Hogwarts: I graduated before the system came

"Vampire... Valerius..."

He dug out the name from the depths of his memory, and the ancient family associated with it - Cappadocia.

Could it be that Douglas wanted to use this expelled pawn to drag those ancient vampires who had been hidden from the world for a long time into this mess?

This game of chess is too big.

After the confusion, a new possibility arose in his mind.

Perhaps Douglas's intentions didn't matter.

What’s important is that his actions themselves have provided Lorenzo with excellent material.

The stagnant water of the Italian magical world needs a ferocious catfish to stir it up.

Now, this catfish is not only stirring up the water, but also calling its friends and trying to win over the shrimps and crabs in the water.

The corners of Lorenzo's mouth slowly curled up into a cold smile that was inconsistent with his temperament.

"Then let the storm come even harder," he whispered.

He quickly wrote a message.

The content emphasizes the British professor, Hogwarts, and the fact that he is forming a...cross-species private army.

Tie it to the owl's claws.

Chapter 423 Keep a close eye on that mad British dog!

"Go," Lorenzo whispered.

"Send the news of the Apennines to the friends of the Daily Prophet and the French Curse in Rome."

Lorenzo leaned back in his chair and closed his eyes.

He seemed to be able to see how public opinion in the international wizarding community would ferment, how passive the British Ministry of Magic would be, and how the old man far away in Hogwarts would be dragged step by step into the situation by this increasingly fierce storm from the south.

Douglas Holmes, it doesn't matter what you actually want to do.

What's important is that you will become the perfect lever for me to pry the entire chessboard.

Meanwhile, in the Law Enforcement Department.

Piero was standing in front of the French window in his office, looking out at the city of Rome where magic and reality intertwined in light and shadow.

His expression was as cold and hard as ever, like a statue that could not be corroded by any emotion.

The report was spread out on his desk, and he knew every word by heart.

Werewolves, vampires... these marginal groups that were suppressed by both the Ministry of Magic and the Church were combined into a new, uncontrollable force.

An idea so bold as to border on madness.

A sneer of contempt appeared at the corner of Piero's mouth.

He was not optimistic. Throughout history, those self-righteous leaders of magical creatures had tried more than once to unite and challenge the rule of wizards and the Church.

They struggled and made trouble, but the final outcome was, without exception, that they were ruthlessly crushed by a more powerful force, turning into a few insignificant footnotes in history books.

What they lack is not only strength, but also brains.

But this time, their leader was a man named Douglas Holmes.

This is where things get interesting.

Piero didn't care about the life or death of these magical creatures. He would even be happy to see them integrated into a sufficiently conspicuous force.

Because if this happens, some people will become restless.

His thoughts turned to the Minister at the top of the Ministry of Magic who had an ambiguous relationship with the Holy See.

The minister asked Douglas to come to Italy simply to find a knife sharp enough to scrape off a few bloody scales from the Vatican so that he would have more bargaining chips at the negotiating table.

What he wanted was evidence of guilt, a handle that could be used for private transactions.

But now, instead of scraping the scales as he wished, the knife began to forge a new armor for itself on the land of Italy.

Piero could almost imagine the minister's anger at the moment.

He must have felt that he was being played and his authority was being challenged.

And what will those pro-Vatican factions within the Ministry of Magic do?

They will swarm like sharks smelling blood.

The best way to show loyalty to the Holy See is to personally wipe out this nascent heretic army.

A melee starring magical creatures, Douglas, Vatican fanatics and Ministry of Magic speculators.

This is exactly what Piero wanted to see.

Let them fight, clash, and suffer mutual destruction. He and his faction of pure-blood wizards only need to watch quietly from behind the scenes, waiting for the dust to settle before coming out to clean up the mess.

The Italian Ministry of Magic must and can only belong to Italian pure-blood wizards.

All the corruption from the Vatican and all the naive ideas like Lorenzo's that seek to seek help from external forces will be completely cleansed by this chaos.

Suddenly, the flames in his office fireplace boomed and turned green.

A piece of parchment flew out and hovered in the air.

There was only one line of angry scrawled words on it:

"That mad British dog under supervision! What I want is for you to keep an eye on the other side at all times, not a sudden war!"

There was no signature, but the familiar, timid anger undoubtedly came from the minister himself.

Piero picked up the parchment and watched it crumble to ash between his fingers.

"Of course, Your Excellency."

He whispered back to the empty office, a hint of playful resignation in his voice. "I'll take care of it."

The smoke of war quickly dissipated in the cold wind of the Apennine Mountains.

