, completely failing to notice anything unusual in the shadows ahead. "When the heat dies down in a few days, I'm going to throw that crazy girl's bag into the Black Lake to feed the Giant Squid!"
Ding. The silver Sickle was tossed high, tracing a bright arc in the air before being caught steadily by a hand wearing a black glove.
The three girls stopped abruptly, looking in horror at the figure blocking the stairs.
Morn slowly stepped out of the shadows, his deep blue eyes appearing exceptionally eerie in the dim firelight.
"Throw it into the Black Lake?" he repeated softly, his tone carrying a hair-raising curiosity. "Miss Edgecombe, is your creativity always so... lacking and full of malice?"
"White! Don't push it too far!"
Marietta was completely enraged this time. Shame and fear intertwined, causing her to lose her reason. She whipped out her wand and pointed it at Morn's nose, screaming, "There's no one else here! Who do you think you are? You're just a..."
She hadn't finished her sentence, nor had she even decided which jinx to cast.
Morn merely lifted his eyelids slightly, and the golden halo deep within his pupils instantly contracted into an extremely dangerous pinprick.
[Talent Activation: Source of Calamity · Localized Gravity Inversion]
There was no incantation, no wave of a wand.
There wasn't even a ripple in the air.
But in that instant, the physical laws of this narrow stairwell were forcibly rewritten by a domineering will.
Vroom—!
An extremely intense, nauseating sensation of weightlessness instantly hit the three girls.
It was a sense of disorientation as their vestibular systems were completely deceived, as if the ground had suddenly vanished and an abyss had opened its mouth above their heads.
"Ah—!"
Three short, shrill screams rang out.
Their bodies defied the law of universal gravitation, falling straight toward the "top" as if launched by a catapult.
Thud! Thud! Thud! Dull sounds of impact.
Marietta and her friends crashed heavily against the ceiling.
To them, the ceiling had become the new "ground."
They were on all fours, sprawled against the stone vault. Their originally smooth long hair now stood upright against gravity, pointing toward the actual floor, and their robes flipped down like umbrellas, covering their terror-stricken faces.
"Help! Help! I'm falling!"
One of the girls wailed, clutching the relief decorations on the ceiling with a death grip. In her perception, she was lying on the edge of a cliff; if she let go, she would fall into the bottomless "abyss" below—the actual floor.
Morn stood on the actual floor, hands in his pockets, head tilted back as he wordlessly admired this absurd and geometrically beautiful scene.
"What a unique perspective."
His voice echoed in the stairwell. To the three stuck to the ceiling, it sounded like a whisper from the depths of hell.
"Do you feel it now? That feeling of having nowhere to stand, of being able to fall at any moment. This is what you impose on Miss Lovegood every day."
"Let us down! Morn! Please!" Marietta screamed, her face flushed red from the blood rushing to her head, tears and snot smearing her face. "We'll fall to our deaths!"
"Fall to your deaths?"
Morn chuckled, a sound of pure mockery. "It's only three meters to the ground. You won't die. At most, you'll break a few ribs, or... damage your brains. Though I don't think there's much room left for damage in your brains anyway."
Just then, due to the inverted gravity, items hidden in Marietta's robe pockets began to succumb to the pull and "fell" out.
Clack. A black female student's leather shoe slipped from Marietta's person, falling straight toward the floor in the direction of gravity and landing precisely at Morn's feet.
Next came another shoe, falling from another girl's sleeve.
Morn bent down, picked up the two shoes that still held a trace of warmth, and lightly brushed the dust off them.
The [Eye of Truth] swept over the soles, confirming they belonged to Luna.
"It seems I won't need to go out and face the wind outside the tower after all."
Morn nodded with satisfaction, and carrying the pair of shoes, he turned to leave.
"Wait! Don't go! Don't leave us here!"
Seeing Morn about to leave, the three girls on the ceiling completely broke down. In this inverted world, Morn was the only anchor that could pull them back to the normal dimension.
Morn stopped, but he didn't look back. He merely waved a hand behind him.
The gesture was like shooing away a few annoying flies.
"Reflect on yourselves, ladies."
His cold voice grew distant along with his footsteps.
"Gravity will return to normal at sunrise. Until then... enjoy the view from up high. If you dare to move recklessly or scream and draw Filch here... that is your own choice to 'fall'."
As Morn's figure vanished, the stairwell fell back into a dead silence.
Only Marietta and her friends remained, clinging desperately to the ceiling like geckos. They listened to their own violent heartbeats, staring down at the floor that was only three meters away yet felt like a bottomless abyss. They didn't even dare to cry loudly, fearing that a single vibration would cause them to fall and be smashed to pieces.
It was the quietest and longest night in Ravenclaw's history.
Chapter 87: The Thief's Potion and the Ghost in the Bathroom
The early morning sunlight filtered through the tall arched windows of Ravenclaw Tower, yet it failed to bring even a hint of warmth to the common room.
The air was thick with the sour scent of old parchment and a strange, eerie silence, as if even the dust motes didn't dare to drift freely.
Moen White walked through the crowd, carrying two black student leather shoes in his hand.
As he passed, the students who had been talking in low voices fell silent instantly, like ducks being squeezed by the neck.
Countless gazes stole glances at him, carrying a mixture of awe and fear.
Everyone was using their peripheral vision to search for Marietta Edgecombe.
The upper-year girl, who had disappeared last night and was found this morning with a sprained neck and in a dazed state, was now lying in the hospital wing, rambling nonsense about the 'world being turned upside down.'
"Clatter."
Morn stopped in front of Luna Lovegood and casually tossed the shoes onto the floor.
Luna was sitting by the window reading an upside-down copy of The Daily Prophet. Hearing the sound, she slowly lowered the newspaper. Her silver-grey eyes looked at the shoes on the floor and then at Morn.
"They've come back," she said softly, her tone devoid of surprise, only a sense of natural relief. "I knew the Nargles would be sleeping in the morning."
"It's gravity."
Morn adjusted his cuffs, his tone as flat as if he were stating a law of physics. "Gravity always pulls back what belongs to the ground, no matter how high they fly."
This double entendre caused the faces of several students who knew the truth to turn pale instantly, and they subconsciously gripped the backs of their chairs.
In Ravenclaw, a new order had been established.
Morn didn't need a Prefect's badge; fear was the best scepter... Evening, in the corridor near the second-floor girls' lavatory.
