Ch: 161-169
Chapter 161: What Exactly Is a Wizard's Life
Ministry of Magic, Minister's Office.
Gilderoy Lockhart's training event was a huge success. In The Daily Prophet, a magical photo of Lockhart holding his wand high, looking triumphant and spirited, took up half a page. In the photo, he beamed brightly, with several 'new Aurors' lying unconscious in the background.
The headline was even more effusive in its praise—'Speed and Passion: Master Lockhart Injects New Vitality into the Aurors!'
The news sparked heated discussions. Lockhart's immense personal fame directly boosted public approval of the Ministry of Magic.
Cornelius Fudge held the newspaper, reading it over and over at least ten times, a smile never leaving the corners of his mouth. He even hummed a little tune, pacing around his office with his round belly puffed out.
In just a few months, having resolved several crises in succession, his somewhat shaky position had stabilized. An image of a strong, capable leader was also beginning to take shape.
He could almost see how History of Magic would record him as the great Minister who turned the tide, wise and decisive.
'Percival, you've done well,' Fudge said, looking at his newly promoted confidant with a tone carrying a hint of the condescension unique to those in power. 'Keep it up, your future is limitless...'
Percival's breathing quickened slightly. He immediately took a step forward, leaning his body slightly, assuming a posture of rapt attention.
Fudge was pleased with his attitude and leisurely tossed out his new idea: 'That Young Wizard I mentioned last time, Cygnus Sharke, got a very positive response. I think this is a perfect opportunity.'
Percival's mind raced. He immediately grasped the Minister's intention, his eyes lighting up 'instantly.'
'You mean... turn him into a model?'
'Exactly!' Fudge slammed the table. 'Think about it—why is the Ministry's authority always insufficient? Why do Young Wizards worship Dumbledore from childhood but show no reverence for the Ministry or me as Minister? The root cause is that their education lacks a sense of identification with the Ministry!'
Fudge grew more agitated as he spoke, raising his voice an octave: 'We must change this from the ground up! Let children know who truly protects them and brings them peaceful lives! Hogwarts is just a school; the Ministry is their only future home!'
Percival trembled with excitement, as if seeing a golden path to the core of power in the Ministry. He immediately pulled out the notebook and quill he always carried in his robe, the quill tip scratching noisily on the paper.
'Minister, I understand! We need to establish a model—a Young Wizard of humble origins, drawn to the light, and full of respect for you, the wise Minister...'
'Yes! That's exactly it!' Fudge looked at him approvingly. 'This Cygnus, an orphan raised in the Muggleworld, represents the Ministry's broad-mindedness in treating all classes equally! He stepped forward at a critical moment, representing the courage and responsibility of our new generation of Wizards! Most importantly...'
Percival scribbled furiously while adding: 'We can arrange an exclusive interview—no, a series of reports! In that Young Wizard's voice, tell how he was inspired by your glorious image to aspire to become an Auror, dedicating his life to building a better Magical World!'
'Good! That's a great idea!' Fudge rubbed his hands excitedly. 'You write the draft—make it... emotional, sincere! Say his greatest wish is to join the Ministry after graduation...'
Percival's quill tip almost sparked on the parchment as a stream of cloyingly sweet headlines and slogans burst from his mind:
'Minister Fudge on Education—The Birth of a Brave Young Wizard!'
'The Beacon of My Life—Minister Cornelius Fudge!'
'Exclusive Interview with Cygnus: The Path of Life Should Lead to the Ministry!'
Writing this far, Percival suddenly stopped and looked up: 'Minister, what if he says something inappropriate...'
'Foolish!' Fudge glared at him, then smiled and waved his hand. 'What an honor this is! We're promoting him, making him famous! A child from an Orphanage, getting the Minister's personal endorsement—he should be thanking me! Besides, even if he has a minor objection, what can he do?'
Fudge's tone was filled with unshakable arrogance.
Percival understood implicitly and immediately wrote a line heavily on the last page of his notebook, circling it:
'This matter does not require notifying the person involved.'
The summer wind blew across the British Isles, and the Wizards in Diagon Alley went about their business as usual.
On the rooftop of The Daily Prophet building, countless owls carrying the latest edition of the newspaper cut through the dawn, flying to every corner of the Magical World.
Bob got up very early, checked his wand, and prepared to start a new day of tasks at the Auror Office of the Ministry of Magic.
Bob was of mixed blood, from an ordinary family. His family had no secret spells, Potions, or special skills to pass down.
He was honest by nature, following the most common Wizard's path of study, exams, and job-seeking, with a fairly positive work attitude.
Over the years, promotions and raises hadn't come his way, but he'd gained quite a few scars. Last time at Hogwarts, he was at the front, knocked out solidly by Quirrell's spell. After waking up, he unexpectedly received Minister Fudge's verbal commendation, was held up as a model of 'daring and fighting,' and muddled his way into a small team leader position.
He didn't feel much about it, only noticing his salary hadn't increased but the reports he had to write had multiplied.
A dusty gray owl dropped the day's The Daily Prophet. Bob glanced at it, not intending to read it. As a workplace newcomer, he was already immune to the clichés of praise in the newspaper.
But today, the bold headline on the front page and the equally eye-catching subheading below magnetically drew his gaze.
[Exclusive Interview with the Minister of magic and the Heroic Youth Cygnus]
[Minister Fudge on Education—The Courage and Future of Young Wizards]
Beside the interview article was another special feature signed 'Cygnus Sharke'—'This Is How the Path of Life Should Be Walked.'
Huh? Bob's gaze paused.
The path of life? He had never thought about it.
He immediately picked up the newspaper and started reading.
'I'm 12 years old this year, so I should say my life has just begun... When I entered Hogwarts to learn magic, I heard others talk about how martyrs and sages fought desperately against the Dark Lord and Dark Wizards...'
The article's tone was sincere and passionate, telling the story of a Muggle orphan entering the Magical World and, at the end of the school year, personally experiencing that thrilling Dark Wizard invasion incident.
Between the lines, the image of a brave, intelligent, and justice-loving youth leaped off the page.
He proactively reported anomalies to Minister Fudge, who 'had already seen through the entire conspiracy and arrived at Hogwarts early,' and watched with reverence as the Minister led the Aurors to repel the powerful enemy.
Reading this, Bob's mouth twitched involuntarily. Already seen through everything?
He recalled Minister Fudge's pale, frightened face at the time and the chaotic scene when they charged in, feeling that what was written in the newspaper and what he experienced firsthand might not be the same event.
But he patiently read on.
'I often wonder, what is a person living for?'
'What kind of spiritual world should a person build to truly resist the erosion of the Dark Arts?'
'Until I saw the heroic Aurors fighting... They filled me with deep awe...'
Bob's breath hitched for a moment. He held the newspaper with both hands, his eyes almost pressed to the page, chewing over each word repeatedly.
As an Auror risking his life on missions, the most common evaluation he heard was 'lackey,' and the most frequent 'gifts' he received were complaint letters from the public. But in this article, their image had never been so lofty.
At the end of the article, those lines hit him like a sledgehammer, striking hard at his heart.
'The Ministry's Aurors are every Wizard's Aurors. I hope to become a glorious Auror in the future, under the leadership of a wise Minister like Minister Fudge, fighting any enemy for every Wizard's peaceful life... This is the path life should take!'
Bob blinked, feeling something warm blurring his vision.
He had never thought about his life's path. No one had ever told him that an Auror's mission could be so great and noble.
Suddenly, his heart, numbed by tedious work and meager pay, was struck hard by a soft, scalding force.
'Bob, crying so early in the morning?' An older Auror passed by with a cup, patting his shoulder curiously.
'I... I'm fine, just... a bit moved...' Bob's voice was thick with nasal tones.
The older Auror, puzzled, leaned over to glance at the newspaper. After a while, he silently picked up his handkerchief and wiped his reddened eyes: 'Damn, it's written so movingly... No one has ever said this about us...'
