Just like that, under the deliberate concealment of her father and herself, after her father brought her the things she needed to prepare for school,
Her mother happily accompanied her father to send her off to Platform Nine and Three-Quarters.
The train whistled, steam filled the air, and Isolde waved goodbye to her parents, picked up her suitcase, and calmly stepped onto the Hogwarts Express.
The panic and helplessness of her previous life had long since vanished.
She walked down the train corridor, and one naive yet familiar face after another flashed before her eyes.
Those who would join the Order of the Phoenix in the future, those who would become Death Eater, those she had never seen again after graduation, and those who went to Gringotts with her to become colleagues.
Goodness, they looked so familiar.
By the way, she also saw Lucy, but there was no place to sit over here, so she regretfully exited the scene.
She knew everyone’s trajectory of fate like the back of her hand.
Isolde walked straight ahead to the next compartment.
She raised her hand and gently pushed open the door.
Inside the compartment, three people were already seated.
A pale, luxuriously dressed brown-haired boy.
A proud girl with Black-standard features, Black curly hair, and gray eyes.
Beside them, silent, gloomy, and uttering not a word, was Amycus Carrow.
They could be considered three of the core figures in the future Pure-blood faction.
Isolde’s “old acquaintances”.
The brown-haired boy raised his eyes first, sweeping his arrogant gaze over, his tone carrying unquestionable dismissal:
“What is your surname? Are you a Pure-blood? If so, then sit with us.”
“Otherwise, get out of here quickly!”
The other two glanced lightly and nodded in tacit understanding, evidently completely agreeing with this set of Pure-blood-supremacy rules.
Isolde looked at the three naive yet sharp faces before her and chuckled softly in her heart.
Truly not changed a bit.
Rodolphus’s arrogance and conceit, Bella’s haughtiness and cold elegance, Carrow’s silent agreement…
Overlapped with the appearance she saw before her death.
They obviously had never seen her before.
Perfect!!
Giving herself a chance to show off!
The corners of Isolde’s lips hooked into an extremely faint yet resolute smile, her tone calm, yet she precisely called out the other party’s name:
“Mr. Lestrange?”
Rodolphus frowned, carrying the smugness and impatience of being recognized: This story is hosted at g.com.
“Oh, listen! Answer my question first. Have we met? Since you’ve heard of me, then are you a Pure-blood?”
Isolde gently shook her head, her tone open and frank:
“Of course we haven’t met, but I just know; I know everyone in this compartment.”
“Isolde Winnier.”
Rodolphus crossed his arms, snorted disdainfully, and turned to look at Bellatrix:
“Black, have you ever heard of this surname?”
Bellatrix raised her eyes, her gray eyes carrying obvious disdain, her voice cold and clear:
“There used to be an outstanding Auror member surnamed Winnier.”
Amycus Carrow coldly delivered a finishing blow:
“But I do not know if their marriage partner was a Pure-blood.”
As his voice fell, the oppressive feeling in the compartment grew heavier.
Pure-blood or not, in their eyes, was the sole standard for judging whether a person was qualified to stand here.
If it were an ordinary newcomer, by now they would have been nervous and at a loss, either leaving in a flurry or desperately defending themselves.
But Isolde simply stood calmly in place, her expression composed, without showing the slightest panic.
She met the gazes of the three, her tone calm yet clear:
“I am indeed not a Pure-blood.”
“I am a half-blood.”
A single sentence, straightforward and frank, without a shred of concealment.
Rodolphus instantly sneered aloud, his face full of contempt:
“A half-blood dares to crowd into our compartment? I advise you to know what’s good for you and quickly—”
“However.”
Isolde gently interrupted him, her voice not loud, yet carrying a certitude that could not be underestimated.
“Background cannot represent knowledge and strength.”
Rodolphus’s face sank: “You dare interrupt me?”
“I am merely stating a fact.”
Isolde raised her eyes, her gaze clear and confident.
“Mr. Lestrange, you take pride in being Pure-blood, but can you guarantee that in terms of knowledge, you are definitely stronger than me?”
As soon as these words came out, Rodolphus was completely infuriated.
What he couldn’t endure the most was being provoked by a half-blood.
“Fine then, you want a comparison, right? Who gave you the guts to make you think you are more talented than me?”
“What if I say I have the gift of prophecy?” Isolde feigned profundity.
He sneered, deliberately making things difficult.
“If you can state the complete recipe and brewing steps of Felix Felicis word for word, I will let you stay.”
Felix Felicis, the liquid luck, was advanced content in Potions.
The recipe was cumbersome, the steps rigorous, and the heat, sequence, and stirring count could not have half a mistake.
Not to mention a newly enrolled newcomer who hadn’t understood the Wizarding World, even Pure-blood children who had previewed some knowledge in advance basically couldn’t recite it.
He made it clear that he wanted to make Isolde make a fool of herself in public and then scuttle off in disgrace.
Bellatrix also raised her eyebrows slightly, evidently also feeling that this question was overly difficult.
An eleven-year-old newcomer could never possibly answer it.
But for such a provoking half-blood, she felt it was reasonable.
Amycus even held the mindset of watching a good show, waiting to see Isolde’s panicked appearance.
However—
Isolde didn’t even pause for a second.
Her gaze was calm, her tone fluent, like reciting knowledge already carved into her bone marrow—clear, steady, and speaking word by word:
“Felix Felicis…”
“Main ingredients: powdered asphodel root, wormwood infusion, wolfsbane extract, bicorn horn powder, elk hide fragments, moonmint, morning dew crystal.”
“Brewing steps: Step one, simmer the powdered asphodel root and wormwood infusion on low heat for forty-five minutes; the potion must not emit white smoke, and once it smokes, the whole pot is ruined.”
“Step two, add the bicorn horn powder, stir evenly clockwise for twenty-one turns; one turn too many or too few will affect the potency of the potion.”
“Step three, remove the open flame, switch to a subdued fire and simmer until the potion turns a light golden-green, then add the wolfsbane and elk hide; this step must be completed before midnight.”
“Step four, drop in the moonmint, let it stand for six hours until the medicinal properties are fully fused, then use morning dew crystal to guide the light, and finally brew until the potion is as thick as honey.”
“Throughout the entire process, one must keep the mind calm, must not be impatient, and must not interrupt; once interrupted, it must be completely discarded and re-brewed.”
“The finished product is light gold in color, slightly sweet in scent, and one must not overdose at a single time; overdosing easily triggers extreme conceit and recklessness.”
[The author asked Doubao for the brewing process.]
The entire paragraph of content flowed like floating clouds and flowing water, without a shred of stuttering and without half a mistake.
So complete it rivaled the original text of the Potions textbook.
Inside the compartment, there was instant dead silence.
The sneer on Rodolphus’s face froze in place, his mouth slightly agape, his eyes widened into circles, with an expression of sheer disbelief.
Even he couldn’t recite it, yet the newly enrolled half-blood newcomer before his eyes blurted it out just like that?
She really had some skills!
Bellatrix’s gray eyes suddenly contracted.
Her originally casual posture instantly retracted, her body leaned forward slightly, and for the first time, she seriously looked squarely at Isolde.
Amycus Carrow was also completely stunned, the expression of watching a good show vanished without a trace, leaving only shock.
The air was so quiet that only the rumbling sound of the train moving remained.