Courting Destiny

The dark road through this forest is only illuminated by floating lanterns, feeling full of spectators who are jostling to get to the stadium. A frenzy sounded around them; shouts and laughter, fragments of singing and shouts of encouragement. From where he stood he could hear the gepita of a giant building like the Colosseum. As soon as he approached the stadium, he could only see a part of the golden wall surrounding him, but he could guess that this building could fit more than one hundred thousand spectators. Professor Snape walked in front of him, next to him Hermione occasionally looked back as if to make sure Harry was still there. She shouldn't have to worry too much because there is Marcus who always takes care of her like a mama bear.

They went straight to the VIP seat that was located the highest. If you think wizards are thinking of something more practical to go upstairs, then try climbing these thousands of iron ladders. The stairs were covered with dark purple carpets, he half-wished the carpet could fly, but of course they hadn't thought of it. It felt like he wanted to leviossa himself. They went up with the other wizards, who slowly spread out entering the doors on their right and left. But Harry's entourage continued to climb, until finally they came to the top of the stairs, at maximum height and located exactly in the middle, between the golden goalposts.

The decoration is much more luxurious than before to commemorate the most final match of the Quidditch World Cup. About twenty purple-golden chairs are lined up in two rows. Harry suspected the reason why it was purple that was chosen to mark the VIP seats. Perhaps this has something to do with the color purple which has always been considered important in the royal system. He remembered reading it, that purple was the color of nobility, because in the Middle era, only the nobility could afford a high price to acquire this color. In that century, the purple color was created from a substance produced only by rare snails that lived only on the coastline of the southern coast of England, or were brought from distant places such as Rome, Egypt and Persia. The color then became more exclusive with the implementation of the Sumptuary Laws in the years 1558 to 1603. In the era of Queen Elizabeth, who strictly regulated the colors, types of fabrics and what clothes were worn by each of the different social classes. Although the magic community was not subject to the Queen of England, the culture was popular enough to carry over until now.

One hundred thousand wizards took their places, which rose in tiers around that oval stadium. Everything was illuminated by a mysterious golden light, which seemed to emerge from inside the stadium itself. The field looked as smooth as velvet from their high ground. At each end of the stadium stood three fifteen-meter-high goalposts. Just in front of them, almost as high as Harry's line of sight, there was a giant board. The golden writing relentlessly slid on the board, as if there was an invisible giant hand writing on it, and then erased it again. After watching him, Harry saw that the board was showing an advertisement. Bluebottle: Sweep for the Whole Family-safe, reliable, and equipped with anti-theft alarms... Removal of All Sorts of Dirt Made by Mrs. Skower. Effortless, Spotless!... Gladrags: The Most Suitable Clothing Brand for Witches-London, Paris, Hogsmeade.... Harry moved his eyes off the board and turned his head to look at whoever was sitting in the box with them. So far it is still empty, there are only small creatures sitting at the end of the row behind them. The creature, whose legs were so short that it stretched out in front of its body on a chair, wore a napkin draped like a toga, and its face was hidden behind its hands. But, his long bat-like ears felt familiar to Harry.... Harry almost said Dobby's name when suddenly his memory was brought to a horrible vision a few days ago. Of course the House-elves are familiar, because he is the House-elf belonging to Barty sr. He glanced next to the elf, at the empty box. Harry's eyes flashed black, he fell on his side for a second before regaining control of himself. He blinked his eyes and pulled his head over.

"Hello," Harry greeted the house elf.

Marcus next to him stiffened, but his expression remained the same and did not show anything. He was still busy with his Omniocular; the same tool as Muggle-owned Binoculars, but with the ability to slow down and replay scenes. But he knew Marcus' attention was entirely on Harry.

The opposite of Marcus, the House-elf stood tense with wide eyes, as if in disbelief that he had been spoken to by a wizard.

"Why are you sitting there alone?" eyes Harry tried not to look at the empty bench where Barty jr was sitting with her disappearance cloak. He couldn't find his father anywhere, even though he knew the man had come because their tents were not far apart. After all, his position as the head of the Department of International Magical Cooperation makes him absolutely necessary to be present at this event. "Your name is Winky, right? His house elf lord Bartemius Crouch. Did he let you enjoy this match?"

The little fairy swallowed hard and replied timidly, "House elves shouldn't have fun, sir. Winky was afraid of heights, but my master sent me on the highest crib and Winky was obedient, sir. Winky is here to guard the seat, master Winky is so busy. Winky once returned to the lord's tent, but Winky did as she told her to do, Good house elf Winky!"

Harry blinked, "Hm..." he muttered. It seems that no matter how much Barty sr raises his son, the man still has a soft side by allowing Barty jr to see the world cup, even while hiding in a cloak disappears.

Slowly their cribs were filled in the next half an hour. He was not surprised when he saw the Weasleys coming to the VIP section because Harry had deliberately sent out invitations for them secretly. Even though they weren't as close as the other alternatives to himself, Harry felt like sharing a bit with Ron, at least in this final match; he knew Ron was a big fan of Victor Krum. The red-haired family had a face of amazement all the time, and occasionally stared up, towards Harry as if he had a shining trophy that was out of reach. Ginny inched in her seat stealing glances at her, but shrieked again when she saw Marcus who was sitting tightly next to her. Ron cast a shrill gaze at Hermione who was sitting next to Professor Prince—yes, Harry decided to call him that, even in his head, because that's what his name is now.

