Harry Potter: Using science to be IMMORTAL

"After all, we could have been friends," Murphy said, deciding to offer a peace offering after stunning Lucius.

"We started off well, didn't we? I bought so much material from Slughorn and Jiggers, which must have earned you a pretty Galleon."

"Then you wanted to earn more and get involved in my business. That wasn't impossible, you know."

"I have connections in the non-magical world; I know what they want, and you have resources in the wizarding world. We could have worked together very well…"

"I sent Papadopoulos to talk to you about this, but you refused..." Lucius said.

"Was that a negotiation? You had your men follow mine, threatening me with leverage right from the start! That was robbery, Mr. Malfoy!"

Lucius couldn't refute. He had indeed planned to forcefully take a share in Murphy's business, thinking he had a hold over him.

"But you could have politely made your suggestions..."

"Hah," Murphy scoffed. "Who do you think you are? You've got it wrong, Mr. Malfoy. It's you who should be asking for cooperation, not me!"

That was it!

Such arrogance!

When had the Malfoy family ever been treated with such disdain? Especially by a down-and-out Darkholme!

The anger surged again.

"Don't think you can do whatever you want just because you're rich!" Lucius exclaimed, surprisingly not finding his words odd, "Don't underestimate the power of the Malfoy family! I can still take you down, kid! Your dead father..."

"Ah, empty threats..." Murphy feigned a yawn, "Boring!"

"You!" Lucius, infuriated, drew his wand, pointing it at Murphy, "Speak disrespectfully again, and I'll kill you!"

"Oh?"

Murphy lazily eyed him, his gaze suddenly sharp, "Kill me?"

He leaned forward, pressing his chest against Lucius's wand, "Do you have the guts?"

"Come on." He grabbed the wand, moving it to his forehead, "Aim here."

Murphy stared intently at Lucius, "You know the spell, right? Say it, and I'll never underestimate you again."

Lucius stared back, bewildered. He thought Murphy had gone mad.

"Say the spell, coward. Wimp. Didn't you kill people when you followed the Dark Lord?"

"You!"

Lucius's grip on the wand tightened, almost breaking it. He wanted to act but hesitated, aware of the Aurors on the island. If he killed Murphy here, he couldn't escape.

Back to Azkaban...

But he couldn't just let Murphy humiliate him like this.

He must teach him a lesson! Cruciatus Curse! As long as he wasn't caught red-handed, it would be hard to convict him...

As he was about to cast the spell, Murphy suddenly slapped his wand to the ground.

"You're useless, uncle." Murphy said, "I gave you a chance, and you blew it."

Relief unexpectedly washed over Lucius as the wand fell. He wouldn't have to risk Azkaban again.

"Admit it, uncle. I'm stronger than you," Murphy declared, standing higher on the slope, looking down on Lucius, "It has nothing to do with my family or status. I am stronger than you!"

"If you cling to unnecessary pride and foolishly challenge someone stronger than you, you'll only face more defeats and humiliations."

"Maybe the Dark Lord's absence made you too arrogant, forgetting how to deal with stronger opponents."

"Let me remind you. Recognize reality, learn humility. If your opponent is a fierce beast you can't defeat, it's best not to stand in his way."

"Go with the flow, ally with the strong. Isn't that the wisdom that has allowed your family to thrive until now?"

"You're not that strong!" Lucius protested.

"Perhaps," Murphy shrugged, "Anyway, I'm not interested in being a 'master.' I'd rather offer mutually beneficial cooperation, not one-sided exploitation and plunder."

"What do you want me to do?" Lucius asked.

Murphy smiled, pleased with the shift in attitude.

"First, let me tell you what I can offer you. Forget about your potion shop business; it's dead. No matter, I'll give you far more Galleons than those profits."

"What I want you to do is simple, not much different from your past endeavors. Take my money, bribe, buy loyalty, and bring more people to our side. Let them know that I am a good friend, not an enemy."

"You want to tie me to your criminal enterprise? Help you cover up your smuggling of potions to non-magicals?"

"What, don't want to join? There are endless mountains of gold in the non-magical world. It's the 20th century; making money from non-magicals is a million times easier than when your ancestors rose to prominence."

Lucius hesitated, struggling to accept that the person who had brought him so low was about to become his partner – and a leading one at that.

"I understand your hesitation. After all, most fools can't control their emotions. But if you choose to remain my enemy, think carefully."

"Because next time, I won't be submitting that fabricated evidence to the court."

Murphy said, pulling out a black notebook and waving it.

"It's getting late," Murphy glanced at the darkening sky, "I should go. Goodbye, uncle. Think it over."

With that, he looked up, waved his wand, and turned into a wisp of black smoke, shooting into the sky and vanishing in an instant.

But his words echoed in Lucius's ears, "I'm running out of patience. Don't make me wait too long."

Lucius shuddered.

Murphy's voice reminded him of the fear he once felt under Voldemort's control.

How did he know that spell? Flight and this kind of voice transmission were spells developed by Voldemort himself! The former was known only to Snape, and the latter wasn't known to be used by any Death Eater.

Lucius looked towards the horizon in confusion, eventually sighing.

Perhaps he really was getting old.

...

Murphy was flying.

He wasn't showing off. Ever since learning this spell from the diary, Murphy had always enjoyed using it.

The convenience was obvious, but the feeling of flying was addictive.

The spell from the diary was still imperfect and tied to magical power. The stronger the power, the faster the flight. With Murphy's current abilities, he could only reach speeds similar to a commercial airliner, about 1,000 kilometers per hour.

Far from Voldemort's supersonic speed in his later years.

But even so, this speed far surpassed non-magical cars and wizard brooms.

As Murphy flew, feeling the wind at extreme speeds, soaring over the sea, piercing through clouds, even flying alongside eagles, he always found it hard to stop.

He was enjoying the flight when his cell phone rang.

He had to stop to ensure continuous signal reception.

Answering the call, a voice said, "Boss, that warehouse you had us keep an eye on has just been breached."

Hiss.

Was this cell phone cursed? Why was it always bad news every time he answered?