Chapter 76: Burning Camp, Master of Disguise
August 22, late at night.
The revelry turned into terrified screams.
The colorful campsite was now being swallowed by towering flames.
A group of hooded Wizards holding torches were rampaging through the camp, using wands to torment the Muggle Roberts family with floating spells, like a morbid parade.
"Truly lacking in any aesthetic sense."
Moen White stood at the entrance of his palace-like black ironwood tent, holding a glass of red wine, coldly watching the Death Eaters in the distance in disarray.
Behind him, Alfred was directing the Werewolf Guard to build a defensive line.
"Everyone, listen up!" Lupin's voice was exceptionally clear in the night, "Protect Zone A! Anyone trying to break through the cordon, whether they are Death Eaters or panicked crowds, knock them all out!"
"Young Master." Alfred walked to Morrin's side, pushed up his cold-glinting monocle, "Is that Master Lucius? The one leading them."
"Although wearing a mask, that expensive perfume scent he can never get rid of betrayed him." Morrin shook his head, took a sip of wine, "Too low-end. Seeking a sense of presence by tormenting a few Muggles? This not only fails to establish authority, but will instead draw a full counterattack from the Ministry of Magic."
"True terror should be silent and irresistible."
Morrin put down his wine glass and gripped his black ironwood wand.
"Guard this place, Alfred. Don't let anyone mess up my carpet."
"Where are you going, Young Master?"
"The forest." Morrin looked at the pitch-black woods not far away, which was where Harry had fled, and also where Barty Crouch Jr. was hiding.
"I'm going to meet a 'talented actor.' By the way, I'll light a fuse for the coming great era."
...
Deep in the woods.
Harry, Ron, and Hermione were stumbling through the tree roots.
All around were panicked Wizards.
"Over there! Hide inside!" Harry pointed to a bush.
Just as they were about to dive in, a drawling voice rang out.
"If I were you, I wouldn't run around like headless chickens, Potter."
Draco Malfoy was leaning against a tree, although his face was a bit pale, he tried to maintain a kind of "I am also very bad" composure.
"If it's for saving your life, you should go find White. His tent is the safest place in the entire camp."
"We won't beg him!" Ron said through gritted teeth, "And those people wearing masks... is your father among them too?"
"How dare you—" Malfoy was about to flare up.
Rustle.
An extremely faint sound of footsteps rang out in the clearing behind them.
There was no one there.
But the dead branches on the ground were snapped.
"Who's there?" Hermione raised her wand, "Revelio!"
No one responded.
That invisible existence was standing there, suppressing frantic panting.
"He is looking for a wand."
A cold voice suddenly came from the treetops.
Everyone looked up sharply.
Moen White was standing on a thick tree branch, looking down at the clearing below.
He jumped down lightly, like a black feather landing, without making any sound.
"Go quickly, Draco." Morrin didn't look at Malfoy, "Go back to the tent. What happens here next is not suitable for children to see."
"But..."
"Get lost."
Malfoy shuddered, took one look at Morrin's temperatureless eyes, and immediately turned and ran.
Morrin turned around, facing the seemingly empty clearing.
The Harry trio was not far behind him.
"Harry, check your pockets." Morrin said lightly.
"What?" Harry was stunned, felt his pockets, "My wand! My wand is gone!"
"Of course it's gone."
Morrin raised his wand, pointing straight at the void in front.
"Because someone borrowed it. In order to set off a big firework on this beautiful night."
"Come out, Mr. Crouch. Or should I call you, the most loyal servant?"
The air froze.
Under the invisibility cloak, Barty Crouch Jr.'s heart hammered wildly.
He was discovered? How could this Slytherin brat possibly discover him?
"Not coming out?"
Morrin sneered.
[Gate of Truth] — Magical Oscillation.
The wand in his hand slammed against the ground.
A golden ripple spread along the ground.
"Morsmordre!"
The invisible person suddenly roared. This was not only a response, but also because he felt a fatal threat and had to create chaos to escape.
A green light shot from the void into the sky.
A huge skull made of emerald green stars bloomed in the night sky, and a large python crawled out from the skull's mouth.
dark mark.