The Weasley twins suddenly appeared in front of him, "Want to bet?" they said at the same time.

"Who—"

"Which will—"

"Won—"

"Match—"

"Of course, Krum!" they said at the same time.

Harry threw his money purse into the hat that was thrust upon him. It knows they are betting under the name of Gringotts, so obviously the profit will be doubled. "I'm betting for Ireland."

"You're sure?—"

"Not for Krum? He's on the rise again."

"Hm... sure. But Ireland will win."

The twins stared at each other, before finally changing the stakes. "Ireland?"

"Ireland," Harry nodded confidently.

"FRED! GEORGE!" came a shout of a manly there mr. It was Weasley who made the twins run away. Harry shook his head.

Unlike mr. Weasley, who served as every important person who came to sit around them, Marcus just stood up and nodded, as did professor Prince. The two men knew their standing was not subordinate to all those lords, or even the Minister of Magic. Bah, in the wizarding world Potter is now at the same level as Prince, and it is much higher than other surnames. So, it's no wonder that all the invited guests ducked their heads first when they greeted Harry.

He glanced at Percy, who jumped up so often that he could have thought he was sitting on a hedgehog. When Cornelius Fudge, the Minister of Magic, arrived, Percy bowed so deeply that his glasses fell and broke. With great embarrassment, he corrected it with his wand and afterwards stayed in his seat, several times throwing envious glances at Harry, whom Cornelius Fudge greeted like greeting his old friend. They had already met, and Fudge shook Harry's hand fatherly, asked how he was doing, and introduced him to the wizards on his left and right.

"Harry Potter, you see, right," he loudly told the Bulgarian Minister of Magic, who was wearing a gorgeous black velvet robe once, was pelted with gold. Fudge's attitude showed as if the Bulgarian Minister of Magic did not understand what he was saying. But Harry saw that there was a unique stone pierced in his ear, and his sensitive magic made him know it was a translation tool. It seems that the man deliberately pretended not to understand what Fudge said. Isn't that an ingenious way to spy, especially on the talkative interlocutor a lot? And sure enough, Fudge didn't stop talking; "Harry Potter... oh, period anyway, you know who he is... the kid who survives your attack-Know-Who... You must know who he is... I'm not talented at learning a foreign language. I need Barty Crouch for this kind of business. Ah, I saw her house-elves provided a seat for her... It's also good, these Bulgarians are trying to master all the best places," at the sentence, Harry saw the Bulgarian Minister of Magic's brows twitching, but his expression remained flat. "... Ah, here comes Lucius!"

After a brief greeting to the two Ministers of Magic, Lucius Malfoy turned to them. "mr. Potter, mr. Flint," paused for a moment, "Severus."

"Lucius," they shook tightly. Harry was not surprised by the closeness of the two. In addition to schoolmates, Severus is also Draco's godfather. But unlike Harry, the godfather's position is just a family alliance, without involving rituals or having any effect on magic. The alliance did not tie the Professor to the Malfoy family, as he bound Harry with magic and oaths. Professor Prince really couldn't hurt Draco, but Draco didn't touch the slightest magic and Prince's possessions in the alliance. Just like Harry with Sirius Black.

"I see it seems to be mr. Potter made you want to come to this place for the first time," the man commented. Harry was aware that the man's purpose in not mentioning titles was to make this conversation much more personal, with no connection to title or politics. Deciding to follow the plot, Harry retorted, "Oh, you can't imagine how hard I was to make professor Prince want to come."

"Prince," his intonation was suppressed with satisfaction, though the man's expression was as flat as before—ah well, pureblood. "Apparently it wasn't a mere thumbs up. I'm afraid the Daily Prophert is back hallucinating. I hope the name also makes you more independent," the man's smile did not touch his eyes. Harry could understand the man's concerns if Dumbledore was able to take advantage of the Professor's position.

Harry shrugs, "Professor Prince will be my deputy at Wizengamot. It's been a long time since Potter's seat was left empty." He confirmed that professor Prince belonged to him, not Dumbledore, let alone Voldemort. His smile turned predatory, "I guess it's time to take the professor's sharp tongue to a higher place."

Lucius raised an eyebrow, "I'm to the conclusion you intend to go into politics?"

Harry pulled his head over, "Well, someone has to go down the legal route, right? I don't want to be considered Rebel if I want to restore the original function of the magic community." Like Voldemort or Dumbledore with his the Order of the Phoenix. Harry wondered why none of Voldemort and Dumbledore had tried to change the politics of magic if they hated it so much. Why should it be rebellious or reject power by becoming a schoolmaster, and leave the magic community led by incompetent people. In Harry's eyes, the two men's decision made them the same kind of people in his eyes. The kind of person harry didn't want to be.

"Original Function?"

"Aren't you tired of having to be stealthy to be able to celebrate magic celebrations when you are in the magic community itself, mr. Malfoy?"

The man took a short breath, before finally regaining control of himself. His eyes lit up sharply in anticipation, and his smile became a little more sincere, "I... will wait for the moment when it arrives, mr. Potter."

Harry glanced at barty sr's empty seat. Sure that Barty jr listened to their conversation in hiding. Harry secretly squeezed a smile. The snowball was already rolling.

As they returned to their respective seats, Hermione clutched her arm while whispering excitedly, "That was just now... it's so intense!"

