However, Harry's hopes were destined to be dashed, for Veratia had not appeared at Hogwarts in recent days.
She had been incredibly busy, barely touching the ground, rushing between various schools.
It was at this time that Harry welcomed his third-year summer holiday.
A holiday was a splendid thing, even for Harry.
Though school didn't exactly hinder his ability to slack off, a holiday meant he could go out and have some fun, wander about, and enjoy far more freedom than at school.
——Of course, Dumbledore had never forbidden him from leaving Hogwarts, either.
"I'd say," Ron said, twirling his finger, "I'm really looking forward to this summer—did you know? The Quidditch World Cup final is going to be held in England! My dad's already confirmed it!"
At Ron's words, the Gryffindors turned their attention to him—and not just the Gryffindors, even the Slytherins behind them shifted their gazes to Ron.
It wasn't because of Ron's insider scoop, but rather the sudden appearance of a verbal tic that didn't belong to him.
Because, naturally, the phrase "my dad" was typically Draco's.
"I seriously suspect Malfoy's hit you with the Imperius Curse," Neville whispered. "For a moment there, I genuinely thought it was him sitting in front of me, not you…"
"I thought the same," Hermione nodded in agreement, ignoring Neville's mention of the "Imperius Curse."
After all, having endured the ordeal of the Duelling Club, Hermione had long since become immune to talk of Unforgivable Curses.
Unforgivable Curses and the like—well, as long as they weren't used on fellow students, it didn't really matter, did it?
"What's that?" Draco's voice came from behind. "Weasley's right, though. This year's World Cup final is indeed being held in England. Are you lot going? My dad's arranging a top-tier box for our family…"
The group's stunned expressions faded back to normal.
Right, that verbal tic only felt natural coming from Draco.
"That's great," Harry said, glancing back but failing to spot Cassandra. He asked again, "What about Cassandra? Is she going with you?"
"My dad says she's probably watching the World Cup with you."
Draco sounded a bit miffed as he said this.
"Now that you mention it, I forgot—I should probably sort out some tickets too."
Harry had genuinely forgotten about it, but it wasn't a big deal. After all, Sirius Black would have no trouble securing Quidditch World Cup tickets.
Just then, Hedwig swooped in with a flock of owls from outside.
Clutched in her talons was a letter, likely from Veratia.
"It's from Veratia," Harry said, opening the letter and reading it carefully before tucking it away.
"What's it say?" Ron asked, curiosity piqued.
He was promptly swatted by Hermione.
"Don't ask what you shouldn't, Ronald!" she growled under her breath, looking for all the world like Ron's second mother.
Ron's lips twitched, but he said nothing.
Harry glanced at Ron, already mentally predicting the miserable life awaiting Ron in the years to come.
It seemed Ron's future wouldn't be much better than a mule's—bridled and thoroughly tamed.
"Veratia says she'll be back at Grimmauld Place in a few days and told me not to wait for her… She mentioned an interview with the Austrian Ministry of Magic in the coming days…?"
Harry's voice trailed off, a bit dazed.
An interview with the Austrian Ministry of Magic? For what?
Could it be that Veratia was serious? Was she really planning to work at the Ministry?
"She's going to the Ministry?" Hermione frowned, hesitating. "Will the Austrian Ministry of Magic actually accept her application?"
"Probably will," Ron said, picking up a copy of the Daily Prophet from the table and pointing at an article for Hermione to see.
"Look at this. The Austrian Ministry's been restructured, but… they haven't announced who the new Minister for Magic is yet. They just said to stay tuned."
"What's that got to do with Miss Grindelwald?" Draco asked, frowning. "Logically, a Ministry restructuring shouldn't affect whether someone gets hired, right?"
"Hard to say," Ron replied.
"You're making assumptions without understanding how the Ministry works!" Draco snapped, exasperated. "Forget it, you wouldn't get it anyway. Let's talk about something you can understand—who're you betting on to win the Quidditch World Cup?"
At the mention of the Quidditch World Cup, the surrounding students' eyes lit up.
The Quidditch World Cup, also known as the World Championship, had been held every four years since 1473.
Teams from various countries and regions competed to determine the victor, ultimately claiming the Cup.
For this year's final, a staggering five hundred Ministry officials had been working tirelessly for a full year—not just to prepare the Quidditch World Cup stadium but to ensure witches and wizards from around the globe felt welcomed.
"Obviously Bulgaria!" Ron declared without hesitation. "Their Seeker, Viktor Krum—he's incredible… Merlin, I'd kill for his autograph. I've got his poster hanging in my dorm!"
At the revelation that Ron was a fan of Viktor Krum, Draco gave an approving nod.
"I hear he's a Durmstrang student," Draco said with a smile. "Funnily enough, I almost ended up as his classmate. My dad wanted to send me to Durmstrang, but my mum thought it was too far from home, so it didn't happen. Otherwise, I might've known him."
Durmstrang—a school with quite the reputation.
It was known for refusing Muggle-born students and allowing the practice of Dark Magic.
It was also Gellert Grindelwald's alma mater, though he'd been expelled after causing a bit of trouble.
Rumor had it that, even as a young student, Grindelwald displayed extraordinary magical talent. But instead of chasing honors or awards, he delved into Dark Magic. At sixteen, he was expelled for conducting "unorthodox experiments" and "nearly killing a fellow student in an attack."
Of course, Grindelwald himself had always denied these claims, but as everyone knew—only the things that were denied were worth believing.