Due to Myrtle's crying and the constant flooding, this place was always permeated with a damp, cold smell of mildew.
But today, beneath that musty smell, Morn's keen sense of smell caught an unusual scent.
It was the scorched smell of roasted Lacewing flies, mixed with the unique bitter spiciness of Fluxweed.
In Potions, this complex aroma pointed to only one possibility.
Morn stopped before the mottled wooden door with the 'Out of Order' sign, but he did not push it open.
[Talent Activated: Void Body · Auditory Focus] Through the thick oak door, the subtle movements inside were clearly amplified and reached his eardrums.
"...Add a bit more Powdered Bicorn horn, Hermione. The color looks wrong; it looks like a pot of mud." That was Ron Weasley's anxious voice.
"Be quiet, Ron! The book says this is the color it's supposed to be! We have to brew it for a month to succeed!" Hermione Granger lowered her voice, speaking with the stubbornness and tension characteristic of a top student.
"Harry, how are things on your end? Filch hasn't come by, has he?"
Morn raised an eyebrow slightly.
"Polyjuice Potion." He sneered inwardly. "the saviors of Gryffindor are trying to turn themselves into someone else? What a creative farce."
[Talent Activated: Eye of Truth · Penetrating Vision]
Golden light swirled in his eyes, and the wooden door became semi-transparent in his sight.
He saw the cauldron perched on the toilet seat.
In his magical vision, the boiling liquid in the pot wasn't turbid mud, but an extremely unstable, frantically twisting and restructuring mass of Transfiguration magic.
That magic appeared as an unsettling dark brown, as if countless faces were floating, sinking, and screaming on the surface of the liquid.
[System Analysis]
[Target Item: Unfinished Polyjuice Potion]
[Completion: 15%]
[Danger Assessment: Low (Currently just a foul-tasting poison)]
Just then, the sound of dragging, heavy footsteps and heavy panting came from the other end of the corridor.
Filch, clutching his mop, was shuffling toward them step by step, muttering curses at the students who dirtied the floors.
If he discovered these three Gryffindors brewing an illicit Potion in the girls' bathroom, this pot of soup and Harry's expulsion notice would likely be served at the same time.
Morn stood in the shadows, watching Filch's approaching back, his fingertips lightly tapping the hilt of his wand.
"Expose them?"
No. Too boring.
Chaos is a ladder. Letting these three little lions scramble, sneak into Slytherin for information, and even face the Heir directly was not only an excellent observation sample for him but would also muddy the waters even further.
"Scourgify."
Morn cast a Muffliato Charm toward a suit of armor at the end of the corridor, but intentionally let the magic explode on the surface of the armor.
Clang!
A loud crash.
The hollow knight's armor looked as if it had been shoved hard; the helmet rolled onto the floor, creating a deafening echo in the empty corridor.
"Who?! Who's there!"
Filch stopped dead in his tracks, his cloudy eyes bulging. He immediately turned and charged in the opposite direction of the sound—which was away from the bathroom. "Peeves! I know it's you! I've got you this time!"
Listening to Filch's footsteps fade into the distance, Morn glanced at the closed bathroom door.
The people inside had clearly been frightened into holding their breath by the loud noise; even the sound of stirring the Potion had stopped.
"Good luck, thieves."
The corners of Morn's mouth curled into a playful arc, and he turned to silently melt into the darkness... When Morn returned to the entrance hall in front of the Great Hall, a group of students was crowded around the notice board, chattering about something with excited flushes on their faces.
Even the usually calm Ravenclaw students stopped to watch.
Relying on his height advantage, Morn saw the brand-new parchment notice over the crowd.
Golden cursive letters shimmered under the torchlight, emitting a familiar, nauseating scent of violet perfume:
[Duelling Club] In light of recent unsettling events, Professor Gilderoy Lockhart has received permission from Headmaster Dumbledore to start this Duelling Club, aimed at training everyone in self-defense... First meeting: Tonight at eight o'clock, Great Hall.
"Duelling..."
Morn looked at those two words, and a flicker of genuine interest finally ignited in his otherwise dead eyes.
This wasn't children playing house or some prank that only hung people from the ceiling.
This was a legal, public stage where one could unscrupulously display 'power' to everyone.
"Just as I wished."
Morn lightly stroked the dormant elder wand (in its disguised form) hidden in his sleeve, feeling the eager hunger transmitted from the [Source of Calamity] within his body.
He revealed an elegant yet dangerous smile behind the crowd and nodded slightly toward the notice, as if accepting an invitation from fate.
"Tonight, let me teach you... what Defense Against the Dark Arts truly is."
Chapter 88: The Gilded Stage and the Broken Eagle Wings
At eight o'clock that evening, when Moen White pushed open the heavy oak doors of the Great Hall, a scent of violet perfume so strong it was suffocating, mixed with the excited sweat of hundreds of students, hit him like an invisible wall of heat.
The four neatly arranged House tables were gone, replaced by a magnificent gilded stage built along the length of the Great Hall.
The magic on the ceiling had been adjusted to a deep velvet blue, and hundreds of floating candles cast flickering shadows in mid-air, lighting the entire Great Hall like some cheap opera house scene.
Morn stood at the edge of the crowd, not pushing forward like the others.
His deep blue eyes coldly scanned the surrounding students, whose faces were flushed with excitement, as his fingers unconsciously rubbed the wand inside his robe sleeve.
"Fighting for a chance to learn a few fancy Expelliarmus spells," he sneered inwardly. "Sheep in peacetime always have unrealistic romantic fantasies about violence."
Just as he was about to find a dark corner to lean against, a tall wall of people blocked his path.
Roger Davies, the Ravenclaw sixth-year Prefect and current captain of the Quidditch team, was looking down at Morn, accompanied by several other older boys also wearing blue and silver Quidditch robes.
Davis had a typically handsome face, but at this moment, it was filled with suppressed rage and arrogance.
"I heard you were very creative last night, White."
Davis took a step forward, deliberately bumping his shoulder into Morn. Although Morn's [Void Body] kept him rooted to the spot, Davis's intent was clear—it was a physical provocation.
"Marietta is still in the Hospital Wing. Madam Pomfrey says her inner ear balance system is damaged, and she vomits every time she gets out of bed," Davis said through gritted teeth in a low voice. "She is my friend. Do you think it's appropriate to use your twisted sense of humor on a lady?"
