Chapter 106: Emergency Mediation from Dumbledore
Robards lay on the ground, watching the wand he had carried for seventeen years turn into two pieces of waste wood.
Thin wisps of white smoke were still rising from the broken ends.
His mind was a complete blank.
The five Aurors behind him had already scrambled up and were supporting each other, but not a single one dared to take a step forward.
They were the most elite tactical unit of the Ministry of Magic's Department of Magical Law Enforcement.
The defensive barrier they raised together could withstand three hits from a Dark Wizard's advanced bombardment curse.
It had only lasted three seconds in front of an eleven-year-old boy.
Three seconds.
Robards' thumb twitched uncontrollably.
Just at this moment.
A ball of golden-red flame lit up the night sky.
A clear, long cry pierced through the frozen air.
Fawkes flapped its large wings and landed on the tip of the manor wall, its tail feathers shedding a warm glow.
Albus Dumbledore appeared on the lawn in front of the manor's main gate.
He was wearing a silver-gray robe, with half-moon spectacles perched on the bridge of his nose.
He first glanced at the broken wand remains on the ground.
Then he looked at the crumpled search warrant on Robards' chest.
Finally, his gaze rested on Cassius.
"I think there must be some misunderstanding here."
Dumbledore spoke, his voice carrying far into the quiet night.
"Bringing six adults to the doorstep of an eleven-year-old student's home in the middle of the night and brandishing wands."
"What is Cornelius doing?"
Robards struggled to sit up from the ground.
The two-way mirror in his pocket lit up at this moment.
It was an emergency communication tool directly connected to the Minister for Magic's office.
Dumbledore saw the mirror.
He did not wait for Robards to connect it.
"Minister Fudge."
Dumbledore raised his voice toward the still-flickering mirror.
"To a student who just helped Hogwarts resolve a major crisis in the middle of the term."
"Conducting such a rough, late-night raid."
"This is not the demeanor the Ministry of Magic should have."
Cornelius Fudge's voice, mixed with panic and annoyance, came from the two-way mirror.
"Dumbledore, how are you here?"
"I just happened to be passing by."
Dumbledore smiled and said something that not even a ghost would believe.
"Minister, I must remind you."
"According to Article 12, Section B of the Wizarding Residence Protection Act, revised in 1687."
"Searching the hereditary lands of a pure-blood family requires the joint authorization of more than two-thirds of the Wizengamot members."
"An administrative order issued personally by the Ministeris not enough."
There was silence in the two-way mirror for about five seconds.
Fudge's voice came out again.
"Dumbledore, are you threatening me?"
"I am helping you avoid a political mistake."
Dumbledore's tone was so gentle it didn't sound like he was arguing.
"If the Daily Prophet finds out about tonight's incident."
He glanced at the disheveled Aurors on the ground.
"Six elite Aurors raided Malfoy Manor in the middle of the night and were beaten black and blue by a boy who hasn't even started his second year."
"This headline should sell quite a few newspapers."
"But I'm afraid it's not the kind of coverage you want."
The sound of Fudge grinding his teeth came from the two-way mirror.
Then, a long sigh full of frustration.
"Robards."
"Yes."
"Take your men and retreat."
"Minister."
Robards' voice carried unwillingness.
"This is an order."
"Retreat."
"Immediately."
The six Aurors helped each other up from the lawn, scrambling to pick up the scattered wand fragments.
Robards took one last look at Cassius.
The boy was still standing in the same spot, not even changing his posture.
In those deep blue eyes, there was neither mockery nor triumph.
Only a suffocating blankness.
This blankness made Robards feel more terrified than any provocation.
Because it meant that everything that had just happened was not worth remembering for this boy.
Six flashes of Apparition flickered in the night sky and then vanished.
All that remained on the manor's lawn was trampled turf and a few rolling wand fragments.
Dumbledore stood in place, looking at the remains.
He pushed up his half-moon spectacles.
"Cassius."
"We need to talk."
Cassius did not turn around.
"What does the Principal have to say?"
"Your power is changing some of the rules by which this world operates."
Dumbledore's voice lacked the gentle amusement he had used to dismiss Fudge just moments ago.
"Tonight, you broke an Auror's wand, which means he has lost at least three months of combat capability."
"If you solve disagreements in the school corridors in the same way."
"Someone will suffer irreparable harm."
Cassius finally turned around.
He looked at the old man standing in the moonlight.
"They came to my doorstep with a search warrant."
"Six adults pointed their wands at an eleven-year-old child."
"What do you think I should have done?"
"Let them come in and search my father's secret vault?"
"Or just obediently raise my hands?"
Dumbledore was silent for a moment.
"The procedure for the search warrant was indeed flawed, and I have already handled that for you."
"But Cassius, breaking someone else's wand."
"This action goes beyond the scope of self-defense."
"It sends a message."
"A message that will keep many people at the Ministry of Magic awake at night."
Cassius looked into Dumbledore's eyes.
"That is their problem."
"Not mine."
He turned and walked toward the manor gate.
"Cassius."
Dumbledore called out to him.
"You are far more powerful than Lord Voldemort."
"But you are also far more dangerous than him."
"Because Lord Voldemort at least still has fear."
"Has desires."
"Has weaknesses."
"And you."
Dumbledore pushed up his glasses.
"I still haven't seen what you fear."
Cassius paused on the steps.
He did not look back.
"There is only one thing I fear."
"What?"
"Someone touching my family."
He dropped this sentence and walked into the hall.
The iron gate closed heavily behind him.
Dumbledore stood on the lawn in the moonlight, looking at the closed iron gate.
He took off his half-moon spectacles and wiped them with his sleeve.