Harry sting. He knew Hermione had imagined herself throwing herself into complicated politics, imagining the purebloods with her brilliant brains. It's just a matter of time until he marries one of the lords, and gains a position full of power... if his guess is correct—and he is always right—they will be the power couple in Wizengamot. Hermione and Marcus moved away when they heard him suddenly chuckle with a terrifying look.

Ludo, one of the organizers sitting near Fudge, gave a call to open the match with a soronus that made his voice spread all over the stadium, to the corners of it, "And now, spectators, welcome... Bulgarian National Quidditch Team! This... Dimitrov!" The figure in the red robe got on the broom, the movement was so fast that it was just like a faint shadow, whizzing into the field from the entrance far below, greeted by the boisterous cheers of the Bulgarian fans. "Ivanova!" The second red-robed player slid out. "Zograph! Levski! Vulchanov! Volkov! Daaaaaan... Krum!"

Harry jumped hard as Draco's screams rang over his head. Louder than the other's screams, racing each other with Ron who was screaming until his face was red. When Harry turned his head, he saw Lucius Malfoy hitting the back of Draco's head, who instantly pursed his mouth fiercely and put on an expressionless face, as if he hadn't been clamoring until he was almost dead before. Harry held back a laugh as their eyes met and Draco's face instantly flushed. Harry squealed wider and wider. Draco stuck out his tongue at him, before a second later, again putting on an expressionless look. Beside him he heard professor Prince grumble, "Brat."

Hermione tugged at Harry's arm. Harry turned to him and Hermione pulled Harry's finger impatiently from his ear. "Look at the referee!" he said, giggling in amusement.

Harry looked down at the field. Hassan Mostafa had landed right in front of the dancing Veelas, and was behaving very oddly. He tensed his muscles and smoothed his mustache passionately.

"Boy, it can't be so!" said Ludo Bagman, although it sounded very amused. "Please slap the referee!"

A medical magic officer ran across the field, his finger gagged in his ear to avoid hearing veela singing, and kicked Mostafa's shin vigorously. Mostafa was sober. Harry who watched through his Omniocular saw that Mostafa looked very embarrassed and began to scream reprimanding the Veelas, who had already stopped dancing and looked rebellious.

"Unless I'm very mistaken, Mostafa is trying to drive away the mascot of the Bulgarian team!" came Bagman's voice. "It's something we've never witnessed before... Oh, this can be excited...."

Sure enough. The two Bulgarian Beaters, Volkov and Vulchanov, landed on the right and left of Mostafa and began to get angry, pointing at the Leprechauns-mascots of the Irish team, who now cheerfully formed the word "HEE, HEE, HEE." But Mostafa was not impressed at the anger of the two Bulgarian Beaters. He pointed up, obviously telling them to fly again to continue the game, and when they refused, he blew his whistle short twice.

"Two penalties for Bulgaria!" shouted Bagman, and the Bulgarian fans roared angrily. "And Volkov and Vulchanov might as well get on their broomsticks again... yes... they've gone up... and Troy brought quaffle..." The game has now reached a level of ferocity that they have never witnessed.

The beaters of both teams acted without mercy. Volkov and Vulchanov, in particular, didn't care whether their batsmen hit Bludger or players when they swung him savagely. Dimitrov slid down on Moran, who was holding the Quaffle, almost knocking this girl off her broomstick.

"Cheat!" roared the Irish supporters, all standing in a green ocean.

"Cheating!" came the echo of Ludo Bagman's magic-hardened voice. "Dimitrov hit Moran—deliberately—and should have been a penalty again... yes, it's the whistle!"

The Leprechauns flew up again, and this time they formed a big hand, which made a very brash sign—yes, you know, like a middle finger—towards the Veelas on the other side of the field. Seeing this the Veelas lost control. Instead of dancing, they ran across the field and threw the grasps of fire at the Leprechauns. Watching them through his Omniocular, Harry saw they weren't pretty at all now. Instead, their faces extended into sharp-beaked bird heads, and scaly long wings sprung up from their shoulders....

"And that's why, kids," Mr. Weasley shouted overcoming the noise of the audience below, "don't judge people just by his face alone!"

Ministry officials flooded into the field to separate the Veelas from the Leprechauns, but to no avail. While the exciting battles below have not been anything compared to those that took place above. Harry looked to and fro through his Omniocular, while quaffle changed hands at the speed of a bullet slide.

"Levski—Dimitrov—Moran—Troy—Mullet—Ivanova—Moran again—Moran—MORAN GOAL!"

But the cheers of the Irish fans were barely audible as defeated by the screams of the Veelas, the eruption of the eruptions from the batons of the Ministry officers, and the whims of anger of the Bulgarian supporters. The live game continued again. Now the ball is in Levski's hands, then Dimitrov... Irish beater Quigley hit hard at a passing Bludger towards Krum, who was less nimble. The bluger hit him in the face. There was a deafening complaint from the audience. Krum's nose seemed to be broken, his blood was shed, but Hassan Mostafa did not blow his whistle. His attention was being split, and Harry didn't blame him, because one of the Veela had thrown a handful of flames and made the tail of the broom burn.

Harry wanted anyone to realize Krum was hurt. Although Harry supported Ireland, Krum was the most admirable player on the field. Hermione obviously had the same opinion.

"Time-out! Ah, come, where can he play, just look at it..."

