Courting Destiny

A tall, thin man walked over with wide strides. The black-brown hair is now no longer hidden by the purple turban. His eyes looked at the observant darkness around him only with the help of the light from the tip of the stick, staring vigilantly between the trees and the shadows dancing among the dense leaves. There was no seeming nervousness or anxiety that usually permanently adorned his handsome face. There is only the seriousness of the keen intelligence. His steps were a little shuffled as if he was carrying—pulling weights, passing between the roots of a giant tree.

Near the man's feet, the long-haired woman's body was dragged down, without mercy; caused a long trail on the dark ground. There was absolutely no anxiety in the man for feeling safe in the deepest and most isolated forest in Albania. A small country in Europe surrounded by snowy mountains; Korab, Skanderbeg, Pindus, Ceraunian and hot land near the medeterania sea. A place so remote that few people think something is wrong going on there.

A Cottage stood in the middle of the dense forest, only the oil lamp gave a sign that there was life in there. He dragged the woman in and threw her into the middle of his room, not caring at all if the woman's head hit her hard wooden floor. "Quirinus..." a hoarse voice like two hard objects rubbing against each other sounded from the red sofa standing in the middle of the room. It came from the small hooded figure that covered most of her 3-month-old baby-like body—had her fingers appeared behind the hood not wrinkled with strangely darkened nails.

"My lord," Quirinus Quirrell ducked his head. "The ministry intends to hold this year's Triwizard Tournament at Hogwarts. I'm sure we can get something more about that tournament..." his gaze descended on the body of the woman lying on the floor.

"Quirinus..."

"My lord," as if knowing what the master meant, the man immediately got up and gave his wand to the strange little hand.

Voldemort briefly played the magic thing before aiming it at the woman lying on the floor. "Finite Incantatem." The woman widened her eyes while taking a hard breath. His eyes looked at the surroundings before stopping at the strange figure on the sofa. His whole body suddenly trembled violently, as if he knew who the creature was. His two wide rounded eyes full of horror were red with tears. But before he could speak, the dark lord whispered, "Legilimens!"

Voldemort entered the woman's mind roughly, tearing her memory apart to figure out every plan on the game. A sense of satisfaction poured over him when he learned that each challenge carried out in the tournament was profitable for his plan. Then suddenly, there was one of the memories that caught his attention. The memory looked like it had been modified. Curiosity, made him touch that part of the memory and look;

Berta Jorkins walked down the long hallway of the Department of Magical Games and Sports with several stacked files that had to be signed. The woman's face, when decrypted, there must be many people who say that she has a face that is always sullen. This is because of his bad habits of always being unhappy and complaining about everything; from today's weather, the menu in the canteen or even the success of others. A habit that has always brought him into trouble since he was in school at Hogwarts. His name has always been associated with gossip, rumors that spread and the unlucky fate of others.

If you ask those who know Berta, they will definitely tell you that he is an idiot, very noisy, but has no brains. Therefore, he changed jobs and was thrown between departments, until he finally ended up in the Magical Games and Sports department. No one wants to give him a serious job except to ask for an autograph. That's why he often goes back and forth to the house of Barty Crouch Sr. Something that always makes him jack up.

It was because of his daily life that, and his bad habit of taking important things lightly, he didn't think twice when he came out of the fireplace of the Crouch family mansion. He should have sent the owl message first, or contacted via fire call, as usual. But with a mountainous beam that exceeded the height of his head, he didn't bother to do one of them. It opened its mouth and clasped it back hard. His eyes narrowed as he noticed something was wrong in the room.

The sound of shouting sounded in a room, making him inching against the wall, and his habit of interfering in other people's affairs was tickled to find out. The dull brown eyes narrowed peering out from the crack of the door that didn't close perfectly, showing a spacious reading room with a lit fireplace and the luxurious ornaments typical of pureblood witch houses. But what grabbed all his attention was not all those beauties, but the figure of the thin young man who shouted hysterically with a crazy look.

"Imperius!" Barty Crouch Sr. fired a spell at his son. His body, which was only bone-clad in skin, squirmed while his mouth screamed until his spit flowed between him. But, what shocks Berta the most is the dark mark plastered on his bare arm. He knew who the man was, and where he should be.

He gasped back a few steps until his body hit something that made him spin and brandish his wand. A house elf stared restlessly with her big eyeballs. The large eyes that were momentarily rolling were staring behind Berta's back, making his goosebumps sink, and he turned around with a ready spell on the tip of his tongue. But before he could speak, Barty Crouch Sr. with a wand shuffled, whispered, "Obliviate—" and what he remembered for the last time was a bottomless dark hole.