Morn looked up, his gaze calmly sweeping across Davis's distorted face as if watching a hound barking at the air.
"I was just helping them find their center of gravity, Senior Davis."
His tone was so flat it even carried a hint of concern, but there was no smile in his eyes. "If they can learn to keep their feet on the ground, they naturally won't feel dizzy. As for you..."
Morn paused, his gaze lingering for a second on Davis's shiny Prefect badge.
"If you also want to experience that... weightless sensation of falling from the clouds, I can help you apply for a bed."
"You—"
Davis clenched his fist suddenly, just as he was about to pull out his wand to teach this arrogant second-year kid a lesson—
"Is everyone here? Excellent! It's wonderful to see so many people!"
Gilderoy Lockhart's signature magnetic yet incredibly flamboyant voice rang throughout the hall.
He was wearing plum-colored velvet robes and strode onto the stage chased by a spotlight, his white teeth gleaming under the candlelight.
"In light of the recent... unsettling incidents, Professor Dumbledore has permitted me to start this little Duelling Club! To train you all, in case you ever need to defend yourselves!"
Davis was forced to loosen his fist, but he glared at Morn and mouthed silently, "Just you wait."
Morn ignored such low-level threats entirely. His attention had already been drawn to another person on the stage.
Severus Snape was gliding onto the stage silently, like a giant black bat.
He wore his perpetual black robes, his face as dark as if he had just swallowed a whole cauldron of spoiled Potion.
If you looked closely, you would see a very dangerous, bloodthirsty sneer hanging at the corner of his mouth.
"Let me introduce my assistant, Professor Snape!" Lockhart, unaware of the murderous intent beside him, was still waving to the students below. "He knows a thing or two about dueling! But don't worry, I'll return your Potion Class teacher to you intact after the demonstration!"
The upper lip of Snape curled into a mocking arc.
Morn narrowed his eyes.
[Talent Activation: Eye of Truth · Dynamic Capture] In his microscopic vision, the magic fluctuations around Snape were extremely restrained, like a poisoned dagger tucked into a sheath, with a deadly chill surging beneath the calm surface.
As for Lockhart... he was like a leaking balloon, his magic superficial and disorganized.
"If you really don't want to die, you'd better shut up now," Morn prayed for Lockhart in his heart.
"Face your partners!" Lockhart shouted.
The two bowed (Snape merely gave an impatient jerk of his head).
"One—two—three—"
"Expelliarmus!"
Snape's voice wasn't loud, but it carried a metallic penetration.
[Eye of Truth · Analysis] At this moment, time seemed to slow down in Morn's eyes.
He clearly saw Snape's wrist perform an extremely small but high-frequency flick.
This wasn't just incanting; at the moment of the magic surge, he used this flick to "spin-compress" the originally divergent red beam into a high-density magic projectile.
Boom! A dazzling red light hit Lockhart's chest like a heavy cannon.
There was no elegant wand flying out of his hand.
Lockhart was hit head-on as if by a Troll's club, his feet leaving the ground as he was sent flying backwards a dozen feet, slamming heavily into the wall behind the stage before sliding down like a ragdoll, curled up on the floor.
The entire hall was dead silent, except for a sharp gasp from Hermione.
"Beautiful Magic Compression technique."
Morn's pupils contracted slightly, a hint of admiration flashing in his eyes.
"Is this the basic attack of a Dark Arts master? Even the most basic Expelliarmus, after removing the fancy wind-up and increasing the physical kinetic energy, can turn into a blunt force weapon similar to an 'air cannon'. He's holding back... if he wanted to, that hit just now would have been enough to shatter all of Lockhart's ribs."
Lockhart staggered to his feet, his hat gone and his carefully styled wavy curls a mess.
"Good! Did everyone see that!" He tried to force a smile, but it only made him look more ridiculous. "That was a Disarming Charm! As you can see, I've lost my wand! Of course, Professor Snape, if I don't mind saying so, your intention was too obvious just now; I could have stopped you..."
Snape's hollow black eyes stared at Lockhart, his fingers lightly tapping his wand.
Lockhart clearly read the murderous intent in those eyes and quickly changed the subject.
"Demonstration over! Now, I need two volunteers to come up!" Lockhart shouted, trying to regain control of the situation. "Potter, Harry Potter, where are you?"
Harry was about to step out, but a strong arm suddenly shot up high, interrupting the process.
"Professor!"
Roger Davies strode to the front of the crowd, his voice booming with a deliberate stateliness. "I don't think having the second-year savior come up has much instructional value. As a Ravenclawupperclassman, I hope to demonstrate some real dueling techniques for everyone."
At this point, Davis turned around, his gaze cutting through the crowd to lock onto Morn standing in the shadows.
A cruel smile curled his lips, the expression of a hunter seeing his prey fall into the net.
"And, I would like to invite a 'genius' from our House to come up and spar. I want to take this opportunity... to properly guide him on the etiquette of respecting seniors."
"Moen White."
Davis shouted the name, his voice echoing in the vast Great Hall.
"Do you dare to come up?"
The eyes of the entire hall instantly focused on Morn.
The students of Ravenclaw fell into an uneasy commotion; everyone knew what had happened last night, and this was a blatant act of personal vengeance.
Morn sighed softly and brushed off some non-existent dust from his robes.
Under the gaze of hundreds of eyes, he strode expressionlessly toward the golden stage.
"Since you are in such a hurry to fall..."
As Morn passed Snape, he felt the scrutinizing gaze from the Potions Professor, but he did not stop.
"Then I will oblige you."
Chapter 89: The Spiral Red Light and the Falling Captain
The gilded wooden floorboards beneath his feet let out a faint groan as Moen White came to a halt at one end of the stage.
The heat of the spotlight baked his face, and the air still carried the distinct ozone smell left behind by Snape's previous strike, like after a thunderstorm.
Across from him, Roger Davies was flexing his wrists, the twelve-inch mahogany wand spinning nimbly between his fingers, whistling through the air.
This Quidditch captain stood a full head taller than Morn, his broad shoulders casting an oppressive shadow under the lights.
"Listen, White."
Davies lowered his voice, leaning forward, his brown eyes glinting with malice. Only Morn, standing opposite him, could hear his whisper, "I'll use 'Rictusempra' to break your ribs, or 'Tarantallegra' to make you dance like a fool until you puke. This is for Marietta."
Morn didn't speak.
