At Hogwarts, the story begins with deconstructing Avada Kedavra.

Chapter 72 Before the Exam

The clock at Hogwarts quietly and mercilessly ticked down to May.

The long, chilly spring in the Scottish Highlands has finally completely faded, and the early summer sun begins to pour down on the surface of the Black Loch as if it were free, creating shimmering waves and causing vegetation to grow wildly.

In May, the little wizards' greatest desire is to shed their black robes, roll around in the grass, jump into the Black Lake and race the giant squid, and sit under the parasol at the Three Broomsticks Bar, proudly displaying a large glass of ice-cold butterbeer with double the ice.

Unfortunately, final exams are coming up soon.

At the Gryffindor table, the three core members of the "Sober Alliance" sat upright.

"Don't you all have this feeling—" Parvati Petil stirred the oatmeal in her bowl, her face melancholy and filled with deep sorrow, "that we're trapped."

Ever since I took that Galon, it feels like I've been stuck in the same place.

I want to do something for the organization, I want to move forward, but I have no clue where to start.

"Do you think I've been marginalized?" she sighed, her eyes filled with confusion.

Ron Weasley, who was engrossed in frying a piece of smoked meat, came over and mumbled, "Just bored."

""

Parvati glared at him fiercely: "—Don't you feel this same panic about your fate coming to a standstill?"

Harry chuckled dryly beside him: "No, he's happy every day."

Aside from copying Hermione's homework, no one's life was as fulfilling as his.

Parvati appeared somewhat frustrated when she didn't get the answer she wanted.

She wanted to ask Hermione, who was sitting opposite her, but Hermione was staring intently at a book called "An Introduction to Ancient Chinese Texts," her quill making a rustling sound as she poked the parchment. Parvati didn't dare to disturb her and had to give up.

"Hermione, how's the weather outside today?" Harry asked.

For the past few days, annoying rain has been falling outside the castle, making Quidditch training extremely difficult.

Harry could have looked at the weather forecast in the corner of the Daily Prophet, or asked the wizards who had "peeping glasses" or "weather balls".

It was quite accurate, but Harry always had a feeling that the wizarding world had played a trick on him.

Just the day before yesterday, Seamus, holding his "Irish-imported weather forecast ball" that he supposedly bought for three Galleons, confidently told Harry that it would be a sunny day.

As a result, Harry went to the stadium without bringing his waterproof and moisture-proof cloak. Halfway there in the afternoon, a torrential downpour soaked him to the bone, turning him into a pitiful, drenched owl.

Harry angrily went back to confront Seamus, who awkwardly patted the crystal ball, and immediately the inside of the ball began to simulate lightning and thunder.

After being fooled a few times, Harry finally realized that the weather forecast on this lousy planet was "updated in real time"—it only showed rain when it was raining outside!

From then on, whenever Harry wanted to know the weather, he would subconsciously look towards the Ravenclaw table.

Because on the day of the torrential rain, Lucian had brought a black umbrella.

It's no coincidence that he always manages to precisely avoid all bad luck.

From then on, Harry had a clear understanding:

Lucian's weather forecasts are far more accurate than those of the Ministry of Magic.

At this moment, the Ravenclaw table.

Lucian was leaning back in his chair, staring at the enchanted, gloomy ceiling above him.

His gaze pierced through the magical flow of the castle dome and through the clouds in an instant.

Of course, relying solely on the naked eye is not as accurate as using a Muggle weather satellite to determine the direction of frontal rain.

It also requires a tiny bit of astrological and advanced divination.

"Lucian, do you think it'll rain this afternoon?" asked Cho Chang, who was sitting not far from him. She also had Quidditch practice this afternoon.

Lucien put down his teacup, paused for two seconds, and said, "3:15 PM, showers, accompanied by northwest winds."

I suggest you wear dragon skin gloves, otherwise the broom will slip.

Qiu Zhang stared at him intently, then suddenly covered her mouth in surprise: "Lucian, you're like a real prophet! You can even predict the wind direction!"

The way Lucian stared at the dome just now was so professional and so unfathomable.

This reminded Qiu Zhang of a gypsy witch her grandmother used to visit in Diagon Alley. She charged ten sigils for each tarot reading, muttered incoherently for a long time, and finally only said, "Watch your step." The next day, she stepped in goblin dung.