Fawkes flew down from the wall, landed on his shoulder, and let out a low cry.
"Old friend, you are right."
Dumbledore put his glasses back on.
"This child is indeed not a second Lord Voldemort."
"He is much worse than that."
The lights of the manor went out one by one behind him.
Returning to the basement room.
Cassius walked to the stone table and sat down.
The cork necklace hanging on the iron hook swayed twice in the light of the oil lamp.
He pulled open the iron box under the table.
The black diary lay quietly inside.
But dark red ink was seeping out from its edges.
This color was completely different from the previous black ink.
Cassius took the diary out, placed it on the table, and opened the last page.
The dark red ink pieced itself together into a line of text.
"There will be more and more of them."
"And you will eventually become the kind of monster you loathe."
Cassius looked at this line of text.
He picked up the quill and wrote a line underneath.
"I was already a monster."
"Always have been."
He closed the diary.
There was still some time before the start of the second year at Hogwarts.
Enough for him to fully digest the information about the Basilisk, complete the deduction of the intrusion route, and finalize the extraction plan for the secondary heart's essence blood.
That thousand-year-old snake was a supplement he had reserved for himself.
No one could take it away.
Not Lord Voldemort.
Not Dumbledore.
Certainly not Fudge.
He closed his eyes.
The deep blue light of the Dual-Soul Furnace filled the entire basement again.
The cork necklace on the iron hook swayed and turned half a circle in the reflection of the blue light.
The smiley face facing outward.
Chapter 107: Fanatical Followers, Planning Against the Basilisk
Morning. Large swaths of white light poured through the floor-to-ceiling windows. The dining room of Malfoy Manorwas blindingly bright. Sets of silver tableware were arranged on the table.
Lucius sat upright at the head of the long table.
With a wave of his hand, the freshly delivered copy of The Daily Prophet rustled loudly.
Usually, he would slowly and methodically fold the corners of the newspaper, but today he tore it open roughly without any regard.
The front-page headline of the newspaper featured an enormous moving photograph.
Minister Fudge stood in the Ministry of Magic atrium on an inspection tour, grinning with a hypocritical smile.
Beside it was a long string of sycophantic nonsense, stretching across four full pages.
Not a single word was mentioned about the battle at the manor the previous night.
A late-night raid? Six elite Aurors severely injured and admitted to St. Mungos? The crushing defeat of the Department of Magical Law Enforcement?
All of it was erased.
Lucius stared at Fudge's bloated face.
The corners of his lips kept curling upward.
These fools were burying their heads in the sand; their behavior was utterly ridiculous.
It was pointless for the Ministry of Magic to block the news.
This was the core social circle of the pure-blood families.
The screams of those six useless wretches had echoed over the lawn all through the night.
As soon as dawn broke today, the owls sent out by the pure-blood families covered the sky, a dark mass blotting out the sun.
Letters of inquiry, letters of goodwill, and letters seeking inside information were piled high, nearly crushing the elder Malfoy's office desk.
Everyone in the circle knew that a total stomp had occurred last night.
The one who had crushed the Ministry of Magic's elite was the second young master of Malfoy Family, who had just turned eleven.
"Quite something, isn't it?"
Lucius tossed the newspaper aside.
He picked up the black tea in front of him and took a large gulp.
He didn't feel offended by the Ministry of Magic; his heart was filled only with fanatical pride.
"Look at this ridiculous paper, Cissy."
He turned to Narcissa at the other end of the table.
"That fool Fudge doesn't even have the courage to admit his mistake to the public. He's afraid the Ministry of Magicwill lose face completely."
Narcissa was not smiling.
Her face was pale, and her fingers gripped a silver spoon, stirring it incessantly in her cup.
The spoon clinked against the inner wall of the porcelain cup.
A sense of anxiety poured out along with the sound.
She had always been mindful of the House of Black's decorum, but at this moment, she had lost her composure.
"Lucius. That was the Deputy Head of the Department of Magical Law Enforcement. Are you sure it's worth being so blatant about offending the entire Ministry of Magic?"
Lucius stood up abruptly. The high-backed chair scraped across the thick carpet, making a dull sound.
"Offending?"
Lucius's throat trembled. Extreme excitement caused him a physiological spasm. He gripped the head of his pure silver snake cane with both hands, his thumbs rubbing back and forth.
"Cissy, you still haven't seen the current situation clearly!"
He paced back and forth around the long table.
A flush rose to his face—the long-suppressed madness of a former Death Eater.
"Last night, they crawled out of these gates with their tails between their legs! My son! My, Lucius's, bloodline! By his power alone, he can press the Ministry's highest combat force into the mud and crush them!"
Lucius stopped pacing, his hands leaning heavily on the tabletop as he looked straight into his wife's eyes.
"What Dark Lord?"
He let out a cold snort.
The trembling that used to accompany that title was now completely gone.
"That wisp of a wandering soul who hasn't even managed to get a physical form doesn't mean a thing. Back then, he only knew how to drive us pure-bloods to the front lines to die. He used us as stepping stones. Now, it's entirely different!"
Lucius turned his head toward the direction of the basement.
"Cassius is the true future of Malfoy Family. With control over such absolute, crushing power, Malfoy Family will never need to kneel to anyone again!"
Dumbledore won't do.
The Ministry of Magic won't do either!
Narcissa stared at her husband, who was lost in a frenzy.
She didn't respond.
She understood that Lucius had placed all the family's chips on their younger son.
But at the end of the day, she was a mother.
She stood up.
She picked up a tray with a freshly brewed cup of Calming Black Tea.
She walked alone into the corridor leading to the basement.
The further down she went,
The stronger the smell of scorched air became.