The surrounding screams instantly went up an octave.
"Now!"
The moment Harry and the others were stunned by the mark, Morrin moved.
[Half-Giant Speed]
He instantly rushed into that void, his left hand accurately grabbing something in the void, which was the corner of the invisibility cloak.
"Caught you."
Morrin gave a sharp tug.
The invisibility cloak was pulled off, revealing the young man underneath with straw-like yellow hair, a face as pale as paper, but eyes as crazy as fire.
Barty Crouch Jr.
"Stupefy—" Barty raised Harry's wand wanting to fight back.
But Morrin was faster than him.
[Time 0.5 Seconds]
A feature from the time-turner.
In Morrin's perception, time flowed back by half a second.
He anticipated Barty's arm-raising movement.
The black ironwood wand struck Barty's wrist fiercely like a viper striking.
"Crack!"
The wand was knocked out of his hand.
Morrin grabbed Barty's throat and slammed him against the tree trunk.
"Cough, cough..." Barty struggled desperately, but he found that this teenager's strength was as great as a Giant.
"Don't move."
Morrin leaned close to Barty's face, the distance between them only a few centimeters.
Harry and the others couldn't see the details here from afar, only seeing Morrin subduing a stranger.
[Contact Successful!]
[Scanning Target: Barty Crouch Jr.]
[Consume Extraction Count x 16 (All Inventory)]
[Probability Stacking Judgment...]
[Judgment Successful!]
[Congratulations on obtaining trait]: Ultimate Disguise(Gold · Acting & Transformation)
[Description]: You are a natural chameleon. You can perfectly imitate anyone's voice, gait, and micro-expressions. Used in conjunction with Polyjuice Potion, even your own mother wouldn't recognize you.
A strange warm current surged into Morrin's throat and facial muscles.
He felt he could now control the direction of every muscle at will.
"Let me go..." Barty said hoarsely, "The Dark Lord will return... He will kill you..."
Chapter 77: The Art of the Front Page Headline
"I know he'll come back."
Morrin's voice was so low that only Barty could hear it.
"Not only will he come back, I want him to come back."
Morrin's fingers loosened slightly, allowing Barty to breathe.
"Listen, Crouch. I could hand you over to the Ministry of Magic, and you'd be finished."
"But I plan to let you go."
Barty was stunned, his crazed eyes filled with disbelief: "Why?"
"Because we need a war."
A fanatical golden light flickered in Morrin's eyes, an ambition even crazier than that of a Death Eater:
"If your master doesn't return, who will I sell my Dark Artsdefense equipment to? Where will my Werewolfmercenaries find work?"
"Go back, find that noseless master of yours."
Morrin stuffed Harry's wand back into Barty's hand and helped him put the invisibility cloak back on.
"Tell him the gates of Hogwarts are always open to him. The Triwizard Tournament... makes for a fine resurrection party."
"Get out."
Morrin let go and took a step back.
Barty Crouch Jr. took a long, deep look at Morrin.
He couldn't understand this Slytherin's way of thinking, but he knew he had just regained his life.
He donned the invisibility cloak again and vanished into the darkness.
"Pop! Pop! Pop!"
Just then, dense cracking sounds echoed from the surroundings.
Over twenty Wizards from the Ministry of MagicApparated in.
"Stupefy!" they roared in unison, dozens of red lights shooting toward where Morrin was standing.
"Protego."
Morrin flicked his wand nonchalantly, and a transparent iron wall blocked all the spells.
"Stop! Don't attack!" Arthur Weasley rushed out. "That's Moen White! He's a student!"
Barty Crouch walked over, his face ashen, looking at the empty woods.
"Who was here just now? Who conjured the dark mark?"
"Someone wearing an invisibility cloak, Mr. Crouch."
Morrin straightened his somewhat messy trench coat and pointed deep into the woods.
"He ran away. I didn't see his face clearly either. But he left this behind."
Morrin handed Harry's wand to Amos Diggory, who had just arrived.
"This is Potter's wand!" Diggory cried. "Harry Potterconjured the dark mark?!"