He simply lowered his gaze, looking at Davies's feet, which were not positioned in a proper dueling stance.
Weight shifted forward, muscles tensed.
[Talent Active: Eye of Truth · Tactical Prediction]
In those deep blue pupils, the world instantly shifted into slow motion.
Morn saw clearly: the muscles in Davies's right arm, holding the wand, were twitching in extremely subtle movements. A flow of magical energy was frantically gathering through his blood vessels toward his fingertips. That mass of energy appeared a murky purplish-red, brimming with aggressive hostility.
"He doesn't intend to bow."
Morn made a cold judgment in his heart, "He plans to ambush on the count of 'two'."
"Face your partner!" Lockhart waved his hands in the center of the stage, like a cheerleader who only knew how to shout slogans, "Bow!"
Morn gave a slight, perfectly executed bow, impeccable in its form.
Davies, however, only gave a perfunctory nod, the tip of his wand already imperceptibly aimed at Morn's chest.
"Wands at the ready!" Lockhart shouted, "On my count! One—"
"Two!" Davies suddenly roared, not waiting for the word "three" at all. His wand stabbed forward.
"Petrificus Totalus!"
It wasn't "Rictusempra".
This sixth-year Prefect's opening move was a curse vicious enough to render someone completely stiff and helpless. A cold, grayish-white beam of light tore through the air, shrieking sharply as it shot straight for Morn's face.
Hermione below the stage let out a terrified scream: "He's cheating!"
But a split second before the beam shot out, Morn had already moved.
There was no clumsy roll, no panicked Shield Charm.
He simply tilted his neck fifteen degrees to the left, as if foreseeing the future.
Zzz—! The gray-white beam of death grazed past Morn's right ear. Several strands of his black hair were instantly scorched by the magical energy, curling and falling to the floor, emitting a faint burnt smell.
The savage grin on Davies's face froze.
He couldn't believe that at this distance, with this near-ambush speed, he had missed.
"Too slow."
Morn's voice pierced through the clamor on the stage, clearly reaching Davies's ears.
The tone was flat, as if commenting on a failing piece of homework.
Before Davies could even retract his wand, Morn raised his right hand.
The motion was concise, crisp, without any flashy flourish.
The black wand in his hand seemed to become an extension of his own bones.
[Talent Active: Magical Compression · Spiral Force]
[Imitation Target: Severus Snape]
[Optimization Plan: Triple Magical Output Overlay]
The scene Snape had just demonstrated replayed instantly in Morn's mind, being frantically deconstructed and optimized by [Eye of Truth].
Morn's wrist gave a sharp, peculiar twist—a spiraling motion as if trying to wring the air itself into shreds.
"Expelliarmus!"
This incantation was no longer uttered lightly, but was a low, guttural roar.
What erupted from the wand tip was no ordinary red light.
BOOM—!
A deep crimson magical energy cannon, its surface entwined with black spiral patterns, accompanied by a roar like a jet engine taking off, instantly devoured the short few meters between the two.
The air was violently compressed, forming a visible transparent shockwave.
The look of terror had just begun to surface in Davies's eyes. He didn't even have time to utter half of "Protego".
The red spiral pillar of light smashed mercilessly into his chest.
THUD!!!
A sickening, dull thud—the sound of kinetic energy impacting flesh directly after a magical shield was violently shattered.
Under the stunned gazes of the entire school, the tall, strong Quidditch captain was sent flying as if hit head-on by a high-speed hogwarts express.
His feet left the ground instantly. His entire body traced a pitiful parabola through the air, flying straight off the stage, soaring over the heads of the Hufflepuff students in the front rows, flying a full twenty meters!
CRASH! Davies slammed heavily into the crowd behind, overturning a table piled with spare robes, then rolled several times amidst a cloud of dust before finally lying face-down on the floor, groaning in pain, without even the strength to get up.
As for his wand?
The mahogany wand spun through the air, landing precisely in Morn's outstretched left hand.
Silence. A deathly silence enveloped the Great Hall.
Even the Young Wizards who had been excitedly screaming moments ago now looked as if hit by a Silencing Charm, mouths agape, staring at the now-empty side of the stage, then at the black-haired youth standing in the center who hadn't even moved a step.
Morn slowly lowered his wand. The wisp of bluish smoke at his fingertips, caused by magical overload, slowly dissipated.
He didn't even glance back to see if Davies was still alive.
He turned around. Those deep blue eyes swept coldly over the group of pale-faced Ravenclawupperclassmen below the stage.
They were Davies's friends, the ones who had been cheering him on moments ago, now shrinking back in terror toward the rear of the crowd.
Morn raised the wand in his hand—Davies's trophy—gave it a light twirl, then casually tossed it off the stage. *Clatter.*
The crisp sound of the wand hitting the floor was especially piercing in the silent hall.
"Ravenclaw values wisdom, senior."
Morn's voice didn't use a Sonorus Charm, but in this dead silence, every word was clearly audible.
"But before learning to think..."
He glanced at Roger Davies, still twitching in the distance, a corner of his mouth curling into a supremely indifferent arc.
"...you should learn to aim first."
Professor Snape, standing on the other side of the stage, narrowed his eyes.
His empty, profound black eyes fixed intently on Morn, his fingers unconsciously rubbing the handle of his own wand.
The precision of magical control and that brutal explosive force displayed in that last strike reminded him of another similarly brilliant, yet equally dangerous student.
"Interesting."
Snape murmured inwardly, the amused, cold smile at the corner of his mouth growing more complex.
"It seems Dumbledore's concerns are not unfounded... A Young Snake is already beginning to bare its fangs."
Chapter 90: The Hissing Parseltongue and the True Heir
Gilderoy Lockhart's awkward, forced laughter sounded especially jarring in the deathly silent Great Hall, like a duck trying to sing while being strangled.
"Splendid... splendid! A brilliant demonstration!"
He scrambled up from the edge of the stage, trying to mask the panic from the two 'teaching accidents' with his signature dazzling smile. "Although Mr. White's approach was a little... vigorous, he showed us the power of a spell! Of course, if I were to defend against that move, I would use a complex reverse shield..."
Morn ignored the clown still performing his antics.
He casually flicked the hem of his robe, like a conductor who had just finished a tedious rehearsal, and stepped off the stage with an indifferent expression.
Where he passed, the Ravenclaw students parted like a tide. No one dared to meet his gaze. Even the air was thick with a chilling element called 'awe'.