"Look at Lynch!" shouted Draco.

Because the Irish Seeker suddenly swooped in, and Harry was sure this wasn't Wronski Feint; this is really... "He's already seen the Snitch!" shouted Harry. "He's seen it! Look at the carving!"

Separo of the audience apparently already realized what was happening. The Irish fans once again rose like a huge wave of green, clamoring in encouragement to their Seeker... but Krum went after him. How Krum could see where he was flying, Harry didn't know. Patches of blood were flying behind him, but he had already managed to catch up with Lynch now and the two of them slid together again to the ground...

"They're going to fall!" squealed Hermione.

"No!" shouted Ron.

"Lynch the fallen!" exclaimed Harry. And Harry was right, for the second time—Well, he's seer. Lynch slammed heavily on the ground and was directly invaded by the angry Veelas.

"His Snitch, where is the Snitch?"

"He's got-already captured Krum-the game is over!" shouted Harry.

Krum, his red robe flashed with his blood, floated up slowly, his hands raised, grasping a flash of gold. The scoreboard lights up announcing BULGARIA: 160, IRELAND: 170. The onlookers apparently didn't realize what had happened. Then, slowly, as if a huge jet jumbo was roaring at full power, the roar of the Irish fans' screams grew louder and louder and exploded in the joyful cheers of excitement.

"IRELAND WINS!" shouted Bagman, who, like the Irish fans, looked flabbergasted by the sudden end of the game. "KRUM GOT THE SNITCH—BUT IRELAND WON—gosh, I don't think anyone expected it to end this way!"

"Why did he catch his Snitch?" roared Ron, as he jumped up and down, clapping his hands over his head. "He ended the game just as Ireland was one hundred and sixty points ahead, idiot!"

"He knew they wouldn't be able to catch up!" Hermione yelled back at the rumbling noise, also while clapping aloud. "The Irish chasers are too good... He wants to determine for himself when the game ends...

"He's brave as hell, yes," Draco said, leaning forward to watch Krum land, while a mob of magic medics rallied, breaking through the fighting entourage of Leprechauns and Veelas, to be able to get close to him. "The injury is so bad..."

Harry put omniocular in front of his eyes again. It was hard to see what was going on below, as the Leprechaun glided merrily over the field, but he could see Krum, surrounded by medics. He looked more sour than before and refused to have his wounds cleaned. His team members swarmed around him, shook their heads and looked devastated. Not far away, the Irish players danced merrily, being gilded by their mascot. Green flags fluttered throughout the stadium, the Irish national anthem chanting from all angles. The Veelas returned to their beautiful form, though they looked lethargic and sad.

"Vell, ve fought bravely," came a grim voice behind Harry. They've struggled valiantly, he said. It turned out to be the Bulgarian Minister of Magic who spoke.

"You can speak English!" said Fudge, furious as hell. "And all day this you just let me!"

"You see, it's so funny," bulgarian minister of magic said, shrugging.

Harry held back a laugh just for the sake of courtesy, even professor Prince couldn't help the corners of his lips rising. Fudge is really nothing more than a mascot than the Minister of Magic. Harry almost wondered how he could be selected.

The atmosphere was mumbling again as they got inside the tent. Hermione decided not to return to the Weasley's tent after Harry assured her that the Weasleys would be fine. No one proposes to leave early because their morals demand to help the troubled. There was no way Harry stepped away leaving the children and the families of the wizards in this riot as if he knew nothing. Even though he himself is still a child, but he has been trained hard by Gideon so that his magic is far above the average child of his age, even among adult wizards. Although he has never been involved in a real duel, his vision makes his mind programmatic to have been dueling all his life. Since childhood, magic battles and horrors during duels with Voldemort imprinted in his soul. Makes him like a war veteran. After he received training, it was like combining a long-lost pair of slots. made him feel that he had finally become himself.

With a wand in his grasp—not too tight, nor in a lazy way, but between the two, so that he could move it flexibly—Harry stood waiting with the others. He doesn't wear a robe, although his suit can't be said to be simple. He might seem simple if you didn't know that the fabric of his clothes was made of Basiliks leather and his shoes were of dragon leather. His clothes have anti-magic, although they can't block high-level spells such as forbidden curses, at least they can give him time to attack back for other types of curses. Standing not far from him, Marcus was complete with his sword and professor Prince. He still wears his usual black robe, but Harry believes the outfit has a much more reliable spell—maybe even a spell of his own making. Hermione stood not far from him in a witch's duel outfit—it was surprising to see that the shirt didn't seem strange to wear, instead giving him an agile and dangerous impression. The shirt was the result of professor Snape's modification, and Harry was sure the man also gave him another form of protection—if the girl's amulet was proof of that.

As the voices on the campground had changed, the singing had stopped and the sound of screams, as well as the sounds of people running around sounded, Harry knew this time had come. Agilely they came out of the tent and did not hesitate to launch spells to help those who were running around or who fell. In the light of a few flames still burning, he could see people running into the woods, fleeing from something moving across the field towards them, something that gave off an incandescent light and sounded like a rifle eruption. Loud banter, laughter, and the screams of drunken people were carried by the wind towards them, and then bursts of bright green light appeared, which illuminated the atmosphere.