"Don't be stupid, Diggory," Morrin said coldly. "Potter's brain capacity isn't enough to support learning such advanced Dark Arts. The wand was stolen."
Just then, the House-elf Winky was discovered, holding an invisibility cloak—a scapegoat Barty had intentionally left behind while fleeing.
The farce came to an end... on the way back.
Morrin sat in a luxury carriage, feeling quite pleased.
Not only had he obtained [Ultimate Disguise], but he had also successfully allowed a key piece in Lord Voldemort's resurrection to escape.
"Young Master," Lupin sat opposite him, his expression grave. "That mark... was it really done by a Death Eater?"
"Yes, and no."
Morrin looked out the window at the sky, which was gradually brightening.
"It's a signal, Remus."
"Tell the factory to increase production."
Morrin's fingers tapped a rhythm on his knee.
"The days of peace are over."
"From today on, we're going to start profiting from war."
Fourth year.
Triwizard Tournament.
The fake Mad-Eye Moody.
And... that upcoming night of fire and blood.
Morrin touched his cheek. With [Ultimate Disguise], perhaps he could play a few interesting roles this semester?
August 23rd, early morning.
Diagon Alley, Editor-in-Chief's office of The Daily Prophet.
The air was thick with the smell of strong black coffee and an anxious mood.
The printing presses were roaring downstairs, preparing to print a third special edition.
Moen White sat behind the editor-in-chief's large mahogany desk, holding a red quill, reviewing the draft Rita Skeeter had just rushed out.
The original editor-in-chief, Cuffe, stood respectfully to the side.
The original headline of the draft was: "The dark markReappears! A Major Dereliction of Duty by the Ministry of Magic?"
"Too mild, Rita."
Morrin shook his head, his red pen drawing a sharp line across the parchment.
"Change 'dereliction of duty' to 'incompetence'," Morrin said without looking up. "And add a line to the sub-headline: 'While our Aurors are firing Stupefy spells at thin air in the woods, ordinary Wizarding families are being tormented by Death Eaters.'"
"But boss," Rita Skeeter adjusted her rhinestone-encrusted glasses and said cautiously, "Minister Fudge... he might not be happy. He's been trying to suppress this, calling it the work of a few drunken hooligans."
"Making him unhappy is the goal."
Morrin put down his pen, leaned back, and interlaced his fingers:
"Fear is the best salesperson, Rita. If everyone believes this is just drunken trouble, who will buy my 'Home Defense Kit'? Who will place orders with my Werewolf Security Company?"
He pulled a photograph out of a drawer.
It was a photo of Morrin standing under the dark mark last night, directing the Werewolf Guard to evacuate the crowd—it was actually staged. In the photo, he looked calm and powerful, the only order amidst the chaos.
"Put this photo right in the center of the front page," Morrincommanded. "Caption it: 'In this dark night, only White Security Company stands firm on the front line.'"
"Also, go interview those frightened pure-blood families, especially Mrs. Malfoy. Ask her what she thinks of the Ministry's security measures."
Rita's eyes lit up with the excitement of smelling money and scandal: "I understand, boss! I'll get right on it! This will definitely send Fudge's blood pressure through the roof!"
Morrin waved his hand, and Rita turned into a beetle and flew away.
He stood up and walked to the window.
The flow of people in Diagon Alley was noticeably thinner than usual, with Wizards hurrying along, faces etched with terror.
"Let it be chaotic," Morrin whispered to himself. "The more chaos, the better."
...A week later, September 1st.
The rain at King's Cross Station was even heavier than last year.
The Hogwarts Express hissed steam into the curtain of rain.
In the Slytherin compartment, the atmosphere was somewhat oppressive.
Draco Malfoy was holding a copy of The Daily Prophet, his face pale.
In the newspaper was the very report Morrin had arranged, lambasting the Ministry's incompetence and hinting at the resurgence of the Dark Lord's power.
"My father is furious," Malfoy threw the paper on the table. "The Ministry actually dared to search Malfoy Manor! Claiming they were looking for Dark Arts items... led by that pauper Arthur Weasley!"
"It's a necessary procedure, Draco."