Soon, the Aurors arriving one by one in the office fell under its spell. Suppressed sobs and nose-blowing sounds rose and fell, filling the entire office with a strange atmosphere of solemnity and emotion.
'Aurors are every Wizard's Aurors... Said so well! I've worked for twenty years and never knew our work was so meaningful!'
'Did a twelve-year-old really say this? Young people these days... impressive!'
'It really... really speaks to our hearts!'
This wave of positive energy stirred by an exclusive interview quickly swept across the entire British Magical World.
In Flourish and Blotts in Diagon Alley, several young clerks gathered, discussing the newspaper heatedly.
'What do you think our life's path really is? Is it just organizing these moldy old books here for a lifetime?'
'This Young Wizard Cygnus said it so well! Maybe... maybe working at the Ministry would be more meaningful!'
'But to become an Auror, you have to pass the Advanced Wizard Examination!'
'Who said it has to be an Auror? Archivists, gamekeepers, maintenance workers... anything is better than staying here...'
'I agree with Jess's view...'
Chapter 162: How Can One Truly Resist the Erosion of Dark Magic...
In a damp Basement Apartment in Kent County, the air was thick with the smell of cheap tea and moldy old books.
Remus John Lupin put down the patched and mended old robe he was holding, and picked up a discarded copy of The Daily Prophet from the table. He was forty-two now, and his Werewolf identity was like an unhealable brand, disqualifying him from having a stable job or a warm family. He could only scrape by with odd jobs, and every month he had to exhaust his energy and money preparing for the transformation on the full moon.
The path life should take? He looked at the glaring headline on the newspaper, a bitter, self-mocking smile curling his lips. His life had long been knocked off course by a wild dog named Fenrir Greyback.
At first, he just thought this was Fudge's latest clumsy political stunt. All that talk of "Heroic Youth" and "Minister's Hopes" was nothing but cliché used to whitewash the peace. He had seen too much of that.
But when his gaze fell upon the Special Feature Article signed by "Cygnus Sharke," his heart, long hardened by life, involuntarily slowed its beat.
"I often wonder, what is the purpose of living?"
"What kind of Spiritual World should one build to truly resist the erosion of Dark Arts?"
These words, like a rusty key, suddenly pierced deep into Lupin's long-sealed memories.
He remembered James, he remembered Sirius, he remembered the spirited self he once was, who firmly believed that justice would prevail. They, too, had passionately discussed the future, discussed how to fight Darkness to the very end.
"The Ministry of Magic Aurors are the Aurors for every Wizard... fighting any enemy for the peaceful life of every Wizard... This is the path life should take!"
Lupin's fingers trembled slightly. He knew that most of the excessive praise in this article was fabricated, a shameless puff piece for Fudge.
But for some reason, through those sickeningly sweet words, he seemed to see a truly vibrant, sincere young soul. That Yearning for Light, that undisguised enthusiasm, was so pure, so... long forgotten.
He was a victim harmed by Dark Magic. This article was like a faint but warm light shining into the dark corner of his life.
Lupin carefully folded the newspaper and put it in his inner pocket. Cygnus Sharke—he remembered that name.
The storm stirred up by this single feature interview was sweeping across the entire British Wizarding World at an unimaginable speed.
Wherever there were Wizards, there was The Daily Prophet, and there was a Massive Discussionabout the "path of life."
Although Cygnus himself did not know it.
On this day, at least ten thousand people saw this newspaper and the article within.
Wherever there were Wizards, there was The Daily Prophet, sparking infinite echoes.
Albania, deep within a forgotten forest.
In a dark and damp Wooden Cabin, Quirinus Quirrell was huddled in the corner, his body trembling uncontrollably. The Professor's robes that should have been neat were now covered in dirt and rotten leaves, emitting a nauseating musty odor. Ever since Failing to Steal the Philosopher's Stone, he had been fleeing here, hiding in this sunless, wretched place.
An Owls struck the dirt-caked window with a dull thud. Quirrell flinched violently, and after a long moment, he walked over tremblingly to untie a crumpled copy of The Daily Prophet from the Owls's leg.
"Read..." A hoarse, cold voice echoed in his mind, like a snake's tongue licking his fragile nerves.
"Y-yes, Master..." Quirrell's teeth chattered as he unfolded the newspaper.
On the front page, Gilderoy Lockhart's Stupidly Bright Smiling Face took up nearly a quarter of the space.
"Trash..." The voice in his head was full of disdain. Lord Voldemort didn't even have the interest to spare a glance for such a pretty boy who relied on his looks.
Quirrell's fingers trembled as his gaze moved downward, skipping over Fudge's long and tedious speech. When his eyes landed on the Bolded Headline, all the blood in his body seemed to freeze.
[Exclusive Interview with Minister of Magic and Heroic Youth Cygnus]
Cygnus... this name stabbed into Voldemort's consciousness like a red-hot iron spike.
"Read!" The voice suddenly sharpened, carrying an undeniable command.
Quirrell was so scared he almost dropped the paper. He suppressed the burning pain radiating from the back of his head and began to stutter through the Special Feature Article signed by "Cygnus Sharke."
"I... I often wonder, w-what is the purpose of living?"
Voldemort's consciousness was flooded with a physiological sense of nausea.
What to live for?
Immortality, of course!
Supreme Power!
To escape the vulgar finality of death!
Such foolish questions were only contemplated by foolish commoners.
"What kind of Spiritual World should one b-build to truly resist the erosion of Dark Magic?"
"Tch—" Voldemort let out a silent sneer.
Resist?
What a weak term.
The truly strong only embrace, control, and utilize it!
Dark Magic is a tool, a shortcut to power, a ladder to greatness!
What does this ignorant brat think it is? Some kind of monster?
Quirrell's voice shook more and more; he could clearly feel his "Master's" rage accumulating in his mind, like a volcano about to erupt.
"The Ministry of Magic Aurors are the Aurors for every Wizard... f-for the peaceful life of every Wizard, fighting any enemy... T-this is the path life should take!"
When the last word left Quirrell's trembling lips, the volcano in his mind finally erupted.
"Enough!"
That shriek seemed to detonate directly in his soul. Quirrell cried out, clutching his head with both hands, falling to the ground in agony.
The newspaper drifted to the floor, but the next second, a cluster of Black Flames appeared out of thin air and instantly engulfed it.
Strangely, the flames had no heat, no light; they simply silenced the paper into nothingness, leaving not even a speck of ash.
"Peace? Tranquility?" Voldemort's voice was filled with venom and sarcasm, "A flock of penned-in Sheep dare to speak of peace? They are merely clinging to life under the butcher's knife!"
"Dying for a pig like Fudge? Being a Lapdog for those Rotten Bureaucrats at the Ministry of Magic? This is his so-called path of life? Ridiculous! Utterly foolish!"
He thought of himself—also an orphan, also exceptionally gifted. But he chose a completely different, and the only correct, path!
He explored the true meaning of power, challenged the Authority of Death; he was meant to be the Master of the World, not a propaganda tool for some fat Minister!
This Cygnus was exactly the type of person he despised and loathed the most—a Fool with talent who was willing to be the cornerstone beneath the feet of the strong!
"Master... my... my head..." Quirrell convulsed on the ground, feeling like his skull was about to split open.
Voldemort's rage gradually subsided, replaced by a colder, deadlier calmness.
Anger is the emotion of the weak; he only needed to consider how to make his enemy pay the most tragic price.
Quirrell stopped twitching. He slowly got up from the ground, and in his eyes, which had been filled with fear and cowardice, there now flickered a cold, cruel light that did not belong to him.
He raised his head and looked out at the endless dark forest beyond the window, a stiff and strange arc spreading across his lips.
"Cygnus Sharke..."
He pronounced the name word by word, in a strange, hoarse voice.
Chapter 163: One Million Galleons
This noon, outside the Wus Childrens Home building, a burst of rapid tapping disturbed the peace.
