Chapter 177

Harry and the Weasleys sat in the top-tier box, surrounded by Ministry officials and Bulgarian wizards; Zhang Qiu and Ge Xuan's seven concubines sat in the row directly ahead, occasionally turning back to speak with Harry.

Not long after, the Malfoys took their seats nearby; Sirius, wearing sunglasses, sat beside them with two bodyguards. Harry noticed Lucius was clearly uneasy around his godfather, and couldn't help smirking inwardly.

After enduring countless advertisements for the Centaury broomstick, Fenway wizard robes, Weasel-brand instant sandwiches, and Bertie Bott's Every Flavour Beans, the long-awaited mascot performance finally began.

Bulgaria's mascot was a group of Veela—stunningly beautiful women with undeniable charm—and Harry became utterly entranced during their performance. After it ended, he took several deep breaths to shake off his daze, marveling at how much Bulgaria had clearly spent.

Ireland's mascot was less impressive: a group of leprechauns tossing coins at the crowd. While money and beauty were equally popular, the coins vanished once their time limit expired, so the audience's enthusiasm for them paled beside that for the Veela.

After a tense and thrilling match, the outcome unfolded exactly as Harry had predicted: Ireland's seeker, Lin Qi, deliberately crashed to the ground at the last moment, while Krum seized the Snitch, ending the game.

After the match, Harry watched the award ceremony and briefly met Krum as he passed by upstairs. Then, swept along by the noisy crowd, he returned to his tent.

In the middle of the night, Harry was jolted awake by commotion. He peeked outside and saw a clearing near the forest packed tightly with people—but half-asleep and uninterested, he pulled on his earplugs and went back to sleep.

The next morning, the camp returned to its usual lively yet orderly atmosphere. From vague remarks by adults, Harry deduced that Death Eaters had caused a drunken disturbance the night before. He immediately thought of Sirius's men, but since the situation seemed calmed, there was no need to overreact.

It wasn't until Harry returned to the Weasley home and settled in that he saw the news in the next day's Daily Prophet.

"... hortly after the Dark Mark appeared, a Ministry official appeared, claiming no one was harmed but refusing to disclose further details. Meanwhile, anonymous letters accused Hogwarts seventh-year Cassandra of responsibility for the incident. Dumbledore, without hesitation, chose to shield the student, insisting no such student named Cassandra existed at Hogwarts..."

"Hss." Harry sucked in a sharp breath and immediately began writing to Zhang Qiu.

Ron, still clueless, picked up a copy of The Quibbler and flipped through its article on Cassandra, muttering occasionally about how he'd definitely meet this senior after term started—completely oblivious to Ginny and Ivy, who were barely holding back laughter, their faces flushed red.

Only a week before term began, when Zhang Qiu visited the Weasley home, did she casually admit her guilt—after having consistently denied any involvement in the Dark Mark incident through letters.

"Of course! Divination predicted someone would cast the Dark Mark and that Death Eaters would torture Muggles!" she declared dramatically. "But for some reason, they were all terrified of some bigwig called 'Nightfall Godfather'—so they all behaved themselves!"

Harry couldn't help laughing.

"What was I supposed to do? Prophecies have to come true! I didn't even torture any Muggles—that's already generous!" Zhang Qiu threw her hands up dramatically. "Anyway, it was Cassandra who did it."

"If you keep this up, Snape's going to lose his mind. Don't keep dumping every mess on Cassandra's head—don't forget everyone says she's from Slytherin—" Harry half-laughed, trying to reason with her.

"Then let's invent a Gryffindor fake—preferably a Black transgender lesbian," Zhang Qiu said with malicious glee. "What about 'Natsey One'?"

"I don't know how you two can laugh," Ron sighed. "Think about the Triwizard Tournament—Harry told me you'll be facing students from four other schools. Obviously, Ilvermorny and Kardalovitz will send their best. You need a plan."

"There's no plan," Harry sighed. "Tell me how a kid our age is supposed to fight a dragon?"

"Use the Firebolt, or the Impedimenta spell," Zhang Qiu offered, her advice barely better than nothing.

"Forget it. I'll just stick with the Seven Sins." Harry shrugged helplessly. "I've realized—worrying doesn't help. Might as well use whatever tools I've got."

