Chapter 242: Choice

After returning to Beauxbatons, Ron bid farewell to Hermione and Elina, and his mood visibly sank.

"What's wrong, Ron?" Harry asked deliberately.

"Sigh, I don't even know who I like anymore," he kicked the grass unhappily. "Hermione isn't really that great—she's just pretty, and she's not right for me."

"Why do you feel that way?" Harry now genuinely admired Zhang Qiu; it seemed she had been right all along.

"She doesn't seem to care about any of this at all. I mean, I feel she's not even from the magical world," Ron said. "She has little attachment to Hogwarts, and she probably won't stay here to build a future."

"If she stays in Britain, there are two possibilities," Harry said. "If the Dark Lord falls, she can become a respected figure through effort and intelligence—like a professor or a Ministry official. If the Dark Lord doesn't fall, she'll become the leader of Muggle-borns, a representative—dangerous, yet profoundly honorable."

"It seems no matter what she chooses, it's not as good as following Donald and doing something easy and fun in America," Ron muttered gloomily.

"I don't want that. I truly love Hogwarts," Ron shook his head. "But I'm poor. Even if we defeat the Dark Lord, I'll still be poor. I'm tired of poverty."

"You don't have to think that way, Ron," Harry said seriously. "Money makes life pleasant, but extravagant spending brings only fleeting joy. True, lasting happiness comes from realizing your ideals. What matters is: what are your ideals?"

Ron fell silent.

"I wanted to defeat the Dark Lord because he threatened our survival. After that, I want to build a world where everyone can pursue their ideals," Harry said. "For Hermione now, she's clearly lost. She's just being pulled forward by Donald, without finding her own true ideal—even her desire to defeat the Dark Lord is uncertain. That's why you see her as elusive and hard to understand."

"Alright," Ron sighed deeply. "You're right. But if you defeat the Dark Lord and become Minister of Magic, you'd better raise everyone's salary. My dad always complains his pay isn't enough."

"I think your dad supports all those kids by himself," Harry smiled awkwardly. "His salary's already high. Even if it went up a bit, he might just have another child—and your share would still be the same."

"Ah, now I get it. Then we should pass a law: no family can have more than three children," Ron's tone lightened.

"That's still too early," Harry laughed. They seemed to have reached a new understanding.

In the days that followed, Elina still came to play with them, always seeming closest to Ron. But Hermione didn't care at all—even several times, right in front of them, she said: "Elina, go play with Ron. Don't bother me."

She spent every spare moment in the library, preparing for the third task, gathering information on any possible dark creatures or spells that might be used, and copying down ancient riddles and even bad jokes. Fleur or Elina sometimes helped her, but mostly she attended classes or played games.

Ron had originally planned to gather materials too, but Harry told him it wasn't necessary—he had already learned the shortcut from Donald.

One week before the competition, Cedric came over and asked: "Ron, did you help gather materials?"

"No," he shrugged. "Harry says it's unnecessary."

"Really?" Cedric looked at Harry. "You've prepared?"

"I'm completely confident," Harry replied vaguely.

"Then I believe you," Cedric trusted Harry completely. "You'll unveil a new card, defeat every monster along the way, and win the competition easily, right?"

Harry stared at him, lips pressed tight.

"You will do it, won't you?" Cedric's voice trembled slightly.

"I'll take the shortcut," Harry suddenly decided to tell Cedric the truth. "With that key, I'll take a hidden path, bypassing every trial, and go straight to the final challenge."

"Are you joking?" Cedric sat down, serious. "Or is this tied to some plan?"

Harry hesitated. According to the latest plan, he didn't need to reach the tower's peak immediately. Voldemort planned to ambush him in advance, while the Doctor and Dumbledore would ambush him first. He could simply compete honestly—there was no longer any need to cheat using Donald's advantages.