After his expulsion, he came to England, where he formed a close and romantic relationship with a young Albus Dumbledore. Together, they planned to find the Deathly Hallows and lead a wizarding revolution to dismantle the International Statute of Secrecy, establishing a global hierarchy led by wise and powerful wizards who would rule over Muggles.
Of course, what followed was far less romantic.
"You wanted to go to Durmstrang?!" Ron asked, shocked, before shrugging. "Makes sense, though. You're a Malfoy. It's only natural you'd be into a school that's all about pure-blood ideals."
"Hmph," Draco smirked. "Say what you will, but I think Hogwarts is better now…"
"What, you don't think Hogwarts is rubbish anymore?" Ron asked, squinting. He hadn't forgotten how, in their first year, Draco never missed a chance to badmouth Hogwarts.
And not just Hogwarts—Draco had taken equal shots at Dumbledore.
At this, Draco raised his chin proudly and declared, "That was back when I was young and foolish. Now, I believe Hogwarts is the best wizarding school in the world!"
From the look on his face, it was clear he meant every word.
Seamus suddenly chimed in, "Forget that—I'm more curious about the World Cup. Honestly, the British teams' records aren't great: England lost 10 to 390 against Transylvania, Scotland lost to Luxembourg, and Wales got thrashed by Uganda."
Talk about rubbing salt in the wound. Seamus's words cast a gloom over the group.
"It's fine," Ron said, rallying to lift everyone's spirits. "At least we made it to the World Cup, didn't we? That's better than the countries that didn't even qualify."
Of course, this had nothing to do with China, whose Quidditch team was actually quite decent—leagues better than their notoriously dreadful (in every sense) football team in later years.
This led to an odd phenomenon: if a foreigner spoke to a sensible Chinese person and criticized certain aspects of China, they'd engage in a reasoned debate, laying out facts and logic. But if that foreigner dared to slag off China's football team, even the most patriotic Chinese person would give them a thumbs-up and commend their keen insight.
"Hope the Ministry's got everything sorted," Ron muttered. "I heard Percy's starting at the Ministry soon. If I had to guess, he'll probably be assigned to the Quidditch division…"
The group continued chatting and laughing about the Quidditch World Cup.
The holiday crept up quietly, and the school decided, for the time being, not to release exam results.
No one knew what had gotten into Dumbledore, but according to him, with the Quidditch World Cup—a once-every-four-years event—approaching, everyone deserved a happy and carefree holiday.
The students cheered, earnestly wishing the Headmaster eternal health.
"Did you see Professor Snape's face?" Ron whispered. "Merlin, I swear, his expression was so… ugh, it's like…"
"Like what?" Neville prompted, seeing Ron hesitate.
Ron glanced back to ensure no one was eavesdropping before boldly continuing, "Like he hasn't taken a dump in centuries—face all green and constipated…"
"Well said, Ronald Weasley."
A slick, oily voice came from the seat across from Ron. He jumped, only to realize it was…
Sirius Black, pinching his voice for effect.
"In recognition of your keen observation, I've decided not to assign you any Defense Against the Dark Arts homework."
With that, Sirius picked up a goblet of pumpkin juice and raised it to Ron in a mock "Cheers."
"That's… really generous of you, Professor Black," Ron said, scrambling for the right words.
"I always aim to please my students, so holiday homework is kept to a minimum," Sirius said with a wink. "Besides, starting next term, neither Remus nor I will be teaching at Hogwarts…"
"Why?!"
Surprisingly, the loudest reaction came not from Gryffindor but from Ravenclaw nearby.
The Ravenclaw girls looked utterly devastated, clearly heartbroken at the thought of Sirius leaving Hogwarts.
"For certain reasons," Sirius said casually. "I'm taking a job at the Ministry, and as for Remus… well, a certain parent—who shall remain nameless—reported to the Ministry that Hogwarts' Defense Against the Dark Arts teacher is a werewolf. So, he's got to leave the post and find other work to get by."
"Why?!" Hermione protested indignantly. "We all know what kind of person Professor Lupin is. Yes, he's a werewolf, but he's kind, capable, and qualified! I don't understand why parents keep fixating on his werewolf status, as if he's going to attack us at any moment…"
"That's just how the world works, little lady," Sirius said with a helpless shrug. "Even with Dumbledore's assurances, the Ministry won't allow it. So, Moony's got no choice but to resign. He doesn't want to put Dumbledore in a tough spot."
"Merlin's beard, that's…" Hermione was practically in tears from frustration.
"If I were Minister for Magic, I wouldn't let this happen!" she declared angrily.
"Well, you'd have to become Minister first, Hermione," Ron said from the side.
Hermione said nothing, just shot Ron a withering glare.
"Have some food," Sirius said cheerfully, grabbing a sandwich and passing it to them. "Partings are only temporary. Who knows? Maybe the next Defense Against the Dark Arts professor will be even better."
"But they won't be as…" Hermione glanced at the Ravenclaw girls, "…popular with the ladies as you are."
"True enough!" Sirius said, not a trace of modesty in his tone. He was well aware of his popularity among the female students.
But he wasn't about to start romancing students—his tastes were perfectly normal, leaning toward blonde, wavy-haired women.
Properly parsed, of course.
"Professor Black, please don't go!" the Ravenclaw girls pleaded, some already quietly sobbing.
"Parting is just for a better reunion, ladies," Sirius said with a cheerful shrug.
Just then, Dumbledore entered the Great Hall.
In his hands were two peculiarly shaped objects, instantly capturing the students' attention.
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