Morrin was wiping his black ironwood wand with a silk handkerchief, his tone nonchalant:
"Mr. Weasley needs political achievements, Fudge needs a scapegoat, and your father... he needs to keep a low profile."
Chapter 78: Ghost Ship of the Deep Sea
"Low profile? Why should we keep a low profile!" Malfoygrumbled dissatisfiedly. "Those traitors..."
"Because the bird that sticks its head out gets shot." Morringave him a cold look. "If you don't want your father to actually be locked up in Azkaban, tell him to cooperate. Anyway, the search is just a formality; the truly valuable things have long been transferred to my private vault."
Just then, the compartment door was pulled open.
Ron Weasley stood at the door in a huff, with Harry and Hermione following behind him.
In Ron's hand was a maroon robe that looked extremely old and smelled of mildew, with a ring of moldy-looking lace around the collar and cuffs.
It was the second-hand dress robe Mrs. Weasley had bought for him.
"What? Is this this year's new style, Weasley?" Malfoyinstantly found an outlet for his frustration and laughed loudly. "Are you planning to attend a funeral that only a great-grandmother would go to? That lace is simply the finishing touch!"
The Slytherin students burst into laughter.
Pansy Parkinson laughed so hard she buried her face in Crabbe's back.
Ron's face turned the color of a pig's liver; he tried to hide the robe behind his back, but it was impossible to hide.
"Shut up, Malfoy!" Harry stepped in front of Ron. "This has nothing to do with you!"
"Of course it does." Malfoy stood up and walked to the door. "It seriously affects Hogwarts' appearance. Potter, since you're so rich, why don't you spare a little to buy your poor friend some decent clothes?"
"You!" Ron pulled out his wand.
"Put down your wand, Weasley."
Morrin, who hadn't spoken the whole time, suddenly spoke up.
He didn't look at Ron, but at the lace-trimmed cuffs, a hint of speechlessness flashing in his eyes.
"Draco's words were harsh, but he's right about one thing."
Morrin stood up and walked to the door.
His well-tailored, expensive bespoke suit formed a brutal contrast with the tattered robe in Ron's hand.
"Poverty is not a sin, but a lack of aesthetics is."
Morrin extended his cane and lifted a corner of the robe:
"Such an outdated design, even a House-elf wouldn't wear it. Mr. Weasley, if you wear this to... certain formal occasions, you will become the laughingstock of the whole school."
"None of your business!" Ron yanked the robe back, his eyes turning red. "Let's go, Harry!"
"Wait."
Hermione suddenly stopped Ron. She looked up, her brown eyes staring straight at Morrin.
"Morrin, about that night at the World Cup..." Hermione's voice trembled slightly, but she was firm. "That House-elfWinky... she was framed, wasn't she? I saw you nearby at the time."
"Framed?" Morrin raised an eyebrow. "She was holding Harry's wand, and the dark mark was cast from it. The evidence is conclusive."
"But she was fired by Mr. Crouch!" Hermione said angrily. "Just because she ran a few steps in fear! It's unfair! It's slavery!"
"Those are the rules of the wizarding world, Miss Granger."
Morrin looked at Hermione, without a hint of sympathy in his eyes:
"House-elves are property, not employees. A master has the right to dispose of their property."
"And..." Morrin stepped closer and whispered, "Instead of worrying about the life and death of an elf, you should worry more about your classes this semester. Or... your nerves, which are about to collapse."
"I heard you dropped Divination Class? A wise choice. But if I were you, I would focus my energy on something more valuable instead of starting some'Society for the Promotion of Elfish Welfare'."
Hermione was stunned.
She hadn't even founded S.P.E.W. (Society for the Promotion of Elfish Welfare) yet; how did Morrin know her thoughts?
"Move aside." Morrin didn't want to say more.
He lightly waved his cane, and an invisible force pushed the trio aside, clearing a path.
"I'm going to the prefects' carriage for a meeting. Draco, keep an eye on the compartment."
As Morrin walked past Ron, he didn't mock him, but simply dropped a sentence:
"If you really don't want to wear that piece of trash, Weasley, you can work part-time at my factory. Peeling Mandrakes, five Sickles an hour. It'll be enough to buy a new one before Christmas."