"Ever since you pulled out those swords in the first task, I knew this wasn't the level a student your age should reach. The Opening Spell too—and those questions made me suspicious. Who could solve a problem of that difficulty in an hour?" Cedric looked into Harry's eyes. Harry saw no anger or suspicion there—only purity and sincerity. "Fleur is faking. Krum is faking. Elina doesn't seem right either. All of this is to ensure you win the Triwizard Tournament beautifully, isn't it?"

"Does this tie into some plan against the Dark Lord? I read your interview in the papers—you plan to duel him?" Cedric sighed. "I thought we won the first two tasks fairly. But we didn't, did we? Now the third task is right before us—and are you still going to follow that plan?"

"Sorry," Harry lowered his eyes guiltily.

"It's fine. I know your cause is just," Cedric paused. "Just this once, I'm willing to sacrifice honor, to abandon my principles, for a greater good. If you're going to do it, go ahead. I won't stop you. I won't tell anyone."

Harry hesitated. A voice told him he deserved this honor—he had given so much to the plan. This small bonus, this unexpected advantage, would make him champion of the Triwizard Tournament. It would be unprecedented: completing all three tasks with magical skill far beyond anyone's imagination, bringing immense fame. And Dumbledore's time was running out—he would surely become the next Dumbledore.

But Harry thought: if he gained political capital through dishonorable means, one time would lead to another. When he lifted the trophy, he might never turn back.

Dumbledore feared losing himself in power, which was why he refused to run for Minister. What if Harry became the Dumbledore who did run?

Harry's shallow knowledge of magical history didn't tell him the consequences—but from modern history, one name came to mind: the man who constantly talked about beef stew. It made him reluctant. Perhaps, before all preparations were complete, it was better not to seize power prematurely.

"Actually, you're right. I was just joking," Harry looked at Cedric and smiled. "We can compete in the third task fairly. Win or lose, it doesn't matter—the plan only needs the first two tasks."

"Are you sure?" Cedric tilted his head, looking at Harry. "You don't have to do this for me—or—"

"It's fine, Cedric," Harry said seriously. "It's fair. I used questionable methods in the first two tasks, but in the third, we can compete honestly. Dumbledore designed this plan—you must believe he wouldn't resort to underhanded tactics."

Yes, Harry now realized: if he rushed through the third task, how would he explain it to Dumbledore? So, not touching things beyond his capacity was reasonable.

"Should we go gather some materials now?" Ron suddenly asked.

"Probably not necessary," Harry calculated. "Cedric and I can handle any enemies. As for riddles or door-knob puzzles—even if we can't solve them, we still have the key, right?"

"You're right. We've prepared too thoroughly for the first two tasks," Cedric said. "Starting the third task unprepared might actually help us compensate."

June 24th finally arrived. The competition began at nine that day. Breakfast was unusually lively, everyone offering blessings to their favored champion. Harry saw the Daily Prophet delivered by owl—his heart warmed.

"Hogwarts' champion is about to enter the final round—and has a strong chance of winning the title," reported special correspondent Rita Skeeter.

"Determined to shine in the Triwizard Tournament and force the Dark Lord to acknowledge him, Harry Potter now faces the most important test of his life. His confidence stems from his magical ability far beyond his peers, from his honest, capable teammate Cedric Diggory, and from the blessings of all British wizards. Next, we present selected messages from reader letters, wishing the two Hogwarts champions outstanding success in the competition…"

"That old hag finally did something decent," Ron commented.

"But where's Zhang Qiu?" Harry scanned the table.

"Now, champions, please board the flying carriage," Madame Maxime called. "Children wishing to watch the event, please board as well. We depart promptly at 8: 0."

"She probably overslept. Don't worry—we can find a professor to take us later," Ron said. "You and Cedric go ahead. I'll look for her."

Harry nodded. He and Cedric left the Great Hall. The giant pumpkin carriage gleamed in the sun; twelve white flying horses snorted as students filed in behind the champions.

At 8: 0, Prince Montbardon cleared his throat and stood to announce: "Now, we depart for Tranzerro."