Several Owls were frantically pecking at the window glass of Signas's room with their claws and beaks.
Signas, who was still sleeping in, was directly awakened by the noise.
Signas had previously gone to Diagon Alley to buy several books on Potions and cooking, staying up late to study the possible uses of Honesty Beans—mainly the methods for turning them into cash—and didn't go to sleep until the early hours of the morning.
Signas climbed out of bed in a daze and pulled open the window with a belly full of anger.
The Owls immediately swarmed in, dumping five or six letters and the latest issue of "Wizard Money Weekly" in front of Signas, then hurriedly flew away as if they had long known that Sig's place could only provide mashed potatoes.
Why are there so many letters today?
Signas yawned, not yet fully awake.
At this time, that copy of "Wizard Money Weekly" slid down from the pile of letters and spread open on the floor.
The open page showed a reprint of "Minister Fudge on Education—The Courage and Future of Young Wizards."
Below it was another line, taken from a real event—a conversation between Minister Fudge and a heroic Hogwarts Young Wizard.
???
Signas's sleepiness vanished instantly, and he picked up the "Wizard Money Weekly" from the floor.
The core content of the entire report was personal flattery for the Minister for Magic, Cornelius Fudge.
The article used the recent Dark Wizard incident at Hogwarts as an entry point, providing a lengthy narrative of Minister Fudge's profound insights into the education of teenagers in the Magical World.
Another part of the report focused on the "heroic student" in the incident, Signas.
It was just that this part of the content was essentially a soft-sell puff piece for Fudge. Every line was about how calm and composed Fudge was at the time, how he commanded from the front, how he strategized, and how he ultimately crushed the conspiracy.
Signas's brain completely stalled.
When did he ever say these things?
Signas rubbed his eyes hard, convinced he wasn't dreaming.
The huge magic photo attached to the newspaper made the corners of his eyes start to twitch.
In the photo, a Slytherin Young Wizard was looking up at the arm-waving, high-spirited Minister Fudgewith a gaze full of admiration.
The synthesis technology of this photo could be described as clumsy.
The background was the Hogwarts Headmasters Office, but the edges of the characters still had a blurry halo.
Signas recognized that his face in the photo had been cut out from a photo captured during the end-of-year feast.
The Wizard responsible for the retouching had also "thoughtfully" adjusted Signas's expression, making that face full of respect for his elders and infinite longing for the future.
The key point was that the magic photo was still dynamic; the version of himself on it was actually flattering him in a lifelike manner!
Signas felt his blood pressure rising.
Signas quickly tore open the letters on the desk.
The first letter was from Daphne, her elegant handwriting carrying a faint scent of perfume.
In the letter, Daphne first congratulated Signas on "appearing" in the newspaper, and then asked Signas in a very worried tone if he really intended to become an Auror after graduation.
She wrote: "My aunt said that Auror is a very dangerous profession. Although it sounds glorious, the casualty rate has always been high. Have you really thought it through?"
The style of the second letter was completely different.
The sender was Astoria.
A grinning grimace was drawn in black ink on the stationery, and next to it, written in a crooked yet desperately-imitating-ornate-style script, it said:
"Hey! Big liar!"
"When did you cozy up to the Minister for Magic? You moved fast enough! Still want to be an Auror? Just you?"
"Don't be the first person on the battlefield to be beaten until you cry! I'm telling you, I won't lend you a single Knuts to buy healing potions! Hmph!"
At the end of the letter, a huge exclamation mark was heavily dotted with ink, pressing through the paper, as if one could see the little girl's huffy face.
The third letter was from Hermione.
The content of the letter was full of the rigor and logic unique to a top student.
She first neatly transcribed several paragraphs from the newspaper, and then marked them with one large red question mark after another in the margin.
"Signas, Minister Fudge said in the newspaper that you were the first to report Professor Quirrell's abnormal behavior to him personally. But I remember very clearly that you obviously told Headmaster Dumbledore. There is a discrepancy in this matter."
"And here, 'Minister Fudge is the wisest leader I have ever seen,' did you really say such a thing? I checked the newspapers from the past two years, and many of Minister Fudge's decisions have been controversial."
"I think there are many places in this report that do not conform to the facts. Do you need me to help you write a letter to the editor-in-chief of the newspaper to clarify the facts? We cannot let false information mislead the public."
As for the letters from Crabbe and Goyle, the content was much more simple and crude: "Boss, you're so awesome! The newspapers all say you're a hero!" "Boss, when you become an Auror in the future, can you take us with you?"
Finally, there was Draco's letter.
The content of this letter was what Signas was most concerned about.
In the letter, Draco's anger had subsided a lot, and he conveyed Lucius's reply.
Lucius Malfoy agreed to buy out the complete formula for Felix Felicis for one million Galleons.
At the same time, Signas must act as the exclusive supplier, providing unicorn blood to the Malfoy Family at market price.
But one million Galleons is an excessively large sum of funds; even for the House of Malfoy, it would take some time to arrange the turnover.
Therefore, this sum of money was agreed to be paid before the start of the second year.
Signas threw all the letters and newspapers back onto the desk.
He leaned back and lay on the bed, hands behind his head, staring expressionlessly at the peeling paint on the ceiling.
Fudge, that old bastard.
Signas had figured it out; this guy would truly do anything, throwing away all shame, just to gain political capital for himself.
Fabricating an exclusive interview out of thin air to portray himself as a wise leader who recognizes talent and is deeply loved by the younger generation.
And Signas became that foolish background character.
But it wasn't all bad news; at least the Galleons for the system upgrade were finally gathered.
With a thought, that familiar system panel surfaced in his mind once again.
[System Upgrade Progress: 21%]
One percentage point is ten thousand Galleons. To upgrade to one hundred percent, exactly seven hundred and ninety thousand are needed.
In other words, once Lucius's money arrives, the system will not only be able to complete its upgrade and return to life, but he will also have a huge sum of two hundred and ten thousand Galleons left over!
A full two hundred and ten thousand!
Chapter 164: If You Want Me to Hype You Up, Pay Up
Time flew by, and in the blink of an eye, the summer holidays quietly slipped away in the damp Londonair.
That morning, a dusty owl finally broke the silence, accurately dropping a thick parchment envelope through Signas's open window, his name written on it in emerald-green ink.
The notification for the new school year at Hogwarts had arrived.
Signas tore open the letter and scanned the long book list. His gaze lingered for a moment on Gilderoy Lockhart's long string of eye-catching book titles, his brow furrowing slightly.
Break with a Banshee, Wanderings with Werewolves, Travels with Trolls... these books weren't cheap!
He sighed, greeted Mrs. Jenny, and took the Knight Bus out of habit. After a dizzying ride, he arrived at the Leaky Cauldron.
Passing through the familiar brick wall, the bustling Diagon Alley instantly appeared before him. The air was thick with the metallic scent of cauldrons, the herbal aroma of new parchment, and the cloying sweetness of various magical candies.
Wizards were hurrying about with their families, preparing for the upcoming school year.
Everything was the same as last year.
Signas was in a good mood and decided to head to Flourish and Blotts first to get Lockhart's "masterpieces" out of the way.
However, he had only taken a few steps when he felt something was wrong.
There seemed to be... quite a few eyes on him?
At first, he thought it was an illusion. Although his robes were new, they weren't exactly eye-catching.
But soon, he realized that those gazes weren't casual glances; they were directed with clear intent, firmly locked onto him.
Some people were even pointing at him, their faces flushed with excitement.
"Look, it's him! That's him!"
A little brown-haired boy pulling his mother's hand pointed excitedly at Signas, his voice loud enough for everyone around to hear.
His mother, a rather respectable-looking Witch, immediately pulled her son's hand down and whispered a scolding about being "impolite," but the look she gave Signas was full of unabashed admiration and approval.
Signas paused, feeling a sense of unease in his heart.
What's going on?
Have I become this famous?
Could it be that the story of him not being able to pay the bill at Moonstone House last time had spread?