Ron stared blankly at Morrin's departing back.
Was that an insult?
Or... a kind of charity?
"I'm not going!" Ron shouted at Morrin's back. "I wouldn't work for you if I were dying!"
Harry patted Ron on the shoulder, his heart heavy.
He felt that Morrin was drifting further and further away from them.
It wasn't just an opposition of stances, but a class divide.
Morrin stood above the clouds, looking down at them struggling in the mud.
The train continued to speed through the rain.
And at the end of that curtain of rain, Hogwarts Castle was waiting to welcome guests from two other wizarding schools in Europe.
The Triwizard Tournament.
The stage for this game of death was finally about to be completed.
October 30th, evening.
The Hogwarts grounds shivered in the cold wind.
It was already pitch black, but the lawn in front of the Castle was crowded with students.
They were all looking forward with anticipation, waiting for the two guests from overseas.
The rain was heavy, but it didn't dampen the students' enthusiasm in the slightest.
Moen White stood at the very front of the Slytherin line.
He didn't use an umbrella, nor did he hunch his shoulders like the others.
[Gate of Truth (Gold)] — Molecular Repulsion Field.
Rain was bounced away by an invisible force three inches above his head, forming a dry vacuum zone.
He even had the leisure to block the rain for Luna next to him, who hadn't brought an umbrella either.
"They're here," Morrin suddenly said.
There was no sound, but a faint vibration came from the ground beneath his feet.
It was the signal of something massive landing.
A huge roar came from the sky.
A powder-blue carriage as large as a house, pulled by twelve flying horses as big as elephants (Abraxans), dove down from the clouds.
Boom!
The carriage landed, its wheels splashing up huge amounts of mud.
The door opened, and a woman in magnificent black robes, whose size was breathtakingly massive, stepped down.
Madame Maxime.
"Half-Giant." Morrin narrowed his eyes, [True Sight] instantly analyzing the other's bloodline. "And the bloodline purity is very high. Unfortunately, this size is a burden in modern commercial society; just custom-making clothes is a fortune."
Behind her, a group of shivering Beauxbatons students walked out.
One of them, a girl with long silvery hair, caused a stir among the surrounding boys.
Fleur Delacour.
"Veela half-blood." Morrin glanced over. "A good prospect for public relations, but too arrogant."
Dumbledore went up to meet them and began exchanging pleasantries.
Chapter 79: "Mad-Eye" Alastor Moody
"It's not over yet." Morrin turned around and looked at the pitch-black Black Lake.
The surface of the lake began to churn, and huge bubbles rose to the surface.
Immediately after, a mast pierced the surface like a spear.
A strange-looking ship, as eerie as a skeleton, rose slowly from the bottom of the lake, shimmering with a ghostly luster under the moonlight.
The Durmstrang ship.
"A submersible structure... very crude Alchemy," Morrincommented. "If I were to modify it, I would add a turbocharger and a sonar system."
The ship docked.
A group of people wearing heavy fur cloaks stepped down.
Leading them was a tall, thin man with a goatee, Igor Karkaroff.
And beside him was a teenage boy with a hooked nose and thick eyebrows.
"Krum! It's Viktor Krum!"
Ron Weasley screamed from the Gryffindor ranks like a fanatical fan.
Draco was also nearby, trembling with excitement: "It's really him! The best Seeker in the world!"
Karkaroff led the students toward the Castle.
As they passed the Slytherin ranks, his gaze lingered on Morrin for a moment.
Lucius Malfoy had already greeted this old friend.
Karkaroff knew that the boy before him was now the most powerful 'financial backer' behind the scenes of the British wizarding world.
"Good evening, Mr. White." Karkaroff stopped and even bowed slightly, revealing his smoke-stained—
"Welcome to Hogwarts, Headmaster Karkaroff."
Morrin nodded politely, but his tone sounded as if he were welcoming a subordinate for an interview.
"I hear it's very cold at Durmstrang in the winter? If your school needs to upgrade its heating system, White Heavy Industries can provide a full range of Alchemy solutions. I'll give you a twenty percent discount."
