Hogwarts' Golden Glory

"A third way?"

"Our path," Kane said, "is neither blindly following the Dark Lord's madness nor fully embracing Dumbledore's idealism. We will build our own alliances and protect our own interests in our own way. For this, I need power—not just personal magic, but also followers, resources, and intelligence networks. The werewolf community is the first step."

Draco processed these words. It was larger, more complex, and more... dangerous than he had imagined.

"What can I do?" he finally asked.

"Now?" Kane thought for a moment. "Two things. First, observe at school. Observe which families' children truly believe in pure-blood supremacy and which are just following the crowd; observe which professors are truly talented and which are mediocre; observe Harry Potter and his friends—they are important, whether we like them or not."

"And the second one?"

"Study," Kane said, pointing to the bookshelf. "Not the superficial stuff in textbooks. Study the real history of magic, ancient runes, the principles of alchemy. I'll give you a reading list, and you can ask me questions. But remember—don't tell anyone you're studying these things, including Crabbe and Goyle."

Draco nodded. He could sense that his brother was giving him a chance, a chance to exceed their father's expectations.

"And another thing," Kane added, "if Father asks, tell him I'm studying ancient alchemy to prepare for the NEWTs exam. Nothing else... for now."

"I see."

The two brothers finished their breakfast quietly. The sunlight fully illuminated the library, and the ancient books gleamed with gold in the light, like sleeping knowledge waiting to be awakened.

As Draco was about to leave, Kane called out to him, "Draco."

"Um?"

"This road will be tough and lonely," Kane said softly. "You might lose some 'friends,' you might be misunderstood, and you might doubt your choices. If you want to quit now, I won't blame you."

Draco stood in the doorway, his back to his brother. He thought of his father's anxiety these past few days, his mother's forced composure, Crabbe and Goyle's foolish remarks, and his own long-standing confusion.

Then he turned, and a certain resolve appeared in his gray eyes—the same gray as Kane's.

"I am Malfoy," he said. "Malfoy doesn't shirk responsibility. And...you are my brother."

he left.

Kane sat there, motionless for a long time. Ig flew back to his shoulder and chirped softly.

"He'll grow up very quickly," Kane said, stroking the phoenix's feathers. "Perhaps even faster than I imagine."

Outside the window, in the gardens of Malfoy Manor, white peacocks stroll in the sunlight. Everything looks peaceful, abundant, and eternal.

But Kane knew that this tranquility was merely a facade.

Beneath the surface, undercurrents have already begun to stir.

His research has only just begun.

He reopened Armand's notebook, turned to the page on "Sketch of the Theory of Reconstructing the Essence of Magic," and his gaze fell on the word at the center of the six-pointed star:

"By unifying the six sources, one may be able to grasp the true essence of magic."

Kane Malfoy's lips curled up slightly.

Is this the true meaning?

Perhaps. But now, he's more interested in practical applications.

For example, how to use this theory to create a method that can permanently solve the werewolf curse.

For example, how to use this power to protect everything he wants to protect in the upcoming war.

This summer vacation is still long.

There is still much for him to learn.

Misty Valley in the northern Scottish Highlands.

The morning mist, like milky white cream, filled the valley, enveloping everything in a soft haze. But as the sun rose, and the first rays pierced through the mist, the valley revealed its full beauty—a bowl-shaped valley embraced by steep cliffs, with a deep blue lake in its center, its waters shimmering with a mysterious silver light in the morning glow. The valley's edges were lined with dense pine forests and heather thickets, and further away, a perpetual, magical mist formed a wall around the entire area, isolating the valley from the outside world.

Lupin stood on a boulder by the lake, holding a rough, hand-drawn map. He was dressed in simple Muggle overalls, and the three scars on his face were particularly noticeable in the morning light, but his expression was unusually peaceful.

"Tobias, dig the drainage ditch on the east side another foot deeper, because the rainwater will rush down from the mountain during the rainy season." He pointed to the east side of the valley, where a dozen werewolves were digging a ditch with rudimentary tools.

"Ella, the fence around the herb garden needs to be reinforced; the coyotes here are stealing the seedlings."

"Soren, the logging team can only go to the south slope today. There are eagle nests in the trees on the north slope, and we can't disturb them this season."

The werewolves listened quietly to the instructions and then went about their tasks. No one complained, no one slacked off—because they knew this would be their first true "home."

Tobias straightened up and wiped the sweat from his brow. His shoulder had fully healed, and now he wielded the shovel with fluid, powerful strokes. He looked around at the bustling scene: simple wooden huts were being built, the herb garden was taking shape, and children were chasing and playing among the makeshift tents—a sight never before seen at the werewolf camp.

"Mr. Remus," a young werewolf woman, Lina, trotted over, carrying a steaming earthenware pot. "The first batch of evening primrose tea is ready, but the color isn't quite right. Would you like to take a look?"

Lu Ping took the earthenware jar, examined the pale golden liquid inside carefully, and then smelled it: "It's been overcooked. Evening primrose extract is very sensitive to temperature; it will decompose above 80 degrees Celsius. Next time, use a low flame, and remove it from the heat as soon as the water starts to bubble."

Lina carefully wrote it down: "Understood. And this jar…"

"Don't waste it. You can use it to make a topical ointment to treat common abrasions." Lupin handed the pottery jar back to her. "Remember, alchemy, like combat, requires patience and precision."

Just then, ripples suddenly appeared in the air over the open space in the center of the valley.

Igor emerged from the void, his dark golden feathers gleaming like a moving lamp in the morning mist. Behind the phoenix, Kane stepped out of the teleportation wave and landed steadily. Today, he was dressed in practical dark Muggle clothing, with a bulging leather bag slung over his shoulder.

"Kane!" Tobias was the first to see him and waved.

The werewolves stopped what they were doing and looked at the young wizard who had changed their fate. Their eyes held gratitude, awe, and a hint of uncertainty—after all, he was only thirteen years old.

Kane walked over to Lupin: "How's the progress?"

"Speed ​​faster than expected." Lupin pointed around. "The framework for the thirty wooden cabins is complete, and the roofs will be finished within ten days. The herb garden has twelve kinds of commonly used herbs, including evening primrose, dictamnus dasycarpus, and silver fern. The hunting party brought back two deer yesterday, enough to feed us for three days. The problem is... protection."