Chapter 218

"This must be true," Ivy said, "but it's not me."

"How so?" Harry immediately grew serious.

"Of course I was curious about my own origins, so I investigated—I naturally stumbled upon this so-called last princess. Most Soviet wizards know of her existence, and I once suspected I might be her. But for one, she likely wouldn't have fled to Britain; for two, the Crowley family hasn't been connected to the Russian imperial house for over a dozen generations. Aside from matching birth year, everything else is completely off."

"So you're saying Renata just made up a false identity for you?" Harry mused. "What's her point? If you can easily prove you're not that noble descendant, you wouldn't need to fear being assassinated by the KGB—this isn't even a real threat."

"Could this be a gesture of goodwill?" Ginny said awkwardly. "Top-tier nobility—how admirable."

"On the battlefield between the Order and the Death Eaters, whether you're noble or not really doesn't matter," Harry rubbed his chin. "I don't quite get her move, but don't worry too much—I'll talk to Renata first."

Just then, Ron pushed the door open and returned. He told Harry, "Renata says you can go up now."

Harry quickly bid farewell to the two younger students and followed Ron out the school gate.

Along the way, Ron described Renata's demeanor: she seemed pleased but not arrogant; her tone was actually gentle, as if she genuinely wanted to sit down and talk with Harry.

Inside the pub, they saw Crabbe with his thick eyebrows furrowed. Ron happily approached to greet him, and only then did he snap out of his daze.

"Renata told me to tell you to go up alone," Crabbe said. "Be careful—Renata prepared a lot of things. She called it politics. Ah, it's so complicated—I don't understand politics at all."

"Politics?" Harry let out a dry laugh. "What politics could we possibly understand at our age?"

"Yeah, let's talk about Quidditch, Ron—you're Ron, right?" Crabbe said.

Harry adjusted his breathing and climbed the wooden staircase of the pub, turned the corner, and entered Renata's room.

"You've seen the news," Renata said smugly. "What do you think?"

"Excellent," Harry said. "I don't understand why you're helping me."

"What?" Renata looked momentarily startled, then recovered quickly. "Ah, I'll remind you—stubbornness won't help. Regardless, I've successfully brought you back to the negotiating table."

"Fine. What do you want to discuss?" Harry shrugged. "Let me warn you upfront: the Ministry's plans have nothing to do with you, and I won't tell you anything."

"Hmph. If you're secretly trying to take control of Hogwarts, then whatever the Ministry wants to do isn't worth wondering about—it's just power struggles. What I want to talk about now is the Triwizard Tournament."

"What? You think I know more about the second task than you do?" Harry helplessly spread his hands.

"If you don't know, I'll tell you," Renata said. "The second task requires both champions to start—one from underwater, one from land. After completing their respective missions, they meet and proceed together to the designated location. That's the entire procedure."

"My requirement is this: you must delay your departure by fifteen minutes," she said coldly. "You must stand on land, motionless, for exactly fifteen minutes after the start—then begin. That's my demand."

"Why would you think I'd agree?" Harry felt this was absurd.

"Haven't you noticed? With just a tiny move, all your arrangements in Hogwarts would collapse," Renata said confidently. "Your deputy is already overwhelmed, isn't he? This is just a demonstration. If I learn the Ministry's plan—and I do have this card in hand—whose turn will it be to be overwhelmed next?"

Deputy? Overwhelmed? But Ron was downstairs happily discussing Quidditch with Crabbe—he'd been dying to get his autograph.

Unless—Harry suddenly remembered the station scene—unless Renata mistakenly thought Malfoy was Harry's deputy left in charge of Hogwarts student affairs. Then everything made sense.

Renata truly had the ability to spot weaknesses and strike with lethal precision. She only needed to spread a mild rumor, and Malfoy nearly found himself cornered. Once Ivy's bloodline was revealed, not only would Pansy notice his movements, but Malfoy himself would lose any excuse to approach Ivy openly.

Moreover, once Pansy and Malfoy drifted apart, the entire female group would instantly slip from his control—and possibly turn against him. Luna would also be lost to him, since she was first and foremost a girl, and lately she'd been closer to Pansy. As a result, Ravenclaw would be completely severed from Malfoy.

