Chapter 167: Ball and Game of Strategy

The butler took Donald to assign him a room; Hermione would have a room to herself. Harry specifically instructed Carson not to put Hermione in the same room as Hannah, nor with Donald or Neville. Fortunately, Tang Dun had many empty rooms—some with one bed, some with two—and this issue was easily resolved. Harry had to explain Donald's identity to Sirius all over again, lowering his voice to tell him that Donald was pursuing Hermione across age gaps. In truth, they were only ten years apart; a thirty-year-old chasing a twenty-year-old might be reasonable, but the problem was Hermione was only fourteen.

Hearing this, Sirius's gaze turned dangerous at once, but since Donald had done nothing truly outrageous (Harry didn't mention the final attack in the Chamber), Sirius merely dismissed him as a foolish, immature dandy.

Before lunch, Arthur arrived with Neville and Hannah. Seeing they wore robes of matching colors, Harry knew Neville had likely made his choice. Hermione showed no reaction, but Harry had already noticed she had somehow become stunningly beautiful overnight. Though Hannah seemed nervous and uneasy, Neville held her hand steadily, and both wore sincere smiles. Recalling how Ron had grown close to Ivy these past days, often practicing dances together, Harry felt Donald's plan might already be half-successful.

After lunch, Harry received four enormous cakes from Zhang Qiu, along with a letter stating she had no interest in the ball and urging Harry to invite Ginny to dance the first dance. As for herself, she expected to meet him at the Quidditch World Cup.

She added a note: "Fate shows Harry will eat all four cakes sent by friends alone within twenty-two days (or at least two within fifteen)."

Harry, half-amused and half-frustrated, told Bates to store the cakes in his own room and keep them hidden from others. On this matter, he decided to let fate have its way.

By evening, children of minor magical nobility began arriving at the manor—mostly thirteen- or fourteen-year-olds, some accompanied by beautiful girls hoping to curry favor with the powerful. Since they had been warned it was a formal robe-wearing ball, no mishaps occurred; the Muggles obediently wore various styles of wizarding robes and bowed to Harry and Donald.

With Donald, the newly ennobled but titular Earl, present, order was maintained impeccably. Some Muggles whispered about the "mysterious Weasley family," suspecting them to be an ancient, reclusive aristocratic house—making Ron blush.

"Of course, ancient and reclusive are definitely true," Harry murmured with a smile.

Ron wore the antique-style formal robe his mother had bought him—ruffled collar, elaborate lace across the chest—and it matched Ivy's dress surprisingly well. Harry briefly suspected they'd been secretly coordinating.

Though Zhang Qiu had said, "Don't waste this good card on the Weasleys," Harry decided not to interfere with their normal interactions—even secretly hoping it would work out.

As the chandelier lit up, the auxiliary lights dimmed, signaling the ball's start. To the graceful waltz melody, Harry led Ginny onto the floor; they had practiced several times and now moved with ease. He noticed Ron and Ivy danced beautifully too, while Neville and Hannah's steps seemed slightly awkward. Hermione, somehow, had made herself appear much taller—as if she were already in seventh year.

Mr. and Mrs. Weasley also enjoyed themselves deeply. The dance, titled "First Encounter," had long been popular in the wizarding world—they had met dancing to it in their youth. But because it was a wizarding tune, many Muggles struggled to keep the rhythm, which only deepened their belief in the Weasleys' mystery and nobility.

After the opening waltz, various music styles followed. Guests alternated between dancing and eating. As the ball's host, Harry was frequently asked to dance. But he had no intention of forming close ties with the Muggle girls; aside from one more dance each with Ginny and Ivy, he largely stayed out of it.

Most of the time, Harry sat with Sirius, eating and watching the smiling men and women. As Neville lost himself in the music, Harry reflected inwardly: to protect such beautiful moments, he must defeat Voldemort.

Watching Donald's cheerful face, Harry remembered something. Word of Harry's birthday ball had spread among Muggle aristocrats. If Donald had merely happened to receive the Glamorgan title, learning of the event wasn't surprising. His uninvited arrival and gift of dragon-slaying weapons might be seen as a clumsy gesture of care—but why had he brought Hermione, and not Cui Ge?