"I think we should teach them how to block jinxes, don't you, Professor Lockhart?"
Snape's voice was like a venomous snake slithering in the shadows, his icy tone causing the temperature to plummet.
His black eyes swept coldly over the crowd, landing on Harry Potter. "Let's swap to a pair that's slightly more... evenly matched. Potter and Malfoy, for instance."
Harry was pushed onto the stage, his face pale, his wand clutched so tightly in his hand his knuckles were white.
Opposite him, Draco Malfoy was smugly adjusting his collar. The fear Morn had instilled moments ago seemed diluted by the thrill of getting to bully the savior.
"Begin!" Lockhart shouted.
"Serpensortia!"
Malfoy, clearly acting on Snape's prior instruction, gave Harry no chance to cast Expelliarmus. A burst of dark green sparks erupted from the tip of his wand.
[Talent Activation: Eye of Truth · Energy Materialization]
Morn stood at the back of the crowd below the stage, his pupils contracting slightly.
In his vision, the green sparks did not dissipate but rapidly condensed and twisted.
Dark elements in the air were forcibly drawn out, mingling with Malfoy's malice to construct a cold, slimy biological form in half a second.
Thud!
A black snake, a full two meters long, slammed heavily onto the floor.
It raised its triangular head, emitting a chilling hiss. Its pair of yellow, vertical pupils were filled with the frenzy and murderous intent forced upon it by the summoning.
"Don't move, Potter!" Snape said lazily, clearly enjoying Harry's fear of the serpent. "I'll get rid of it..."
"Let me!" Lockhart, eager to salvage his dignity, brandished his wand first. "Perhaps this will... Alarte Ascendare!"
Bang! A poorly-aimed beam of white light struck the floor beside the black snake.
The black snake was thrown by the blast's shockwave. Far from vanishing, this only enraged it completely.
It writhed frantically, then shot up like a black spring, baring its venom-dripping fangs as it lunged straight for a Hufflepuff student standing at the stage's edge—Justin Finch-Fletchley.
"Ah!"
The crowd screamed and scrambled back. Justin was frozen in terror, watching helplessly as the viper closed in on his ankle, the stench of death already upon him.
At that moment.
Harry Potter moved.
A strange instinct drove him forward two steps, and he shouted at the snake.
"Sya-hasi...eth..."
Instantly, the hall fell into a silence even more terrifying than when Morn had won.
To everyone else's ears, it was a scalp-crawling, meaningless, horrifying hiss, like a malevolent curse from the depths of hell.
But Morn heard more.
[Talent Activation: Void Body · Frequency Perception]
Morn felt the air vibrate.
The sound coming from Harry's mouth wasn't mere sound waves; it was a 'control command' with an extremely high priority.
It was an ancient, primitive, magically coercive language, simulated by altering the vibration frequency of his vocal cords.
It bypassed the auditory system entirely, acting directly on the simple reptilian cortex of the black snake's brain.
Morn clearly saw the black snake, which had been frenzied and ready to sink its fangs into Justin's leg, suddenly go limp as if its spine had been removed.
It slumped down meekly, retracted its fangs, and turned its head to look at Harry, the murderous intent in its eyes replaced by confusion and obedience.
"Leave him alone," Harry said, panting. To others, it was still just hissing.
The snake obediently lay down on the floor, motionless.
Harry looked up, a smile on his face, as if expecting praise.
But all he saw was fear.
The kind of look reserved for a monster more terrifying than Lord Voldemort himself.
"What do you think you're playing at?"
Justin Finch-Fletchley snapped out of his shock. Instead of thanking Harry, he shouted, his face ashen, "Were you egging it on to bite me?!"
With that, he turned and fled the Great Hall.
"What's going on?" Harry asked blankly, looking around. "I saved him..."
"Shut up, Harry," Ron said, grabbing Harry's arm, his face as white as parchment. "Come on, let's get out of here."
The crowd parted for Harry as if he were the plague. The gazes that had held mere suspicion moments ago were now filled with absolute accusation.
Parseltongue.
The mark of Slytherin.
Standing in the shadows, Morn watched Harry Potter's fleeing back, a slow, pleased curve forming at the corner of his mouth.
"A perfect performance, savior."
He gently stroked the wand hidden in his sleeve, feeling the pervasive fear and suspicion directed at Harry. This negative emotion was so potent, even more thrilling than the duel moments before.
"From today, you are everyone's nightmare."
Morn turned and, moving against the tide of panicked students, walked towards the Ravenclaw tower.
Chapter 91: Broken Wings in the Snow and the Swan's Elegy
A hexagonal, crystalline snowflake drifted through the biting cold wind above the Castle courtyard, slowly descending until it landed on the back of Moen White's hand, unprotected by any glove.
It did not melt as one might expect.
Morn gazed quietly at that piece of ice.
At this moment, the epidermal cells of his [Void Body] precisely adjusted the local body temperature, keeping it in perfect sync with the surrounding minus five-degree environment.
What reached his fingertip was not a piercing cold, but a clear tactile sensation of the solid molecular structure of water. He could even feel the tiny hexagonal edges capturing free moisture from the air.
"Orderly crystallization."
Morn silently admired it in his mind, then slightly moved his finger as his body temperature spiked. *Hiss*. An extremely faint sound of vaporization.
That snowflake instantly skipped the liquid state, sublimating directly from solid into a wisp of white water vapor that dissipated into the grayish air.
He sat on a stone bench in a corner of the courtyard, a copy of *The History of Medieval Alchemy* spread open on his lap.
Although it was the weekend and the courtyard was crowded with students having snowball fights, the corner where Moen White sat seemed to be under some invisible Banishing Charm.
That five-meter-radius "vacuum zone" was exceptionally distinct.
Several Hufflepuff students who were laughing and running suddenly froze when the snowball in their hands rolled to Morn's feet. They exchanged glances, none daring to step forward to retrieve it, and could only slink away, taking a detour.
Morn felt quite comfortable with this silence constructed from fear.
That was until a somewhat hurried, snow-crunching *crunch* shattered this harmony.
A pair of deep brown leather boots stopped before him, blocking the faint winter sunlight.
Morn did not look up, his gaze still fixed on the illustration of the "Philosopher's Stone" on the page.
"If you're here to sell *The Quibbler*, I've already subscribed for a year. If you're here to invite me to join some tedious mutual aid society..."