Voldemort walked out of Berta's mind with a loud jolt, completely indifferent to the pain he caused by the rough treatment on the woman's mind. Then, a roar of laughter came out of her chest in a strange shrill tone, filled with sadistic pleasure, while the woman underneath gasped as the contents of her head became liquid, seeping out of her nose and ears. Then, indiscriminately, the dark lord pointed back his wand while saying, "Avanda Kadavra."

A green beam shot out and swallowed Harry in a vortex, bringing him to wake up from his waking sleep. Its petals gradually had a life mark, just after, it blinked as if there was nothing wrong, as if it was just daydreaming. But Marcus knew, Harry was good at putting on an expressionless look when he got a horrible look—especially when he got a horrible look.

So he asked in a vigilant tone, even if his face was completely expressionless. "Harry? You're okay?"

"Hm..." he muttered in passing, after a while he nodded. His fiddling eyes became sharp, as if he was thinking seriously.

"Is there anything important you see?"

"Well," Harry muttered, shaking his hand, "Not important, not important. HM... Just the fate of professor Quirrell, he was on vacation apparently... and very busy..."

Marcus raised an eyebrow, knowing full well it was more than that. But he had learned to believe Harry could cope with what he saw, he had no other choice, anyway. So he adjusted to always paying attention to the little details, paying attention vigilantly, and making himself ready for whatever Harry needed without urging him.

Harry refocused his attention on the strange scene in front of the bakery, where he was sitting now taking a sip of warm chocolate. A strange and rare phenomenon sees that there are many people visiting the southernmost part of Devon, the southernmost part of England that is usually deserted. Rarely does anyone come here besides you're a tea lover (devon people are famous for their technique of making various kinds of food—from snacks, to sweets—all of which come from tea).

As one of the oldest provinces in England, Devon himself has many old shops that have been passed down from generation to generation, and not infrequently also belong to wizards. Here you can easily find the oldest Gin-making factory, or newcome's Darmouth machine; the oldest water pumping machine for a coal mine, or even the only town named after the title of Charles Kingsley's most successful novel named Westward Ho! Even in Devon, you can find the oldest bakery F.H Jacka which is believed to have existed since the 17th century. The store is located in the port city of Devon, Plymouth. The store originally sold biscuits for sailors mooring their ships on the dock, a place Harry currently also wears to sit while watching a crowd of freaks—isn't he at odds when there's a man walking in a dress?— that passes in front of the store, from behind a clear glass affixed with promotional posters.

Well, that might be a weird thing, unless you're a wizard in disguise

Well, that might be a strange thing, unless you're a wizard in disguise. Did he ever say that the wizard is unreasonable? If not, then it's a good time to say wizards are indeed unreasonable. Harry knew they intended to disguise themselves, but since when did muggle men wear dresses? It seems that they are wrong reference magazines. As a child raised in the muggle world, he could easily adapt; Muggles have many references to wizards through their imaginations in fairy tales, such as wizard hats, wands or spells, making their expectations for the wizarding world less surprising. But after he entered the wizarding world, he realized that there was a lot of misinformation about muggles.

He hopes the cospay mob will end soon after they reach a safe apparated point to head to Dartmoor, the area used for this year's Quidditch World Cup. As a remote area in Devon, Dartmoor is a 368-square-mill vacant area containing only moorlands (savannas containing only grass and empty hills). Its remote and ever-empty territory made the venue famous for several wizarding events, such as the 1379 duel contest won by Elizabeth Smudgling with her own homemade spell Single Disarmament which earned her the title of 'Supreme Dueller'. Spells are now also taught in magic schools around the world.

That's why Harry and Marcus chose to depart from Plymouth; it is close to Dartmoor and also a sightseeing tourist location, making it easier for them to change places without using Potkey—as much as possible Harry wants to avoid it, Akkura himself hates Potkey and he doesn't want to be bitten by a poisonous snake even if it's familiar to himself. After all, he has always wanted to come here to try jacka's famous biscuits.

"Who is Lord Prince?"

Harry turned to the carefree voice of the female waiter coming towards his desk. He raised an eyebrow as he realized the maid's attention was entirely on Marcus who looked stunned while folding his Daily Prophet; knew Muggles couldn't see the moving photos, but could still read the headlines of the news. The girl's attention was not really to what Marcus was reading, but Marcus himself; with a 100-watt smile and a coquettish hip swaying, he poured tea on Marcus's almost empty glass.

Harry pulled his head over, he knew Marcus was handsome, he wasn't surprised if there was just any girl trying to tease him. Especially with the smart suit he is currently wearing, in the form of a white shirt, span pants and combined with a dark gray blezer, making him look easy to approach. It's just that everyone in the wizarding world already knows Marcus's temperament to be brave enough to approach him. So, seeing him now being teased by Muggles... it's ludicrous. If only the girl hadn't acted like Harry wasn't there. He pursed his lips, somewhat annoyed, but didn't really want to end Marcus's suffering.

