vncnus Chapter 188 Granger's Deal with the Dark Lord
Chapter 188 Granger's Deal with the Dark Lord
Chapter 189 (4k long chapter) Granger's Deal with the Dark Lord
Hermione suddenly uttered a startling statement, which shocked both Harry and Ron.
Harry quickly clasped his hands in greeting and said, "Big sister, why do you say that? Have you perhaps seen through some secret?"
Hermione didn't answer, but instead narrowed her bright eyes and stared intently at the strange-looking Moody.
"Only five days have passed since the Death Eaters released the Dark Mark at the Quidditch World Cup."
"But in just five days, the new teachers who were to teach at Hogwarts were attacked. Don't you think that's a bit too much of a coincidence?"
"And that guy in the invisibility cloak said they had serious business to do. Is it possible that attacking Mad-Eye Moody was the serious business they were talking about?"
"Or rather, what's their remedial plan after their important task failed?"
Hermione explained the reasons in detail, like peeling back layers of an onion, or a skilled butcher dissecting an ox, and Harry clapped his hands in agreement.
Ron's suspicions deepened upon hearing this. He glanced at the mad-eyed man and whispered, "Do you think he's been poisoned by the Imperius Curse? Or has he been switched?"
"Oh, Ron, don't talk nonsense."
Hermione shook her head. "If Professor Moody were truly under the Imperius Curse, Professor Dumbledore would have noticed immediately."
"Then someone switched them out." Ron's eyes flashed with a fierce light. "Or maybe they were possessed by Voldemort like Quirrell?"
Upon hearing Ron utter the name "Voldemort," his expression suddenly darkened, and after a long pause, he slowly said:
"I don't know. But I think we should test him a bit."
Just then, Harry suddenly burst into laughter, reached into his robes, and pulled out a roll of parchment.
"Why make it so complicated! Has elder sister forgotten about this?"
Upon seeing the Marauder's Map, Ron and Hermione both suddenly understood.
The three immediately gathered together, and Harry unfolded the map. All six eyes turned to the name of Albus Dumbledore, which clearly read "Alastor Moody".
Ron and Hermione breathed a sigh of relief upon seeing the real names, all their doubts vanishing like flowing water, and they could only remain silent.
Ron clicked his tongue and said, "Well, it seems we were overthinking it. Professor Moody doesn't seem to have any problems."
Hermione sighed as well. "Put the map away, Harry—Harry?"
She called out a few times, but Harry didn't respond. Turning her head, she saw that the scarred man's face was like cast iron, his eyes gleaming coldly, as if he were facing a formidable enemy.
Hermione was startled, not knowing what had gone wrong, and hurriedly tugged at his sleeve, asking anxiously, "Harry, what are you looking at?"
Harry sneered, his teeth grinding together, and pointed his finger at a spot behind the side door of the Great Hall, cursing:
"Damn it! That old bastard Dumbledore is so muddle-headed! Look who this is!"
The two looked in the direction he was pointing and saw the name "Gellert Grindelwald" clearly displayed on the parchment.
"This is the Gellert Grindelwald I'm thinking of?!" Ron exclaimed in horror, "The first Dark Lord?"
Hermione nearly fell over in shock, exclaiming, "He's infiltrated Hogwarts?!"
Harry slammed the map down, his eyes blazing with fury. "No! In my opinion, it was clearly that old man who intentionally let that scoundrel in!"
Before he finished speaking, Dumbledore shouted again:
"Besides Professor Moody, another staff member will be joining Hogwarts, Mr. Green, as the wardens of the underground classrooms."
"However, you usually won't run into him; his personality is far more reclusive than you imagine."
The words were still ringing in my ears when the side door creaked open, and a hunched old man shakily strode in.
The old man, with his white hair and beard, walked with a faltering gait, like a candle flickering in the wind. Yet, he calmly sat down, leisurely poured himself a glass of wine, and, under the sharp gazes of the professors in the room, raised his glass directly to Dumbledore.
Hermione stared at the name "Gellert Grindelwald" slowly moving across the Marauder's Map, feeling as if a huge weight had been lifted from her heart.
"Harry is right, he was indeed deliberately let in by Professor Dumbledore."
"But what was the reason?" Ron asked incredulously. "Just because he was attacked by Death Eaters? That guy wasn't exactly a good person either, was he?"
"Don't forget what that old hag Rozier did before—oh, look."
From where Ron pointed, Rozier's eyes were fixed on Grindelwald, making him tremble all over.