Karkaroff froze for a moment, then gave a dry laugh: "We'll consider it."
Behind him, Viktor Krum also looked at Morrin.
As a top Seeker, Krum was very sensitive to the aura of the powerful.
He smelled a scent on Morrin that was even more dangerous than the night of the World Cup final.
"Let's go." Morrin waved his cane. "We should head inside too. Don't keep the guests waiting too long."
...The Great Hall.
The hall was exceptionally magnificent tonight. The students from the other two schools were arranged around the four long tables.
Interestingly, the Durmstrang students chose the Slytherintable without hesitation.
Krum sat right next to Draco, making Draco feel like he had reached the peak of his life. He desperately handed Krumfood, trying to start a conversation.
But Krum's attention was on Morrin.
"You..." Krum said in broken English, watching Morrinelegantly cut his steak, "I saw your... broom... at the World Cup."
"The Black Swan?" Morrin didn't even look up. "That was just a prototype. If you're interested, I have a catalog for the mass-produced version. For professional players, I can provide custom services."
Krum's eyes lit up. Nothing attracts a Seeker more than a good broom.
"Really?"
"Of course." Morrin pulled a business card from his pocket and slid it across the table. "Let's find a time to discuss an endorsement contract. I think your image fits our new product perfectly."
Draco watched from the side, stunned.
He was asking for an autograph, while Morrin was talking business.
Was this the gap between them?
Halfway through the feast.
Dumbledore stood up to announce the rules of the Triwizard Tournament.
No one under the age of seventeen could enter.
This caused a wave of groans.
"Finally," Dumbledore raised his voice, "please allow me to introduce this year's Defense Against the Dark Artsteacher."
The doors of the Great Hall were thrown open with a bang.
A man leaning on a long staff stood in the doorway, his face covered in scars and missing a piece of his nose.
He wore a ragged cloak, and his most striking feature was one of his eyes—a bright blue magical eye that whirled around incessantly.
"Mad-Eye" Alastor Moody.
The Great Hall fell into a dead silence.
Everyone had heard the name; he was the most famous Auror, responsible for capturing half the prisoners in Azkaban.
Moody limped toward the staff table, his magical eye spinning wildly in its socket, scanning every student.
As he passed the Slytherin table, the magical eye suddenly stopped and fixed its gaze intensely on Morrin White.
Their eyes met in mid-air.
Morrin put down his goblet.
He looked at that scarred face and the rotating magical eye, his lips curling into an extremely subtle smile that only the other could understand.
[Scanning Target]: Alastor Moody (Disguised state)
[True Identity]: Barty Crouch Jr.
[Current Status]: Polyjuice Potion maintained / Extremely vigilant
"Good evening, Professor." Morrin raised his goblet in a distant toast. "Your new look... has quite the personality."
Moody (Barty)'s mouth twitched.
He certainly remembered this boy.
The monster who, in the woods during the World Cup, had pinned him against a tree, taken his wand, and then let him go with a message for the Dark Lord.
"Humph."
Moody let out a gruff snort, his magical eye spinning once as if confirming that Morrin wasn't going to expose him on the spot.
Then, dragging his wooden leg, he walked toward the staff table.
"That guy looks like a maniac." Draco was frightened by Moody's appearance. "My father says he's a paranoid."
"He is indeed a madman."
Morrin withdrew his gaze and drained the red wine in his glass.
"However, sometimes a madman is more useful than a sane person."
Morrin glanced at the wooden goblet burning with blue-white flames that Dumbledore had brought out—the Goblet of Fire.
"The rules of the game have changed this semester, Draco."
Morrin traced a circle on the table with his finger:
"Before, we were just watching the show. But this time..."
"...I'm going to join in the fun too."
He felt the piece of parchment in his pocket that he had already written on.
The name written on it was not Morrin White.
But a name powerful enough to shake the entire wizarding world once again.
[Task Update: Triwizard Tournament]
[Objective 1: Ensure Harry Potter participates (he is a necessary ingredient for Lord Voldemort's resurrection)]
[Objective 2: Exploit the contract loopholes of the Goblet of Fire to obtain the 'Contract Law' trait]
[Objective 3: Harvest Lord Voldemort's 'Resurrection Gift Pack' in the final maze]
"Welcome back, Mr. No-Nose."