A group of wizards, moving tightly and simultaneously with a directional wand straight up, walked slowly across the field. Harry squinted at them... It seems that they have no face... Then it dawned on him that it dawned on their heads that their heads were covered with hoods and their faces were wearing masks. The hat covering their heads is high pointed, much higher than that of the wizard's hat. Then, Harry realized that the hat was similar to the one worn by the ku klux clan, the difference was that it was dark, not white.

Far above them, floating in the air, four squirming figures are being transformed into strange shapes. It was as if the masked wizards on the ground were puppet showmen, and the people above them were his puppets, which were moved with invisible ropes sliding upwards from the tip of the wand. Two of the four figures are very small.

More wizards joined the marching group, laughing and pointing at the floating bodies. The tents were rammed and collapsed as the walking party grew larger and bigger. One-two times Harry saw one of the entourage blow up the tent blocking their way with his wand. The floating men were suddenly illuminated as they passed the burning tent and Harry recognized one of them: Mr Roberts, the campground manager. The other three seem to be his wife and two children. One of the entourages below overturned Mrs. Roberts with her wand. Her nightgown slumped down so that it looked like her big panties and she was trying to cover them while the entourage underneath made fun of her and laughed out loud. It was then that Harry realized that they were not attacking in the name of the Dark Lord. All of this is pureblood hateful acts of muggle-born or half-bold. It is apparent to whom they attacked.

The colored lanterns that originally illuminated the path leading to the stadium have been extinguished. Dark figures walked odd jobs among the trees. The children cried. Anxious shouts and panicked voices echoed around them in the cold of the night air. Harry was pushed to and fro by people whose faces he couldn't see.

Harry took a breath and started attacking. Marcus moved tightly beside him. Lesatan after lesatan slid from his hand without his lips moving. It's pretty easy because some of them are drunk. But that didn't diminish his wrath or his brutal way of magic. Disarmed those attackers and made them freeze for the Ministry to take over. Some of the Aurors who crossed paths with him nodded and together they finished off the remaining Attackers. "STUPEFY!" roared twenty voices-there was a bolt of dazzling light that followed and Harry felt the hair on his head fluttering, as if there was a strong wind blowing the clearing. Raising his head about a centi, Harry saw a gleam of fire-red light flying over them from the wands of the wizards, crisscrossing each other, bouncing off the tree trunks, radiating again into the darkness... At the same time, between the cracks of the dark forest, a green light slid in space. The light exploded and formed a strange image that twisted around before it finally appeared clearly to be a picture of a skull showing it was a sign of darkness.

The silence was instantly broken into an increasingly so-and-so panic. The number of Aurors was too small to cope with the attackers while calming the panicked population; and they realized it was a futile thing with the Death Eaters still hanging around. But morale was lifted a bit as many began to know that Harry Potter led the frontmost Auror group. The wand was scrambled with spells sliding agilely. It ran to the place where the loudest screams were heard. Gradually the Aurors began to be able to think clearly and some of them took the initiative to channel more Potkey to the wizarding families. Then he heard a cry, "POTKEY CAN'T BE USED. WHO HERE IS THE CURSE BREAKER!!" They are now like being confined in a closed room with the villain carrying the key.

"Damn it!" whispered Harry. Even his vision does not show if the attacks are so severe. While urging the crowd and launching a stiffening spell as one of the Death Eaters—if true it was indeed them—who attacked some muggle-borns. In the midst of this chaos he could see one of them was Draco, but he only noticed it for a few seconds before returning to concentrate on the fight.

While avoiding the curse, his eyes swept across the entire arena. He saw that there were so many casualties, and not only the British themselves, but also many of them people from other countries. This is really a political mess and the name of the British Ministry will be on the edge because of the anger of the international wizarding community, "We will not be able to cope with this," Harry exclaimed at the closest Auror, and it dawned on the woman that was Amelia Bones, head of the Department of Magical Law Enforcement who heads all the Aurors in Britain. "Madam Bones! It's best for someone to gather everyone in the stadium and make Wards!"

"No one can make Ward that wide in a short time, mr. Potter!"

Harry opened his mouth, closing it back. He turned his gaze to Marcus and professor Prince. Then frowning and a determined look, he said, "Marcus and Professor Prince will help me—"

Madam Bones shrugs with an incredulous look,"—mr. Potter, don't tell me—"

"This is Britain! Merlin's magic is in his land," he said as he rushed towards the stadium. A group of Aurors ran to follow them, conducting dense formations, forming a protection fortress. "I can awaken that magic!"

"But still—nobody ever did—with this situation we can't bet—"

"Madam Bones!" Harry clutched the woman's arm to calm her down, "I am a descendant of Merlin. Basically I rule this land!" he saw the woman's eyes widened, "The magic in this land is subject to me, "Well, maybe.

The woman took a breath and tried to master herself. "How much time do you need?"

Harry opened his mouth-he didn't know. He has never done this. What if this fails? What if Madam Bones is right, she can't—.

"Give us 15 minutes, not 10 minutes," Marcus said. At Harry, who had a face of disbelief, he said, "If I guessed correctly, you will do Blood Magic. The ritual should not be performed less than that time, before it is later fatal. Whatever will happen, even if we fail, you shouldn't do it more than that time," he clutched Harry's arm, "But I know you can do it."

"Marcus—"

"I'm by your side."

Then a moment later, Madam Bones began to shout instructions to the Aurors, "Give priority to the children and the foreigners! Move!"