Seeing this, Harry slammed his fist on the food table, making the dishes rattle, and said coldly and angrily:
"What a corrupt old man! First he let Rozier, this troublemaker, into the house, and now he's brought in Grindelwald. He's clearly opening the door to invite thieves!"
"I swear I won't rest until I get to the bottom of this!"
The punch landed on the table like a thunderclap in a clear sky, startling all the students in the room into turning their heads to look.
Dumbledore glanced in their direction but ignored them, stroking his beard as he continued:
"Of course, I also regret to inform you that there will be no Quidditch match this year."
These words caused an uproar in the room.
The students had long forgotten Harry's anger and were all dumbfounded.
The Quidditch match was originally the most important event at Hogwarts. Except for 1992 when it was suspended for several months due to the Chamber of Secrets incident, it had been held for more than a decade.
The sudden cancellation is like a sudden frost in the middle of summer, catching people off guard.
Seeing the whispers throughout the room, Dumbledore spoke again:
"This is because a large event will begin in October and continue throughout the academic year, which will take up a lot of the professors' time and energy."
"I am pleased to announce that the Triwizard Tournament, which has not been held for over a century, will take place at Hogwarts this coming semester."
The long table of the four colleges immediately erupted in a cacophony of cheers and high-fives, the students shaking the dust that fell from the beams.
Ron had long forgotten about Grindelwald and blurted out:
"No wonder my dad wanted me to buy a dress; he must have already heard about it!"
"This is what Percy has been so secretive about, unwilling to talk about!"
Listen, dear reader: The Triwizard Tournament was originally a rule established seven hundred years ago by three renowned magic schools in Europe.
One outstanding hero must be selected from each of the three schools—Hogwarts, Beauxbatons, and Durmstrang—to compete in three earth-shattering contests.
Originally held every five years, with the arena rotating among different participants, it was euphemistically called "a friendly competition through martial arts." However, due to the excessive number of injuries and deaths in the arena, and the fact that these were rare talents, the competition was discontinued early on to avoid harming its own lineage.
Harry and Hermione understood the situation after hearing Ron's explanation.
Harry clapped his hands and laughed loudly, "Brother, now I understand."
"What 'Three Strongest Clash'? It's nothing more than the three academies gambling with the lives of their students for a hollow title. Producing only three promising young talents in five years—how petty!"
Ron was speechless for a long time after hearing this, only glaring at him and saying, "Stingy?"
"Brother, you don't know, but I have several sworn brothers living in the fishing village. They go out to sea to fish and transport goods. Every waterway and dock is a territory fought on the edge of a knife."
"In the struggle for a berth, five or seven fires broke out in three days, with hundreds of people dying or being injured as commonplace."
"The souls lost in this three-to-five-year-long battle for supremacy are not as satisfying as a single brawl between my brothers!"
Ron and Hermione felt a chill run down their spines, their throats bobbing as if they had swallowed a heavy weight, unable to utter a single word.
Dozens of people die in a fight?
Is this still Britain?
At that rate, Britain would have been wiped out long ago!
"For centuries, people have been trying to revive the tournament, but unfortunately, they have never succeeded."
Dumbledore used a megaphone spell to suppress all the murmurs in the room and shouted:
"However, the Ministry of Magic believes that the time is ripe to try again. We have done a lot of preparation this summer to ensure that no warrior participating in the tournament is in mortal danger."
"The warrior registration ceremony will officially begin when Principals Beauxbatons and Durmstrang arrive, and the champion will receive a reward of one thousand Galleons."
Upon hearing this, the audience erupted in a flurry of discussion, their voices rising even louder.
"Only a thousand Galleons? Is that more than Harry spent in half a month?"
"The Triwizard Tournament is far too shabby; it doesn't even compare to Harry Potter..."
"The Ministry of Magic is so poor..."
Dumbledore's eyes twitched a few times as he heard these comments.
It seems the champion's reward needs to be changed...
He buried the thought in his heart for the time being, said no more, and simply passed on the order.
"Dinner is served."
As soon as he finished speaking, the empty dishes on the four tables magically appeared, filled with plump chickens and tender ducks, fresh fish and braised pork, truly a feast piled high on the table.
The students, who had been starving for most of the day, picked up knives and forks and tore into large chunks of food, their mouths greasy. As they chewed, they continued to discuss the rules of the three-way competition.
The Gryffindor section was particularly noisy, with everyone crowding around Harry, chattering and clamoring, all wanting Harry to come and offer his pledge of allegiance.
Fred raised his glass, leaped to Harry's left, and shouted, "Attack Beauxbatons!"
The rest of the crowd, their blood pumping, raised their cups and shouted in unison, their voices shaking the roof tiles, creating quite a lively scene.