Even through the thick stone bricks, she could still sense a violent magic tearing at the surroundings.
The torches on the walls were affected, burning with eerie blue flames.
Narcissa stopped outside the black iron door.
She didn't knock.
Instead, she tilted her head to look inside through the crack in the door.
She only took one look.
Her eyes turned bloodshot and red, and tears welled up.
Cassius was bare-chested, sitting cross-legged in the center of the cold stone floor.
The surrounding floor tiles had long since been scorched into a mottled, glass-like state by the ultra-high temperature.
Violent blue magic surged wildly against the surface of his body.
This couldn't be called conventional training at all.
It was purely a form of cruel self-torture.
Narcissa watched helplessly as her younger son's skin was torn open by the magic.
The wounds were deep enough to see the bone, only to be forcibly closed by his powerful soul vitality immediately after.
Blood didn't even have time to drip onto the ground.
As soon as it seeped from the flesh, it was evaporated into a red mist by the extreme heat.
Destruction and rebirth alternated savagely on this body that was not yet twelve years old.
Such pain was terrifying.
Even an adult Troll would roll on the ground in agony if it encountered this.
But the boy didn't let out even a single muffled groan.
On that face, which still held a hint of childishness, only a cold and absolute rationality remained.
Narcissa's hands shook violently.
The bone china teacup clinked against the tray with a fine, rattling sound.
She desperately wanted to push the door open and pull her son out. She wanted to shout that Malfoy Family never needed him to suffer such hardships.
But she didn't push the door.
The terrifying magical pressure directly condensed into an invisible wall of solid force, cutting off all human weakness from the outside.
Time passed minute by minute.
The blinding blue light in the basement contracted sharply and then went out completely.
The scorched smell in the air faded slightly.
The iron door grated against the frame, making a tooth-gritting sound as it was pulled open from the inside.
Cassius stepped out.
He had changed into a set of newly woven Acromantula silk inner armor.
Over it, he wore a black robe.
The buttons were done up perfectly, right to the top of the collar.
Except for his face being even paler than usual, he looked no different from normal.
No one would have guessed that he had just endured a round of torture where his flesh was shredded and then sewn back together.
"Cassius, your body... just what..."
Narcissa's voice was hoarse, with an obvious sob. She gripped the edge of the tray tightly.
Cassius stopped. He glanced at his mother's red-rimmed eyes.
He reached out.
He took the cup of black tea, which was at just the right temperature, from the tray.
He tilted his head back and drained it in one gulp, his Adam's apple bobbing significantly.
"I'm fine."
That was the only explanation he gave. His tone was extremely flat, without any emotional fluctuation.
He placed the empty cup back.
In his mind, he calmly assessed the current state of his physical body.
The method of forcibly expanding his meridians was too crude.
This eleven-year-old mortal shell had indeed reached its physical limit.
If he wanted to completely unlock the shackles and release his full firepower,
He could only rely on the essence blood of that thousand-year-old Basilisk beneath Hogwarts to heal himself.
That was a top-tier medicine for reshaping bone and blood.
He lifted his legs and walked up the stone steps toward the first-floor hall.
In the center of the hall,
Draco had his back to the stairs. He wasn't arrogantly ordering the house-elves around, nor was he comfortably sprawled on a velvet sofa.
This pampered young master was currently standing in a horse stance with his legs wide apart.
Beads of sweat the size of soybeans were streaming down his forehead.
His sleeves were rolled up to his elbows.
The muscles in his pale arms were spasming uncontrollably.
In front of him, a solid lead ball weighing a full fifteen pounds was suspended in mid-air.
He wasn't reciting a Levitation Charm.
It was entirely supported by the magic Draco was squeezing out from the very marrow of his bones.
Sweat rolled down his cheeks and dripped onto the floor.
His fingers were digging into the skin of his palms.
But he gritted his teeth and refused to withdraw his magic.
Cassius stepped out from the shadows of the corridor. The cold light carved out a sharp silhouette around him.
He stopped and observed for a moment.
"Your center of gravity is off," Cassius said flatly. "Relying solely on brute force to support it, your magic consumption exceeds sixty percent."
Hearing his brother speak,
Draco's whole body trembled.
But he didn't lose heart.
On the contrary, he took a deep breath of air.
He forcibly pulled in his scattered magic.
He pushed the sinking lead ball up another two inches.
"Thud."
Having reached his limit, Draco's legs gave out, and he knelt straight onto the floor.
The heavy lead ball slammed hard against the floor, creating a small crater.
Draco ignored the soreness all over his body.
He quickly turned around, supporting himself on his knees, and looked at Cassius while panting heavily.
In those grey-blue eyes, the arrogance and cowardice were gone. Only a fanatical obsession and a desperate desire to follow remained.
He knew all too well what kind of monster his brother was.
As long as he could catch up to even a tenth of that shadow,
A little suffering was nothing.
In the future, whoever dared to mess with Malfoy Family, he would just scatter their ashes.
"Go take a bath."
Cassius left those words behind and turned to face Lucius, who happened to be walking out of the dining room.
"Father."
Lucius stopped in his tracks immediately.
His back was as straight as a poker.
His attitude was so formal that he looked exactly like a subordinate waiting for orders.
The snake cane in his hand was suspended in the air; he didn't dare lean it on the ground.
"We're going to Diagon Alley."
Cassius's tone was devoid of emotion.
"Prepare all the textbooks for the second year."
"Alright, of course, I'll see to it immediately."
Lucius responded repeatedly.
"Also."
Cassius's blue eyes locked onto Lucius.