Compared to those charlatans, Lucien is practically the conscience of the fortune-telling world.

"A prophet?" Lucian chuckled lightly, his tone calm. "Not exactly a prophet, just a little sensitive to his surroundings."

Qiu Zhang stared at him intently, her eyes filled with great interest.

Most of the boys in Ravenclaw are either bookworms who are immersed in books, or self-important brats like Michael Corner.

But Lucian was different. He was mysterious, with a composure that was completely out of place among Hogwarts students, making him unfathomable.

"Why are you staring at me like that? Are you captivated by my demeanor while eating oatmeal?" Lucien joked casually.

Qiu Zhang blushed and immediately retorted, "No way!"

She turned her head away, pretending to be engrossed in reading, but soon she leaned closer again.

"Alright, you look like you know everything. Can you help me check if this spell gesture is correct?"

Cho Zhang placed the wand on the table, gripped the handle with her small hand, and held the back of her hand up.

She's been practicing an advanced levitation spell lately, but she can't seem to get her balance right.

Lucian didn't think much of it. He reached out and placed his hand on Cho Chang's hand with perfect ease, sliding his fingers down along the texture of her wand to adjust the angle of her index and middle fingers.

The girl's hands were soft, with a hint of morning coolness.

And not far away on the Gryffindor table.

Hermione Granger happened to look up and saw this extremely impactful scene.

She saw the unfathomable Lucien holding Cho Chang's hand, the two of them very close.

Hermione's eyes darted around as her imagination ran wild:

No! That's definitely not a simple teaching spell! Look at where his finger is stopping!

That was a crucial point in the human body's magical circuits! He was testing the magical reserves of Ravenclaw's upperclassmen through contact!

He's assessing Ravenclaw's strength as a potential ally!

"Parvati, write this down," Hermione commanded urgently in a low voice. "The target's infiltration plan has entered its second phase. He's started contacting other people."

"

Parvati gasped and quickly drew a key mark in his notebook:

[Danger! The big boss is trying to recruit a Quidditch Seeker!]

At the other end of the Ravenclaw table lies a completely different world.

"Brothers, Snape's Potions class is this afternoon. What are your thoughts?"

Terry Boots, sporting huge dark circles under his eyes, floated like a ghost to the back row and grabbed Michael Corner's shoulder.

Michael was secretly reading a book he'd gotten from an upperclassman called "Living the Rest of My Life with a Witch," when he heard the name Snape and shuddered.

Why has this magazine suddenly become so boring?

Michael forced a calm smile and said, "It's alright. We've done our best and left the rest to fate. My 'Twelve Refining Methods of White Pepper' is already a full thirteen inches long."

Terry sized him up for a moment, then suddenly stood up, straightened his crumpled tie, and said with a magnanimous yet tragic air, "Michael, Anthony, do your best on the test. I believe in the strength of our Ravenclaw; it's definitely not as simple as just getting negative marks from Snape."

The few of us are definitely among the top ten in the entire grade!

While Terry was outwardly praising the entire academy, he was actually secretly praising himself.

He believed that he had stayed up all night reading three extracurricular books, and that his Potions class paper would surely shock Snape and rank him first in the class.

He will be the strongest man in Ravenclaw.

This time, Terry Booth will set an example of resilience for the non-Slytherin students whom Snape has always despised!

Thinking about the future, when Slytherin bastards mock Ravenclaw as bookworms, he bravely stood up and declared domineeringly: "With Terry here in Ravenclaw, no one dares to deduct points from my brothers!"

At the pinnacle of demons, reigning supreme over the world, where I, Terry, exist, there is heaven.

He, Terry, will bring peace to Ravenclaw!

Just imagining that scene filled Terry with adrenaline and fighting spirit.

He wasn't writing his thesis alone; he carried the dignity of all the male students in the college on his shoulders!

While daydreaming, Terry suddenly spotted Lucian sitting in the front row, "instructing" Cho Chang.

A flicker of resentment rose in Terry's heart. Although Senior Lucian was mysterious, Potions Mastery relied on rote memorization and practical application. What was there to be afraid of? He was going to beat Lucian in this paper and show the senior his talent!