He turned a page, the paper making a crisp sound.
"...I suggest you turn left and go discuss it with the Giant Squid by the Black Lake."
"I'm here to talk about Roger. And Marietta."
A female voice, trembling yet striving to remain calm, spoke up.
Morn's finger paused.
He slowly raised his head.
Standing before him was Cho Chang.
The Ravenclaw Seeker was now wearing a heavy, deep blue woolen cloak, a silver-gray scarf wrapped around her neck. Her delicate, pretty face was flushed red from the cold and nervousness.
Tiny beads of ice clung to her eyelashes. Though her eyes were filled with fear, she stubbornly met Morn's gaze.
[Talent Activation: Eye of Truth · Visual Penetration]
Morn's gaze did not linger on the girl's lovely face. Instead, like an X-ray, it pierced through the swirling snow behind her, locking onto a massive stone pillar on the other side of the courtyard.
There, in the shadows, Roger Davies was huddled like a ghost afraid of the light.
The Quidditch captain who had been so arrogant just days ago now lacked even the courage to show himself, secretly peering over with a gaze mixed with resentment and terror.
"Since the person in question lacks the backbone to even stand before me..."
Morn closed his book with a dull *thump*, his deep blue eyes full of mockery, "...then what exactly can you, this so-called 'mediator,' represent? Miss Chang."
"You've gone too far, White."
Cho Chang took a deep breath, seemingly trying to use the cold air to suppress the anger in her chest. "Roger may be out of the hospital wing, but now he can't even touch a broom! He shivers at the sight of red light! He's Ravenclaw's captain! The match against Gryffindor is this weekend. You've ruined him and the entire team!"
"Ruined him?"
Morn's mouth curved into a cold smirk, as if he'd heard an utterly absurd joke.
He stood up, his black robe casting a long, oppressive shadow on the snow.
As he rose, Cho Chang instinctively took half a step back, her boot slipping on the snow, nearly losing her balance.
"Let me correct your logic, Miss Chang."
Morn took a step forward, closing in on the girl who was half a head shorter than him.
"That night, I didn't use any Dark Arts, not even an Unforgivable Curse. I used only the most basic Expelliarmus—a spell any first-year knows."
He reached out with a black-gloved hand and gently brushed off a layer of snow that had settled on Cho Chang's shoulder.
This seemingly intimate gesture made Cho Chang's entire body stiffen, as if that hand might choke her neck at any moment.
"If a so-called 'captain' has a psychological defense so fragile, crumbling like a damp biscuit, merely because he was defeated head-on on the dueling platform..."
Morn's voice was low and elegant, each word like a precise scalpel dissecting the cruel reality.
"...then it wasn't I who ruined him, but his own weakness and arrogance. Someone like that would only fall harder if he encountered a Dementor or a Bludger on the pitch. I was helping him face reality sooner."
"You... you're a heartless monster!"
Cho Chang's eyes reddened, tears welling up—a product of mingled anger and helplessness.
She couldn't refute Morn's logic, but emotionally, she couldn't accept it. "We're all Ravenclaws! Classmates! Must you rule the house with this kind of fear?"
"Classmates?"
Morn chuckled softly, turning his head to look at the group of Ravenclaw students not far away who were still sneaking glances their way.
Meeting Morn's gaze, those students immediately lowered their heads like startled quails, pretending to look at the snow on the ground.
"You see, Miss Chang."
Morn spread his arms as if embracing the swirling snow and the surrounding silence.
"Before, they would only scheme over who was top of the class, or gloat over hiding Luna's shoes. But now..."
He withdrew his gaze, locking it once more on Cho Chang's pale face, his tone turning bone-chillingly cold:
"...because of fear, how 'quiet' and 'well-behaved' they've become. Isn't this the order Ravenclaw should have?"
"This order is twisted!" Cho Chang retorted loudly, biting her lip.
Just as Morn was about to say something more to utterly shatter this girl's naive values, a warm presence, carrying the faint scent of pinewood, suddenly entered his perception.
A large hand clad in thick gloves reached over, firmly and steadily supporting the slightly unsteady Cho Chang, pulling her behind him.
"That's enough, White."
A gentle, mellow voice, yet carrying an indomitable air of righteousness, rang out amidst the wind and snow.
Morn narrowed his eyes slightly, looking at the tall figure shielding Cho Chang. A glint of amusement flashed in his eyes.
"It seems the knight has arrived."
Chapter 92: Golden Shield and Fragile Porcelain
Cedric Diggory's broad shoulders were like a golden wall, firmly blocking the wind and snow, and completely shielding the slightly shivering Ravenclaw girl behind him.
He was wearing Hufflepuff Quidditch robes with a heavy winter cloak over them, and the Prefectbadge on his chest reflected a warm, bright light in the winter glimmer.
"Bullying classmates doesn't show your strength, Morn."
Cedric's voice wasn't biting and cold like Morn's, but carried a mellow quality polished by a good upbringing, like a cup of hot black tea with honey.
He looked directly into Morn's unsettling blue eyes, his brow furrowed, "Especially when a lady is suffering because of it."
Morn didn't answer immediately.
He just tilted his head slightly, and in his eyes, hidden in the shadows of his hood, his pupils instantly contracted into needle-like points.
[Talent Activation: Eye of Truth · Soul Observation]
In his vision, the appearances of the physical world were peeled away layer by layer.
If Harry Potter's soul was a chaotic, restless storm mixed with dark green parasitic fragments, and Snape's soul was a silent black abyss hiding molten lava, then the Cedric before him... was simply a piece of pure gold.
[Soul Spectrum: Warm Gold]
[Trait Analysis: Integrity / Resilience / Extremely High Moral Threshold]
That golden light was steady and bright, without any dark folds, radiating a sense of 'justice' that felt warm yet extremely dull.
He was the most perfect standard part produced by the Hogwarts education system—brave, kind, and fair, like a piece of exquisite porcelain displayed in a window to show 'what an excellent Wizard is'.
"How dazzling..."
Morn let out an ambiguous sigh in his heart, a trace of indifference bordering on pity flashing in his eyes.
"And how fragile. In the coming dark forest, things that only glow but don't know how to camouflage are usually the first targets to be shattered by the hunter."
The magic factors in the air became viscous due to the confrontation between the two.
The students around them who had been having a snowball fight had long since stopped, dozens of eyes staring tensely at this scene.
