Chapter 217

After a burst of playful revelry, the werewolves, under Lupin's guidance, began setting up grills and hauling raw beef from the storage warehouse, preparing to feast. Of course, some among them still had more wolf than man in them, and simply grabbed the raw meat and devoured it outright—everyone chose to understand.

"Let's go," Sirius said. "They're going to be playing here all night."

"Lupin used a pseudonym too, didn't he?" Harry found it amusing—those who had once used aliases to create the Marauder's Map were now using them to arrange their schemes.

"Ah, you see, Fontroy family invested heavily in us," Sirius lowered his voice. "The names Gilneis Kingdom and King Greymane were specifically requested by Donald."

Why would Donald do this? Harry pondered silently. Could it be connected to the legendary lost civilization?

"Oh, Harry, I've got to stay here and sort out the factory and union matters," Sir Crowley called out to him. "Go back to school—spend Christmas with the kids!"

Harry's lips twitched. Whenever Sir Crowley talked about workers and unions, he always got fired up. Harry didn't argue—it was fine for an old man to have his own pursuits. With Sirius's help, Harry slipped back into Hogwarts without his invisibility cloak, evading Filch and making it to his dorm unnoticed.

Early the next morning, as Harry walked toward the Great Hall while explaining his general strategy to Neville, a copy of the Daily Prophet delivered by Hedwig plunged him into deep thought—so deeply, in fact, that when he finally snapped out of it, he couldn't even recall whether he'd eaten breakfast.

The front page of the Daily Prophet still carried the usual dull headline about Minister Scrimgeour delivering an important speech, but on the second page, an article instantly caught Harry's eye.

"Some Hogwarts Foreign Students: She Was Once Royal Nobility!"

Harry skimmed the article, which casually introduced Zhang Qiu and Cui Ge, then devoted most of its space to describing Ivy Crowley.

"Until today, we had assumed Miss Crowley was an ordinary Muggle-born. However, following the visit of Soviet hero Renata Yevgenyevna Chicherin, we unexpectedly uncovered a long-buried secret: Miss Crowley is in fact the last pure-blood descendant of the Russian Imperial House."

"Under Renata's identification, we confirmed Miss Crowley's original name is Izelenova Razumovskaya Romanova, carrying the pure magical bloodline of the Russian Imperial Family. Due to Yanayev's ruthless persecution of pure-blood nobility, her parents and relatives perished in the Great Purge, forcing this royal descendant to seek refuge with her British relatives…"

Harry took a deep breath. He found it hard to believe this was true—but why would Renata lie? In a way, it actually helped him continue manipulating Malfoy.

If Ivy were proven a pure-blood noble, Malfoy would undoubtedly grow even more eager. Of course, that might prevent her from continuing to lead the Muggle-Born Movement—but originally, Cui Ge had been the leader, and this article had casually confirmed his Muggle bloodline.

What if… Harry suddenly shifted his perspective. What if Renata wasn't trying to sabotage him, but was instead trying to help? That thought struck him as crucial. He had originally thought Malfoy was scheming behind his back, but later realized Malfoy had simply misunderstood his intentions—this had nearly overturned Harry's entire strategy.

"I need to talk to Renata," Harry suddenly stood up. Ron immediately stood as well.

"I'm coming with you," he said.

"What about our meeting?" Neville glanced at Harry tentatively. "Postpone it?"

"Yes. Renata's move is very strange—I need to confirm some things. If things aren't what I think, we may have to completely revise our plan."

As they stepped out of the Great Hall, Harry suddenly remembered something and turned to Ron. "Wait—first, I need to confirm Ivy's true bloodline with her. I need to find out whether Renata is deliberately manipulating this, or just accidentally let slip the truth."

"Alright, I'll head to the Three Broomsticks and set up a time for you," Ron said. "If I can't find her, I'll leave a note telling her to wait for you there tomorrow morning."

"Thanks, that's a big help," Harry nodded and turned to head upstairs. But as he ran past the fourth-floor corridor, passing Torchwood Headquarters, a faint, muffled sob caught his attention.

He slowed his pace and crept closer. The sound grew clearer—it was Pansy.

"Say it, Draco. Why won't you explain?" Her voice was desperate. "You knew, didn't you? That day you sent me away so you could meet Harry alone—what did you talk about?"