"Prepare a batch of high-level alchemy materials for me. I want the purest Essence of Dittany. A full set of Goblin-wrought corrosion-resistant cauldrons. Plus a Mithril array disk capable of withstanding extreme cold."
"Money is no object, get the top-tier ones."
This was to pave the way for draining the Basilisk's essence blood. The blood of a thousand-year-old venomous snake was extremely hot and accompanied by potent poison. Ordinary vessels simply couldn't hold it.
Lucius didn't care at all how many Galleons these materials would burn through. He turned around and headed straight for the study, personally prying open the safe and taking out a bulging bag of Galleons.
A quarter of an hour later.
The family of four stood before the massive marble fireplace.
Draco had put on a crisp, black-and-silver threaded robe. Although his legs were shaking, he stood exceptionally straight.
Cassius grabbed a handful of Floo Powder and threw it into the fireplace.
Emerald flames shot up, illuminating his cold, emotionless face.
He took the first step, entering the flames.
"Let's go."
"Let's see what's happening in Diagon Alley."
"And just how much free advertising..."
"...our dear Minister for Magic has done for Malfoy Family."
Chapter 108: Dead Silence in Diagon Alley
Green flames flared in the fireplace of the Leaky Cauldron. Sparks crackled.
Cassius stepped out of the hearth.
A dozen or so Wizards were scattered around the hall. Some were drinking butterbeer, some were flipping through The Daily Prophet, and some were chatting with Old Tom.
At a long table to the left of the fireplace, a balding Wizardclutched a stack of parchment debt notices. He took a large gulp from a wooden mug.
His gaze drifted over the rim of the mug and met the blonde boy.
The wooden mug clattered against his teeth.
Butterbeer overflowed, foam dripping down his chin. The liquid soaked the debt notices. He didn't dare wipe them. He only had three Sickles left in his pocket; he couldn't afford to offend a pure-blood young master.
Cassius scanned the room.
He didn't draw his wand. He didn't stir his magic. He didn't strain his furnace. He just stood there.
The temperature in the pub dropped to freezing.
A Witch at the next table put down her knife and fork. The iron fork clinked against the porcelain plate. She looked down, staring at her cold fried eggs. Her right hand tightly gripped a second-hand hairband she had bought for her daughter.
Behind the bar, Old Tom was wiping a glass. The rag stopped at the rim. He slowly set the glass down. The base of the glass tapped against the wooden shelf. He turned to fiddle with the bottles on the shelf behind him. His back was hunched, facing the wall.
The green flames flared again. Draco stepped out of the fireplace, brushing the dust from the sleeves of his black robes. Next was Narcissa. Finally, Lucius stepped out of the grate.
The four of them stood in the center of the hall.
No one spoke. No one responded. The firewood in the fireplace burned, crackling.
Cassius walked toward the back door.
Passing the long table in the courtyard, the Wizard at the table kept his head down, reading the newspaper. The paper was upside down. The photo of the Auror on the page was head-down. The Wizard pretended to read, his fingers creasing the edges of the parchment.
Draco followed closely behind. A smile tugged at the corners of his lips.
The brick wall in the backyard pulled back on its own.
No tapping was necessary.
The wall sensed Cassius's overflowing magic and proactively opened a passage.
The passage led to Diagon Alley. It was the back-to-school season, and the crowds were thick.
The cobblestone street was packed with people. Adults pulled children. Living creatures flew overhead. The cauldron shop was piled high with iron pots. A long queue had formed outside Madam Malkin's.
It was noisy and chaotic. Cries of street vendors mixed with screams.
Cassius stepped onto the cobblestones.
Draco was half a step behind. Lucius and Narcissafollowed side-by-side.
Outside Madam Malkin's, a middle-aged Witch was turning to complain about prices. Her mouth was open, teeth showing. Her gaze pierced through the crowd and met the black-robed, blonde boy.
Her voice was cut off in her throat.
Her husband beside her followed her gaze.
He also shut his mouth. The husband's rough palm covered the bag of Galleons in his pocket—savings they had accumulated for half a year.
Silence began to spread from that moment.
No one spoke a warning. No one cast Muffliato. This was the instinctive suppression of a predator entering the field.
Within ten meters of Cassius, human voices ceased. Three breaths later, it expanded to twenty meters. Five breaths later, from the junction of Knockturn Alley to the steps of Gringotts, the entire main street lost its voice.
Hundreds of Wizards fell silent.
A strange atmosphere descended. Oppression spread.
The summer sun hung high. Shop signs swayed. Colorful awnings cast shadows.
A gray cat lay at the entrance of the cauldron shop. Its head was tucked into its paws.
A young Wizard holding textbooks took a step back. His elbow knocked over a copper cauldron.
The metal object rolled onto the cobblestones, making a clanging sound.
This sound was extremely jarring.
The young Wizard turned pale. He had just passed the preliminary Auror exam and desperately needed money for a new wand. He bent down. His fingers trembled, unable to grasp the cauldron's handle.
A nearby stall owner reached out with withered hands and firmly pressed down on the young man's shoulder. The stall owner shook his head.
Shut up. Don't move.
The cauldron rolled twice and came to rest against the base of the wall.
The street returned to silence.
Cassius didn't look down. He paid no mind to the fallen cauldron.
He took a step.
His leather shoes clicked against the stone. The sound of his footsteps pounded on the bricks. This was the only sound left in Diagon Alley.
The crowd pulled back to both sides.
Their movements were uniform. No one pushed or shoved. The Wizards hunched their shoulders, their backs pressed against the doorframes of the shops.
A three-meter-wide straight path opened in the middle of the road.
It led straight to the white stone steps of Gringotts. The ground was clean.