"Excuse me, are you Mr. Cygnus Sharke?" the Witch asked, approaching with the child, a warm and eager smile on her face.
"I am," Signas nodded politely, feeling increasingly confused.
"Oh, Merlin! It really is you!"
The Witch's eyes lit up instantly. She excitedly grabbed her son's shoulders and pushed him forward. "Billy, look, this is the Mr. Shalk I told you about, the Young Wizard from The Daily Prophet who is walking the path of life!"
Signas raised an eyebrow.
Path of life?
What path of life?
"Mr. Shalk," the Witch continued, completely unaware of Signas's odd reaction, her tone full of worship. "The article you wrote in the newspaper, 'The Path of Life Should Be Walked This Way,' was wonderful! I clipped it out and pasted it by Billy's bedside to read to him every day!"
"Article?" Signas was stunned. "What article?"
The Witch was also taken aback for a moment, then laughed in realization. "You're too modest! That article, 'The Path of Life Should Be Walked This Way!', and your views on Aurors—'A Wizard's Auror is for the Wizards.' Oh heavens, if Billy could have even half of your awareness, I'd be satisfied!"
As she spoke, the Witch pulled out a copy of The Daily Prophet, which featured an interview article signed by Sig.
Aside from those pretentiously deep words, there was also an evaluation of Minister Fudge in Sig's tone—'He is the lighthouse of my life'!
Signas's expression completely froze upon seeing such words.
Fudge, you fat old man, how can you be so shameless?!
This conversation was like a giant boulder dropped into a calm lake, and the surrounding Wizards, who were already watching secretly, completely exploded into chatter.
"Heavens, he's Cygnus Sharke!"
"He looks even younger and more handsome than in the magical photos in the newspaper!"
"What a fine boy, to be so profound at such a young age. He's truly brilliant!"
"Yes, yes, if my boy could learn half as much as him, I'd be thanking the stars!"
For a moment, countless burning gazes, mixed with admiration, envy, and worship, focused on him.
A few brave students even crowded around, asking for autographs.
"Mr. Shalk, can I have your autograph? I... I've also felt lost, and now I want to become a glorious Auror!"
"Me too! Me too!"
"You're right, one should be proactive in life to resist the erosion of the Dark Arts! Your magical philosophy is so advanced..."
Signas felt his scalp tingle from this sudden commotion.
Those words were definitely not something a twelve-year-old Young Wizard like Signas would say.
Things like "path of life" and "spiritual world" sounded like third-rate lines written by some hack playwright.
What Signas found even more unbearable were the sickeningly sweet parts praising Fudge.
Besides these Young Wizards, there were also some well-dressed, haughty adult Wizards standing not far away, watching Signas with an amused look.
The corners of their mouths held faint sneers, their eyes seemingly saying—look, Fudge's new pet.
This silent mockery made Signas feel more nauseous than the fanatical praise.
The muscles on Signas's face twitched stiffly. He wanted to laugh but couldn't, and he wanted to curse but couldn't lash out in this setting.
"Autograph? Sure."
Signas forced an expression uglier than crying and haphazardly scribbled a few names on the parchment handed to him.
Then, ignoring the fanatical shouts behind him, Signas pushed through the crowd and walked quickly in one direction.
To the nearest newsstand.
"Boss, the latest Daily Prophet!"
Signas's voice was a bit hoarse.
"No, give me one of every issue from last month!"
Signas slammed several shiny Silver Sickles onto the counter.
The newsstand owner looked up, and his eyes lit up when he saw Signas's face.
"Oh! It's Mr. Shalk... You're so brave, it's a real shame you didn't go to Gryffindor..."
The owner warmly tried to push the money back.
"No need."
Signas grabbed the thick stack of newspapers and turned to leave without a moment's delay.
Signas ducked into a nearby deserted narrow alley, leaned against the cold brick wall, and impatiently started searching.
Soon, on the front page of a newspaper from over half a month ago, Signas found the source that made his blood pressure soar.
[Exclusive Interview: The Minister of magic and Heroic Youth Signas]
Below was that special feature signed with his name—'The Path of Life Should Be Walked This Way'—lying there quietly, every word exuding a nauseatingly sweet air.
The problem was that after this special feature, there was actually a series of follow-up reports "interpreting" his mental journey in detail.
"...When I entered Hogwarts to study magic, I heard others talk about how our predecessors and sages fought to the death against the Dark Lord and Dark Wizards... but I want to say even more that it is Minister Fudge's firm and warm arms that have held up a peaceful sky for us... He is the lighthouse of my life..."
Signas read expressionlessly, the newspaper in his hand creaking as he crumpled it.
Signas felt his stomach churning.
What brown-noser's "brilliant" pen could write such disgusting stuff!
Signas flipped to the next newspaper and found that it was a series!
The Daily Prophet's education section had published a series of column articles signed by "Cygnus Sharke."
Part One: On Courage: The First Lesson Learned from Minister Fudge.
Part Two: Beyond Hogwarts: Why the Ministry of Magic is Our True Home.
Part Three: A Young Wizard's Manifesto: Forward to the Bright Ministry of Magic!
The newspaper even included a reader's letter section, publishing a large number of praises and discussions about "Signas's Thought."
A Ministry official using the pseudonym "Var" even published a comment in the column, stating, "Mr. Shalk's appearance marks the awakening of the younger generation's thinking in the Magical World, which is entirely due to Minister Fudge's far-sighted educational philosophy."
"Cornelius Fudge."
You fat old man!
And to think I actually helped you!
If you want me to hype you up, pay up...
Chapter 165: The Upgraded System
Inside the towering white marble foyer of Gringotts, the air was kept at a constant temperature all year round, permeated with the cold, hard scent of old parchment and oxidized metal—the smell of money.
Cygnus, carrying his not-so-precious wand, stepped lightly on the marble floor.
Around him were busy Goblins scurrying about and Wizards with furrowed brows; no one paid attention to a twelve-year-old boy.
Cygnus walked up to a counter that seemed less busy. The Goblin behind it was meticulously examining a ruby with a magnifying glass, not even raising its head.
Sig gently placed the check, which had only over four hundred Galleons left, along with his yew wand, on the dark mahogany counter.
"Cash this. Then, open a new vault for me."
The Goblin finally put down its work, raised its small, beady black eyes, glanced at Cygnus, then at the check, and finally, its gaze fell on the wand.
The Goblin extended a long, bony finger and hooked the check with its fingertip.
"Name?" The voice was dry, like rusty gears turning.
"Cygnus Sharke."
The Goblin scribbled a few lines in a thick ledger in front of it, then let out a short scoff, looking at Cygnus as if he were an ignorant beggar.
The Goblin's voice, like sandpaper, was filled with undisguised contempt: "Mr. Shalk, there are only four hundred and twenty-eight Galleons left in this account."
"I must remind you—this balance is not enough to open a new vault..."
Cygnus wasn't angry; instead, he leaned on the counter with interest, looking at the other party's wrinkled face: "I also have to remind you, never look at tomorrow's Galleons with today's eyes."
"Ha." The Goblin let out a short snort, as if it had heard the biggest joke of the century, "At Gringotts, only gold is the eternal truth. As for tomorrow? Tomorrow you might not even have these four hundred Galleons—"
"Not even what?"
A deep, authoritative voice suddenly interjected, interrupting the counter Goblin's mockery.
The counter Goblin stiffened, its neck turning with a mechanical clunk, as if rusted.
An old Goblin, dressed in a crimson uniform with gold trim and wearing a Senior Steward's badge on his chest, was striding through the hall.
Behind him followed two Goblin guards carrying halberds. As he passed, other Goblins stopped their work and bowed their heads in greeting.
That was Ragnor, one of Gringotts' most senior Head Goblins, and the Malfoy Family's designated Chief Steward.
The haughty counter Goblin instantly seemed to shrink by half, its arrogance melting away like ice cream in the summer sun, replaced by a comical look of dread: "Ra...Lord Ragnor, this child..."