One was the newly emerged Ravenclaw tyrant, the other was the perfect male god of Hufflepuff; such a collision was enough to make everyone hold their breath.
"Put away your chivalrous clichés, Diggory."
Morn broke the silence, slowly putting on his leather gloves, every movement exuding an arrogance that kept people at a distance, "This is Hogwarts, not King Arthur's Round Table. I am simply teaching Miss Chang and her friends the realistic rule of 'winner takes all'."
"Fear is not a rule!"
Cedric took a step forward, the snow crunching beneath his feet.
The magic on his body overflowed slightly due to the fluctuation of his emotions, causing the falling snowflakes around him to melt into raindrops in mid-air, "No matter which house we are in, everyone should be friends, or healthy competitors. You beat Davis like that, even humiliated him... This serves no purpose other than creating hatred!"
"Hatred?"
Morn gave a light chuckle, as if he had heard some childish joke.
"No, Diggory. That is 'awe'. Hufflepuff relies on 'friendship' and 'loyalty' to maintain unity because you are a group of badgers huddling together for warmth. But Ravenclaw values wisdom and truth, and in the face of truth..."
Morn's voice dropped suddenly, carrying a metallic, cold hardness:
"Only the strong have the right to define what is 'right'."
Cedric opened his mouth, clearly shocked by this naked Social Darwinist rhetoric.
His moral compass made it impossible for him to agree, but his upbringing made him unable to counter with biting language like Morn.
"Alright, I think this debate on values can end."
Morn seemed to lose interest in continuing the conversation. He looked over Cedric's shoulder at Cho Chang, who was hiding behind him and secretly wiping away tears.
Since his goal had been achieved and his unshakeable status established, he didn't mind giving these two 'good kids' a little something.
After all, letting Roger Davies continue as a puppet captain was easier than replacing him with a more obedient but brainless newcomer.
"About that useless captain..."
Morn said casually, as if talking about a broken tool, "Tell Davis that I don't care for that captain's badge. He can keep flying in the sky with that thing."
Cho Chang snapped her head up, a flash of unbelievable pleasant surprise in her red and swollen eyes.
"Really? You... you don't object to him..."
"Don't be so quick to be moved, Miss Chang."
Morn interrupted her coldly, a cruel arc curling at the corner of his mouth, "This comes with conditions. I am a consequentialist. Ravenclaw needs house points, and it needs the Quidditch Cup. If his ridiculous 'psychological trauma' causes us to lose to Gryffindor this weekend..."
Morn paused, his gaze scraping across Cho Chang's face like a blade, causing the slight warmth the girl had just felt to freeze instantly.
"Then at that time, I will make him understand that flying off the stage isn't the worst outcome. I will make him... never dare look at the sky again."
After saying this blood-scented pardon, Morn didn't spare the two another look.
He turned around, his black robes flapping in the cold wind like a raven spreading its wings, as he strode toward the dark entrance hall of the Castle.
Behind him, Cho Chang's suppressed sobbing and Cedric's gentle whispers of comfort drifted through the wind and snow.
Just before stepping into the shadows, Morn turned his head slightly, glancing at the scene from the corner of his eye.
Amidst the swirling white snowflakes, the handsome blond youth was bowing his head to wipe away the beautiful girl's tears, while the girl looked up, her eyes full of dependence and gratitude.
They stood there like the perfect ending of a fairy tale, everything around them becoming a blurred backdrop.
[Talent Activation: Absolute Rationality]
That beautiful image was instantly deconstructed in Morn's mind.
No being moved, no envy.
Only cold chemical equations.
"Rising phenylethylamine concentration... accelerated dopamine secretion... the suspension bridge effect brought by adrenaline..."
Morn narrated indifferently in his heart.
"So-called love at first sight is nothing more than a hormonal misjudgment in a specific environment. So-called heroes saving beauties is nothing more than two fragile souls comforting each other."
He withdrew his gaze and, at the happiest moment for that 'golden couple', turned to step into the cold, dark corridor.
"Enjoy this final warmth, fragile porcelains."
Morn's fingers brushed the cold wooden texture of his wand, his footsteps echoing in the empty stone corridor.
"The Dark Lord is awakening, and the Chamber of Secrets has been opened. In this coming era of slaughter... your kind of defenseless 'beauty' is simply a death label stuck to your foreheads."
...Ice-cold water gushed from the copper faucet, and Moen White cupped a handful of fresh water, splashing it harshly onto his face.
The cold instantly pierced through the lingering morning sleepiness, his skin contracting under the stimulation, bringing a sense of clarity that bordered on pain. The air was filled with the cool scent of peppermint toothpaste and the dry lavender fragrance characteristic of the Ravenclaw public washroom.
He looked up, letting the water droplets slide down his pale cheeks and drip into the somewhat mottled ceramic sink with a monotonous 'drip-drop' sound.
The youth in the mirror was staring back at him intently.
In those deep blue eyes remained the hostility of the tyrant from last night, and in the corners of his eyes and brows hung an uncomfortable, razor-sharp arrogance. These were the traces left behind after becoming accustomed to ruling others through fear.
"Too crude."
Morn looked at himself in the mirror and commented in a low voice. His voice echoed in the empty washroom, carrying a cold touch of self-loathing.
Chapter 93: The Mask in the Mirror and the Library's Ghost Story
"This kind of expression that has 'I'm a villain' written all over it might scare off idiots like Roger Davies, but it also pushes me into the spotlight. Fear is a double-edged sword; while it cuts the enemy, it also makes too much noise."
He recalled Cedric Diggory's clear, warm golden eyes from last night, and Dumbledore's scrutinizing gaze through those half-moon glasses that seemed to pierce his very soul.
On this chessboard where the Dark Lord was about to return and undercurrents were surging among various factions, being a 'bad boy' who showed his hand was the stupidest survival strategy. True predators often wore the most harmless faces.
"You need a mask, Morn."
He whispered to the mirror, his fingers gently massaging his tense brow, "A mask that is gentle, rational, fits the standards of a Hogwarts honor student, and is a perfect mask that Dumbledore can find no fault with."
He began to try and adjust his facial muscles.
First, the brow.
He smoothed out the gloomy furrows that had gathered there from years of contemplating the Dark Arts.
Then, the eyes.
He controlled that glimmer of greedy gold deep within his pupils that always tried to dissect everything, hiding it deep beneath his original dark blue irises, making his gaze clear and calm, like a pool of waveless water.