"Why won't you speak? I worked so hard for you—helped you elevate Luna, crushed the Lionheart Society, even reached out to MacMillan. I was so busy I thought I was easing your burdens… but was I just in your way?" Pansy's voice cracked with sobs. "Do you know how happy I was doing those things? I thought I was helping you…"

"Say something, Draco! Say something!" she cried hysterically.

"Boss, maybe you should explain," Goyle's dull voice came from inside. "I don't believe it's like that."

"Uh, maybe ask Tom?" Crabbe offered a surprisingly clever suggestion.

"I don't know how to say this, Pansy," Malfoy's voice sounded weary. "You've been a tremendous help to me—it's all part of the plan…"

"Yes, but what is the plan?" Pansy said hollowly. "Is it for Torchwood? But what is Torchwood for? What's left for me to look forward to?"

"Don't talk like that, big sister," Goyle fumbled to comfort her. "Once Torchwood grows stronger and takes control of the whole school, we can do whatever we want."

"The whole school, huh," Pansy's voice cracked again with tears. "I can't even hold onto the man I love—what's the point of the school?"

"Isn't controlling the school good? Tom always wanted the school," Crabbe joined in.

"Draco, you just won't say it, will you?" Pansy sobbed. "Just say one thing—say you and Ivy aren't together. Say it, and I'll believe you."

"I love you so much, Draco. Everything I've done—does it mean nothing to you? Ugh…"

"I said I'm grateful," Malfoy mumbled. "But as for love… I think we're both still too young."

"I can wait," Pansy said. "But I want to wait with hope. Tell me—do you have even a little room for me in your heart? I want to wait until you change your mind."

"Of course I do…" Malfoy's tone gave no hint of sincerity.

"And what about Ivy? What is she to you?" Pansy's voice held a sliver of hope.

"To be precise, she's Harry's sister—and that's crucial. You know how powerful Harry is. We must ally with him, never oppose him." Malfoy's words suddenly flowed smoothly. "You've seen the paper—he holds secrets even the Dark Lord doesn't know."

"Yes, of course. So everything between you and her is just pretend, right? It's Ivy who's chasing you, isn't it?" Pansy's tone brightened suddenly.

"You can think of it that way," Malfoy evaded. "The main thing is—if Harry doesn't mind, I can't afford to offend him."

"I'll talk to Harry. I'll make him arrange for Ivy to be betrothed to Ron—that'll solve everything, and we can get back on track." A rustling came from inside—the sound of Pansy standing. Hearing footsteps approaching, Harry quickly moved away from the door.

As he stood on the stairs, pretending to walk casually upward, a hand landed on his shoulder. Harry turned—Pansy. Her eyes were red, but her face no longer carried the harshness of years past. Though still somewhat like a pug, a hint of feminine charm and grace had begun to show.

"Harry, there you are," she said. "I need to tell you something… uh, how do I put it…"

Harry sighed. Though he had little connection with Pansy, his innate kindness and compassion made him unable to abandon her. He spoke as gently as he could: "Take your time. Whatever it is, you can tell me slowly."

Pansy's emotions were too raw, her thoughts too tangled—she couldn't articulate anything clearly. After a brief silence, she said: "I'm sorry—I'm too agitated. But I really need to talk to you properly."

"Can we meet tonight? I'll wait for you at Headquarters." Pansy gave a nervous smile, bowed slightly, then turned and walked away. Harry watched her back—she was still wiping her tears.

Harry believed he could understand Pansy. She wasn't foolish—perhaps she had long suspected Malfoy's involvement with Ivy. But Ivy's Muggle blood had given her a sense of security. Now that security was gone—of course she was crumbling.

But could Renata possibly have targeted Pansy, someone so utterly unrelated? Harry scratched his head. Perhaps Pansy was just collateral damage. The priority now was to confirm the nature of this incident through Ivy and Renata—so he could plan his next move.

After dealing with Pansy, Harry returned to the Gryffindor common room. Ginny and Ivy were still in their usual spot, laughing and chatting.

"Ivy, tell me the truth," Harry pulled out the morning's newspaper from his robe. "What's your real background? Is this real—or is Renata just making things up?"

Ivy was clearly startled, but as she took the paper and read it carefully, her expression grew increasingly complex.