The Ash Claw returned to its former tranquility.

But this kind of silence is completely different from the desperate silence in the past.

There was a faint glimmer of hope in the air.

The tombstone sponsored by Douglas himself has become a strange landscape in the valley.

It is like a magnet, attracting the eyes of those living in the shadows.

Occasionally, a lone werewolf would appear near the valley like a ghost.

Most of them were dressed in rags, their eyes were alert and numb, and they bore the marks of slavery and abuse.

They didn't dare to get too close, but just looked at the tombstone from afar, looking at the arrogant and almost provocative words on it, and remained silent for a long time.

A small team of werewolves from the Ash Claw, led by Marco, was responsible for contacting these fellow werewolves who came to explore.

"The potion... is it real?"

A werewolf from a small tribe in Tuscany asked in a hoarse voice.

There was a hideous scar on his face that extended from the corner of his eye to his chin, which was left when he rebelled against the tribal leader.

Marco nodded and took out a small crystal bottle from his arms, which contained light blue liquid.

"This potion, personally prepared by Professor Holmes, is a modification of the Ministry of Magic's C-category potions. It's effective, and the side effects are...controllable. However, it's still not as good as the professor's new wolfsbane potion."

He was careful to use Douglass's exact words.

The werewolf stared at the potion, his eyes filled with a mixture of desire and suspicion.

"What's the price?"

"Loyalty." Marco said simply.

The werewolf fell silent. He glanced at the bottomless mine deep in the valley, then at the surrounding Ember Claws, who were still poor but had renewed spirits.

Finally, he shook his head.

"I need to think about it. The Vatican... the Ministry of Magic... they won't just sit there and do nothing."

After saying this, he turned around and disappeared quickly into the dense forest like a frightened beast.

Marco watched him leave without trying to stop him.

He knew very well that these fellows, who had been oppressed for too long, had lost the ability to believe in miracles.

They are like prisoners who have lived in darkness for a long time. Even if someone opens the prison door for them, they still need time to adapt to the glaring sunlight.

But the seeds have been planted.

Inside the cave, life continues in a peculiar order.

In a corner lit by a torch, Remus Lupin began his teaching again.

A dozen werewolf children sat in front of a smooth stone slab, while Lupin patiently taught them how to cast a basic armor spell.

The young man who once cried and pointed out the murderer of his father is now standing in the front.

He held up a wand made by Douglas, his little face full of concentration.

"Armor!" he cried.

A faint, almost invisible magical barrier flashed before him.

"Very good!" Lupin encouraged gently. "Your fluency in the spell has improved, but your concentration is still not strong enough. Remember, you have to imagine there is an indestructible wall between you and danger."

The boy nodded heavily, a glint in his eyes.

In that light, there is a desire for power and an expectation for the future.

Chapter 424 Greyback: I smell traitor's blood

Lupin looked at these children with mixed feelings.

He was genuinely happy that they had the opportunity to learn magic and take control of their own destiny.

But every time he thought of Douglas's cruel methods and the thirteen bodies that were buried carelessly, he felt a sense of unreality.

He felt that he still knew too little about Douglas.

If Sirius knew what Lupin was thinking, he would definitely put his arm around his good brother's shoulders.

Tell how you met Douglas.

In order to find himself, he caught all the wild dogs around.

Even when the other party knew that he was wronged and was Harry's godfather, Douglas always treated him very rudely.

Suave?

That was just his disguise at Hogwarts.

At the other end of the cave, there is a completely different scene.

Valerius, the former vampire noble and faction leader of the Red Moon Brotherhood, was now kneeling on the ground like a most devout apprentice.

On the ground in front of him was a piece of fine velvet cloth.

In the center of the cloth, the palm-sized, exquisite oriental coffin model was solemnly placed.

His entire mind was absorbed in this small work of art.

He stretched out his pale, meticulously manicured fingers and, with the gentleness and care of a pilgrim, he touched the hair-thin silver inlays on the coffin.

Beside him, there were a dozen or so pieces of fine oak scraps scattered around.

Every piece bears the marks of his attempts at imitation: some are too deep, destroying the wood grain; some have crooked lines, losing the flowing charm.

"No...no..."

He muttered to himself, his dark red pupils filled with an artistic, paranoid fanaticism.

"This curvature... it wasn't carved out by brute force, it was... grown. What exactly is this feeling?"

He completely forgot where he was, his noble status, and the life and death and humiliation he had experienced not long ago.

The contract from the soul has now turned into a deeper spiritual shackle - the pursuit of perfect and ultimate beauty.