Harry nodded, running back in the direction of the stadium. A platoon of Aurors split into squads and ran apart in different directions, as Madam Bones ran after Harry.

When Harry reached the stadium, there were already several Aurors who appeared with several wizard families using Potkey. Luckily the thing could still be used inside the locked Ward. Then the Aurors went again to bring another one. "Madam Bones, it's 10 minutes until Ward is covered and no one will be able to get in and out of the stadium."

"10 minutes is enough if we direct full force," said one of the Aurors of the man he did not know by name. "But our army is divided to protect the stadium!"

"A lot of people are helping," said another Auror. "10 minutes is enough! I bet britain's fate on you, Harry Potter!"

Madam Bones nodded.

To Hermione, Harry said, "Stay with Madam Bones."

"But Harry—"

"Mionie. Believe me?"

The girl took a worried look at the other, before finally nodding and stepping back.

Harry walked to the center of the arena. In front of him stood Marcus and Professor Prince. "You are the only ones who can do this as the one who swears at me, making you become my Vassals magically."

"I know," professor Prince said. "You can borrow my magic, Harry." Marcus nodded.

Harry sighed. This is not an easy ritual, and he has only ever read. Fortunately, the Merlin records he found in the vault of the Peverell family explained it in great detail. But that's not a reason to be overconfident. If it weren't for the two people in front of him, Harry's legs might have given up supporting him since just now.

Okay, so what should I do. Merlin's magic, like any other magic is moved by trust. So, he must Believe. Earnestly Believe. He tightened his fist, opened his eyes and pulled out his dagger. With a short movement, he slashed his palm and let the blood slide down, forming a small puddle in the velvet-like green grass in this stadium. And he began to cast;

"Immolabam facta est ut a somno exsuscitem sanguinem magicae sunt in terra—" I offer this blood to awaken the magic of this land. Harry's breathing choked in the throat. It should be that the spell is enough to recall Merlin's magic on this land. But, before he makes a seal move with his wand, something holds him back. His eyes turned black and his lips moved on their own, "in nomine dominae fati—" in the name of lady fate. "—ut, nominee dominae Magia," and in the name of lady magic. His voice choked, like he couldn't breathe. He could feel that the magic around him was turbulent, surrounding him like a giant dome. The stars shone brighter and brighter, and the dark clouds exposed showed a moon glowing red, like the core of fire, "in nominee tenebris Dominus exercituum mortem—" on behalf of the lord of darkness who ruled death. Slowly, starting from under his feet, the beautiful green grass became faded in color, moving widely until what remained was an arid expanse of dead drying grass. Marcus and Professor Prince fell to their knees, panting heavily. Harry spread his hands, as if a great force was pulling him in both different directions. "DA MIHI PRAESIDUM—" GIVE ME PROTECTION! He pulled his hand forward, holding it together in his grasp. Simultaneously there was a loud rumbling sound, the mighty magic power surrounding them like a luminous dome, like a golden confinement made of light. Then Harry banged his hands on the ground while shouting, "HIC MIHI CLAUSA!" HERE I SEAL YOU! Instantly the Pentagram appeared covering the ground of the stadium before a second later it vanished without a trace.

Harry fell to his knees. He could only hear the sound of his heavy breathing. He didn't know when the screaming voices sounded as the witches called out his name. Or as the Aurors move around him to provide protection from the crowds of mobs trying to approach him; many tried to touch him like touching a Saint, some in tears, some stroking his name, and among them there were also journalists who could not have just stayed silent seeing something extraordinary happening near them.

Harry was unaware as Marcus lifted his lunged body or professor Prince who fired a detection spell on his body. Or Hermione clutching her hand tightly. What he remembered was a beautiful golden dome above his head, brighter than the stars, shining and buzzing with warm and soothing magic. He quietly felt a gust of cold wind, touching his cheek gently, just like the way Death touched him.

When Harry awoke, it had been a few days since the shocking incident. He woke up in his room, without having the energy to even raise his own hands. He couldn't remember the events of that night clearly, but the full review of the Daily Prophet's articles helped him a lot-the article gave a lot of details that disappeared from his attention, and even those articles did not stop until now because of the high demand of the people. The first article features a photo of him running at the forefront, as if leading an Auror group. Another article, while he was fighting—gave a slow motion effect to his figure who was firing a spell. Harry was surprised, how come these reporters took photos for a while.

The article was endless, even to the point that the newspaper was reprinted many times. This reminded him of a time when the world knew that he was of Merlin's descent. But the most interesting thing is the article that includes a photo of the golden dome photographed from a distance. Even from the photo alone, it made Harry feel amazed by its beauty, especially he felt amazed that the magic came out from within him.

But more important than all that is, thankfully, thanks to the ritual was successful, the Ministry of Magic was able to rescue 90% of the civilians and capture almost all the rebels. But it also caused his prestige to rise again to a level that was really unimaginable. Moreover, by the way the Daily Prophet wrote, which again, was far-fetched; describes himself as a magical figure as created by the makers of children's story books! Even among them, there are those who are titled to this point!

HARRY POTTER: PRINCE OF THE WIZARDING WORLD!

The revival of The Wizarding Royal Blood of Britain

There is not a single person in the wizarding world, especially those living in Europe, who does not know who Harry Potter is. In addition to holding the title as Child-Yang-Survival-because his miracle survived the Dark Lord's Forbidden curse. He is also an Heir to the distinguished Noble Family of the House of Potters. But we also need to remember that the name Potter is inextricably linked to the important name of the magic noble family that we all thought had vanished, and the first person who made magic unimaginable and eventually developed as it is now—who else, if not Merlin himself!