Anthony Goldstein quipped from the side, "Indeed, if I, Terry, am serious, getting into the top ten is a piece of cake."

However—I heard that Professor Snape was in a terrible mood today because Peeves hit him on the head with an ink bottle yesterday.

Michael looked down at his paper, which he had barely managed to scrape together thirteen inches and whose handwriting was even bigger than Hu Shitao's, and suddenly felt a pang of worry.

"Merlin, if Snape doesn't deduct twenty points from my score today, my heart will forever belong to Lady Padmé of Hogsmeade!"

Terry glanced at his masterpiece, a full fifteen inches long, densely covered with writing, quoting countless obscure histories of magic.

He walked proudly to Lucien's side and coughed.

"Lucian, would you like to take a look at my paper that I'm sure will get a 0?" Terry slammed the parchment on the table, trying to show off a little in front of this big shot.

Lucian released Cho Chang's hand, lazily raised his eyelids, and glanced at Terry's parchment filled with nonsense.

Lucian didn't need to look at the contents at all; he didn't even need to use his brain. His intuition instantly gave him the judgment that this pile of garbage was rubbish.

"You wrote in this passage that a fourteenth-century potions master once used dragon blood instead of moonstone powder?"

Lucian pointed to a large section in the middle.

"That's right! This is an extremely obscure piece of knowledge!" Terry proudly puffed out his chest.

Lucian took a quill pen from the side and mercilessly drew an X on it.

First, that was the fifteenth century;

Secondly, the potion master was blown to smithereens on the spot;

Third, Snape is in a bad mood today. If he sees a paper longer than fourteen inches, he won't think you're diligent; he'll just think you're wasting his time.

Lucien pushed the parchment back, "Delete it, and bring up the last sentence about the magic sedimentation of moonstone when stirred counterclockwise."

If you reduce the length to twelve inches, Snape, considering the brevity of the message, will at most scold you with "your brain is full of weeds," and then give you an A.

If you hand it in exactly as it is—

Lucian paused, then gave a devilish smile: "You will contribute a great achievement of negative fifty points to Ravenclaw's hourglass."

Terry Boot's enthusiasm froze instantly. His grand pronouncements about "bringing peace to Ravenclaw" were utterly crushed by Lucian's practical classroom survival rules.

"I—I'll go change it right away." Terry, clutching the parchment, slunk back to the back row.

In the distance, Hermione, who was constantly monitoring the situation, witnessed everything.

"Did you write it down, Parvati?" Hermione's voice trembled slightly, as if she had just witnessed a change of power.

"Written down—written down." Parvati swallowed hard. "The target destroyed the Ravenclaw boys' spiritual leader in less than three sentences. He completely controlled the others' psychological defenses!"

Hermione took a deep breath and touched the Galleon in her pocket.

Lucian Ashford — Just how big a game are you playing?

You even figured out Professor Snape's grading psychology perfectly—at Hogwarts, is there really anyone who can stop you?

Meanwhile, Lucien, the real "mastermind," was idly cutting open a plate of fried sausages.

Sigh, the craftsmanship of the house-elves at Hogwarts has remained consistently excellent for over a decade.

Lucian chewed on a piece of meat, "This is truly authentic British cuisine."

His gaze inadvertently drifted across the Great Hall and landed on the Slytherin table—he vaguely remembered that there seemed to be several spice jars containing pepper powder there.

He was considering whether he should find a quiet time to smuggle two cans over, or simply sneak into the kitchen and make himself a spicy hot pot.

However, in Hermione's eyes, this casual glance was filled with a chilling aura.

"He's watching Slytherin." Hermione grabbed Parvati's arm, her nails almost digging into his flesh. "He just destroyed Ravenclaw's morale, and now he's got his eyes on Slytherin!"

His next target is definitely Professor Snape's protégé! He's going to unleash an unprecedented storm during the afternoon Potions class!

The twins exchanged a glance and simultaneously shivered.

However, Harry and Ron, oblivious to the situation, didn't join in with any sense of superiority, but instead looked on with strange expressions.

Unfortunately, Hermione didn't notice, otherwise she would have definitely rolled her eyes at them.