"This is Mr. Shalk." Ragnor didn't even spare a glance for the counter Goblin. He walked directly up to Cygnus, and a smile that could be described as "benevolent"—though on a Goblin's face it looked more like a threat—actually appeared on his usually stern face.
He bowed slightly, his posture impeccable: "I apologize for the wait, Mr. Shalk. Mr. Lucius Malfoy has already informed us that you are our most esteemed partner. Please follow me, the VIP room is ready."
The counter Goblin's jaw nearly hit the marble counter. Its eyes widened as it watched the boy, whom it had just mocked for possibly not having four hundred Galleons tomorrow, casually retrieve his wandfrom the counter, shrug at it, and then swaggeringly follow Ragnor towards the obsidian door that only top clients were qualified to enter.
The walls here were adorned with tapestries depicting various Goblin wars and forging scenes throughout history, and the air seemed a few degrees heavier than outside.
Finally, they stopped before a door made of pure obsidian... The Goblin respectfully pushed the door open, and Cygnus was ushered into an astonishingly luxurious office.
Underfoot was a soft Hebridean Black Dragonhide Rug, and the walls were inlaid with 'breathing' magical gems, illuminating the room with golden splendor.
"Please sit, would you like some Dragon Blood Brandy? Or pumpkin juice?" Ragnor walked around the huge mahogany desk, his attitude solicitous.
"Let's get straight to business." Cygnus sat in the velvet armchair, his fingers lightly tapping the armrest. He was indeed very short on money now, so much so that his heart was bleeding; he wasn't in the mood for tasting wine.
Ragnor praised this; Goblins liked straightforward greed, which was much more charming than hypocritical pleasantries.
He waved his hand, and a faintly glowing parchment scroll appeared out of thin air on the desk.
"This is the final contract drafted by Mr. Lucius."
Ragnor's hawk-like eyes fixed on Cygnus, his tone becoming solemn, "One million Galleons, a one-time buyout of all ownership rights to the Felix Felicis formula. And, as an additional clause, you will become the exclusive unicorn blood supplier for Malfoy's Potion industry, with the acquisition price permanently locked at 1.2 times the highest market price."
"Please review it."
"Very fair."
Cygnus picked up the Raven Feather quill from the table and dipped it into the special Magical Ink. Without hesitation, he smoothly signed his name at the end of the contract, which was enough to buy half of Diagon Alley.
As the last stroke fell, the contract suddenly erupted into brilliant golden light.
The words seemed to come alive, transforming into golden chains that coiled and intertwined in the air, finally merging into the void, becoming an unbreakable magical oath.
"Snap."
Ragnor snapped his fingers, and the attendant Goblin, who had been waiting nearby, immediately stepped forward, presenting a tray with both hands.
On the tray was no mountain of gold or silver, but a heavy, gleaming bronze key, inlaid with a large ruby, numbered 713—the vault number deep beneath Gringotts.
"Inside here is one million Galleons." Ragnor's voice trembled with an almost reverent awe; even he rarely handled such a massive cash transaction. "Mr. Shalk, you are now Gringotts' youngest millionaire. Would you like me to take you to the vault to... admire it? That feeling of being drowned in a sea of gold coins is absolutely wonderful."
Cygnus looked at the key, his heart pounding violently twice.
One million.
Sig suppressed his inner excitement, nodding calmly: "No need..."
Visit?
There's nothing to see.
Anyway, he wouldn't keep this money for a second.
He reached out his hand, and the moment his fingertips touched the cold metal key, the long-dormant system deep within his mind, like a shark smelling blood, instantly awoke.
Ding—
A notification sound, audible only to Cygnus, rang out. In front of him, the familiar blue light screen suddenly appeared in his line of sight.
Chapter 166: The Dark Lords Elegance
[System upgrade progress: 79% remaining. Requires 790,000 Galleons. Pay now?]
[Yes/YES]
Only these two options?
Looking at these two overbearing options on his retina, Signas felt his breathing stop for a moment.
This broken system really understood "democracy"; it didn't even give him the right to refuse, as if it were afraid he would back out.
Seven hundred and ninety thousand Galleons!
If this were converted into Knuts, it could bury the entirety of Hogwarts, with the Quidditch Pitch next door thrown in for good measure.
"Mr. Shalk?"
Ragnor, sitting opposite him, keenly noticed something.
This senior manager, used to great storms, now had a trace of professional concern on his wrinkled face, though this concern was likely for the sake of the gold. "Are you alright? I see your hand... seems to be shaking? Is it too cold in here?"
"No, it's nothing." After saying that, Signas took a deep breath and, in his mind, fiercely clicked [Yes] through gritted teeth.
Out with the old, in with the new.
What did this bit of money matter? At worst, he could just fleece it back from those Pure-blood fat sheep later!
Upgrade!
Ding—
There was no crisp sound of gold coins falling into a bag, only a cold line: [Payment Successful].
He didn't know if it was psychological, but Signas felt the key to Vault 713 in his hand seemed to grow a few grams lighter instantly.
At this moment, he had gloriously regressed from a nouveau riche of Diagon Alley to a... well, still somewhat wealthy pauper with only two hundred and ten thousand Galleons left.
Just then, the system interface before him suddenly flickered with static like an old television, followed by the explosion of countless golden particles.
The originally crude, pixel-art system interface began to twist and reorganize.
The progress bar that had been stuck seemed to have been kicked hard; it surged from 21%, reaching 100% in the blink of an eye.
[System upgrade complete! Version 2.0—is now live!]
[The contents of this update are as follows:]
[1. Fixed a BUG where the proportion of "trash items" in the prize pool was too high (Now you have a higher probability of drawing more exquisite and collectible trash! Surprise!).]
[2. Added "Resentment Mall" function: Say goodbye to bad luck and embrace the lucky! As long as you have enough resentment points, even Merlin's underpants can be exchanged for you!]
[3. Added a premium exclusive module—Invincible Mode.]
[4. Issued System Upgrade Compensation Gift Pack x1.]
Signas's mouth twitched.
Exquisite trash? Should I thank you?
Looking further down, Signas's originally tense nerves relaxed slightly.
The Mall is a good thing!
This meant he finally didn't have to gamble on that damn wheel of fortune!
Heaven knew how much he feared drawing something like "Minister Fudge's original underwear" or "Lockhart's signed photo" again.
With the Mall, he could make targeted purchases; although it would certainly be expensive, at least there was something to look forward to.
As for that Invincible Mode... With a thought, Signas clicked on the description.
[Invincible Mode: After activation, the host will be in a state of absolute defense, immune to all magicand physical damage.]
[Cost: 10,000 Galleons / second.]
Pfft—
Signas almost spat a mouthful of blood onto Ragnor's polished mahogany desk.
Ten thousand a second?!
Why don't you just rob Gringotts?
Activating it for one minute would cost six hundred thousand. This isn't Invincible Mode; this is "Make the Malfoy Family Bankrupt on the Spot" Mode, isn't it?
Who could afford this? Even Lord Voldemort would probably be so angry his nose would grow back if he saw this bill.
"This system is truly as scammy and stable as ever."
Signas rubbed his throbbing temples, forcing himself to look away from that desperate price.
Forget it, let's look at the free gift pack. Hopefully, there's some consolation prize, and not something strange again.
[Opening Gift Pack...]
Bang!
A burst of fireworks actually exploded in his mind, accompanied by a rousing symphony, as if celebrating some great moment.
The smoke cleared, and a card glowing with a faint black light and featuring a highly Gothic design slowly emerged.
[Congratulations on obtaining Legendary Talent Card: The Dark Lords Elegance (Fragmented Version)]
[Description: This is a gift from a certain noseless Dark Lord who wishes to remain anonymous. After equipping this talent, your classiness will soar to the heavens, and you will gain Dark Arts affinity; the Dark Arts will become your instinct.]
