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As the end of the semester approached, Harry had effortlessly handled the dueling competition over the past few months, defeating seven or eight talented young students. Watching those kids cry in front of him made Harry down a bottle of vodka on the spot.
The Fountain of Life he had won from the hunting competition had been drained completely, and the life water he ordered from Aya was taken away by Hagrid, container and all, leaving Harry with not a single bottle. This wasn't because Hagrid was stingy, but because of the newborn Soviet Iron-Belly dragon, Tibbers. After drinking the first bottle of ninety-nine-degree life water, Hagrid believed that such a drink was meant for real men, and Tibbers was his chosen "real man" dragon, deserving of the strongest liquor.
Feeding liquor to fire dragons is quite normal; these creatures enjoy drinking. Fire dragon attacks often occur at Muggle distilleries because wild dragons lack a place to get their drinks. It's entirely reasonable for them to ask Muggles for some; after all, they don't understand the concept of laws. With wizards to cover for them, the worst they face is a beating, perhaps losing some dragon scales as compensation. Without dozens of elite Aurors attacking, it's not easy to kill a large, adult fire dragon.
Hogwarts had also undergone significant changes recently, particularly regarding Quidditch. Although Harry's overwhelming victories were widely acknowledged, the performance of the well-trained team members, especially those in the Gryffindor team led by Wood, was impressive. They could now score thirty points against Harry!
While this result was still somewhat artificially inflated, it was enough to be exhilarating.
At Hogwarts, the rule that only members of the battle group could play Quidditch received unanimous agreement by the end of this academic year. After witnessing the intense, thrilling competitions, the earlier casual games seemed utterly uninspiring.
The militarized training sessions starting at five-thirty every morning cultivated their organization. Customized nutritious meals prepared by house-elves and potions brewed by Harry gave them robust physiques. Daily recitations of the battle group's rules strengthened their resolve, propelling everything in the direction Harry desired.
He even purchased a Quidditch team that had been on the decline for several years. Many battle group members were already in their sixth or seventh years, about to graduate. However, Harry would not simply let them go. After leaving Hogwarts, they would join the team to continue their training. The modest salary of one hundred Galleons a month was nothing to Harry, but for most wizards without family wealth, it was a generous pay. Even newly hired ordinary employees at the Ministry of Magic didn't earn half that amount.
Perhaps the Potter family's savings wouldn't withstand his extravagant spending, but as the second king of the Forbidden Forest, Harry had plenty of ways to make money. The purple unicorn horn he found casually had been transformed into a potion worth one hundred thirty thousand Galleons under Snape's treatment. Although he could only sell it gradually to stabilize the price, Harry could confidently say he would never be short of money again.
Despite the favorable developments, there was one matter that Harry was still unclear about.
That was the mysterious Hufflepuff elder.
The centaurs were not aware of the elder's true identity. They only knew that the extermination of poachers in the Forbidden Forest occurred in a brief span from the late 19th century to the early 20th century. During that time, the reputation of the Dark Forest at Hogwarts spread far and wide; everyone knew it was a graveyard for poachers. Rough estimates suggest that at least eighteen thousand poachers from around the world were swallowed by this dark forest. Even though they were reckless and willing to risk their lives for money, the sharp blade of death terrified them enough to deter them from venturing into this man-eating forest.
These ruthless individuals, who would hunt unicorns for profit and willingly succumb to curses leading to tragic deaths, were frightened by the scene. The bloodshed at that time was unimaginable. The centaurs trembled at the sight of the slaughter, as they were still scattered in small tribes back then, lacking the unity they have today. It was because of that mysterious butcher that the centaurs finally decided to band together. Hagrid was an incentive for their unity rather than the cause.
Finding this low-key and humble elder was no easy task, but Harry was determined not to give up. He felt compelled to use ancient magic to awaken his desire for adventure.
Having memorized those words thoroughly, Harry, despite his efforts, failed to unleash any hint of power. However, his internal magic stirred slightly in response to those incantations, indicating to Harry that he simply hadn't discovered the correct method to wield them, rather than being incapable of using them.