Morrin looked at the 'fake Moody' on the staff table, who was gulping down pumpkin juice.
"I hope the surprise you bring is worth the price of admission."
Chapter 80: The Confunded Contract, the Fourth Champion, and the Fractured Friendship
October 31st, Halloween feast.
Candlelight flickered, golden plates were empty.
Tonight, the Great Hall lacked the usual bustle of enjoying a meal; the air was taut with a string called "anticipation."
All eyes were focused on that ancient wooden goblet in front of the staff table.
The Goblet of Fire.
It was currently burning with a ghostly blue flame, like an indifferent eye, examining every soul craving glory.
"It is judging."
Moen White sat at the Slytherin table, not craning his neck like the others.
He toyed with the ring engraved with his family crest, the perception of the [Gate of Truth (Gold)] quietly extending to cover the goblet.
In his field of vision, the Goblet of Fire was wrapped in countless golden threads.
That was the manifestation of the "Laws of Contract."
"A very ancient and domineering contract magic." Morrinanalyzed inwardly, "Once a name is spat out, the soul is locked. Unless one dies or completes the competition, there is no escape. This is simply... a perfect slave contract."
"I wonder who will become the champion." Draco rubbed his hands nervously nearby. Although he couldn't enter, he was still very excited, "I hope it's Krum. If Durmstrangwins, it's a victory for Slytherin too." Because Krum was sitting with them.
"Shh." Morrin gestured softly, "It's starting."
The blue fire of the Goblet of Fire suddenly turned a dazzling red.
Amidst the crackling sparks, a charred piece of parchment flew out.
Dumbledore reached out to catch it.
"The champion for Durmstrang —" Dumbledoreannounced loudly, "Viktor Krum!"
The Slytherin table erupted in thunderous cheers.
Karkaroff laughed triumphantly.
Krum stood up with a gloomy face and walked listlessly toward the small room behind the staff table. When he passed by Morrin, he specifically nodded.
Immediately after, the second slip of paper.
"The champion for Beauxbatons — Fleur Delacour!"
That half-Veela with silver hair, beautiful enough to take one's breath away, stood up, tossed her hair, and walked over amidst gasps of astonishment.
Ron Weasley's eyes were almost popping out.
The third one.
"The champion for Hogwarts — Cedric Diggory!"
The Hufflepuff table instantly boiled over.
They rarely had such opportunities to show their faces.
Cedric was a handsome, upright boy; he was the typical "child of someone else."
"Also a pitiful cannon fodder." Morrin looked at Cedric's back, a trace of indifferent pity flashing in his eyes.
He died saving Harry Potter, and his girlfriend ended up with Harry Potter.
"Excellent!" Dumbledore said happily, "Now that the three champions have been selected..."
Suddenly.
The Goblet of Fire turned red again.
This time, the flames were fiercer than the previous three times, as if it were vomiting.
A fourth piece of parchment flew out.
Dumbledore caught it instinctively.
He looked at the name on it, his brows instantly locking together. For the first time, genuine shock and gravity appeared in those deep blue eyes.
The entire Great Hall was so quiet that one could hear a pin drop.
"Harry Potter." Dumbledore read softly. Then, he raised his head, his voice rising a degree, with a hint of disbelief, "Harry Potter!"
All heads turned.
Harry froze in his seat, his face as pale as paper.
He felt like he was having a nightmare.
"I didn't..." Harry said to Ron beside him, "I didn't put my name in!"
But Ron didn't look at him.
Ron was staring fixedly at the table; there was no shock on his face, no worry, only a twisted jealousy that had been suppressed for a long time and suddenly erupted.
"Go on, Harry." Hermione gave him a push, "Dumbledore is calling you."
Harry stumbled to his feet and walked toward the staff table.
There were no cheers.
Only whispers.
"Cheater!" "How did he do it?" "Does he not think he's famous enough?"
When Harry passed the Slytherin table, Draco let out a loud hiss.