[Although it will not increase the power of your spells, the aesthetic beauty of your casting movements is increased by +200%, and it comes with an additional charm bonus. Every gesture will exude the temperament of a villainous noble.]
[Note: Strength is temporary, but style is forever. Even when casting Crucio, we must recite it with the flavor of a sonnet.]
Sig scratched the back of his head, his expression a kaleidoscope of emotions.
What kind of ghost talent is this? Using Dark Arts will be more handsome?
What do I need to be that handsome for? A magic duel isn't a beauty pageant!
Is it possible that in the future, when I meet a Dark Wizard, I'll compete with them to see whose casting is more handsome? Even if I win against Lord Voldemort, what's the use?
"Look, this is my Avada Kedavra. Isn't it smoother, more elegant, and more lustrous than yours?"
Thinking of that scene, Signas felt a shiver of disgust.
"This is Legendary?" Signas rolled his eyes internally. "Even giving me an 'Automatic Homework' talent would be more practical than this."
Although he complained, he still subconsciously chose [Equip]. It was free, after all.
The moment the equipment was complete, a strange chill crawled up his spine, making him unconsciously straighten his back and lift his chin at a precise angle.
"Mr. Shalk?" Ragnor's voice sounded again, this time with a hint of uncertainty.
Signas snapped back to his senses and slowly turned to look at the Goblin manager.
It was just a simple turn of the head.
But Ragnor felt his whole body tense up.
The somewhat lazy, even slightly mercenary teenager from before seemed to have vanished, replaced by a... superior, with deep eyes and a suffocating sense of nobility in every gesture.
Signas suddenly snapped out of it, realizing he had been staring at the key in a daze for a bit too long.
He quickly collected his thoughts and tucked the key into his robes.
"It's nothing, Mr. Ragnor. I think I must be going!"
Signas rose from the velvet armchair, his movements so slow it was like he was acting in slow motion.
It wasn't that he wanted to do this; it was purely that damn "Dark Lord's Elegance" forcibly correcting his posture. His back was ramrod straight, his chin tilted up fifteen degrees, and even the small gesture of smoothing the wrinkles in his robes forced his fingers to curl into a theatrical yet strangely beautiful orchid-like finger curve.
He complained wildly in his mind: Which Dark Lord is this? Did they take a masterclass in ballet?
However, in Ragnor's eyes, this became some sort of inscrutable signal.
The old Goblin's eyelids twitched violently, feeling that the teenager's aura had undergone a qualitative change in this instant. Once the laziness faded, there was a heart-palpitating coldness and pressure, like that emitted by an ancient Dark Arts object.
Ragnor looked at the boy whose temperament had suddenly undergone a subtle change, froze for a moment, and then revealed an even more brilliant smile.
"Of course, of course! As long as you wish, Gringotts is at your service anytime."
Signas nodded slightly and turned toward the obsidian doors.
In the moment he turned, his black Wizard robes swept through the air in a sharp and perfect arc, much like the wings of some giant black bird unfolding.
Passing through the long, quiet VIP passage, the noise of the outside world flooded his ears again.
As he passed the ordinary counter that had received him earlier, the Goblin there was idly tossing a Galleon.
"Ding." The coin landed on the counter with a crisp sound.
Signas's footsteps paused slightly.
He didn't stop completely, but in that instant, he turned his head.
The Goblin happened to look up, meeting Signas's gaze, which gave him the illusion of being stared at by a venomous snake.
As advanced magical intelligent beings, Goblins are very sensitive to magical auras. Different magics have different magical signatures.
The manifestation of the Dark Arts is a venomous snake. This is why Dark Wizards are often Parselmouths.
It wasn't until that black figure disappeared outside the doors of Gringotts that the Goblin breathed a sigh of relief.
Chapter 167: I Guide the Young Wizards at Hogwarts
Flourish and Blotts.
When Cygnus arrived, he almost thought he was in the wrong place. The bookstore was already packed, and the area outside the door was tightly surrounded.
The stifling wave of air, a mixture of cheap perfume, old parchment, and the body odor of hundreds of Wizards, nearly pushed Cygnus back out the moment he stepped inside.
He frowned, instinctively raising a hand to cover his nose and mouth. Half an hour ago, this gesture would have been nothing more than a disdainful shield, but now, enhanced by his newly loaded 'Dark Lord talent,' it exuded an arrogant, icy aura of 'this filthy, mundane air is unworthy of entering my lungs.'
A plump Witch sweating profusely from the jostling caught sight of this out of the corner of her eye and actually shrank back, inexplicably feeling that her earlier heavy breathing was somehow offensive to this young gentleman.
Cygnus had no time to dwell on such subtle shifts. His gaze pierced through the sea of heads, landing on the garish golden banner draped over the second-floor railing: 'Gilderoy Lockhart: I Emerged Unscathed with the Aurors—Exclusive Signing!'
Deep inside the store, the man in the forget-me-not blue robes sat at the center of a spotlight, surrounded by copies of his photo featuring that standard eight-tooth smile.
It must be said, Lockhart was a veritable genius at marketing. Even the backdrop cycled through moving images of him 'directing the action' at the Ministry of Magic's Auror Office, wand waving, purple light flaring, oozing prestige.
Lockhart's 'outstanding performance' at the Ministry had sent his already sky-high popularity soaring to new heights.
The novelist had a keen nose, deeply understanding the principle of striking while the iron is hot. In less than a month, he had dredged up from his mind—whether true or false—an adventure story that perfectly capitalized on Minister Fudge's efforts to shape the Aurors' new image, rapidly releasing his new book: *I Emerged Unscathed with the Aurors*!
'Oh! Look at that smile!'
'That is the face of courage!'
Cygnus rolled his eyes, trying to push through the crowd of fanatical devotees to buy his textbooks and leave. Just then, the throng ahead suddenly parted like the Red Sea, revealing an awkward-looking Harry Potter, arms laden with books, and Lockhart clinging to Harry's shoulder like an octopus.
'Smile, Harry! This is for the front page of *The Daily Prophet*!' Lockhart grinned for the camera while shouting in a tone that suggested volume alone could make things true, 'We must show—the passing of the torch between two generations of legends!'
Harry looked as if he'd just swallowed a live slug.
Witnessing this disaster made Cygnus's eyelids twitch. He was about to sneak past using the bookshelves as cover when a short, stout, and irritable figure suddenly barreled into him from the side.
'Move! Don't ruin my perfect composition!'
It was a photographer holding a massive black camera. In his rush to capture the shot of Lockhartembracing Harry, he impatiently jabbed his elbow back, hitting Cygnus squarely in the chest.
Cygnus staggered back half a step.
Normally, he'd have just frowned and muttered, 'Watch where you're going.'
But at this moment, that damned talent card seemed to detect a physical affront to its host. A chill shot up his spine to the top of his head.
He didn't react immediately. Instead, he turned his head slowly, inch by inch.
He didn't even speak. He merely lowered his eyelids, fixing the photographer's greasy, sweaty neck with a gaze as still and lifeless as that of a corpse. In that instant, Cygnus seemed to become a deep, unfathomable Black Lake; the noisy air around him suddenly grew cold.
The photographer was about to continue his grumbling when his peripheral vision caught that look. For a split second, he felt as if he were staring at a rearing, venomous serpent king.
*Gulp.*
A strange swallowing sound escaped the photographer's throat. His hand holding the camera jerked violently, nearly sending the expensive lens crashing to the floor. A primal, biological fear froze him stiff. That elbow jab felt not like it had hit a child, but like it had plunged into the deepest cell of Azkaban.
Just as this suffocating standoff was about to escalate, that magnetic yet overly slick voice exploded like thunder.
'Merlin's lacy socks! Look at the treasure I've found!'
Lockhart's eyes, sharp as a Niffler's, pierced through the crowd and locked onto Cygnus in the corner. He paused for a moment, seemingly also shaken by the chilling aura the boy now projected. But then, a frenzy called 'publicity' overwhelmed all instinct.
