Chapter 511

At the first meeting, the Prime Minister even thought that if Harry was willing to board a rocket, he could casually eat a sandwich and sip sparkling wine on the Moon—this was soon proven to be fantasy.

By the third meeting, the Prime Minister still refused to give up, insisting that Britain alone could enter space, even after Muggle experts had explained that Britain had neither rocket technology nor launch facilities; he persistently demanded the Ministry of Magic provide him with a plan.

By the seventh meeting, the lunar landing project achieved its first breakthrough—the Prime Minister finally realized that the ESA’s Ariane rocket could not enter Earth-Moon transfer orbit, and he prepared to develop a new super-heavy rocket, naming it the Hercules.

By the twelfth meeting, faced with endless engineering problems, an endless budget spreadsheet, the growing impatience of Ministry officials, and Harry’s earnest persuasion, the Prime Minister finally abandoned his unrealistic fantasy and admitted: the British Empire, at this stage, lacked the capacity to invest in a lunar landing.

After nearly a month of paperwork and brainstorming, Harry finally returned to his warm Hogwarts… just as he was about to knock on the Fat Lady’s portrait, a hand grabbed him.

“Harry, I’m sorry to disturb you, but I couldn’t help asking—can we go to the Moon?” Draco looked at him with sincere, almost pleading eyes.

“You too?” Harry sharply pulled his hand away. “I spent a month making the Prime Minister understand this—do I need to explain it to you again? We can’t join this lunar plan. It’s unrealistic. Even with the ESA, we’re at least twenty years behind in technology!”

“I’m sorry.” Draco withdrew his hand. His emotions were strange. “But I don’t know why—I just want to go to the Moon. It feels like I have some reason I must go.”

Harry instinctively sensed something was off. He calmed down and looked again at Draco. Somehow, the boy looked worn, a trace of unyielding sorrow etched between his brows.

“What have you been doing lately?” Harry asked, lowering his voice. “This doesn’t sound like you.”

“I don’t know. What I’ve been doing… I thought it had nothing to do with the Moon, but somehow, I just… ” Draco rubbed his head in pain. “Pansy lost her memory. I went to some effort to bring in a healer, but the healer looked at me strangely. Now I suspect I might have lost my memory too.”

Harry frowned. Pansy’s memory loss should have been planned—she intended to force Draco to relive their emotional journey together through memory. It should have been tender. But Draco had gone straight to a doctor—this wasn’t wrong; most people would think of a doctor first. And since Gilderoy Lockhart’s arrest, St. Mungo’s had reached unprecedented, arguably world-leading levels in memory-restoration spells and therapies.

“Hey, what are you doing here?” Ron and Ivy returned to the dormitory door, and Ron immediately began mocking Draco. “Want another round?”

“Ron, yes.” Draco suddenly seemed to remember something. “Didn’t I use soul magic last time?”

“Yes, kicked-Harry.” Ron sneered. “Still lost to my Firebrand Straight Sword.”

“That’s it… that’s it… I must have carelessly discarded it… Why do I want to go to the Moon?” Draco turned over, leaning against the railing, muttering to himself.

“What are you talking about? What’s ‘kicked-Harry’?” Ivy asked.

“It describes the ugly, desperate effort to win a duel.” Ron shrugged. “You see, every use of soul magic discards a piece of your memory. Draco used this move just to win a simple duel—I don’t even know how to describe it—”

“Why did he suddenly challenge you?” Harry suddenly asked. “Draco should know he’s no match for you.”

“How should I know?” Ron shrugged. “Forget him. Let’s go in.”

Harry waved them ahead. He felt obligated to check on Draco—he vaguely suspected this mess involved Zhang Qiu.

“Are you alright, Draco?”

“Maybe. But I know I challenged Ron to test whether soul magic worked—and I never expected I’d lose a memory that might’ve been important.” Draco shook his head hard. “Given my nature, I should’ve only lost childish, reckless memories…”

“And you never cared about the Moon as a child?” Harry stared at him. “How would a child from the magical world have any special memory of the Moon?”

