Chapter 58: The Banquet
In the end, the wizard, filled with regret and deep reluctance, poured all his emotions and hopes into that secret book.
But for George, that was enough—more than enough.
"Although Malfoy was a little uneasy at first, he's quite fortunate. Or perhaps I'm the fortunate one," George murmured softly as he closed the book with a light sigh.
He still vividly remembered the excitement he had felt the first time he received it. Right there in front of Malfoy, he had been almost beside himself with joy, barely able to contain his exhilaration. To be honest, at that moment he hadn't even wanted to suppress his emotions.
You must be living a very blessed life, he had thought.
He had nearly wanted to cheer, to sing aloud, even to raise a glass in celebration. But years of self-discipline tempered him. Even when he couldn't fully control his excitement, those excessive impulses gradually cooled under the restraint of his reason. The joy remained—but without hysteria.
He didn't shout, he didn't sing, and he didn't drink. Yet he was deeply pleased, and he readily agreed to offer Malfoy guidance. It was repayment—an equivalent exchange. At least in terms of mutual satisfaction, it was fair.
The reason George had decided to include Malfoy in his training group was precisely because of The Secret of Meditation.
Unlike other wizards, who were ignorant of meditation and its meaning, meditation had always been part of George's personal power framework. After all, he came from a world overflowing with knowledge and information.
George had begun meditating as a child. At first, the effects were subtle. But spending dozens of minutes each day practicing meditation helped restore his energy and greatly aided his mental recovery.
A small habit cultivated over many years could bring about enormous change at critical moments. George had repeatedly used potions to stir and expand the "sea" of his mind. Gradually, the mysteries of mental power and the benefits of meditation revealed themselves to him.
What had once been a simple relaxation practice grew rapidly, like bamboo shoots after rain, once it was nourished by the right conditions.
And this book—The Secret of Meditation—almost instantly filled in the gaps in his understanding. He had realized he had opened a fast track for accumulating strength—something invaluable in the magical world, where growth was usually slow and incremental.
When power increases slowly, even a single new skill can accumulate into a tremendous advantage. Just as George's strong physique granted him height, stamina, and vitality, meditation's mastery over mental strength had once again provided him with a crucial cornerstone on his magical path.
The world was beginning to change. George could almost see the storm stirred by the butterfly effect he had created—a storm intensifying across time and space, one that would soon reach the present.
It was now time for the last major event before summer break: the school's end-of-year banquet.
Harry and the other two entered the Great Hall together. It was decorated with green and silver ribbons and silks. On the central wall hung a massive banner emblazoned with Slytherin's serpent.
"Those are Slytherin's colors. Blast it. Just a few more minutes—just a few more—and we could've beaten them," Ron muttered as he walked forward.
"Who says we couldn't? The point differences between several Houses this year were tiny. Slytherin, us, and Ravenclaw were only separated by a few points. If Ravenclaw had won their last Quidditch match, they would've beaten Slytherin and taken the House Cup," Hermione said, still clearly irritated.
"Now I understand why those Ravenclaw bookworms were so insane on the pitch last time. They nearly flattened us," Ron realized suddenly. He hadn't known how much was riding on that match.
Harry looked embarrassed and spoke quietly. "If I'd known, I might have preferred losing to Ravenclaw in Quidditch. At least then the House Cup wouldn't have gone to Slytherin."
"You can blame George too. He hasn't made any moves lately to earn extra points. Otherwise, how could Slytherin possibly win the House Cup for the eighth year in a row?" Hermione said, her voice tinged with sadness.
Indeed, George had been unusually quiet recently, taking no action. Ravenclaw had briefly led the standings, only to be overtaken by Slytherin at the final moment.
"Don't say that. George has been busy preparing our summer training. That's taken up a lot of his time," Harry said apologetically. He knew George had been occupied. Still, though he had led Gryffindor to victory in Quidditch, losing the House Cup to Slytherin filled him with guilt. He felt somehow responsible for both Gryffindor and Ravenclaw losing to Slytherin.
By then, they had reached the Gryffindor table. Harry glanced toward Ravenclaw's. George was chatting with Kate beside him, not noticing their entrance.
Harry then looked toward the Slytherin table and spotted Malfoy, still wearing his usual smug expression. Knowing they had once again won the House Cup, the entire House seemed triumphant. Their table was louder than the others—even their drinking and casual conversation seemed exaggerated, which was infuriating.
As House Cup champions, the Slytherins cheered loudly and clinked their glasses in celebration. Though they had won seven consecutive years already, this victory was especially thrilling—having overtaken Ravenclaw at the very last moment.
The commotion from Slytherin drew attention from the other Houses. Kate, visibly displeased, asked, "Why did you disappear at the last moment and let Slytherin overtake us?"
George held a glass in his hand, gently swirling the juice inside. It didn't improve the flavor—but it did look rather impressive. The admiring glances from upper-year students around him made that clear. He took a sip calmly and replied,
"I thought Ravenclaw didn't care about the House Cup? Otherwise, how could Slytherin have won it seven years in a row?"
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