Chapter 238: Are You Tied with Dynamite?

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"Senior Sethi... doesn't have much time left, does he?"

Harry wasn't surprised that someone had been here before and had even communicated with Daenerys. What shocked him was the news she shared. It was quite common for ordinary wizards to live for over a hundred years. Sethi was only four years younger than Dumbledore—how could he not have much time left?

Could it be that all those who awaken are short-lived? If that's the case... Harry shook his head, not wanting to dwell on this question.

"It's alright. After you're gone, Furong can come live with me. I'll take good care of her." Daenerys didn't directly answer Harry's question but teased him instead.

"Oh, so I'm fine then. Senior Sethi must have met with some sort of accident, right?" Harry nodded confidently, not falling for the tease. Though he couldn't quite read Daenerys, who always seemed to change her behavior, some of her little habits were familiar to him. "You don't need to worry about Furong. I'll take good care of her."

"Are kids these days that hard to fool?" Daenerys tilted her head, surprised. "That guy has indeed run into some problems. He's obsessed with creating a world of his own, wanting to become a god-like creator. But even gods in this world are mere fantasies. How could he possibly do such a thing?"

"Creating a completely new life from nothing... I can't think of a better word for him other than 'crazy.' Anyway, you'll understand when you meet him."

Daenerys didn't seem to have a favorable impression of Sethi. Not wanting to discuss him further, she waved her hand tiredly, then transformed back into her massive dragon form. She lazily lay on the gemstone platform, basking in the afternoon sun.

"Unless there's anything else, go play." Daenerys flicked her tail, and the little dragon, who had been muttering "Why does one plus one equal two?" nearby, slowly shuffled over.

"Let's go, Clumsy Dragon."

The slightly dazed Sun Dragon, clearly reluctant, flew Harry and Furong into the sky. Compared to the rocket tortoise ride through the land of Qizhadro, flying on a Sun Dragon was definitely more stylish.

However, they didn't stay long. Furong was somewhat concerned that the strange dragon sister might suddenly appear and demand she stay here as the "wife of the stronghold" or something. Though the Sun Mountain, with its dazzling magical gems, was beautiful, humans and dragons led very different lives—that was a path they couldn't take.

"It seems we still don't know where the world competition is being held, right?"

After returning to the official camp of the Amonla Wizarding United Kingdom, Harry suddenly realized this. He had barely paid attention to the competition. Professor Flitwick had told him to return to Hogwarts before the event and leave together with him, so Harry hadn't even thought to inquire about it, missing the most crucial step.

"Harry, are you sure you're seriously participating in the duel competition?"

"Well..." Harry scratched his head, looking innocent as he replied, "No, I just planned to go out and have fun. Didn't you see? Even when I'm just messing around, not everyone can keep up with me."

"Alright, alright, we get it, you're amazing." Furong rolled her eyes at him, then took out a small mirror that looked like a compact. "It's a two-way mirror. Madam Maxim was a bit worried about me being out alone, so she gave it to me, so I could contact her if needed."

Compared to the magical network video communicators Harry had seen with Grindelwald, Furong's two-way mirror was the most suitable magical item for long-distance communication in the wizarding world. It was much more convenient than using owls to send letters but was also much more expensive. This magical item, created centuries ago, required costly materials, so only very wealthy wizard families could afford to buy it. Of course, Madam Maxim, now the headmaster of the richest magical school in Europe, had the financial means to purchase such a luxury. Unlike the magical network, which wasn't global, the two-way mirror didn't rely on it.

The only downside was that it could only show the other person's image and couldn't transmit sound.

After contacting Madam Maxim, Furong skillfully used her wand to conjure lines of text. The video was on, but with no sound, using text for communication seemed rather odd.

In just a short while, Furong waved her hand to bid farewell to Madam Maxim. "I've already asked, and Madam said that the final duel competition this year will be held at the South Gate Square."

"What? The South Gate has a square?"

When Harry heard Furong say 'South Gate Square' in a somewhat strange tone, his mind immediately went into overdrive, his curiosity ringing in his head like alarm bells.

"Doesn't the South Gate have a square?" Furong asked, puzzled. "This is the first time I've heard of this place. But Madam said that to enter the Celestial Empire, one must submit an entry permit to the Ministry of Magic, and then go for an interview at the European Wizarding Union's diplomatic office."

"If everything goes quickly, all these procedures can be completed in a day. Let's head back now."

With the special cosmetics from Madam Lemay in hand, Furong no longer worried about failing the interview. Otherwise, with her entire body covered except for her eyes, it would be tough to get through the interview. Frankly, her uncontrolled, extraordinary charm was like a ticking time bomb wherever she went. If she appeared in public, anyone who accidentally saw her would require a deep memory wipe—something no one wanted.

Upon learning that she could start controlling this power once she reached adulthood, Furong had never been so eager to grow up.

After some time, Harry first sent Furong back to Paris before heading straight to London. By this time, it was already 5 p.m. in England, and the Ministry of Magic closed at 6 p.m. You couldn't expect them to voluntarily work overtime unless the workload was overwhelming. Otherwise, Ministry staff would rather head to the Three Broomsticks for a drink than stay for a meager overtime fee. Fudge, the penny-pinching minister, wasn't the type to encourage extra work.

Although Harry didn't know the exact address of the Ministry of Magic, the magical world had its universal landmark—the Three Broomsticks. Tom, the bar owner with a face as shriveled as a walnut, was undoubtedly one of the best-connected individuals in the wizarding world. Even though Harry had mentioned Voldemort's name there during his first year, Tom had been exceedingly warm toward him during their second meeting.