Marcus blinked a few times, as if he hadn't understood the ridiculous situation, before he smiled crookedly while answering, "Lord Prince. You don't know? The young lord who just regained his birth rights after the bad situation forced."

"Ah~ the intrigues of the nobles," the girl rolled her eyes, her smile became more and more ignorant, knowing that she had already been responded to. Harry squinted. "I wonder why not hear his name on the news?" the girl added, solely so as not to break the conversation.

"Hm..." Marcus nodded. "If you are curious about Lord Prince, you can meet him here."

"Eh?"

"That's not it, Lord Prince?" said Marcus, smiling obliquely towards the entrance. Professor Snape stood up in his all-black clothes, full of majesty. Replacing his wizard's robe, it was a suit and a turtleneck as black as the man's mood—if the wrinkle was on his face was the sign.

The man squinted, "Unfortunately it's like that, Heir Flint," he raised a fleeting eyebrow at the maid lady (who looked at them alternately with a gaping mouth), before finally turning his gaze on Harry, and greeted him like he was swallowing a bitter bile liquid, "Heir Potter."

"Lord Prince," seeing his eyes twitching, Harry added with a grin, "Do I still have to call you professor Snape?"

The man closed his eyes for a moment, as if he was praying out of this situation, or from this place, "You just call me Professor Prince, considering that you are the one who got me stuck in this situation," he grumbled as he pulled out a chair and sat there. Then to the waiter, he said, "If you're done staring at my students, can I order a cup of tea." His cold and sharp tone made the girl paled and jumped, nodding hard before turning quickly towards the counter.

Harry just smiled, "I knew you were coming, Professor."

"I still don't understand the appeal of this bar-bar game."

Harrytut tut, "But that's not what's the attraction, right? But the event after Quidditch, a gathering place for politicians from all over the world. I heard that many clansmen from Rome came after hearing you coming, Professor. Aren't you famous? No one can wait to be able to shake hands with the youngest Potions Master in history," he gasped dramatically, "Or perhaps even curious about their Prince cousin—Uch, Professor!" Harry rubbed the back of his head while pouting.

"Stop teasing Professor Prince," Marcus said, Professor Snape's eyes twitched again, "at least give a little sympathy, he is your victim," and twitched even more.

"Okay, okay, Dumbledore must be unhappy."

"Dumbledore can be persuasive, but he knows it's not easy to influence me. After all he should have known I hated Sirius Black, and then he expected me to just shut up?" the man snorted, "He didn't protest too much because he thought he could take advantage of my voice in Wizengamot."

"Ah..." Harry smiled amusedly. Then his expression turned serious, "At the very least, now the dark lord needs to think twice about involving you in negotiations with the Werewolf or Vampire... he definitely doesn't want to lose the support of an influential family like Prince..." Unlike other aristocratic families, the Prince family is special. He is equivalent to Peverell. If Peverell has a strong connection with the Royal Blood of Britain, then Prince with the Royal Blood of Roman Empire. In fact, it can be said that Harry is still a distant family from Professor Snape if you look at the origin of the Slytherin descending child who came from the Roman Empire. With such a huge political power, Harry hopes that it can slightly increase Professor Snape's life expectancy. Especially with the dark tattoos that are getting denser in color, showing a sign that the dark lord is getting stronger.

Harry believes this is also the case with all death eater tattoos. One that underlies Harry's vision of Barty Crouch jr. The young man would not have rebelled against his father had the tattoo not been more intense. Harry couldn't stop the death of Berta Jorkins, or Barty Crouch sr, or even save Barty jr's common sense. But at the very least, he hopes that his move will spare the wizarding world from catastrophe.

Professor Snape rubbed his pale face, remembering Harry's warning of what would have befallen him if he hadn't taken this path. Squeezed on two choices he equally hated; either keeping Snape's name, or taking away his birthright as a Prince. It's pretty easy to choose one of them if it has something to do with survival. Although he hates anything related to the name Prince, but if it can buy some time for his life to survive in this world and protect Harry...

"And your next plan is to integrate professors among high-end politicians to strengthen their political standing," Marcus commented flatly, and then at professor Snape he asked, "What are you going to do in response to this boy's plan, Professor?"

"Hey!"

"Hm..." the man poured tea into his cup. Different from before, the female waiter didn't linger at their table. Perhaps it is already aware that those sitting at the table are not random people. "First, I need to block Dumbledore's move to make Sirius Black your foster parent. Luckily that Sirius Black has never used his godfather ritual, I intend to take over that magic and make you my godson. As lady Potter's childhood best friend, no one can deny that."

"But everyone knows your relationship wasn't good with my mother at the end of her life."