Lucius stepped forward, his snake-headed cane tapping the ground. He surveyed the Wizards on both sides who had their heads bowed.
The old butler of the Nott family clutched his pocket watch chain. The third young master of the Parkinson familystuffed a glass bottle containing Amortentia into his trousers. Two low-level Ministry of Magic employees squeezed into the crowd.
Lucius sneered.
Narcissa walked on the right. Her face was expressionless, looking straight ahead. Her hand tightened around her crocodile-skin handbag, the leather strap leaving a red mark. She felt for Draco's change, but even more, she feared her eldest son's cold-bloodedness.
Draco was on the left.
He looked around.
The pure-blood scions who were usually high and mighty now had their heads bowed. The celebrities from The Daily Prophet held their breath. The most prosperous street in the wizarding world had, at this moment, become an exclusive one-way path.
He swallowed hard.
A fire burned in his chest.
It wasn't envy. It was desire.
"Cassius," Draco's voice was dry.
"Hmm."
"They're afraid of you."
"I know."
"Does it feel good?"
Cassius turned his head.
"Remember this silence."
Draco waited for the rest.
"This is the politeness earned through power."
Cassius looked away and continued walking.
"Others make way not because your surname is Malfoy. A surname only earns you perfunctory gestures and backstabbing."
"When you become strong..."
"They will have to ask for your permission even to breathe."
Draco was silent for two seconds.
He straightened his back.
He clenched his right fist. The old wound under his fingernail had scabbed over, looking hideous. He no longer hid it.
The four of them moved forward.
They passed Ollivander's wand shop. The curtains were drawn across the narrow display window.
Cassius remembered the last time he was here, he had broken thirty wands. The old man must still be mourning the wood.
They passed the ice cream parlor. Florian poked half of his bald head out. Seeing Cassius, the bald head ducked back behind the door. The coarse cloth curtain fell to the ground.
They passed the wizarding supplies shop. The self-stirring cauldrons stopped working. The crystal balls went dark.
The reason was unknown.
Cassius didn't bother to investigate.
He released his perception.
The Dual-Soul Furnace operated at low power, covering the entire main street. He scanned for potential threats and searched for Ministry of Magic plants.
There were none.
There was only fear.
Hundreds of people suppressed their magic. Their fluctuations were weak. They had all turned into cowards.
"Diagon Alley has gone quiet," Lucius spoke up from behind. He raised his voice, the sound waves hitting the ears of the Wizards on both sides. "This feeling is quite nice."
Narcissa nudged his ribs with her elbow.
Lucius shut his mouth, but his chin remained high.
They walked halfway down the street. The sunlight was blinding. The owls stopped hooting.
They rounded the corner by Flourish and Blotts.
Cassius stopped in his tracks.
Fifteen meters ahead.
A family was walking toward them.
The leading man was tall and thin, with red hair. His robes were washed until they were pale, with patches sewn on the elbows. He clutched a worn leather purse containing a dozen borrowed Sickles. That was his last remaining dignity as a father. Behind him followed a plump, red-haired woman holding second-hand robes.
Behind them was a string of red-haired children.
The twins, a little girl, and one more.
Ron Weasley.
Ron was looking down, chewing on a Toffee. Caramel was stuck to his lips. He looked up. The color drained from his face.
The Toffee slipped from his hand.
The piece of candy hit the cobblestones and rolled into a crack between the bricks.
Arthur Weasley slowed his pace. He recognized the black-robed lineup opposite him.
Between the two families, the air froze.
Lucius raised his hand and tapped the head of his snake cane with his index finger. Metal clinked against wood.
"Look at this."
His voice was tinged with pleasure.
"Weasley."
Chapter 109: First Meeting with Ginny and the Silence of Old Grudges
Arthur Weasley stopped in his tracks.
His hand was still tightly clutching that old leather money bag.
The leather surface had long since worn away and lost its color, and inside were a dozen or so Silver Sicklesborrowed from various sources.
He had just been preparing to take his whole family to buy second-hand textbooks.
Who could have known he would run into the person he least wanted to see in this narrow alleyway?
Lucius Malfoy.
Lucius stopped walking, his silver snake-headed cane tapping against the bluestone pavement with a crisp sound.
He sized Arthur up from head to toe.
Looking at that old robe, washed until it was pale and where a few patches were faintly visible.
Lucius's chin tilted to its highest point, his eyes filled with nothing but contempt.
The arrogance belonging to the head of a pure-blood family was on full display.
"Look at this," Lucius drawled.
He was in an extremely excited mood today; his achievements from the previous night made him look at everyone as trash now.
Today, he just happened to run into the most famous pure-blood traitor in the Ministry of Magic.
He would never let this opportunity to humiliate the other party slip by.
Arthur's face instantly turned bright red.
That purplish-red flush spread all the way from his neck to his hairline.
He stuffed the ragged money bag forcefully into his robe pocket.
His hands clenched into fists at his sides, his knuckles turning a pale greenish-white from the sheer force.
He knew nothing good would come out of Lucius's mouth.
It would be nothing more than mocking the Weasleys' poverty or insulting his job protecting Muggles.
Molly Weasley quickly took a small step forward.
She reached out to pull at her husband's sleeve.
"Arthur, don't be impulsive," Molly urged in a low voice.
She had already sensed that the atmosphere in the entire Diagon Alley was very eerie.
It was too quiet all around, with absolutely no noise or shouting.
Fred and George stood behind their parents; they didn't speak, and the mischievous grins on the twins' faces had vanished.
Lucius opened his mouth, preparing to hurl all the vicious words he had been polishing for a long time at Arthur's face.
"Lucius!" Arthur snapped first.
He roared out and took a large stride forward.