Loyal Daily Propeht readers! Want the author to remind you, the reason why Merlin is known as the father of magic, in addition to being the first person to create wand as a conductor of magic, he is also the only wizard in history whose descendants have the Royal Blood of the British Empire! As an Advisor to King Arthur, he is also the person who formed the Magic Community in the United Kingdom, uniting all magic alliances across Europe, Africa, Australia, and Asia!

It's no secret that his son's descent into talented wizards with thick Royal Blood until misfortune makes the blood end and disappear. Or that's what we used to think, until finally Harry Potter resurrected his ancestral magic in him. Doesn't that mean, Harry Potter is the official heir of the last magic family of the British Empire?

Yes, we all already know that and of course The Daily Propeht has already created an article about it. But are we really aware of the true meaning of merlin's last descendant? And so, as if slapping the consciousness of all of us, and dismissing our doubts, his miraculous actions and the heroic demeanor he showed at the time of last week's attack on a Quidditch World Cup match, reminded us of who a Harry Potter really is. Because there is no one, no one! even the Minister of Magic, or Dumbledore, who was able to awaken the sleeping magic from this British land, except for the lord of this land himself! Isn't it that even if his last name is no longer Merlin, it doesn't reduce his bloody blood? Or is his magic powerful? Isn't this supposed to make us do something? Especially after Royal Blood returns among us. Shouldn't we start paying proper homage by calling her 'Your Grace?'

Rita Skeeter

Harry closed his newspaper with a sigh. He didn't know whether or not this Daily Propeht was making fun of him. Well, actually that's more or less true, okay.... it is indeed true. But Harry refused if anyone called him the prince, the more so the king! Harry shuddered. It made him feel like a pretentious person, like... Malfoy—he shuddered even harder.

But it seems that, no matter how hard he hopes, the effects of last week's events won't end in a short time—if not at all. It can be felt by him when he walks in Diagon Alley, how everyone stepped aside as he passed by, while holding his breath and wide eyes. Some even ducked low to almost overturning while saying, "Your Grace." Harry couldn't remember how quickly his feet had gone from the place.

Fortunately, the people closest to him have not changed at all. Well, even before the article came out, they already knew and it wasn't a problem for them—or lady Sharon, especially lady Sharon, to pinch her cheek and hug her like she was a teddy bear. He hopes that the hustle and bustle can subside with the Triwizard Tournament.

"Your Grace," Luna greeted. He stood at the door of their carriage compartment that opened with a cane in his ear and Butterbeer's bottle cap necklace. Her blue eyes darted, "Sir Marcus," she bent her legs low like an old noble girl.

"You just call me Harry, Luna..."

"Lord Harry."

Marcus spouted a laugh, "That's so weird!"

"Weirder Sir Marcus," Harry teased as he poked him with an elbow.

"Em.... you don't wear a uniform, Sir Marcus? Ah.... Do I have to call you Professor now?"

Marcus snorted, "Whatever the origin is not Sir Marcus," he grumbled softly. "I am now professor Bathsheda Babbling's apprentice. So you can call me Marcus anyway."

"How's your vacation, Luna? I didn't see you during the Quidditch world cup, even though your home is in Devon."

"Hm... my vacation is pretty exciting, Harry. I traveled with my father looking for Crumple-Horned Snorkack in Sweden."

Passing through the gate, whose right and left were guarded by a statue of a winged wild boar, and climbing the uphill road, the carriage rolled, shaking horribly in the strong wind that had now turned into a hurricane. Leaning against the window, Harry could see Hogwarts getting closer and closer, the light from the windows was blurred and swaying behind the heavy rain curtains. Lightning flashed through the sky as their carriage stopped in front of a large oak door, on stone steps. The children who were in the carriages in front of them had already rushed up the steps. Harry saw Ron, Hermione, and Neville jumping down their carriage and hurriedly climbing the steps as well, only looking up after they were inside the torch-lit Front Hall, with its magnificent alabaster staircase.

"Oh my gosh," Ron said, shaking his head and splashing water everywhere, "if it rains like this, the lake will overflow. I'm soaked... ARRGH!"

"You should have used a water-repellent spell," Harry commented, "Have you forgotten that wizards."

Ron pouted.

Suddenly a huge red balloon filled with water fell from the ceiling to the top of Ron's head, and it broke apart. Soaked and gushing, Ron staggered to the edge until he almost hit Harry. Fortunately, Marcus swiftly lifted him up directly, making Ron fall to the floor. Just when the second water bomb fell... almost fell on Hermione. The balloon broke near Marcus's feet, pouring cold water into the sneakers and socks of the children around them who screamed and began to push each other in an attempt to avoid attacks.

Harry looked up and saw Peeves the ghost, hovering six meters above them. His figure was small, wearing a bell hat and an orange bow tie, his broad, evil face constricting as he was ready to throw his water bomb at the target.

"PEEVES!" shouted an angry voice. "Peeves, come down FAST!" Professor McGonagall, the vice principal and principal of Gryffindor dormitory, ran out of the Great Hall. He slipped on the slippery floor and snatched Hermione's neck so as not to fall. "Ouch... sorry, Miss Granger..."

