Chapter 224: Sanctuary

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"Do you enjoy drinking as well?"

Despite having only met once—and despite the punch Harry had landed on him earlier—Harry, ever the master of social awkwardness, didn't show even a hint of embarrassment. Instead, he greeted Arthur like an old friend.

"Perfect timing. I just ordered some wine and was wondering who I could chat with. Let's have a couple of drinks together."

Without giving Arthur a chance to decline, Harry grabbed his arm, pulling him into the chair opposite. He pushed a plate of snacks across the table—a selection of cheese sticks and thumb-sized crackers that paired perfectly with the wine, along with crispy corn chips radiating a rich cheesy aroma.

"Well, thank you," Arthur said.

Compared to the confident, almost manic persona he displayed on the dueling platform, Arthur now seemed reserved and tense, as if the clownish, cackling figure from the stage was an entirely different person. The contrast was striking.

Harry, however, wasn't overly concerned by this transformation. After all, in the world of wizards, eccentric characters were a dime a dozen—there were even those who talked to the backs of their own heads.

"I heard you mention earlier that you're from Arkham? I don't know much about the magical world outside of Hogwarts. Could you tell me about it? I'm curious about other magical schools."

"It's a small place," Arthur said, smiling faintly with a hint of self-consciousness. "The year after I graduated, Arkham shut down due to poor management and a lack of students. Many schools like it have disappeared over the years."

Arthur's tone was neutral, as if he were simply reflecting on the passage of time, without any strong emotional attachment to his alma mater.

"But your Transfiguration professor must've been quite talented. You're only twenty, right? To have reached this level three years after graduation is impressive—it's far beyond most people."

"But I still lost, didn't I?"

Unlike the defeated, tearful figure he had been on the stage, Arthur now seemed to have come to terms with his loss. After all, crying over it had been rather embarrassing.

"I graduated four years ago. I left school at sixteen. But to be honest, it wasn't the school's professor who truly taught me Transfiguration. You might not know this, but small magical schools like Arkham typically only teach basic spells for daily life. My teacher gave me the foundation for Transfiguration, but he wasn't particularly skilled at it himself."

"What truly taught me Transfiguration was life itself."

Gradually loosening up, Arthur seemed less nervous. After all, when discussing something deeply familiar, people tend to speak more freely—especially when they have the chance to share knowledge with someone more accomplished. It carried a subtle sense of achievement.

"I worked at a circus," Arthur said, a cautious smile tugging at his lips. "It took me three years to learn how to become a clown, to fully embody that role. But after just one year, I realized something—I couldn't make anyone laugh."

"Turns out, I don't have the talent for it. My jokes were too dry; my audience never laughed."

"So, I got kicked out."

"But you still want to be on stage, don't you?" Harry said, chewing on a piece of richly flavored cheese. If Arthur had completely given up on the role he had worked three years to master, he likely wouldn't have ended up here, on the dueling stage.

"I want people to see me more, even if it's not because I can make them laugh. But that's okay, isn't it?"

"I used to doubt if I truly existed, but now I'm certain I do." As he said this, a vivid spark seemed to light up in Arthur's eyes. "I have a condition—a condition that makes me laugh uncontrollably when I'm sad and also when I'm happy."

"I can't cry. But I should thank you—if you hadn't knocked me unconscious at the end, people would probably think I was a lunatic. Then again, being a lunatic wouldn't be so bad. At least people would finally start noticing me."

Arthur gave Harry a long, deep look, his thoughts unreadable.

But his gaze was soon interrupted as an enormous wooden barrel floated in front of him. A server with fairy lineage lightly patted the oak barrel, which bore a plaque reading "Maiden's Ballad."

"Your wine is here, sir. Would you like some snacks to go with it?"

The server handed over a menu, but Harry didn't even glance at it.

"One of everything to start."

A small, heavy pouch of gold Galleons was casually tossed to the server. Harry ran his finger lightly around the edge of the oak barrel before prying off its top with ease.

A rich, fruity aroma wafted out as a thin stream of wine gracefully flowed into a glass, the decanting done with the finesse of magic—though Harry was more inclined to drink straight from the barrel.

The server's eyes sparkled, his posture growing even more deferential under the weight of the gold in his hands. With a slight wave, the server gestured toward the musicians, who responded by playing a more upbeat tune. The faint scent of perfume drifted through the air—likely coming from the dancers who twirled nearby, their movements entrancing.

"This isn't exactly a proper tavern, is it?" Harry teased, giving the server a pointed look.

"Well, sir, it doesn't have to be proper either," the server replied with a sly grin.

"But I'm a proper gentleman," Harry said with a deadpan expression, draining his glass of its pale amber liquid. For someone who had once seen true, breathtaking beauty, such mundane charms barely held any allure.

"My apologies, sir. Your snacks will be served shortly—all made from the freshest ingredients, sourced from—"

"No seafood from Japan," Harry cut in sharply. "If you dare bring out a plate with a twenty-legged octopus, I won't hesitate to tear this place apart."

"How could you suggest such a thing?!" The server's voice shot up two octaves, as though deeply offended. "I'd never insult such a noble guest as you with something even dogs wouldn't eat!"

The server bowed hastily and dashed off toward the kitchen, his giddy expression betraying his eagerness to supervise the chefs, perhaps wielding a metaphorical whip to ensure perfection.

After a few drinks and a sumptuous seafood feast, Arthur, now slightly tipsy and slurring his words, began sharing stories with Harry. He spoke of a side of the wizarding world that Harry had never seen before.

It was the life of small characters, of insignificant people. Compared to them, Hogwarts students in their ivory tower seemed to be living in a dream. Only after leaving school would the harsh realities of the magical world begin to reveal themselves.

What intrigued Harry the most about this reality was the prospect of the golden belts of crime—a metaphor for the lucrative gains from illicit endeavors.

If robbing banks was considered a fast way to make money, raiding the homes of drug lords was even faster. Although the latter was undoubtedly more dangerous, the rewards were proportionally greater.

Harry, for now, wasn't short on money. His Gringotts vault still held several million Galleons that he didn't know how to spend.

But it wasn't gold that fascinated him. It was the idea of a lawless land, a place where he could let loose and act without restraint.

The dueling tournaments, on the other hand, were starting to bore him. So far, they had failed to meet his expectations. His theoretical knowledge was solid, but he lacked the practical experience to turn it into real power.

"I'll just use you all for practice," Harry muttered.

He drained his final glass of wine, and the now-empty barrel held not a single drop left to savor. Meanwhile, Arthur, who had been rambling on and on, had already curled up in his chair, his head buried into the soft cushions of the sofa.

(End of Chapter)