Snape shook his head, he took out a folded letter and thrust it onto the table. "This letter contains your mother's request, in case your custody is handed over to Petunia, then I have the right to take your custody. This is in accordance with what was written on their will, that they opposed you at all to live with the Dursleys."

Harry was silent as his eyes read his mother's writing, before he slowly looked up with blank eyes, "But I never saw you take away my custody..."

Snape grumbled, "Dumbledore feels that my position is too dangerous to be your foster parent."

"But not anymore," Marcus said, "After you became Lord Prince, you were no longer just a spy. You have a difficult position to manipulate the interests of both parties. With your current position, father, lord Nott and Lord Greengrass can back-up you. If we say that you performed this ritual before Sirius Black came out of Azkaban, no one can argue with it. So when are you going to do it?"

"As soon as possible, I hope. When we can find a safe place."

After a while harry finally nodded.

"Then what are you waiting for?" Marcus got up, "We can do it after we get to camp."

They searched for a deserted alley and there, the three of them engaged together towards Tavistock. A small old town located to the west and north of the empty valley of Dartmoor. Just as they are still in the Plymouth region, it is also the same as most old towns in England; full of ancient buildings and narrow alleys of steep rock due to the contours of the hills, as well as ancient markets, such as the Pannier market or Oak Hampton which remind him of Diagon Alley. From there it is only necessary to walk a few minutes to get to Dartmoor and into the campground territory. No one is stupid enough to directly apparated or potkey directly to the location, because usually the place has anti Potkey.

No one is stupid enough to directly apparated or potkey directly to the location, because usually the place has anti Potkey

After seeing it so many times, the scene in front of his eyes always made Harry's breathing choke. As soon as they came to the top of the hill, the valley below was full of tents and wizards. The ends of the tent are like small mountain shoots spreading among thousands of people moving like ants. The frenzied sound instantly sounded after they passed the limiting magic that kept Muggles away from the arena. Like what should happen at the biggest and most awaited festival in the wizarding world, every once in a while you'll see the flames of a magic game, colorful wicks flying in the air, and even some Quidditch kids and athletes darting over their heads to make hats float and skirts unveiled.

"Remind me why I want to be invited to this circus place," Professor Snape grumbled next to him in a flat tone as he tried to avoid the stinky children running around in oversized hats to cover their eyes. But Harry didn't care, and his pace automatically brought him closer to the hubbub. According to the ticket, the parking lot of their tent is in the VIP area, close to the place of the Minister of Magic and several other Lords. So it's no wonder that their tent is facing the Malfoy tent.

He turned his head here and there to look for Weasley's tent, but he didn't find it near them. If he entered Gryffindor and was close to the Weasley family, then the tent should be beside Malfoy. But since now the Minister of Magic has no reason to give the family a VIP class ticket without Harry there, they must be in one of the thousands of tents in the most full place. Oh, well, later he will also meet them...

"Harry." Marcus poked his head out of the tent, motioning him to go in.

As soon as he entered through the door of the tent, all the noise from outside disappeared. He thought that this tent would not be much different from the Weasley's tent if he lived with them, but apparently, even if the two were both VIPs, it looked much different. The decoration inside the tent was unlike anything he had ever seen. This place is like a replica of one of the rooms in Flint Manor. Even the floor is marble. Not a bad place to stay for so many days this tournament takes place.

"Harry, we're going to do it now," Snape said. Harry nodded and followed the man towards the innermost part of the tent. "Before I do it, I want to warn you that if I do this, then there is a part of me and my magic that will melt in you. It will also change you physically and magically, as well as give you the right to become Lord Prince if I die without having children—"

"Professor—"

"Listen to me first. I never intended to have offspring, and I'm not sure I could survive as long as I expected," Harry briefly saw Professor Snape covered in blood in his arms, which made him bite his lip fiercely to bleed in his efforts not to shout, "I intend to let the Prince's name disappear from the wizarding world, let all the treasures fall into the hands of other families or even the Ministry. But since you forced me to take a different choice, I hope you're ready to accept the consequences," he stared at Harry fiercely. "I don't care if I have to die in the Werewolf or Vampire' fang, I welcome it, instead. But I know, I'll never let that happen until I see you out of the clutches of Voldemort or Dumbledore. But I have to be sure you are capable of accepting the consequences of this action."

Harry swallowed, "I can't refuse it because it determines your life chance, professor."

"It determines the life chances of both of us, Harry. But this consequence is something you brought to death, even after defeating the Dark Lord. Are you ready?"

Harry nodded. The mysterious sentence of Centaurus rang back in his mind. But he couldn't stop.

The man injured the tip of the five fingers on one of their palms. Then slowly they stuck the five fingers together, and professor Snape recited, "Non Confundantur nostris in sanguine, animam meam, et magia—" after which Harry couldn't remember anything anymore.

