Chapter 507

This sounded utterly fantastical, but according to Zhang Qiu, the theory of parallel worlds had become Ge Xuan’s greatest concern since his emergence from seclusion.

“During his seclusion, Master gained new insights,” Zhang Qiu explained. “He said that even if societal governance reaches perfection, overall development is still limited by resources. If we aim further ahead, we must ultimately seek infinite resources. He plans to propose a two-phase new-domain initiative: first, encouraging the Muggle world to explore space; second, encouraging the magical world to explore parallel worlds.”

Donald shifted his gaze away with a sigh. “The old man still leads the way.”

“But that doesn’t make sense,” Harry thought of what Ge Xuan had once said. “Didn’t he say that after time froze, we couldn’t explore parallel worlds anymore?”

“So he hopes to find a breakthrough through Donald,” Zhang Qiu said, clasping his hands on the table with serious intent. “We all know ‘love’ is the emotion that most powerfully unleashes magic. If you still deeply love your wife from your past life, try it. Mr. Donald, you’re already unique—perhaps you can discover a spell to traverse parallel worlds?”

Donald felt uneasy. He had no wife from a past life—it was merely an excuse he’d invented before Harry to conceal his past misdeeds. He didn’t know whether Zhang Qiu genuinely misunderstood or if Ge Xuan was once again mocking his mistake. But at least for him, he preferred staying in this magical world rather than returning to his original one.

“What if it doesn’t work?” Donald said. “I’ve made many friends here. There are people I care about. Maybe I don’t feel that strong a desire to go back.”

“Then we must consider another angle: attempting to repair time itself,” Zhang Qiu shrugged. “Master is also pondering a solution to repair time. Of course, the risk is encountering the returned Death God—but we have good odds. Or rather, we must wait until we’re fully prepared to defeat the Death God before executing this time-repair plan.”

Needless to say, Harry knew Ge Xuan had based the entire plan on himself—having stolen the Death God’s power—and Ron, who had synthesized the power to defeat the Death God. He couldn’t help but echo Donald’s sentiment: Ge Xuan’s thoughts and actions were far too ahead of their time.

“Let’s talk about something immediate,” Donald grumbled. “I think you should convince the Prime Minister to begin deploying the Focusing Rainbow across Europe as soon as possible.”

“But it won’t work on airships, right?” Harry asked in confusion.

“Here’s my thinking,” Donald extended both hands. “The likelihood of a large-scale conventional war today is negligible, so don’t fixate on airships. Instead, we should be wary of Yanayev’s floating city built with Su Fang. If he constructs a larger, taller city equipped with Muggle armies, that will be our true failure.”

“I see. You want to link multiple Focusing Rainbows through concentrated attacks,” Zhang Qiu nodded in deep agreement. “That would indeed pose a major challenge to the floating city’s defenses.”

“And we don’t actually intend to launch an attack immediately—just retain this capability to make him hesitate when considering the floating city project,” Donald stroked his chin slowly. “Since the Magical Congress’s aerospace carrier is destined to become a joke, I ought to think more about my own interests: how to consolidate and enhance Daralan’s advantages. I don’t expect the floating city to have any technological barriers—Yanayev can easily replicate it. So we must threaten and intimidate him from the offensive side…”

“No technological barriers for the floating city?” Harry clearly remembered the documents brought by the Celestial Empire contained many new spells and technologies praised by Muggle scientists—all crucial to building the floating city. Logically, as long as they weren’t leaked, Yanayev would find it extremely difficult to replicate it.

“The floating city is, in essence, just brute force and big bricks,” Zhang Qiu shrugged. “Even if he encounters difficulties, as long as he pours in more resources and spares no cost, he can still replicate it.”

After that, they stopped discussing the discouraging situation and turned to lighter topics. Donald pointed out that if Focusing Rainbows needed construction across Europe, the werewolf wizards who had originally started the project would naturally become the corresponding “engineering experts.” They could proudly travel between magical communities, enjoying expert status—great for both the werewolf community and Gilneas’s reputation.