"It's okay, Professor!" interrupted Hermione, massaging her neck.

"Peeves, come down RIGHT NOW!" roared Professor McGonagall, straightening her cone hat and whizzing upwards from behind her square glasses.

"It's not bad really!" asked Peeves, throwing water bombs at several fifth-grade female students, who screamed and ran into the Great Hall. "Are they already wet? Just a small burst! Whiiiiiiiiiii!" And he pointed another bomb at a group of newly arrived second-graders.

"I call the Principal!" shouted Professor McGonagall. "I warn you, Peeves..." Peeves stuck out his tongue, threw the last water bomb into the air, and shot up the alabaster stairs, chuckling like crazy.

Harry held up his wand. Several children around him looked at him with their eyes wide open expectantly. "Waddiwasi!" instantly Peeves' body swirled around like a balloon untied and flying in the air uncontrollably. The sound of his screams echoed before the end finally vanished hitting the wall.

Professor McGonagall was silent for a while before finally breathing a sigh of relief, "Thank you, mr. Potter."

"You're welcome, Professor."

"Well, let's go!" said Professor McGonagall sharply to the drenched group of children. "Enter the Great Hall, come on!"

They slipped towards the double door on the right. Ron muttered angrily as he wiped his wet hair off his face. The Great Hall looked as magnificent as ever, decorated for the party of the beginning of the school year. The plates and trophies of gold glittered in the light of hundreds of candles floating on the tables. The four tables of the dormitory were full of crowded children chattering. It seems that there are more empty seats than usual. This is inseparable from the attack in the Quidditch Cup. Although the death toll was not much, there were many injured.

Marcus immediately just walked confidently towards the teacher's desk and sat down beside professor Bathsheda Babbling. Several children had their faces pale when they saw that. Know now Marcus has the right to give the addition and subtraction of dormitory points. Clearly aware of it, Marcus looked up his face swaggeringly. Harry rolled his eyeballs. Then he turned to the empty chair at the teacher's desk.

"Where is the new teacher of Defense against the Dark Arts?" asked Draco, who also looked at the teachers. They have never had a Defense against the Dark Arts teacher who survived more than three semesters because of the curse of the dark lord. But the rest of the kids didn't know that. they only knew that no one felt at home being a Dark Arts Defense teacher at Hogwarts.

Later, after the first-order children came. Hogwarts again holds the same ritual as every year. In his speech at this time, Dumbledore said, "As usual, I would like to remind you all that the forest at the end of the school grounds is forbidden to students, and so is the village of Hogsmeade, forbidden to children under the third grade." It is with a very heavy heart that I have to convey also that the match between the dormitories to fight for this year's Quidditch Cup will not be held."

"What?" the children exclaimed. But Harry already knew that, so he wasn't surprised. "This is because there are games that will start in October and continue throughout the school year, taking up a lot of time and energy for the teachers-but I'm sure you'll all really enjoy it. It was with great excitement that I announced that this year at Hogwarts..."

But just as it sounded a deafening thunderstorm and the door of the Great Hall was open. A man stood in the doorway, leaning against a long cane, wearing a black traveling coat. All the heads in the Great Hall turned their heads looking at this stranger, who was suddenly illuminated by the light of lightning flashing on the ceiling. She lowered her head hood, shook her long gray hair, and then walked to the teacher's desk. The sound of tok echoed throughout the hall every time he took a step. He arrived at the end of the teacher's desk, turned right, and limped close to Dumbledore. Lightning flashed again and Draco squealed softly.

The flash illuminates the man's face so that it appears clear. Never had Harry seen such a face. It seems to be carved out of wood that has been weathered by a person who barely knows what a human face should be, and is not so reliable to use his chisel. Every flick of his skin seemed to be scarred. His mouth was like a hollow nick, and a large piece of his nose was gone. But it was his eyes that made him terrible.

One eye is small, black, like a bead. The other is big, round like a coin and bright electric blue. The blue eyes moved incessantly, without blinking, turning up, down, right, left, moving freely uncharacteristically normal eyes—and then the eyeball turned completely, facing the back of his head, so that all that could be seen was the whiteness.

The stranger arrived at Dumbledore's place. He stretched out a hand that was also full of scars, like his face, and Dumbledore shook it, muttering words that Harry couldn't hear. It seemed that he was wondering to the stranger, who shook his head without a smile and replied in a low voice. Dumbledore nodded and pointed to the empty seat to his right. The stranger sat up, shook his hair so as not to cover his face, pulled a plate of sausages nearby, lifted it to the rest of his nose, and sniffed it. He then took out a small knife from his pocket, pierced the sausage with the tip, and started eating. His normal eyes looked at the sausage, but his blue eyes still moved tirelessly inside his cavity, looking at the entire hall and all the disciples.

"I introduced a new teacher Defense against the Dark Arts," Dumbledore said cheerfully, breaking the silence. "Professor Moody."

Usually new teachers were greeted with applause, but none of the teachers or students applauded, except Dumbledore and Hagrid. But their claps resonated dingy in silence, and they stopped immediately. The others were apparently stunned by Moody's magical appearance so they were only able to stare at him.

Well, welcome, Barty, Harry's inner smile. He refrained from shuddering excitedly. The snowball has already rolled, and now it is getting bigger and bigger. Harry couldn't wait to see his plan come true.