This was Cygnus Sharke, the one who wrote 'Fudge is the beacon of my life'!
'Cygnus! Cygnus Sharke!'
Lockhart shoved aside the now largely useless Harry and charged over in a few long strides, like a starving wolf spotting a prime, fat sheep.
The crowd instantly erupted.
'Who? Sharke?'
'That genius boy who writes the articles?'
Countless gazes snapped towards him. Cygnus tried to step back, but Lockhart's well-manicured hand had already seized his arm without ceremony.
'Come! Let's have a round of applause for this young thinker!' Lockhart completely ignored Cygnus's wishes, forcibly dragging him into the spotlight. The smile on his face was so brilliant it bordered on grotesque.
What a day this was!
Huh? First Harry Potter, and now Cygnus Sharke! Hogwarts' two brightest stars, both at his new book launch!
Lockhart, a master at cultivating fame, was overjoyed!
Perhaps he could even establish a 'life mentor' persona in the future.
He'd already thought of book titles: *I Guide the Young Wizards at Hogwarts*, or *My Flawless Educational Philosophy*!
Moreover, he could absolutely get Cygnus to discuss Minister Fudge's educational philosophy with him. In this climate, that topic was guaranteed front-page headline material for *The Daily Prophet*!
Cygnus felt his arm was about to be crushed. He took a deep breath, forcefully suppressing the urge to hit him with an 'Expelliarmus.'
But under the bizarre correction of the talent card, this 'forcibly dragged' awkwardness was forcibly reshaped into a sort of... lazy, reluctant air, as if being ushered to a position by a subservient courtier. He tilted his chin up slightly, brows slightly furrowed. That disdainful yet polite expression showed not a hint of panic. Instead, it made the beaming Lockhart beside him look like an overzealous salesman.
'Quick! Get a shot of us!' Lockhart roared at the photographer, who still hadn't recovered.
He already had the headline in mind—*When Wisdom Meets Courage: Gilderoy Lockhart and His Two Star Pupils*!
Chapter 168: Auror Special Training and the Dueling Club
Camera flashes went wild, and purple smoke billowed into the air.
By now, Harry had been pushed into a corner, clutching a large stack of brand-new Lockhart complete works, huddled together with Ginny.
Cygnus Sharke stood at the center of the smoke, the pungent scent of cologne assaulting his senses—so strong it was as if a hundred rotten roses had been simmered in a cauldron for three days and three nights. Just as he was about to frown in displeasure, that damned 'The Dark Lords Elegance' talent automatically took over his body—
Even though he was cursing inwardly, his brows only slightly furrowed into a melancholically beautiful arc, his lips pressed tightly together, and his chin slightly raised.
"Look! Look at the profound depth in this child's eyes!" Lockhart clearly took this as a silent tribute to him.
He abruptly straightened his posture, adjusted his glasses with his other hand, revealing that signature, award-winning smile that had won Witch Weekly's Most Charming Smile Award, his voice booming as if amplified by three 'Sonorus' charms.
"As everyone knows, Mr. Sharke has posed a thought-provoking question to every Young Wizard, even to us adults—what exactly is the path of life!"
"I am not surprised that he raised this question, because as far as I know, my predecessor as the Defense Against the Dark Arts Professor at Hogwarts, the now-notorious Quirinus Quirrell, did not properly teach these Young Wizards true Defense Against the Dark Arts, nor provide proper guidance last school year..."
"I am deeply saddened!" Lockhart clutched his chest, his expression pained as if he had just swallowed a hedgehog, "The children of Hogwarts have been exposed to danger all this time—this is a disgrace to the education world! A regret for the Ministry of Magic! And a tragedy that I, Gilderoy Lockhart, cannot stand idly by!"
He suddenly spread his arms wide, his purple robes billowing dramatically with the movement, like a peacock displaying its feathers to attract a mate.
"Therefore! I, Gilderoy Lockhart, master of Defense Against the Dark Arts, recipient of the Order of Merlin, Third Class, honorary member of the Anti-Dark Arts League, five-time winner of Witch Weekly's Most Charming Smile Award... have decided to completely change all of this in the new school year!"
He paused, savoring the breathless anticipation from the audience, then dropped the bombshell: "I will revive at Hogwarts—the Dueling Club! Everything will follow the standards of training Aurors, to cultivate Young Wizards who can truly make a difference... like our Cygnus and Harry..."
These words seemed to carry an electric current, instantly piercing through the atmosphere in the room.
After a brief dead silence, applause erupted like a landslide and tidal wave. The hardcover books on the shelves trembled violently, and a few copies of 'Travels with Ghouls' even shook loose and fell to the ground.
"Auror training standards!" a Witch in elegant robes exclaimed excitedly to her companion, "Merlin, my son is in second year this year! Now I can rest easy!"
"Yes! Finally, a Professor who truly knows his stuff!" her companion nodded vigorously, "I knew it! Only Lockhart is worthy of this position!"
"This is what a real Professor should be!" a wizard nearby clapped until his palms turned red, "Duels! That's what men should learn! Not like that Quirrell, who only taught how to ward off Vampires with garlic!"
"The Dueling Club! We had it when I was in school, but it was canceled for some reason later. That's the place that truly hones your skills!" a middle-aged wizard shouted loudly, drawing a chorus of agreement.
Mrs. Weasley clasped her hands tightly in front of her chest, her cheeks flushed with excitement, muttering incessantly, "This is wonderful, truly wonderful... Ron and the others will learn real skills now..."
Arthur Weasley awkwardly twitched the corner of his mouth. As the head of the Ministry of Magic's Misuse of Muggle Artefacts Office, he wanted to say, 'If Auror training were this easy, the Ministry wouldn't be short-staffed,' but under his wife's fervent gaze, he wisely chose to keep quiet and nod.
In the corner, Hermione Granger stood on tiptoe, tightly clutching that complete set of Lockhart's masterpieces, her eyes sparkling with admiration. Ron, however, wore a constipated expression, instinctively disliking this overly flamboyant Professor.
As for Harry? The poor kid had been squeezed into a gap between bookshelves, his face clearly saying, 'Who am I? Where am I? Let me go home.'
Lockhart was very pleased with this effect. He increased the pressure of his grip again, pulling Cygnus closer into his embrace, as if Cygnus were his long-lost biological son.
"Cygnus, my child," Lockhart lowered his head, adopting a fatherly tone, but the proximity allowed Cygnus to count the layers of powder caked in the crow's feet around his eyes, "I understand your confusion and have read the longing in your article. Don't worry, starting this year, I will personally guide you, and all the lost Young Wizards, toward the right path! I will impart to you all my lifelong expertise—those survival skills against Banshees, werewolves, and even Yetis—without holding anything back!"
"I look forward to it, Professor," Cygnus said calmly, his voice soft yet carrying a convincing chill, "I hope your 'practical experience' is as steadfast as your hairstyle."
"Hahahaha! Humor! Such humor!" Lockhart burst into hearty laughter, clearly not catching the sarcasm—or perhaps he simply didn't care, as long as someone was applauding, "I just love clever children like this! Come! Photographer! Another close-up! Let's title it—Legacy!"
Another suffocating barrage of camera flashes followed.
When this farce finally neared its end, Lockhart waved his hand grandly and generously shoved a complete set of hardcover books into Cygnus's hands: "Take these! This is my welcome gift to my star pupil! Of course, I've signed them all—they're priceless treasures!"
Cygnus accepted the pile of books, heavy as bricks, without changing his expression. Immediately, gasps of envy and screams erupted around him, with several older girls turning green with jealousy.
Priceless treasures?
Cygnus glanced down at Lockhart's cursive signature on the cover, and the abacus in his mind, which had only ever gone 'ding ding ding,' suddenly clicked into motion.
He did have a stash of signed photos in his system inventory, originally intended as garbage not even fit for toilet paper.
But now, looking at these fervent fans and this booming market demand... these things could finally be put to use!