Morrin did not hiss.
He just watched Harry quietly, a playful arc curling at the corners of his mouth.
"A brilliant spell." Morrin whispered to himself.
Through the [Gate of Truth], he clearly saw traces of an extremely clever "Confundo" remaining on the Goblet of Fire.
That spell had deceived this ancient artifact, making it believe that four schools were participating.
Morrin's gaze crossed the crowd and looked at "Mad-Eye" Moody at the end of the staff table.
That magical eye was spinning frantically, staring at Harry's back.
There was no expression on Moody's scarred face, but his fingers holding the flask were trembling slightly—that was excitement.
"Well done, Barty." Morrin gave this Death Eater a mental thumbs-up, "You have successfully sent the savior to the execution platform."
Harry disappeared behind the door of the small room.
The Great Hall exploded.
Madame Maxime and Karkaroff protested angrily; this violated the rules.
Dumbledore signaled for everyone to disperse.
The students were still whispering and discussing.
"Potter is disgusting." Draco cursed as he walked out, "He must have used some despicable means! Maybe the invisibility cloak? Or asked an upperclassman for help?"
"No, Draco." Morrin leaned on his cane, walking in the crowd, his voice calm: "That is extremely profound Dark Arts. Potter's current level isn't even enough to wipe the dust off the Goblet of Fire."
"Then you mean..."
"Someone wants him to participate." Morrin looked at the ceiling, "And, someone wants him to die in the competition."
Back to the Slytherin common room.
It had become an ocean of celebration because of Krumand Harry's bad luck.
Morrin did not join the celebration.
He sat in the corner and beckoned Draco over.
"This is a business opportunity, Draco." Morrin took out a piece of parchment with a design of a badge on it.
"What?"
"Public opinion war."
Morrin pointed at the design: "Potter is now the public enemy of the whole school. Hufflepuff hates him for stealing Cedric's limelight, Ravenclaw thinks he cheated, and Slytherin already hates him. Even Gryffindor..."
Morrin remembered that look in Ron's eyes just now.
"...even his friends will be jealous of him."
"What is this badge for?" Draco asked curiously.
"A double-sided badge." Morrin explained: "The front has bright red text:'Support Cedric Diggory — The True Hogwarts Champion'. Press it, and it will turn into a sickly green: 'Potter Stinks'."
Draco's eyes lit up, as bright as two light bulbs: "Genius! Morrin, you are a genius! This will definitely piss off Potter! I'm going to make a thousand!"
"Go do it." Morrin threw him a bag of gold coins as start-up capital, "But I have one requirement: these badges must be spread all over the school before breakfast tomorrow. I want Potter to wake up and find that the whole world has turned against him."
"No problem!" Draco ran off excitedly to find Goyle and Crabbe.
Morrin leaned back on the sofa, watching the firelight in the fireplace.
Isolation.
This was the original plot, and he was now pushing it with his own hands.
When Harry Potter was abandoned by everyone, he would become more reliant on the help he was "forced" to accept, such as Morrin's help.
"As for that Ron Weasley..."
Morrin thought of that red-haired boy.
"Jealousy is a cardinal sin."
Morrin shook his head.
"It is also the easiest weakness to exploit."
He took a small bottle from his arms, which contained the [Amortentia (Byproduct: Jealousy Amplification Potion)] he had scoured from Knockturn Alley.
"Perhaps, I should find a chance to treat Mr. Weasley to a glass of pumpkin juice?"
Just then, an owl flew in and dropped a letter to Morrin.
There was no signature on the envelope, only a faint smell similar to the old leather on Mad-Eye Moody.
The letter contained only one sentence:
"The first task is dragons. Does your factory have fire-protection potions? —M"
Morrin smiled.
Barty Crouch Jr. was indeed a smart collaborator.
He knew what Harry needed, and he knew what Morrinwanted—to sell medicine and make money.
"Dragons..."
Morrin threw the letter into the fire.
"It seems my [Primary Fire Immunity] should be upgraded."
"And, four dragons..."
Greed flickered in Morrin's eyes.
"That would be how much dragon hide, dragon blood, and dragon heartstring."