The overcast sky rolled up from the southwest, drowning the moonlight, the sound of shouting was heard along with the flames, smoke and burning smell. The pointed shoots of the tent were lively by the red flames that devoured and melted, along with which the green light drifted into the sky, bursting in space and leaving a terrifying skull shadow.

"You can't stop it."

Harry turned around, and there, in the midst of the burning tents, stood Death in his black robe that fell to the ground. Being on his domain, in the midst of death.

"All beings will come back to me, you can't stop it."

"Why show it to me, if it wasn't to stop this all?!" she shrieked, tears seeping down her cheeks.

The creature walked over, as it was only a step ahead of Harry, its bones finger touching his cheek, feeling cold and like it was coming from another world. "You see it through my eyes, one of the many things of being a Peverell. You don't have to be afraid, it's not your job to stop Death. Death is not your enemy, my Harry, death is always just and impartial. When the soul meets me, they feel happy, because the burden of the world has been released from its soul. Do not feel sad in those who are dead, feel sad in those who are still alive. Because therein lies the real misery. Now come back, and step up, because your steps are right, and your destiny will soon welcome you." The hand of the bones pushed his chest, and he felt his body slammed down—

And jerks wake up.

He blinked his eyes for a few moments, then looked up and realized his palm was still tightly pressed against Professor Snape's palm.

"Are you okay?" the man tried to withdraw his hand and breathe a sigh of relief as it finally slipped off.

"Uh..." Harry tried to get up, then slowly observed the surroundings, "What happened?"

"You lose consciousness for a while, something natural when performing this ritual. How do you feel?"

Harry lowered his gaze, scanned his palm, "Strange..."

"Ah... you're feeling Prince's magic. My family's magic is again rising in your blood. Moreover, not only did the magic he transformed—" he thrust a handheld mirror, "You have also physically changed."

Harry blinked at the reflection in front of him, the child's face was the same as his face, but with much higher cheekbones and a much more oval jaw texture. He pulled his head over, making the jet-black hair children fall on the side of his head. His eyes widened when he realized his hair wasn't like a bird's nest anymore, but rather wavy curls as if a fusion of Potter and Prince. The color also changed like a sooty black, no longer causing a red tinge when hit by the sun, just like professor Snape's hair. No one said Harry Potter was ugly, in fact they tended to think he had the classic good looks of the British. But now, there is no more appropriate term to describe him than charming. If you don't know Harry well, you won't find that change. And fortunately, if anyone noticed it they would think the change was part of the growing up.

The sun hadn't set down when he finally stepped out of the tent door. Even so, the cold air of autumn made him squeeze his tunic.

"Harry!" Hermione's melodious voice sounded among the hustle and bustle.

"Mione!" They met in the middle and hugged each other. The girl wore a white sweater and jeans like most Muggle-borns, her curly hair she tied so as not to fly because of the sweeping wind produced by the flying broomsticks that shot over their heads. "I knew you would definitely find me. So, you are now with the Weasleys?"

Hermione nodded, "They were kind enough to invite me for having more tickets. Otherwise, I don't think I'll ever come to the quidditch world Cup," then he added with a shoulder-piercing, "Quidditch is still not my favorite."

"You're not alone, miss Granger."

"Professor Snape! You come!"

"Unfortunately so," the man grumbled as he lit a small bonfire in front of the tent.

Hermione looked at Harry incredulously which she only replied to by grieving her shoulders, "Not only professor Snape, had the Weasleys not offered you to come along, I would have invited you, Mione..." he pulled Hermione to sit down in one of the folding chairs. "Is the Weasley's tent enough for you?"

Hermione bit her lip, but nodded, "It's a bit jostling, but Ginny and I are a bit lucky that the girls have their own room. I don't understand why the Weasleys could be so troubled when they were pureblood. I never heard except for the Weasleys, the purebloods who fared so badly..." she whispered sadly.

"Ah... this happened as a result of a feud with the Malfoy family. Even since the beginning of the 17th century, these two families have had different political points of view. But this feud got worse at the end of the 18th century... all I know is that this has something to do with the Malfoy and Black families. Septimus Weasley, the grandfather of Ron, married Cendrella Black who was the fiancée of Septimus Malfoy? It's a bit ironic isn't it, the two have the same name. Ah, well... in the end, Cendrella Black chose Septimus Weasley even though he had to accept the harsh reality of being expelled from the Black family, because even at that time the Weasley family was labeled a blood traitor for upholding Muggles. But it did not reduce the anger and heartache of Septimus Malfoy, who at that time was very in control of the Ministry of magic... some even said that the Minister of Magic at the time, Unctuous Osbert, was just a puppet from Septimus Malfoy. But this is only a hush hush, no one can prove its truth. But from then on the Weasleys lost political power and were wiped out of the Sacred 28 list."