Harry rubbed his chin, thinking. Cui Ge naturally knew Harry was at Torchwood; after the map-drawing project in third year, they'd grown quite close. Logically, Donald could have brought Cui Ge—or if he'd chosen to bring Hermione, someone less familiar with Harry and not even invited, then there was even less reason not to bring Cui Ge, who knew Harry better.

But viewed differently, Harry himself had only invited the Weasleys and Neville; Hannah came as Neville's partner. Ivy had invited every minor Muggle noble. Donald, by contrast, followed the rules—bringing Hermione as his partner. From the perspective of the Statute of Secrecy, Hermione had more right to attend this Muggle-world ball than Ron did.

In other words, unless Donald admitted he was Dack and returned to Cassandra, he had no suitable partner. Compared to dragging along any random Muggle girl, Hermione was the ideal choice—she understood Donald's connection to Harry and wouldn't feel awkward among the crowd. Once Harry set aside the truth he already knew, he realized with surprise: his own ball had unexpectedly created a perfect opportunity. Reverse-engineering it, the ball began with Ivy's whim, and Donald's earldom was also the result of a whim—these two whims weren't premeditated, but they certainly implied some mutual understanding.

Moreover, the timing was clever: Donald could now easily propose taking Hermione to the World Cup. After all, the wizarding world's World Cup was common knowledge, and everyone knew Harry would attend with Ron. If Hermione wanted to go, she'd have to ask Ron or Neville directly—or rely on Donald. And that was another calculated move: Donald would naturally prefer to bring someone he'd once "liked," and Hermione would never refuse.

At this moment, Harry had to consider another question: now that he understood Donald's intentions, should he intervene? Though Harry supported free love, and theoretically could let things unfold if Donald didn't force anything, Cassandra's fate made him wary—Donald might not take emotions seriously. He didn't want Hermione to become a single mother; that would spiral out of control.

What troubled Harry more was Tianchao's stance. Donald had mentioned the Seven Sins were forged by Tianchao's alchemical master—likely Zhang Qiu's uncle, whom she'd called a genius more than once. If Zhang Qiu's master cared about fate, her uncle likely had a hand in it too—meaning Donald's plan was either part of their scheme or at least not opposed to it.

Harry suddenly realized: Tianchao now held Cassandra captive, thus restraining Donald. Perhaps the Seven Sins weren't just Donald's clumsy gesture of care—they were part of Tianchao's larger strategy. Did they want to join the plan? Indeed, if Harry could kill a fire dragon with cold weapons, it would prove his strength and greatly aid his future recruitment of wizards to resist Voldemort—giving Voldemort yet another reason to assassinate him.

Yet what unsettled him remained: why hadn't Zhang Qiu come? He'd almost come to treat Zhang Qiu as Tianchao's embodiment, yet now Tianchao's ambiguous support for Donald clashed with the Zhang Qiu who had written the denunciation letter—that was the true source of his unease.

"Fine. I'll ask her later," Harry muttered to himself.

"When you say 'ask her,' you mean asking Zhang Qiu why she didn't come?" Sirius asked with a sly smile.

Harry froze—he hadn't realized he'd spoken aloud.

"I saw you staring blankly at those cakes," Sirius shrugged. "It's natural for a godfather to care about his godson's love life. What did she say in her letter?"

"She said she had no interest in the ball," Harry said, embarrassed. "But she said she'd be at the World Cup—we'll see each other then."

"The World Cup," Sirius continued. "No wizard would miss it. I bet three hundred Galleons on Ireland. If England hadn't lost so badly, I'd have wagered more."

"Yes, England lost to Transylvania, Wales to Uganda, Scotland to Luxembourg—if Ireland loses to Bulgaria too, they'll have no face left," Harry fumed. "I told them to be practical—first understand Quidditch's principles, then refine their tactics and play style…"

"Ireland's still decent," Sirius ruffled Harry's hair. "But I might not be able to watch with you—my men want to see the World Cup too."

"Oh?" Harry recalled Sirius had gathered a group of disgruntled Death Eaters. Now it seemed they got along well—or perhaps Sirius had truly stepped into his role as "Night Godfather."

"If I don't watch them, they might get drunk and cause trouble," Sirius said, frowning. "And if Ireland loses, they'll likely riot outright."

"Then you'd better keep a close eye," Harry laughed. "I'll watch with Ron—that'll be fine too."