“Yes, it’s strange. It’s as if the thought only came to me after hearing you and the Prime Minister discuss lunar landing—but it’s been swirling in my mind ever since…”

A hurried footstep approached. Harry instinctively looked—and saw Astoria approaching. Her lips were tightly pressed, clutching a worn rabbit doll. Harry’s instinct told him this was abnormal.

Draco watched her with a complex expression, silent.

After a brief silence, Astoria suddenly spoke—but she spoke to Harry.

“May I ask, Mr. Potter—is it true, as the newspapers say, that we can actually go to the Moon?”

“You want to go too?” Harry chuckled bitterly. “Let me explain: a rocket capable of lunar landing needs an upper stage with sustained, high-thrust propulsion to escape Earth’s gravity. That upper stage and its fuel require even more advanced main engines and boosters to first push it through the atmosphere…”

“No, no, I won’t go.” Draco covered his head with both hands, but his eyes fixed on the rabbit doll. “I just need to understand why I have this thought. As you said, until recently, we didn’t even know the Moon was a big ball we could land on.”

Harry’s gaze followed Draco’s to the rabbit doll. He mused, “Rabbits are often linked to the Moon—ancient Celestial Empire people thought the dark patches on the Moon looked like a rabbit… Strange, Miss Greengrass, why are you carrying this doll?”

“I think—I—” Astoria unconsciously clenched the doll. “I don’t know how to say it.”

“She lost her parents very young. Since Daphne started school, this rabbit has been the only companion for little Astoria.” Draco kindly explained. “She’s a lonely girl. Whenever she needs courage to do something, she must have the rabbit beside her.”

Harry noticed Astoria’s eyes brightened—but he more sharply realized this wasn’t the look of a little girl’s affection.

Just as Astoria was about to speak again, Pansy arrived in time, watching Astoria with sharp suspicion, then defiantly took Draco’s hand.

“Sorry, Harry, you must be exhausted. I shouldn’t have let him bother you now.” Pansy spoke as she pulled his hand to leave. “Probably the soul magic isn’t refined enough—he’s been dazed lately. Even Luna said—”

“Moon goddess?” Draco repeated Luna’s name—but clearly his thoughts had turned to the Moon. Harry realized Pansy shouldn’t have mentioned Luna.

Pansy pinched Draco hard, then forcibly turned his gaze away from the rabbit doll, dragging him down the stairs.

“Wait, don’t rush—you’ll trip on the stairs.” Harry suddenly said. “And I think something’s wrong. I’d bet someone cast a spell on Draco—or used a magical object.”

Pansy snapped her head up, then locked her eyes on Astoria, who clutched her rabbit doll timidly.

“Pansy,” Harry said calmly. “I’d rather stand with you. We need to find time to meet Zhang Qiu together—even bring Draco along.”

But to Harry’s surprise, the ones who showed panic in their eyes were not Astoria—but Draco and Pansy.

In second year, Harry would’ve delighted in figuring out who lied and who plotted. But now, with no taste for detective games, he chose to find Zhang Qiu as soon as possible for more information.

“So your second move for Pansy was to implant a false memory that never happened?” In the back of the Light Snap Studio, Harry easily found Zhang Qiu sipping afternoon tea and learned the origin of the story—and Pansy’s plan—from her.

“Correct. I fabricated this memory for her.” Zhang Qiu explained readily. “She ran away once, stumbled into Draco’s secret hideout, and they spent a wonderful time together, making a child’s vow: ‘When we grow up, we’ll marry.’ Then, the Parkinsons, thinking Pansy had been tricked by a rough boy, and Lucius, thinking Draco had met a peasant girl, each cast a memory charm on their child.”

Harry gave a look of utter confusion.

“Well…” Zhang Qiu scratched her head. “What I meant was… love finds a way, right? Even if it’s a fabricated story… okay, I admit, for children from noble families, this extra memory didn’t seem to help at all.”

“Yes, because Miss Qiu didn’t see the full story,” Cassandra, who brought them coffee, added. “And trying to fit that story onto them wouldn’t work at all.”