Hermione's eyes lit up, "You understand the ins and outs of the magic family very well, Harry. Where can I find a note showing all that."

"Ah... you didn't find it. No one knows the real truth anyway. But the two families have been feuding with each other until now, if it weren't for the bad history itself, then their differences of viewpoints regarding Muggles. You're aware 'right, if both of them look at Muggles at the extreme? Weasley considered all Muggles friendly and should be protected from witchcraft, while Malfoy was the opposite. Even though we are all equally human beings who have good and bad sides."

Hermione nodded, "If only they knew Muggles had nuclear."

"I'm not sure there is magic that can restrain that thing," Harry frowned, "In order to create a protector capable of resisting nuclear power, we need to create some kind of special ritual with blood magic and the consequences are also considerable to the stakes of life."

Just then Marcus came out of the tent saying, "Harry, are you not ready?" he was already wearing a wizard's formal outfit in the form of a suit and a wizard's robe that did not hide his status as a pureblood at all.

Harry got up, but instead of responding to Marcus, he said to Hermione, "Come on. I want to take you to this meeting."

Hermione got up slowly with a puzzled face, "It seems to be an important meeting," she said as she followed Harry into the tent. His eyes rounded when he saw the ornaments and decorations that were much different from the Tents of the Weasleys.

"Of course."

"But why do you want me to come?"

"Hm... " Harry flicked his wand to make his suitcase grow bigger. "Say Hermione, after you graduate from Hogwarts, what are you going to do? Are you going to register with the Ministry?"

Hermione replied cautiously, her expression seemingly she was trying to sort out Harry's makhsud, "I haven't thought that far. But it seems that it is the most reasonable choice if you want to find a good job in the wizarding world..."

"But do you know Muggle-borns will never get a high post," without waiting for the girl's answer, he continued, "The entire Ministry is under the rule of the Pureblood family. Even if you get a decent position, you'll never get a promotion that will make you serve higher than pureblood. Even in a department that muggle lovers consider to be, it is the Weasley family who work there. Most Muggle born end up working at Gringrotts Bank as an alliance with Muggle banks or Muggle companies out there, and if you're talented then you could be a curse breaker. But I'm sure, Hermione, with your brilliant brain and full of innovation, you won't be able to let the injustice in the wizarding world happen. And the only way to change that is to work at the Ministry of Magic to change that system from within."

Hermione stood stiff with wide eyes. He did not deny, and his brain seemed to turn to analyze Harry's statement.

Harry continued, "I want that change too, and I've already started by giving away the seeds in Slytherin house as a gathering place for purebloods and would-be system movers. On them I've pointed out if purebloods alone aren't enough! Blood alone will be useless if you don't have the intelligence or strength, just like what happened to Crabbe and Goyle. To the members of the Knight of Walpurgins I told them the dark lords were not purebloods, and that reality had spread among the Slytherin members and even their families. It is true that many do not believe it, but the seeds of doubt have already emerged. But I can't stop there, if this war is over, I don't want the same system to survive. I want to create a system that will not bring up other dark lords. The system that restrains civil war occurs between wizards and magical creatures. Can you help me?"

Hermione gasped. His eyes were filled with tears and he gripped both hands very firmly. Then he nodded hard. "Sure, Harry. What should I do?"

Harry smiled softly, "You've done it, Mione. By willing to read the books I lent about the history of the magic community or pureblood manners. You've taken a step towards preparing yourself for the high-class political scene. Tonight is the second step. Are you ready?"

"I don't know. But I'm not going to give up."

Harry snuffed wide, "That's more than enough. Now... do you want to try on your dresses?"

"Dresses, Harry," she looked like she was out of breath.

Harry pursed his lips, and said as if it were a trivial matter, "I don't know your taste, so I bought a lot. Of course you can have it all, it's a gift from me. But for this event you can only wear one, Mione..."

Hermione rolled her eyeballs, but the faint smile didn't disappear from her lips as she followed the steps of this mysterious best friend of hers. Presumably he believed a little bit that maybe Harry Potter was really a child prodigy. In the background, Marcus and Snape heard their conversation clearly. Of course this really creates a new perspective on the child who survives. While secretly squeezing out a knotted smile, the potion master felt, it seems that he did not choose the wrong move by supporting Harry Potter.

Of course they wouldn't tell Ron about this. It's like a hidden deal, as if they are doing a secret mission. The thing that made Hermione shudder excitedly. As soon as they passed the door of the tent where the dance party was held, instantly the two knew they were putting on different Persona masks. With Hermione in Professor Snape's arms and Harry in Marcus' arms, they stepped up to make their heads turn. Anyone feels, even those who are not familiar with their likenesses, that all four are powerful wizards. This was coupled with the shocking attitude of Lord Nott, Lady Zabini and her seventh husband, Lord Greengrass, as well as several lords of the House vassals such as the House of Bones and the House of Abbott who ducked their heads slightly lower when greeting Harry.