The reason for his kindness was likely that Harry had placed a large order, clearing out Tom's stock of over-30-year-old Dragonblood whiskey and Ogden's Firewhisky.

After receiving the address from Tom, Harry quickly finished a bottle of the magically-flame-infused liquor in one gulp, leaving a bag of Galleons without requiring any change. With a snap of his fingers, he vanished from the Three Broomsticks, reappearing in a desolate alley.

The area was surrounded by rundown buildings in the old part of London, which had seen better days. Trash littered the ground, with no one bothering to clean up. There was a bar that seemed to be still in business, but its entrance was marked by a few patches of dried, coagulated vomit. Graffiti covered the walls, and a dilapidated red telephone booth stood awkwardly in the middle of the alley.

Fortunately, the telephone booth was not occupied by any homeless Muggle wanderers, and there were no puddles of dried urine under the glass panels. This was thanks to the enchantment on the booth, which caused Muggles to automatically ignore it, even if they saw it.

Harry opened the glass door, took the receiver off the hook, and dialed 62442—this series of numbers spelled out "MAGIC" on the keypad. A cold, indifferent female voice sounded, but not from the receiver. She said:

"Welcome to the Ministry of Magic. Please state your name and the purpose of your visit."

"Harry Potter, here to submit an entry permit for the Celestial Empire."

"Thank you," the voice replied, "Guest, please take the badge and place it on your clothing."

Ding-ling-ling, a silver badge slid out from the metal slot where coins were usually dispensed. The badge was square and engraved with: Harry Potter, Entry/Exit Processing.

As Harry descended into the Ministry, the phone booth trembled, slowly sinking underground. The pavement outside rose higher and higher as though the ground itself was swallowing them up. The elevator was clearly an old relic, creaking and groaning with every move, filling the air with a monotonous, grating noise. It was hard not to feel a bit anxious about its safety—if it got stuck halfway, who knew how long it would take for someone to come fix it?

After what felt like over a minute, the creaky elevator finally slowed to a halt. A sliver of golden light crept from the bottom of the elevator, stretching and illuminating the grand golden hall of the Ministry, an extravagant contrast to the dilapidated entrance Harry had just come through. Despite the crumbling exterior, the foyer was resplendent and opulent.

"Welcome to the Ministry of Magic. We hope you have a pleasant day," the cold, indifferent voice seemed to mock Harry, its tone radiating an unmistakable frostiness.

The dark wood floors shone brightly, reflecting the peacock-blue ceiling embedded with sparkling gold symbols that continuously shifted, like a moving bulletin board. The walls on either side were lined with dozens of gilded fireplaces. As it was nearly closing time, people hurried through the hall, eager to finish their business before the day ended.

At the center of the foyer was a fountain, its dazzling gold statue looming over the room—an exaggerated depiction of a wizard with a raised gun, surrounded by adoring witches, centaurs, goblins, and house-elves. The adoration in their eyes, particularly from the elves and witches, was almost laughable. Goblins and centaurs, historically hostile to wizards, clearly wouldn't have gazed at a wizard like that, let alone one depicted in such a heroic light.

Harry quickly made his way to the end of the hall, where a table bearing a sign reading 'Security Check' was stationed on the left. Behind it sat a scruffy wizard in a peacock-blue robe, lazily staring down at a copy of The Daily Prophet.

"Tap-tap," Harry knocked on the table. The wizard, already waking up from his stupor as the shadow of Harry's approach loomed over him, slowly lifted his head with an exaggerated effort.

"Really? Someone's using the guest entrance?" he mumbled, before standing up. "Come over here."

The security wizard pulled out a long, golden rod, resembling a car antenna—thin and flexible. This was a specialized tool used to detect dangerous magical items, designed to prevent terrorists from smuggling explosives like explosive potions into the Ministry. But who would take the guest entrance to smuggle such items? Anyone using this entrance was probably already too stupid to be a threat.

As the golden rod approached Harry's chest, it suddenly straightened with a loud 'crack,' bursting into golden powder that enveloped him completely. An ear-splitting alarm sounded, but the security wizard simply looked confused, as if he had never even read his job manual. From the moment he had started his post, he probably hadn't paid much attention to his responsibilities, knowing his role was just a token gesture.

"What did I do wrong?" Harry looked down at the golden ropes that had bound him tightly. "Guests have to be tied up to enter?"

"I... I don't know." The security wizard scratched his head, clearly puzzled. He hesitated before asking, "Did you have explosives on you?"

"Oh, come on!" He finally seemed to get it, hurriedly pulling a gun out from his robe. He fumbled with the trigger for a long time, but not even a simple Shield Charm came out.

"Don't tell me you forgot?" Harry asked with a hint of uncertainty, "The spell's Protego, don't pull the trigger all at once."

"Oh! Thanks!" The wizard finally remembered how to cast the Shield Charm, summoning a hazy, indistinct shimmer in front of him. For a fourth-year wizard, it was a decent attempt. But for someone in his thirties, it was rather lackluster.

"By the way, can you undo these ropes? I'm not carrying explosives."

"I'm not sure how to undo them. Maybe I should go find an Auror?"

"Forget it." Harry sighed with a slight twitch of his mouth. "I'll do it myself."

The golden ropes, seemingly designed to interfere with magical abilities, did nothing to stop Harry. With a powerful tug, the ropes snapped apart. The Shield Charm shimmered briefly but was shattered in an instant as Harry raised his hand.

As golden dust flew everywhere, a group of seventeen or eighteen figures suddenly appeared, surrounding Harry with the swift movement of Apparition. They wore matching black uniforms and raised their wands in unison.

Red magic projectiles shot out, speeding toward Harry at the center of the encirclement.

(End of chapter)