Chapter 502

After Harry met Zhang Qiu on a cold December day, his thoughts immediately shifted from complex international relations back to his simpler, school-based interpersonal relationships.

He stopped obsessing over international affairs because Zhang Qiu had explained the Celestial Empire’s stance: they strictly forbade the scientific community from exploiting magic as a shortcut, while cultivating elite wizards to learn basic scientific knowledge—a policy nearly identical to his own, which gave Harry deep reassurance, for it meant the British magical world was walking a proven, correct path. Whether Su Fang ruthlessly pursued military expansion or the Americans, divided into factions, wanted everything at once, it no longer troubled him much, because according to Zhang Qiu, the Xuan Jun’s progress in refining the Dao far exceeded expectations—he seemed on the verge of emerging from seclusion.

Of course, this was also another reason he began contemplating his school relationships, because Zhang Qiu needed to return home.

“It’s like this, Harry—you know the Xuan Jun dislikes seeing radical officials expand territory, right?” she explained carefully. “Logically, he has repeatedly declared against territorial expansion, yet the reality is that the radicals have indeed expanded territory. The Xuan Jun must be furious.”

“But in truth, he isn’t truly unwilling—he tacitly approved the radicals’ clumsy script of ‘Allied Invasion at the Border,’ and allowed them to fight a few minor battles while he was in seclusion. Of course, he wasn’t incapable of communicating with the outside world during seclusion, but to tacitly permit it, he pretended he couldn’t.”

“So, on the surface, it looks like the radicals secretly did something against his will while he was unaware—but in secret, the Xuan Jun has known all along, he simply refuses to speak, so he pretends ignorance. Correspondingly, after emerging from seclusion, he must pretend to be furious, though he isn’t truly angry. Of course, the radicals know this anger is fake, but they still need to pretend to be terrified. But how does it end?—So, throughout this whole process, there needs to be a reason for the Xuan Jun to pretend to calm down. And that reason is me.”

Harry shook his head and raised a hand to signal her to stop.

“I’m a bit dizzy. So, roughly speaking, the Xuan Jun and the Celestial Empire’s officials need you to go back… to perform a political show?”

“Yes, yes! You summed it up perfectly,” Zhang Qiu said happily. “It’s a show—but an important one.”

“I don’t get why,” Harry said, sighing and shaking his head. “When exactly are you leaving?”

“Ah, it’s always been this way—ancient tradition,” she shrugged. “I’ll pack up and leave tomorrow, probably return during the holiday. Don’t worry—since the Celestial Empire doesn’t have Christmas break, I’ll come back as fast as I can to enjoy the vacation.”

Harry stared blankly elsewhere, suddenly wondering: would she have to return again in February, for the Celestial Empire’s Spring Festival, to enjoy another holiday?

“...So, one bad thing you’re facing is that you won’t have a dance partner for the Christmas Ball. But the good news is, I don’t mind if you find someone else,” Zhang Qiu said encouragingly. “Guess who your destined dance partner is this year?”

“Who?” Harry scratched his head, utterly clueless.

“Hermione,” Zhang Qiu held up two fingers. “You might find it strange, but fate’s trajectory is this way. I suggest you try it—perhaps following fate will strengthen your Sovereign of the Ascendant Era.”

“Really?” Harry showed deep resistance—he thought this was utterly absurd.

“Hard to say,” Zhang Qiu rubbed her chin. “Interestingly, my master’s divinations didn’t include this part, but Donald swore that you two danced together in seventh year—he even called it ‘one of the few glimmers in the dark.’ That anecdote gave us considerable leverage back in fifth year, when we tricked him with the Harry-Hermione ruse.”

“It’s obvious: Donald has no prophetic ability—he just heard my story from a parallel future,” Harry stated firmly. “Either the person spreading the story in that world fabricated it, or—no, I could never have any romantic involvement with Hermione in any world. It’s pure fabrication.”

Zhang Qiu burst into cheerful laughter, then said, “You might as well ask her—what if it’s true? You don’t want your Sovereign of the Ascendant Era getting beaten by Muggles again, do you?”

“Stop bringing that up!” Harry’s face flushed red. “Fine, I’ll do it your way—consider it training!”