Hermione raised an eyebrow, and observed Harry with full speculation. He knows how important the Potter family is in the wizarding world, especially after knowing that he is merlin's last direct descendant. But only now did he clearly show the influence of Harry Potter.

"Heir Potter."

"Hello, Lord Nott. You came with Theodore?"

The man laughed softly while pointing at Theo who was gathered with the other children, not only from Slytherin, but also the pureblood children from other dormitories. They seemed to be engrossed in chatting with the members of the quidditch team, and asked for autographs from their favorite players. It is common for events like this to also be used by athletes to find sponsors among purebloods. If you're lucky, and talented, it can change fate like Krum did.

"I didn't see Lord Flint coming along tonight," Lord Nott commented.

"Ah, dad is preoccupied with a few things, including taking care of the Lord Prince's dossier," Marcus said as he made room for professor Snape to blend in. "He thinks this opportunity is too rare for a new Lord to miss."

"Ah, of course. Glad you're finally gathered among us again, Severus."

"Cantankerus," he greeted, shaking his hand steadily.

"Oh, call me Nott," he murmured, "You know I hate my first name."

This made a smile fall on the lips of the Potion Master.

"And who is this?" said lord Greengrass.

Harry smiled. Professor Snape replied, "Hermione Grenger. The brightest schoolgirl was picked up," the rare compliment given by the master made Hermione's cheeks flushed. Harry raised an eyebrow and scanned Hermione intently.

"Grenger? Humph," knew very well it was not a wizard's surname. "Oh. Isn't this interesting. Are you now taking an apprentice?"

"I hope," he replied flatly. "Miss Grenger is Mr. Potter's best friend."

This caused a special attraction to Hermione's charm that Harry deliberately wanted to create. The support from Prince, Potter and Flint is clear enough to make him have political power even if he is a muggle-born. "Don't you want to get together with the others, Miss Grenger?" said Professor Snape in his heavy tone of voice.

The girl blinked her eyes, caught a glimpse of Harry before saying, "I'll accompany you, Professor. This is both our first experience, after all."

The man snorted, "This is far from my first experience, miss Grenger," but the man did not let go of Hermione's arm, and elegantly took them down the ballroom to meet the others.

Harry looked at each other with Marcus raising an eyebrow while still watching the two people's backs move away. Then the young man grinned and led Harry to the middle of the ballroom. "Marcus!" she exclaimed warningly, but the young man ignored him and instead took him on a dance round.

The dance party ended with the first match of the American team vs. the Australian team. A stir of excitement was heard along the stadium built underground from a hilltop, which made it like a giant bowl when viewed from above. Harry sat together with Marcus on the VIP seat, what was surprising was that professor Snape invited Hermione to sit with him. Vip seats are indeed designed to be much more spacious than normal seats. But he never thought the man would invite Hermione. But both seemed to enjoy the match, although both admitted it was not an option for them. It didn't stop there, even professor Snape offered to send Hermione all the way to the Tent of the Weasleys! "Well, it's pretty dangerous for girls to walk on their own," the man commented before stepping quickly ahead of them. Hermione widened her eyes at Harry with an incredulous look, before finally running after the potion master. Harry scratched his chin, it seemed that there was still something surprising for him.

The morning of camping is no different from watching a festival. But apparently Marcus had more plans than that. "Where are we going?" exclaimed Harry breathlessly as he followed Marcus' long steps that led them out of the camping area.

"You know in Dartmoor we can find easily wild horses?" he said as he walked down an ancient stone bridge from the early middle ages. The bridge had its pillars made of hard stones piled up like the bodies of idols worshipped by the ancients. The abandoned log cabins stood not far away, and next to them were a group of white-roasted horses running indeterminately. He knows the area is part of a protected national park. "Want to try riding it?"

"Isn't it dangerous?"

"Take it easy. Among them is a wizard horse raised by the Flint family."

Harry raised an eyebrow. "You have a family living here?"

"We have a small castle here and people take care of it, but not a family." Then he whistled long in a certain tone. Soon, three of the batch of horses galloped over. "I told you, right. The wizard horse, it can recognize us." He reached out to help Harry climb his back, before finally Marcus jumped up expertly behind Harry.

"Are you sure you can control it without a saddle?"

"What's the use of magic?" he said. He gave a few whistling gestures before finally the horse galloped at a steady pace, carrying them across the hills. The move was a little stifling as they had to walk down the ancient Tarr Steps bridge made of rocks piped with oak canopies. The bridge was somewhat winding following the contours of the river before ending up on a paved road filled with sheep. From the hills they could see the edge of the ocean from ravines filled with ancient grasses and herbs.