He was ready to fight—a pure Muggle-style brawl. He intended to break Lucius's nose with a single punch.
New and old grudges alike surged into his heart.
But before he could throw his punch, this classic street fight was forcibly extinguished.
Cassius tilted his head slightly.
He didn't take a step, didn't pull his wand, and gave no warning.
He merely turned his neck and let his gaze fall upon Arthur.
In those deep blue pupils, there was absolutely no human emotion.
He didn't even have the interest he usually showed when looking at small animals.
Arthur's movement froze mid-air.
He felt the temperature drop sharply, and the blood in his entire body completely stopped flowing at that moment.
This wasn't an illusion; it was a crushing weight of magic on a physical level.
The high-frequency operation of the Soul Furnace within Cassius directly distorted the surrounding air.
The space where the Weasley family stood became extremely thin.
An incredibly heavy pressure slammed directly onto Arthur's spine.
Even breathing became exceptionally difficult for Arthur, and a severe tearing pain came from his lungs.
His forty-plus years of life experience were screaming alarms frantically.
The most primal biological instinct for survival took over his brain.
His intuition told him that if he took even half a step further, his entire family would suffer a devastating blow.
Arthur forcibly swallowed the harsh curses at the tip of his tongue back into his stomach, his Adam's apple bobbing violently.
Molly was trembling all over, her fingers pulling at her husband's arm completely lacking strength.
Ron had originally been hiding behind his twin brothers.
When he looked up, he happened to see Cassius's face.
Ron's face turned deathly pale within half a second, without a single drop of color.
Extreme terror made him take a large step back as a reflex.
His heel caught in a crack between the bricks, and he nearly fell to the ground.
He remembered the horrific scene on the train and the Trollin the girls' lavatory whose knees had been kicked to pieces while it was still alive.
That sense of dread when facing absolute violence surrounded him once again.
Cassius looked at Arthur, who was covered in cold sweat.
He felt this confrontation between weaklings was extremely boring and a waste of time.
His gaze moved past Arthur's tense shoulders.
Following the line of Molly's wide skirt, he saw a little girl hiding behind her.
She had a head of bright red hair and obvious freckles across the bridge of her nose.
The little girl was clutching a tattered, second-hand Potion textbook in her arms.
Ginny Weasley.
She was timidly peeking out half her head, secretly sizing up Cassius.
The moment their eyes met, Ginny immediately pulled her head back, her face turning red all the way to her ears.
Cassius gave a very objective evaluation in his mind.
She was indeed a standard beauty in the making; the foundation of her features was quite good.
In another three or four years, she would surely receive many love letters at Hogwarts.
But that was all.
Compared to Luna, who could look directly into the Soul Furnace, Ginny seemed far too ordinary.
She completely lacked that ethereal quality that transcended the world.
This kind of ordinary little girl, easily frightened and easily swayed by emotions, had no value for his attention whatsoever.
Cassius withdrew his gaze.
He didn't even bother to say a single word.
Under his lead, that extremely dangerous black diary was currently locked in the basement of Malfoy Manor.
Riddle's remnant soul had to endure the high-temperature torture of magic probes every few days.
The original plot had been completely shattered.
Lucius would never have the chance to slip the diary into this red-haired girl's old cauldron.
Ginny would never have to face the horrors of the Chamber of Secrets in her life.
She would have a most ordinary and stable school year, mediocre and safe.
Cassius kept his hands in the pockets of his black robes.
He treated the Weasley family before him, who were so nervous they were nearly suffocating, as if they were thin air.
He strode forward, his leather shoes clicking on the bluestone pavement.
He brushed right past Arthur and Molly, his movements composed to the extreme.
Without stopping, he walked directly toward Flourish and Blotts ahead.
Lucius slowly lowered his hand holding the snake-headed cane.
He didn't follow immediately.
He looked at Arthur Weasley, who was leaning against the wall and breaking out in a cold sweat.
Lucius suddenly felt that his earlier intention to burst out in insults was simply foolish.
They weren't even opponents on the same level.
What words could be more destructive than his own son directly scaring the wits out of the other party?
None at all.
The corners of Lucius's mouth curled into an extremely malicious smile.
He let out a cold laugh of utter disdain.
Then he straightened his back and bypassed Arthur with an exaggeratedly arrogant gait.
Draco followed behind his father.
He imitated Cassius's manner, stuffing his hands into his pockets.
As he passed by Ron, Draco very deliberately paused for half a second.
He glanced sideways at Ron, who was still shivering.
"What a waste of time," Draco spat out loudly.
Then he quickly caught up with his father and brother.
The Weasley family was left behind in the shadows of the street corner.
Everyone was drenched in cold sweat; even in the heat of summer, they still felt their hands and feet were icy cold.
Cassius had already reached the entrance of Flourish and Blotts.
The glass doors of the bookstore were wide open.
Just as he stepped onto the threshold, an extremely pungent smell rushed into his nostrils.
It wasn't the smell of ink, nor the unique scent of parchment.
It was the smell of cheap floral perfume, so strong it wouldn't dissipate.
Someone had overturned an entire barrel of Forget-Me-Not essence in this bookstore.
Cassius felt extremely nauseated.
Immediately following that.
Seven or eight extremely bright magnesium flashbulbs went off simultaneously inside.
The light was bright enough to blind any ordinary creature.
The first floor of Flourish and Blotts had been completely cleared of all bookshelves.
Everywhere were witches huddled together.
They wore robes of various gaudy colors, all screaming and pushing forward without regard for their image.
In the open space in the center of the first floor stood an oversized table covered in blue velvet.
An adult Wizard with wavy blonde hair was standing there.