While he hadn't figured all of this out, it seemed Harry had forgotten something. The impact of ancient magic was profound for him, and it was precisely because of this extraordinary power that he could grasp that he overlooked his agreement with Grindelwald. What he once considered a must-have—the Philosopher's Stone—now seemed diminished in the face of the accessible ancient magic.
Harry may have forgotten, but Grindelwald hadn't.
Knock, knock, knock.
"Professor, did you call for me?"
Harry opened the door to Grindelwald's office, finding the man looking slightly perplexed.
"Harry, do you truly wish to continue escaping your destined fate?"
"Oh! Are you referring to the Philosopher's Stone?"
"Ah, hahaha." Harry scratched his head and laughed awkwardly. "I forgot! I have a mountain of things to do right now. I'm only sleeping four hours a night, and before I know it, time has flown by."
"Struggling is out of the question; since you've made such mystical claims, I must surely believe your prophecy, right?"
Harry said with a grin, completely unaware of the gravity of the situation. In fact, he was a bit curious about how the prophecy would compel him to seek out the Philosopher's Stone if he didn't actively pursue it.
"I'll take your word for it," Grindelwald shrugged. "However, I must remind you that whether through conscious resistance or unconscious neglect, when the time comes, the threads of fate will inevitably guide you to your destiny."
"As a fate manipulator, I've chosen the easiest path for you. If you follow this route, everything will conclude safely. But it's clear that you've forgotten to actively seek out your goal in these past months, and this might lead you to pay an unnecessary price."
"And what would that price be?" Harry detected some unease in Grindelwald's words.
"I'm not sure," Grindelwald replied, spreading his hands. "Isn't the most fascinating aspect of the future the endless possibilities of the unknown? Even a predestined fate can change its outcome based on the choices of those involved."
"The ending I see is one of rivers of blood, but I don't know whose blood flows—yours or that of your adversary."
Harry fell silent for a moment. Grindelwald's prophecy didn't anchor the final victor as him, which meant that the one who might lose could very well be Harry himself. The prophecy revealed a bloody outcome, with anyone able to emerge victorious; regardless of who won or lost, the final result remained unchanged.
"Never let fate twist your head at the last moment. People aren't owls; being forcibly turned can cause pain even if it doesn't lead to death."
"I think your current approach is the perfect example of going against your interests. Do you really believe your neck won't be damaged if it's twisted one hundred eighty degrees?"
Grindelwald certainly didn't want to see Harry meet a grim fate. That's why, despite usually enjoying the spectacle, he chose to warn Harry before the final deadline approached.
In his eyes, Harry was a young wizard. Even with considerable talent, he was still just a weakling in combat. Voldemort, even as a fractured soul or a mere shadow of his former self, was still a formidable opponent, with his combat ability at least a solid six.
Being careless could cost a life, especially for Harry.
"I understand."
Harry listened to Grindelwald's advice, recognizing that the professor wasn't trying to harm him but rather help him. He appreciated the gesture.
"I'll go prepare right away. I hope it's not too late."
"You have an exam tomorrow. Shouldn't I take care of things tonight?"
"Do as you wish." Grindelwald waved his hand dismissively, then offered a warm smile.
"After all, I just want to see rivers of blood; the rest is up to you."
"Of course, if you don't die, that would be even better."
"Hehehe~ Off you go, enjoy yourself, little one."
Grindelwald's grin, filled with malice, revealed his true nature as a dark wizard. Such a wicked smile couldn't be easily imitated.
"Jejeje~" The stubborn little dark wizard let out a sinister laugh. "Once I master that move, even Satan will have my name tattooed on his back."
"There's no way I can die this time."
Grindelwald looked on in astonishment as Harry, seemingly possessed by death itself, turned and left the office.
"Good heavens!"
The great dark wizard Grindelwald clicked his tongue. "The youth of today…"
(End of chapter)