Finally, the corners of the mouth.
No longer that sarcastic sneer, nor that high-and-mighty mockery.
The corners of his mouth turned up slightly by fifteen degrees.
The person in the mirror changed.
That sinister Ravenclaw tyrant had vanished, replaced by a refined and polite young gentleman. His smile carried three parts humility, three parts warmth, and four parts academic focus, looking like the kind of model Prefect who would proactively help an old lady cross the street.
"Very good."
Morn nodded to the'stranger' in the mirror, his tone becoming soft and soothing, as if practicing a new vocal technique.
"Good morning, Mr. White. Today is another day of loving magic."
...In the afternoon, the library.
The place was filled with the smell of moldy old parchment and the faint metallic scent of evaporating ink.
The wind and snow outside were blocked by thick stone walls, leaving only the occasional crackle from the fireplace and the scratching of quills on paper.
But deep in the History section, in Madam Pince's blind spot, this tranquility was shattered.
"You should drop out of school, Potter!"
Ernie Macmillan, that Hufflepuff boy who was usually so loud and boisterous, was now red-faced, waving a copy of Hogwarts: A History and roaring at Harry Potter, who was huddled in a corner of the bookshelves. "Everyone knows you did it! You're a Parseltongue! You're the Heir of Slytherin! You're going to kill us all!"
Behind him, Hannah Abbott and several other Hufflepuffs didn't speak, but their eyes were full of fear and disgust, as if they were looking at a dangerous venomous insect.
Harry leaned against the cold, hard bookshelf, his face pale, his emerald eyes filled with anger and helplessness.
He opened his mouth to retort, but his throat felt as if it were stuffed with cotton.
"What? You want to set a snake on me?" Ernie screamed in fright when he saw Harry reach into his pocket, though he was only trying to get his wand for self-defense. "Look, everyone! He's going to attack!"
At this tense, explosive moment of chaos.
"Good afternoon, everyone."
A gentle, mellow voice, as pleasant as the low notes of a cello, softly inserted itself into the noise.
Ernie Macmillan was like a rooster being strangled; his screaming came to an abrupt halt.
He whipped his head around, horrified to see a figure in Ravenclaw robes slowly stepping out from the shadows of the bookshelves.
It was Moen White.
Ernie instinctively covered his head, his legs going weak, nearly kneeling on the floor.
He had seen with his own eyes how Morn had blasted Roger Davies away, and had heard the terrifying legends of those three Ravenclaw girls being hung from the ceiling all night.
"I... I didn't..." Ernie stammered, trying to explain himself, cold sweat instantly soaking his back.
But the expected humiliation, sneer, or 'Gravity Inversion' did not descend.
Morn held a thick copy of Abyssal Ecology in his hands, wearing that spring-breeze smile he had practiced countless times in front of the mirror.
That smile was so standard, so 'friendly,' that when placed on Morn's face—which everyone remembered as always being cold—it produced an incredibly eerie uncanny valley effect.
"While I quite agree with vigorous debate regarding the truth, Mr. Macmillan."
Morn walked between them, even nodding politely to the terrified Hannah Abbott. His voice wasn't loud, and every syllable was clearly articulated, exuding a sense of good breeding.
"However, Madam Pince seems to be looking this way with her feather duster. In this sacred temple of knowledge, to be expelled because of a clamor... would be somewhat unseemly, wouldn't it?"
No threats. No foul language.
Only gentle persuasion.
But Ernie Macmillan felt as though he were being stared down by a venomous snake draped in a velvet coat.
Morn's look of 'I know what you're trying to do, but I forgive your stupidity' was more hair-raising than being directly insulted.
"S-Sorry!"
Ernie stammered an apology, not daring to look at Harry again, and dragged the equally pale Hannahand the others away. Like a group of mice that had seen a ghost, they fled the area in a panic.
A deathly silence returned to the bookshelves.
Only Morn and Harry remained.
Harry still gripped the wand in his pocket tightly, staring warily at Morn.
He hadn't yet recovered from the 'contrast' just now; he didn't understand why this tough character, who had used people as punching bags on the dueling stage before, had suddenly switched to this... 'nice guy' style.
"Thanks... I guess," Harry said dryly, his voice a bit raspy.
Morn turned around, but he didn't reveal his original true colors as Harry had expected.
He still maintained that perfect smile, his clear blue eyes quietly watching Harry. There was no fear or disgust in his gaze; instead, there was a... deep, inquisitive look that Harry couldn't understand.
"No need for thanks, Mr. Potter. I was merely maintaining the silence of the reading environment."
Morn gently stroked the spine of the book in his hand, his tone flat yet sincere. "Do not be troubled by the bleating of sheep. In this Castle full of prejudice, being misunderstood is the destiny of the strong."
"The strong?" Harry gave a bitter laugh. "Even when the whole school thinks I'm a Dark Wizard?"
"Whether one is a Dark Wizard does not depend on what language you can speak, but on what you do with that language."
Morn gave a meaningful look at Harry's lightning-bolt scar.
[System Record: Subject's emotions stable / Sense of loneliness intensified / Observation sample collection complete]
"Enjoy this loneliness, Harry."
Morn called him by his name for the first time, his voice as soft as a sigh. "When you are isolated by everyone, only then can you see clearly... who is the monster truly hiding behind the walls."
With that, he bowed slightly in a standard noble salute, then turned and walked toward the library exit.
Harry stood there, watching the back that disappeared at the end of the bookshelves, and suddenly felt a shiver.
He didn't know why, but even though Morn had helped and comforted him, he felt colder than when facing Malfoy. That gentleness... was like a layer of gauze covering a scalpel.
The moment he stepped out of the library doors.
The smile on Morn's face didn't disappear, but the warmth in his eyes instantly dropped to absolute zero.
[Talent Activation: Void Body · Ley Line Sensing]
An extremely faint vibration, detectable only by him, came from the stone slabs beneath his feet.
It was the resonance caused by some massive creature sliding rapidly through the Castle's pipe system.
That heavy sense of mass, carrying the breath of death, was rapidly approaching the second floor.
"Finally unable to hold back?"
Morn's fingers lightly tapped the cover of his book. His pace didn't falter; instead, it became even lighter.
"To coordinate with the debut of my new mask... are even you prepared to offer a grand gift? Salazar's old friend."