Amidst the commotion, a clear voice suddenly rang out, unhurried and gentle, like cold water being poured into a charcoal brazier.
"Harry, I don't recommend you sign up."
Everyone turned around in surprise, only to see that the speaker had a calm expression on his face; it was none other than Hermione, the mute fortune teller.
Hermione composed herself and said seriously, "Harry, the situation is too complicated right now, and the Triwizard Tournament is especially dangerous—no one can say for sure that the Death Eaters won't tamper with it."
"Oh, Hermione, I think you're overthinking it."
Fred leaned closer, shaking his head and laughing, "With their own comrades' heads chopped off and made into pyramids, would those Death Eaters really dare to come back?"
Hermione straightened her face. "That's hard to say. I suggest you don't use normal human thinking to judge Death Eaters."
As the group was arguing, Harry waved his hand and said:
"Sister, please don't worry. I have no interest in this Three Kingdoms tournament. Since Dumbledore has guaranteed my safety, what danger could there be?"
"This kind of lukewarm competition is so suffocating that even if I went, I would find it unbearable."
These words instantly extinguished all of Hermione's well-intentioned advice. The others stared wide-eyed at each other, speechless for a long while.
After a long while, everyone seemed to wake up from a dream and hurriedly gathered around to persuade them.
One said, "If Brother doesn't step up, what face will Hogwarts have left?" Another shouted, "Who else but Brother is capable of this task!" The commotion seemed to be forcing Harry to agree.
The commotion startled Dumbledore, who was talking with Mr. Grimm. The old headmaster slowly rose and began to speak:
"Oh, one more thing. The participating schools and the Ministry of Magic have agreed to impose an age limit on this year's registered warriors."
"That means only students aged seventeen and above are allowed to register."
As soon as Dumbledore finished speaking, complaints arose from the audience. Fred and George jumped up and started protesting, no longer bothering Harry.
After the banquet ended, the students went their separate ways.
Dumbledore took Mr. Green's arm and was about to lead him to his room to rest. They had only gone a few steps when they suddenly heard a loud, booming bell.
"Professor, wait a moment! I have something to say!"
Dumbledore was startled by the sound, then sighed deeply, his wrinkles deepening instantly, making him appear to have aged more than ten years.
Grindelwald, who had been watching closely, raised an eyebrow and smiled, "Is this Mr. Potter such a headache for you?"
"Yes, thanks to him, I might die before you." Dumbledore rubbed his forehead, snapped his fingers, and said, "Take Mr. Grimm to his room."
Having said that, he turned around and saw Harry striding towards him. Dumbledore's face broke into a smile again.
"Well then, Harry, let's talk in my office. I hope you can give me a chance to explain."
As soon as the two left, puffs of white mist rose up from where they stood, and eight house-elves appeared in the mist.
They were all fully armored and armed with knives and forks, standing in a circle around Grindelwald, their eyes wide and round.
The lead house-elf cried out in a trembling voice:
"Dear Mr. Green, please come with us—oh no, let us take you back to your room!"
"Don't be so nervous, little slaves," Grindelwald chuckled. "I don't even have a wand."
The pet elves, however, seemed to be facing a formidable enemy. They didn't answer, but simply surrounded him as he moved forward.
The group left the auditorium and headed deep into the cellar. The passageway was dark and the stone walls were cold; this residence was indeed far from the student dormitories.
As they were walking, a woman suddenly emerged from the shadows. She had smiling eyes, her hands clasped behind her back, and a roll of parchment tightly clutched in her palm.
But then she said in a clear, crisp voice, "Good evening, Mr. Grindelwald."
The house-elves recognized the man and, in a panic, all knelt down before him, like wheat fields swaying in the wind.
Good evening, Miss Granger.
Grindelwald looked Hermione up and down, then suddenly grinned.
"Ah, Hermione, my dear little girl, you want the Elder Wand?"
As soon as the words were spoken, all the house-elves around were terrified.
The Dark Lord stood with his hands behind his back, pacing around Hermione, his heterochromatic eyes gleaming.
"A desperate thirst for power... Yes, you are too weak..."
"But isn't it for yourself?"
"Ah~ it's for Mr. Harry Potter."
"Oh, my dear, I understand you so well. Mr. Potter is indeed a very charming man."
"If you're too far behind, you won't even be qualified to stand beside him. Am I right?"
Hermione stood still for a moment, then suddenly spoke, "I know you are a prophet."
"Well, that makes things even easier," Grindelwald said, his eyes crinkling with a smile. "I think we can make a deal."
(End of this chapter)