He wore an incredibly dazzling Forget-Me-Not blue robe.
The color of the robe miraculously matched his blue eyes.
Under the bombardment of the flashbulbs, he maintained a perfectly standard grin.
That row of white, even teeth was even reflecting the light.
Gilderoy Lockhart.
At this moment, he was using great strength to tightly grip the arm of a boy beside him.
The boy was much shorter than him.
He had a head of messy black hair that could never be combed flat and round-rimmed glasses perched on his nose.
Harry Potter.
Harry was leaning backward, the soles of his feet slipping frantically on the wooden floor.
He was trying with all his might to break free from Lockhart's grip.
But the strength of a twelve-year-old boy was no match for the firm pull of an adult Wizard.
"Smile, Harry!" Lockhart completely ignored Harry's resistance.
He announced loudly to the entire room in an extremely affected tone.
"With you and me together, the two of us can definitely take up the entire front page of The Daily Prophet this week!"
The witches below screamed even more frantically.
Several short Wizards holding cameras even stepped on each other's feet in order to grab a good position.
Cassius stopped at a safe distance behind the door.
He watched the blonde Wizard in front who was smiling like a blooming flower with cold eyes.
He saw that unusually blue robe and heard the deafening screams in the hall.
This was the new Defense Against the Dark ArtsProfessor Hogwarts had recruited this term.
A pure fraud with zero actual combat ability, who relied solely on stealing others' memories to write books.
An extremely noisy, incredibly annoying mobile light source.
Chapter 110: The Silenced Flourish and Blotts
The corner staircase on the second floor of Flourish and Blotts was packed with fanatical witches waving parchment.
The sweltering air gripped people's throats tightly.
The smell of cheap floral perfume drifted everywhere, making people gag.
Harry Potter curled his body, trying to squeeze himself into the gap of the bottom shelf.
His iconic round-rimmed glasses were tilted to the left side of his nose.
A few minutes ago, several large witches pushed through the crowd, shoving past his body.
A sharp pain of misalignment shot through his deep left ribs.
The situation was still worsening.
A thick arm wrapped in forget-me-not blue silk reached out and clamped onto Harry's right arm like an iron pincer.
His bones let out a piercing groan.
Gilderoy Lockhart bared his even teeth at the seven or eight cameras floating in mid-air.
The pale flashes exploded continuously. Bang! Bang! Bang! The white light, mixed with the pungent smell of smoke, stung Harry's retinas.
"Smile, Harry!" Lockhart leaned in and shouted. The strong scent of peppermint shampoo mixed with the unmistakable sour smell of anxiety from deep in his mouth hit Harry's face. "Standing with me, this is the most glorious moment of your life!"
Harry braced his feet against the old wooden floor and used both hands to claw at the back of Lockhart's hand, trying to pry off those grease-covered fingers.
A twelve-year-old boy's body was no match for an adult wizard's strength.
Harry gave up struggling, his right index finger instinctively reaching for the broken tip of his wand in his robe pocket.
That was his only source of security.
Lockhart tilted his chin up, immensely enjoying the deafening screams around him.
Middle-aged witches held up brand-new copies of "Magical Me," their faces turning the color of pig's liver.
A short photographer stepped on and crushed the lid of a tin trunk full of spellbooks, frantically clicking the shutter at the two of them.
Amidst the extreme fanatical noise, the commotion from the direction of the bookstore entrance cut off abruptly.
Several witches who had been crowding the entrance and pushing forward tightly shut their mouths.
Their legs trembled as they scrambled backward to either side, their high heels trampling the hems of others' robes.
The crowd automatically split to form a two-meter-wide path. No one complained. No one looked back to curse.
Cassius Malfoy stepped over the threshold of Flourish and Blotts.
His hands were in his black robe pockets, and his black leather shoes trod over the old wooden floor, making a steady and cold tapping sound.
Draco followed half a step behind, swaggering into the room.
Lucius walked at the end of the group, his head held high with pride.
Lockhart was about to lift his jaw to show his perfect profile when his wandering blue eyes caught the movement at the entrance.
Looking past the crowds, he precisely locked onto the blond boy in black robes.
Lockhart's heart hammered against his chest.
The most famous person in the wizarding world in recent days was definitely not a best-selling author like him with a new book.
But rather the second son of House Malfoy, who had single-handedly smashed elite Ministry of Magic Aurors into the mud and beaten them one-sidedly in front of the iron gates of Malfoy Manor!
Lockhart, who had long relied on exploiting the deeds of others to maintain his vanity, felt his mind start to overload with calculations.
If he could pull this Hogwarts Tyrant, who was the center of all talk, over for a public photo, even if it was just a shot of them shaking hands...
Tomorrow's front page of The Daily Prophet would belong entirely to him, Gilderoy Lockhart!
This would surely triple the sales of his new book!
It would make his fame eclipse Dumbledore's!
Lockhart released his grip on Harry's arm.
Losing his support, Harry stumbled back and knocked over a high stack of "Gadding with Ghouls."
Heavy hardcover books scattered all over the floor.
Ignoring the dull pain in his back, Harry scrambled to his feet on all fours, desperately trying to get away from that radiant blond wizard.
Steadying himself, Harry looked up and came face-to-face with Cassius at the entrance.
That feeling of helplessness surged again.
Harry swallowed dryly and shrank back into the shadows of the bookshelf.
It was a biological instinct of fear caused by an overwhelming gap in strength.
Lockhart didn't care about Harry falling to the ground.
He quickly straightened the collar of his blue silk robes and smoothed his wavy blond hair, compulsively ensuring every strand was perfectly positioned to catch the light even in the face of a great enemy.