"Since I am your star pupil, could I ask you... to sign a few more? I'd like to share your glorious image with my friends at the Orphanage who haven't had the chance to meet you."
Lockhart was taken aback for a moment, then moved to tears: "Oh... what a kind-hearted child! Of course, of course, how many do you want? Is a hundred enough?"
The smile on Cygnus's lips deepened.
"That would be... most appreciated."
Chapter 169: I'm Short on Money, Very Short
The Hogwarts Express billowed thick white steam, poised for departure beside Platform Nine and Three-Quarters at King's Cross Station.
The platform was a cacophony of voices as Young Wizards bid lingering farewells to their families. The hooting of Owls and the croaking of toads rose and fell, composing a unique symphony belonging to the start of the school season.
Cygnus Sharke wove through the crowd, dragging his brand-new dragon-hide trunk, with the pompous eagle owl 'Potato' following behind him.
"Make way, coming through." Cygnus stepped aside to avoid a first-year student pushing a massive owl cage; the Scops Owl inside was gnashing its beak at him indignantly.
Just as he was about to step onto the train's footplate, a crisp voice suddenly rang out from behind him—low in sugar but extremely high in acidity:
"Hey! The hero who's going to dedicate his life to the Ministry of Magic!"
Cygnus's foot paused, and the corner of his mouth couldn't help but twitch.
With that tone capable of making every word feel like lemon juice splashing into one's eyes, who else could it be but the second Miss of the Greengrass Family?
He turned around slowly and deliberately.
Sure enough, Daphne was standing on the steam-shrouded platform holding a young girl's hand. Astoria wasn't old enough to enroll yet; she was clearly here today to see her sister off.
She was wearing robes that were a bit too large today, her golden curls tied in a ponytail behind her head. Deep dimples appeared by her cheeks, making her look harmless—if one didn't listen to her speak.
"Long time no see, Astoria," Cygnus greeted with a forced smile, nodding to Daphne as well. "You check the newspapers more frequently than I imagined."
"Can't help it, your face is currently occupying every single page."
Astoria let go of her sister's hand and hopped onto the carriage, scurrying in front of Cygnus like a nimble kitten. She tilted her head up to size him up. "I think Minister Fudge can't wait to adopt you as a godson. So, future Auror Office Director, did you bring me a gift for our meeting?"
"No gift, but I do have a business proposal." Cygnus patted his trunk. "Come over here!"
The three of them found an empty spot. Daphne elegantly smoothed her skirt, gave her sister a somewhat helpless look, and then said to Cygnus, "Don't listen to her nonsense. Actually, she cut out your 'The Path of Life' article and pasted it by her bed."
Cygnus raised an eyebrow. "Oh? Am I really that charming?"
"It's to remind myself to throw a few darts at it every morning when I wake up, so I never turn into such a shameless sycophant!" Astoria made a face, then stared curiously at Cygnus's trunk, her gaze eventually settling on it. "Hey, you said there's a business deal? It's not another scheme to swindle my sister out of her pocket money, is it?"
Cygnus wasn't bothered, flicking the lock of the trunk lightly. "Besides, when it comes to making money, how can you call it swindling? This is an out-of-print item I went to great lengths to obtain from a living legend. It's the only one of its kind, no other branches."
As he spoke, he mysteriously lifted a corner of the trunk lid.
Two heads immediately leaned in close.
Inside the trunk, a thick stack of photographs was neatly arranged.
In the photos, Gilderoy Lockhart had golden curls that looked like they had just been chemically straightened. Wearing sky-blue silk robes, he was tirelessly winking and waving at the camera, finally freezing in a blinding smile that revealed exactly eight pearly white teeth.
In the bottom right corner of every single photo, that cursive name was signed with flamboyant peacock-blue ink: Gilderoy Lockhart.
"You..." Astoria asked curiously, "Where did you get so many? Did you ransack Lockhart's bedroom, or did you mug his owl?"
"That's a trade secret." Cygnus closed the trunk with a crisp 'click,' as if locking away some rare treasure. "So, do you need to buy one?"
"How much are you planning to sell them for?" Although Daphne found the items a bit garish, she had to admit that Lockhart was currently incredibly popular; even her mother was constantly talking about his new book.
"It's not just about selling." Cygnus leaned back against the seat, interlacing his fingers. "I'm doing this for the benefit of those classmates who didn't have the chance to be there in person but are full of admiration for Professor Lockhart. This is a form of spiritual transmission."
"Speak human,"
"I'm short on money, very short," Cygnus spread his hands honestly. "I have several hundred of these things; keeping them to wallpaper my room would be too gaudy. It's better to exchange them for some practical Galleons."
"How much are you selling them for?" Daphne asked, already pulling out her exquisite little coin purse, seemingly prepared to support a classmate's business.
Cygnus extended a long index finger and wagged it in front of the two of them.
"One Galleon? It's a bit expensive, but I suppose it's somewhat fair," Astoria said, pursing her lips.
"No." A gentle smile filled with the scent of capitalism hung on Cygnus's face. "One hundred Galleons. Per photo."
"Cough, cough, cough—!"
Astoria nearly choked on her own saliva, her beautiful eyes widening like copper bells. She looked at Cygnus as if he were a mental patient who had just escaped from prison. "How much?! A hundred? Did you print the Gringotts vault on the back of the photo? Or did Lockhart set one of his teeth into it? Even robbing people isn't this fast!"
Even the usually dignified Daphne's hand holding the purse froze in mid-air, a crack appearing on her refined face. "Sig... although Professor Lockhart is very famous and I like his books, a hundred Galleons... ten of these signed photos could be traded for a Nimbus 2000."
"This is where you don't understand."
Cygnus leaned against the carriage wall, fingers interlaced, adopting the stance of a top-tier auctioneer. His tone was deep and provocative. "Price has never been about measuring the value of the item itself; it's about filtering the customers. If I sell it for one Galleon, then this photo will appear by every Hufflepuff's bedside, becoming a cheap street-stall item. Who would treasure it then? Who would feel that owning it is an honor?"
He paused, lowering his voice as his gaze swept over the crowded surroundings. "But if it's sold for a hundred Galleons, the person who owns it will immediately become the focus of the crowd. Think about it: when you casually take out this photo and others cast those looks mixed with jealousy, envy, and 'Merlin, this person is really rich'... in that moment, are you still holding a photo? No, that is prestige, that is status, that is a symbol of identity!"
This classic luxury marketing rhetoric was practically a dimensional strike for two Young Wizards still in school.
The Greengrass sisters were stunned. Although they felt something was off, it also felt strangely logical.
"Furthermore," Cygnus added fuel to the fire, "I have inside information. Professor Lockhart might be very 'busy' this semester. In the future, opportunities for these hand-signed photos will only decrease as they are signed. What do you call that? A non-renewable resource! The price is a hundred now, but next month it might be two hundred. This is an investment!"
Astoria looked at him with the look one might give a new species of magical creature. "You really are... shamelessly classy. But I bet no one will buy them, except for fools."
"Then let's wait and see." Cygnus stood up with full confidence, picking up the stack of photos. "Watch my luggage for a bit; I'm going to create a commercial miracle."
He marched valiantly toward the crowd.
The platform was already packed with students.
Cygnus found the most conspicuous spot—the open space at the carriage entrance. He pulled a folding table from his spatial pocket (one he had swiped from the Orphanage) and spread the photos out in a fan shape.
Then, he took out a pre-written parchment sign and stood it up in front of the table:
[Gilderoy Lockhart Hand-Signed Photograph]
[Rare Opportunity, Only This Once]
[Witness the Legend, Embrace Courage]
[Price: 100 Galleons/Each (No Bargaining)]
The little stall was ready.
"Step right up, don't miss out! Hand-signed photographs of the greatest living Defense Against the Dark Arts master, Order of Merlin Third Class recipient, and five-time winner of Witch Weekly's Most Charming Smile Award—Professor Gilderoy Lockhart!"
"This isn't just a photograph; it's a ticket to success!"