Harry, who once clung to a sliver of sportsmanship, ultimately chose to cheat after learning two champions would fix their matches. Since he'd win by cheating anyway, he might as well turn on all his advantages—safer, and far more impressive.

"But what about the second task?" Ron asked. "I heard the Triwizard Tournament has three tasks."

"Let the Ministry worry about it," Harry said wearily. "They always think everything's under control—I just need to play along."

Zhang Qiu stayed only briefly, saying she had to go to Hogsmeade to deal with the real "Cassandra." Her son, Cui Ge Fontroy, had already moved in with Luna long ago; Ginny and Ivy occasionally summoned them to play Avalon, replacing Fred and George, who were busy developing their magical prank shop—since winning big on the bets, the venture was no longer just a fantasy.

Just before Harry and Ron boarded the train, the only noteworthy event was Mad-Eye Moody's trash bin being blown up by "Cassandra." When Arthur mused aloud about the "seventh-year Cassandra," Ginny and Ivy burst into laughter, choking on their pudding—Harry and Ron, keeping silent, could only shake their heads in resignation.

On the train, the two pairs of siblings sat in the same compartment. At first, Ron had no objection—but when Ginny and Ivy waved at Malfoy and Harry ignored them, he grumbled under his breath.

"Hey, Harry, heard about the Triwizard Tournament?" Malfoy said with a forced smile. "Everyone says you're the likely champion for Hogwarts. What do you think?"

"Think?" Harry shrugged. "What do you want me to think?"

"I know Durmstrang will compete—I was supposed to go there, but Mother said it was too far," Malfoy boasted. "Durmstrang is more lenient toward Dark Arts but stricter about blood purity. Lower-class Mani people aren't welcome."

"I know it's in East Germany. Do you know what that means?" Harry shot back. "They hang capitalists from streetlamps."

"But you don't have to say it like that," Malfoy replied, sounding slightly defeated—he'd understood the jab. "Ivy's pure-blood too. You just won't admit it—"

"Enough!" Harry snapped, but before he could retort further, Zhang Qiu's advice surfaced in his mind.

"You keep shouting about her bloodline, afraid the KGB won't notice?" Harry steered the conversation deliberately. "Ivy's a Muggle-born. Her parents have nothing to do with Soviet nobility. Got it?"

Malfoy's face lit up with sudden understanding: "The Great Purge—you mean the Great Purge? I get it, I get it. Sorry, I won't mention it again..."

As the pampered aristocrat departed, his step visibly lightened. Harry glanced again at Ivy—her features were excellent: sharp, pale, fair skin. Though slightly less striking than Zhang Qiu, she far outshone Pansy.

Before the Chamber of Secrets meeting, Malfoy had always assumed Ivy was pure-blood. Even after she told him herself, he refused to believe it, insisting she was staging the whole thing to lure out the attacker.

Perhaps partly because Tang Dun had cultivated her impeccable bearing and demeanor, and partly because Malfoy harbored a certain improper interest in her. As Zhang Qiu had said: "Ivy can absolutely be pure-blood—if you blame it on the Soviets. And if you can make Malfoy infatuated with her, that's the final kill."

At this moment, Harry had no intention of interfering in Ivy and Ron's relationship. He simply thought: if Malfoy wanted to deceive himself, letting him believe it was harmless—after all, Harry hadn't lied. It was all Malfoy's own imagination.

After Malfoy left, Ron wasn't angry. He merely remarked coldly: "It's rare for Malfoy's head and arse to be in the right places."

"Come on," Harry urged. "Don't you think he's kind of cute? A self-important little brat—he'd have wet his pants a dozen times over by now if he'd faced what we've been through."

"Ha!" Ron laughed. "Think of Avalon—if he had to fight the Green Knight, Malfoy couldn't even lift his sword. He'd probably just flee in panic—or worse, couldn't even run! That armor weighs dozens of pounds..."

Amid his sisters' adoring gazes, Ron began recounting his second-year adventures in Avalon, his third-year confrontation with the fugitive Sirius, and—on Harry's specific request—explained to the younger girls how evil Professor Quirrell was, and how they'd outwitted him.