"Make way! Make way!" Lockhart cleared his throat and put on his classic eight-tooth signature smile.
He reached out and roughly pushed aside two fanatical witches in front of him, spread his arms, took flamboyant steps, and strode toward Cassius.
"Merlin's beard! Everyone, look who it is!" Lockhart raised his pitch, his piercing voice cutting through all the noise in the room. "The most outstanding genius of Malfoy Family! The brightest rising star of Hogwarts! The future pillar of the wizarding world!"
He deliberately raised his volume, afraid the reporters in the back would miss this flattery.
The surrounding crowd of fans, not yet understanding the situation, burst into piercing screams again.
Camera lenses turned in unison, all aimed at the center of the aisle.
Photographers frantically stuffed magical powder into their flashes, preparing to capture this historic moment.
Draco followed behind Cassius, coldly eyeing the idiot walking over with arms wide open.
He had seen all kinds of people seeking their own doom.
The last one who dared to shout like this in front of Cassiuswas that upperclassman prefect, Flint, who almost had his neck snapped.
An idiot like this, rushing to meet Merlin, was beyond help.
Draco's right index finger repeatedly rubbed a worn silver button on his cuff.
This was a little habit he couldn't break when he was extremely nervous or excited.
Lockhart was ten steps away from Cassius.
Cassius stopped.
He stood there, hands still in his pockets.
His shoulder muscles were completely relaxed. He had no intention of taking his hands out to return the embrace.
The Dual-Soul Furnace inside Cassius was in a silent standby state.
Not a single spark of magic leaked out.
Using magic against someone of this level would be a massive waste.
Lockhart was five steps away from Cassius.
He was smiling brilliantly, loudly shouting disgusting words of praise.
Lockhart was three steps away from Cassius.
Just as Lockhart was about to wrap his blue silk-clad arms around him...
Cassius raised his eyes.
He gave Lockhart a look.
There were no human emotions in those black pupils.
No anger at being disturbed. No disgust at seeing a clown.
Only a purely physical will to destroy.
This was the true murderous aura accumulated from kicking apart an adult Troll's kneecaps with his bare hands and slaughtering dozens of Acromantula in the Forbidden Forest.
It was the pressure forged from using absolute violence to crush elite Ministry Aurors into the mud. He was looking at him as if he were a cold corpse.
Lockhart's laughter stopped abruptly.
His vocal organs were directly cut off by an external force.
His facial muscles froze completely.
His classic eight-tooth smile was completely deformed, his lips twitching into a ridiculous arc.
His heart met a terrifying pressure, as if being squeezed tightly.
The blood throughout his body stopped flowing in his veins. His breathing ceased completely. Cold sweat burst from his scalp.
After a brief moment passed...
Lockhart's magnificent forget-me-not blue silk lining was completely soaked by the sweat pouring out.
The soaked fabric clung to his violently trembling back, freezing to the bone.
Lockhart's arms, held high in the air, froze completely. His left foot remained in a forward-stepping position, hovering half an inch above the floor.
He didn't dare take that half-step.
His mind went blank. Biological instinct screamed wildly in his head.
He would die.
If he took just half a step more, crossing that boundary of distance...
He would definitely be physically torn apart.
Every bone in his body would be crushed into dust by the other's pure violence!
The camera flashes in mid-air were still popping.
The blinding white light hitting Cassius's surroundings seemed extremely pale and weak.
Not a single bit of light or heat could get through.
Secular fame was powerless against pure violence that had truly witnessed blood and fire.
A terrifying vacuum zone formed within five meters around Cassius.
The voices of the fanatical witches who had been screaming just now were all cut off in their throats. Everyone's facial muscles were frozen in inexplicable panic.
The entire first floor of Flourish and Blotts fell into an extremely eerie silence.
No one spoke.
No one dared to move.
Only the rustling sound of some stray cat stepping on dry leaves outside the bookstore could be heard.
The chattering of Lockhart's teeth was particularly piercing.
Harry, hiding behind the bookshelf, widened his eyes.
He witnessed Cassius's absolute dominance once again.
No spells were needed at all.
He didn't even need to pull out his wand.
Just by staring, he pinned the previously arrogant Lockhartto the spot.
Harry bit his lower lip, tasting a strong salty, metallic flavor.
This pure pressure, which required no verbal embellishment, completely shattered all his perceptions of traditional magic.
Draco stood behind and to the side of Cassius.
His hands were in his pockets, and his chin was held high.
This blond straw man was the new Defense Against the Dark Arts Professor Hogwarts hired this year?
It was absolutely ridiculous.
What could a piece of trash like this, who was scared nearly to the point of wetting himself by a single look, teach on the podium?
Teach how to run away?
Draco stopped rubbing his button, an unshakeable conviction growing in his heart.
Practicing Wandless Magic with Cassius was the only way to survive in this world.
Hogwarts' textbook theories were all just waste paper for fooling children playing house.
Cassius still made no move.
He didn't want to say a single word.
Opening his mouth to deal with a pure fraud who had no combat ability would be a huge waste of energy. He was waiting. Waiting for this trash blocking the way to get lost on his own.
In the extremely long silence...
Lockhart's face turned purplish-red, and the veins on his neck bulged.
He struggled to swallow a mouthful of dry saliva.
His Adam's apple bobbed heavily, making a very noticeable swallowing sound.
He trembled all over, attempting to pull back his arms that were frozen in mid-air.
His mind raced, frantically searching for a decent excuse to flee from this god of slaughter.
Just then...
Lucius, standing at the back of the group, stopped.
A cold and arrogant curve appeared on his face.
Without any verbal warning...
Lucius carelessly reached his right hand into the inner pocket of his black robes.