Not far away a village called Luccombe with stone houses inhabited by Moorish descendants dating back centuries, old churches with ancient burial grounds in front of them, and weathered castles. As with most of the livelihoods of the Dartmoor people, you can find many tea kedei, plantations and unique markets.

The people he met there greeted them kindly and did not think it was strange that there were teenagers riding horses without their saddles or clothes

The people he met there greeted them kindly and didn't think it was strange for teenagers to ride horses without their saddles or clothes. Marcus made them stop in front of the teahouse with a horse-binding bar in his yard, showing the usual thing when people still passed around here with their horses.

The sound of clises greeted as soon as they opened the door and a embattled middle-aged man with a cigarette hanging on his lips greeted them. "Hulo," he greeted with a thick accent. "Young Lord," he exclaimed kindly, indicating this was not Marcus' first visit. "It's been four years? It feels so fleeting. At that time you came with the lord and lady Flint." Several men enjoying tea there sat looking at them with an interested look when they heard the way the tavernkeeper's man called them. Boring routines are common for peaceful citizens of Luccombe, so the arrival of a young lord certainly brings attraction and curiosity.

"Squib?" bisik Harry.

"It's not. Muggles. This area was too quiet that there was no option for them to hear one or two absurd things the witches were doing. After all, old communities like this have long considered the strangeness around them to be a natural thing. Perhaps they assume there is an old sorority that the sons of the British nobility are doing in this area," Marcus retorted.

The man deftly smuggled the new tea in the teapot, "If you can tell, how long will your meeting be? Can I expect my kedei to be a little more crowded?"

"Hm..." Marcus took a sip of the tea with satisfaction. No delicious tea can be found other than in Dartmoor. "Sure, mr. Doone. You can expect a lot of visiting... ah... at least this week."

The man nodded in satisfaction before leaving the two to enjoy the morning with a cup of tea and biscuits.

"Do many wizards live here?"

Marcus smiled, "You know, Prince Castle is nearby, on an area called Princetown."

"Really?"

Marcus nodded, "I believe that is also the reason why professor Snape is willing to accept our invitation, maybe he wants to check the property. It's actually quite an interesting place for the magic community, especially magical creatures. Nearby there is a forest called Wistman which is believed to have been around for 10,000 years and inhabited by a colony of Dyard (tree elves). Before the International Statute of Secrey, there were many witch hunts in this place because it was believed that those who came to the Wistman forest were wizards who were studying black magic," the young man rolled his eyesballs, "Muggle imagination is really..."

Harry listened in amazement at Marcus' story. Had he not been a wizard, or hadn't been taken care of by the Flint family, Harry would never have heard of all these mysterious and interesting stories. He will never touch the slightest secret of the magic community. There is no doubt why purebloods are considered to be in power in this community. They are not only the wizards who have survived for thousands of years, but also the secret holders of the community itself. Even between one family and another family has different family magic and can never be imitated. If he were the harry potter he used to be, he would only be a naïve and martyred child for the war, half the reason Harry never understood.

Nothing has changed during those five days of the Quidditch World Cup starting. Even the enthusiasm of the audience is getting closer to the final of the game. He only occasionally found Hermione walking with professor Snape while talking about potions. This made Harry cast a dirty look at Hermione with a grin, "Really, Mione?"

"Huss!" she said with red cheeks.

"Well, I don't blame you. I can understand why you can have a crush with that guy. The sharp tongue could be an attraction other than the altelis and tall body—" not finished speaking, his mouth first silenced.

"Harry!" he complained, "Stop teasing me. I know this is just a childish feeling of liking—"

"Who said? The age difference in the wizarding world is not a problem because the wizard ages slowly and he will not forever be your professor."

"I'm sure professor Snape is not interested—"

Harry shook off his hand. "He invited you to watch his wall, also drove you home and didn't mind being shot with hundreds of silly questions about potions—"

"Hey! My question is not ridiculous!"

"I'm sure he doesn't think you're ridiculous—"

"Who thinks it's ridiculous who?" the flat baritone voice made them soar as the potion master stood behind them with raised eyebrows. "If you guys don't want to be late for the final game, you'd better get ready right away."

"Fine, professor!" they exclaimed in unison before scattering out.

When they were about to leave the tent. Harry looked towards the familiar gray sky. He swallowed hard, before a second later, his eyes burned with determination. Harry clutched Marcus's arm, and his expression made the others stop the pace. "Be careful. Prepare your wands and don't separate from each other." Harry whispered. Hermione instantly paled. Marcus grabbed the sword he had originally intended to leave. To Snape he said, "Take care of Hermione." To which the man was reciprocated a nod. That's all Harry can do for the inevitable horror tonight. But Harry knew this was important to do, because it was in this place that Barty jr. was finally in. can be free and destiny can roll as he has already seen.