The chain reaction would follow: if Pansy mobilized the girls to retaliate against Malfoy, or if she and Ivy clashed violently, Neville—who had long been suppressed—would surge forward immediately. The Gryffindor boys, simmering with resentment, would vent their fury on Slytherin. Meanwhile, Hannah in Hufflepuff would swiftly overpower Ernie. Surrounded by betrayal, how could Malfoy possibly persuade the Silver Blood families not to abandon him amid such internal chaos and external pressure?

Harry put himself in Malfoy's shoes and broke into a cold sweat. Worse still, Renata had uncovered everything happening in Hogwarts within less than two days, deduced the full plan, and used a single casual move to push Malfoy to the edge of ruin.

She was undoubtedly a seasoned, calculating politician—perhaps even ruthless. Harry swallowed hard. Though Renata had accidentally targeted the wrong person, she might have done so deliberately—to demonstrate her power without fully alienating Harry.

She didn't yet know the Ministry's plan, but honestly, what she held was precisely the Achilles' heel of the entire scheme. If Voldemort learned the Ministry had bribed Crabbe, he'd realize Harry wasn't particularly capable and avoid the trap; if this became public, Harry wouldn't even gain the minimal benefit of showcasing himself and building reputation.

In comparison, delaying his start by fifteen minutes in the second task didn't seem an unreasonable demand. Harry believed that with his own ability, plus possible help from the Ministry or Donald, he could still complete the task—even with the delay. He could later claim, "I assumed, like the first task, I'd be helping the lagging competitor." As long as he finished, he could always explain it away.

"Your expression tells me you've figured it out," Renata said. "Then I won't waste words explaining further. Harry, you're clever—far more so than Crabbe. You know what to do."

Harry met Renata's gaze calmly. "But if this becomes public, the entire tournament loses all meaning—and the honor you seek vanishes."

"Precisely. Either we both fall, or you accept a condition that isn't too hard to swallow," Renata nodded. "Does that sound familiar?"

"The same old Cold War tactic," Harry sighed. "Fine. I agree."

"You must remain on land for exactly fifteen minutes—in full view. Miss even a second, and you'll be caught," Renata said. "If you agree to this, I guarantee I won't interfere with the Ministry's plan."

"Agreed. That's settled," Harry sighed again. "Now I need to go back for Christmas."

"Of course. Merry Christmas," Renata smiled as she bid him farewell.

"Harry, what did you talk about with her?" Ron said. "Crabbe signed over a dozen autographs—I can take them back and give them to everyone. That's great!"

"Yeah, great," Harry said, his spirits dampened by the condition he'd just accepted.

On the way back, Harry felt a twinge of regret. He couldn't be sure whether those fifteen minutes would prevent him from completing the task. But Renata's astonishing ability to destroy Malfoy made him deeply wary—he dared not gamble that she hadn't noticed or didn't intend to sabotage the Ministry's plan. After all, to the Soviets, Death Eaters or the Order were merely British internal party struggles.

Back in his dorm, Harry calmed his mind and carefully considered his next move. He realized that although Renata's clever maneuver had cornered Malfoy, for Harry it had accidentally clarified the entire situation.

His greatest concern remained the Maiming Movement—Cui Ge was still an excellent leader. As for Ivy, though proven not to be a Muggle-born, this only made Malfoy more obsessed with her—he could still set traps to manipulate his actions.

The rift between Pansy and Malfoy was a perfect opportunity to exploit. He needed to quickly shift the girls' attention away from Neville. Once Neville was freed, the entire situation would come alive: Hannah would gain strong Gryffindor backing, Malfoy would be forced into defense, Gryffindor's resurgence would help Ravenclaw decisively recommit to the Tiresius Secret Society—and once he properly guided Ivy, everything could return to his original plan.

Having grasped all this, Harry opened his dorm door, ready to head to the common room for a chat—but then he noticed a pale-blond-haired boy sitting on the sofa he usually occupied. The boy's expression was grave, but when he saw Harry, it softened slightly.

"Malfoy? How did you get in? And," Harry glanced around, "how are you sitting calmly in Gryffindor's common room without causing a riot?"

"I let him in," Ivy said. "I'm the only one still helping him now."