So, as Zhang Qiu packed her travel bag and returned home to join court affairs, Harry sat alone in the common room, his expression complicated, hesitating whether he truly should ask Hermione to be his dance partner.

“Hey, mate, why aren’t you in your dorm? Staring at the fire like a fool?” Ron asked.

This year, things had changed: Harry now spent every evening alone doing homework or reading, while Ron returned late at night, beaming with delight.

“Qiu said she won’t go to the ball with me—she has to go back home.”

“So what?” Ron said easily. “Girls lining up to dance with you could stretch from the Great Hall to Hogsmeade. Or, skip out a day early and go to Gilneas.”

“But she recommended someone as my partner, and it’s got me stuck,” Harry rubbed his face. “If I go to Gilneas, it’ll feel like being a coward, a deserter...”

“So who did she recommend?”

“Hermione.”

Ron’s face twisted into a mixture of confusion, shock, disbelief, and utter incomprehension. After a long silence, he finally asked slowly: “Why?”

“I know—Zhang Qiu taught me,” Ivy said, returning to the dorm. She beamed. “It’s called ‘Entering the Game with One’s Own Body, Winning Half a Move Against Heaven!’”

Harry wearily shooed them both away; the fragile courage he’d mustered to break the awkwardness had vanished. He decided to think about it tomorrow.

Yet when he found Hermione the next day, it was clear rumors had already spread.

“Oh, Harry, it’s unnecessary,” Hermione said with a wry smile. “Everyone knows I’ve given up on Ron, and I’m not even planning to attend the ball—I’ll leave early.”

Harry frowned. “It’s not about that! Ivy only ever picks up the worst of Eastern culture—haven’t you heard the Celestial saying: How could a phoenix compete with an owl for a dead rat?”

“Interesting,” Hermione laughed. “That’s a peculiar saying. But if it’s not for that—why are you asking me?”

“I won’t lie—it’s not pretty,” Harry took a deep breath. “I’m going to… perform a show.”

“Oh?” Hermione’s expression turned curious, probing.

Harry had no desire to mention fate or his ever-unwanted Sovereign, so he chose another motive: “I want the royal family—or any power—to know our friendship is unshakable. Not just as allies of the Supra-Wizardry Force, but as students of this year—or rather, this generation—at Hogwarts, a generation that endured great upheaval. We share common topics, ideals, organizations... We will always be friends, or someday, form an even stronger alliance.”

“Does this have anything to do with those red literature books you read?” Hermione’s tone was skeptical, but her posture had relaxed.

“Not really,” Harry said sincerely. “More importantly, we both see your wisdom and ability—and you’re willing to work hard to make the country better. So I want everyone to know I’ll stand by you without reservation.”

“Wow!” Hermione grabbed his arm. “You realize that’s like saying the entire magical world stands with me.”

“Uh, not quite...” Harry didn’t know how to respond.

“Thank you for your trust. I’ve decided.”

“You accepted?” Harry asked nervously. “Have you decided what dress to wear?”

“I’ve already decided how to make Great Britain great again—using the magical world’s undeniable power as the ant on the scale, in this chaotic situation... Give me ten to twenty years. I’ll prove it to everyone.”

Coming back to herself, Hermione closed the open book and smiled wryly. “The dress—I’ll prepare it well.”

On the night of the ball, following Ivy’s advice, Harry chose a muted emerald-green high-collared formal robe and wore every decoration he owned—the Ministry had awarded him a jumble of medals in fifth year, but only one Merlin Medal. He did this because Ginny would attend with the prince; though the Ministry cheerfully described it as “ordinary Muggles allowed on campus,” everyone knew that if she were truly an ordinary Muggle, it wouldn’t be this easy.

Though partly intended to rival the prince, when Harry saw his own chest adorned with neatly arranged medals in the mirror, he felt a strange, power-derived elegance. He also did not forget the true source of that power—the knightly force, now mastered and disguised as a gold pocket watch, quietly hidden beneath his velvet sleeve.

Hermione wore a Greek-style one-shoulder blue gown—conservative, yet radiating wisdom. She chose a low, neat bun and a matte dark lipstick, deliberately avoiding any flashy elements that might cause misunderstanding.

In the dance floor buzzing with youthful hormones, they were nearly the only pair emphasizing pure friendship and solid cooperation—“nearly,” because Snape and McGonagall had danced together at the opening.