Alongside this, if werewolves traveled widely to advise on foreign projects, vacancies would arise in Gilneas. For the vampire clan still struggling to survive, this was undoubtedly a good opportunity.

After thoroughly analyzing the situation, Donald tidied up slightly and prepared to leave. The Focusing Rainbow was a massive project; if promoted across the EU, it would significantly impact the Muggle world. Construction companies would benefit, and manufacturers specializing in glass, crystal, and optical precision instruments would profit greatly—he needed to return urgently so his financial advisors could position investments in these sectors, adding yet another fortune to his already boundless wealth.

After this, Harry also planned to return to Tang Dun to spend the latter half of the Christmas holiday with his family. But while Harry enjoyed life in Tang Dun, Lupin continued struggling to balance work and life: caring for his pregnant wife, handling internal affairs, and dealing with annoying KGB agents. And now, another troubling matter had arisen: since Snape took over vampire management, friction between the two groups had increased sharply, forcing him to expend enormous energy mediating conflicts.

Clearly, this situation also affected Snape. After Christmas, on the day students returned to school, Harry could see obvious exhaustion on Snape’s face. He began frequently leaving school to handle various matters. Though it didn’t impact the school, Harry couldn’t help worrying about his mental state.

By early February, Snape’s frequent absences finally began affecting the school. Though McGonagall still diligently loved the school, Slughorn started showing signs of restlessness.

“So, Harry, you know we’re planning to open a university, right?” During a Slug Club gathering, Slughorn asked cautiously, feigning casualness. “Some friends say university is like grades eight through twelve; others say it’s an advanced level of NEWT-level studies, open only to students with the highest NEWT scores. Who’s right?”

“Perhaps both are right,” Harry shrugged. “Muggles do use scores to determine university admission, but our magical students are so few. To run the university successfully, we might have to lower entry requirements—ending up with Hogwarts plus four more years.”

“Ah, ah, yes,” Slughorn unconsciously rubbed his wineglass—he clearly had thoughts he couldn’t voice.

“What if European students,” he said, “if they also come here to attend university? Of course, I’d be delighted. I enjoy befriending outstanding students. If the university still follows the score system…”

“That’s a wonderful idea—we’ve envisioned the same,” Harry said generously. “It would expand our influence and allow us to select the best, improving the university’s student quality.”

“I’ll be blunt, Harry,” Slughorn set his glass aside. “Has Professor Snape been busy planning this? Is he going to recruit students from the European continent?”

“Huh?” Harry knew Snape had spent much time with the vampires, but he wasn’t sure if he could speak openly about it. He answered vaguely: “I don’t know—he hasn’t told me anything.”

“But we all know university matters can’t bypass you, right?” Slughorn seemed anxious. “The prince and Ginny’s relationship… and everyone knows you nearly joined the Shangyi Academy. Haihai , Harry, can you tell me accurately—has the list of university professors been finalized?”

“It’s still too early,” Harry finally understood what Slughorn was thinking: for someone who loved faction-building and social maneuvering, the university was clearly a better platform. But if Snape became university chancellor, he’d likely also remain Potions professor—leaving no place for Slughorn in the university.

And from another perspective, if Slughorn stayed as a secondary school professor, it would greatly benefit both the magical world and Hogwarts: two Potions masters covering students from ages eleven to twenty-two would ensure magnificent development of magical Potions in Britain.

But for someone like Slughorn, who relished scheming, this was far from ideal.

“Professor,” Harry scratched his head, “I understand your thoughts—but who would teach Potions at Hogwarts then?”

“There are so many excellent graduates,” Slughorn dismissed it. “They can handle the basics. Focus on exams for fifth and seventh years. The advanced knowledge can wait until university.”

Harry couldn’t gauge Snape’s intentions, so he couldn’t give a definite answer. After more back-and-forth with Slughorn, just as Harry was about to open the door and leave, he noticed Pansy standing in the corridor, watching him with hopeful eyes.

Not knowing what she wanted this time, Harry felt irritated but still smiled politely at her.