The Isle of Wight was indeed beautiful, boasting scenic landscapes and a pleasant climate; it was truly a rare gem of a vacation spot.
Sirius had already spoken with Mr. Granger over the phone. An excited Mr. Granger had expressed his desire to spend at least one proper summer vacation on the Isle of Wight.
"Mr. Granger wants to spend the summer vacation there. What do you think?" Sirius asked Harry.
"Whatever works," Harry said indifferently. "The Dueling Club only has those few people anyway; we can practice wherever we are."
Sirius agreed to Mr. Granger's suggestion. He communicated once more with Mr. Weasley and Lucius, and after receiving definitive replies, they finalized the holiday itinerary.
It was evident that Lucius was now completely unflappable, showing no signs of panic.
Malfoy Manor was now protected by the Fidelius Charm, and the Secret-Keeper was Harry.
This really highlighted Lucius's cleverness; he was certainly much smarter than James, at any rate.
Choosing Harry as the Secret-Keeper was simply the most correct decision possible—arguably even more correct than choosing Dumbledore.
After all, you couldn't exactly capture Harry and torture him, could you?
After staying at Number 12, Grimmauld Place for two days, the residence welcomed its guests early on the third morning.
The Malfoy family maintained their pure-blood aristocrat style, dressed meticulously, looking more like they were attending a high-level conference than going on vacation.
The Weasleys, however, were much more casual, dressed no differently than they would be in their daily lives.
Beside Bill stood a woman with silver hair flowing smoothly in the draft; it was Fleur Delacour, the champion of Beauxbatons.
Once a champion, always a champion.
Seeing their fingers interlaced, Harry knew the two were officially a couple.
Bill seemed quite skilled in the field of romance, Harry muttered inwardly. True to the style of a man following in Sirius's footsteps, he was truly invincible when it came to charming women.
Mrs. Weasley, on the other hand, seemed vaguely unhappy. She appeared to dislike Fleur slightly, but out of respect for her eldest son, she didn't say anything.
The Grangers were the last to arrive, as Mr. Granger had to drive his family over.
As soon as the men gathered, they had to stir something up.
Sirius winked and beckoned the men to the courtyard to show off his new car. Even inside the house, exclamations from the yard could be heard from time to time.
It was clear they all liked this model.
Especially Lucius. He knew Mr. Weasley had dabbled with Muggle cars before, and he had seen the real thing—but the car Mr. Weasley tinkered with was cheap and a bit tattered, completely failing to meet Lucius's aesthetic standards.
However, the Bentley Sirius had procured fit Lucius's taste perfectly.
"How much does a thing like this cost?" Lucius asked, stroking his chin.
"About ten thousand Galleons," Sirius said with a beaming smile. Then, lowering his voice, he added, "That's through official channels. If you go through unofficial channels, a few dozen Galleons would suffice."
Lucius, who had been intrigued by the ten thousand Galleons, was even less composed upon hearing "a few dozen Galleons."
"You mean?" Lucius raised an eyebrow. "Using some magical means?"
This was coded language. Maintaining his reserve, Lucius couldn't possibly say words like "robbery," so he had to be subtle.
"Not necessarily that," Sirius chuckled. "You should know that some items among wizarding potions are hot commodities in the Muggle world. For instance, potions that can cure certain terminal illnesses are simply unbuyable in the Muggle world."
"You mean?" Lucius was even more tempted. He wasn't thinking about the car anymore, but the smooth path to making the Malfoy family great again.
"What more can I say?" Sirius spread his hands. "Anyway, I think this path is quite good, with promising prospects... But you know, the current magical world, especially the British magical world, is full of old fogies. They don't think about how to make the magical world better; their heads are filled with infighting..."
"I know, you're referring to Fudge," Lucius nodded. "I've heard that Barty Crouch Sr. has been removed from his position as Head of the Department of International Magical Cooperation, and someone else will take over..."
"That would be me," Mr. Weasley cleared his throat and spoke up. "And the position of Head of the Misuse of Muggle Artifacts Office is being prepared for Sirius."
Lucius leaned back tactically, filled with awe.
By Merlin, what could one say?
One had to admit, the Ministry of Magic's vision was truly sharp.
For the position of Head of the Misuse of Muggle Artifacts Office, they had never chosen the wrong person.
Look at Mr. Weasley; he was a frantic abuser of Muggle artifacts himself.
As for Sirius... Lucius dared not guarantee just how crazy that rebellious fellow would be when abusing Muggle artifacts.
"So, I decided these matters require long-term planning." Sirius chuckled, looking at Mr. Granger, then at the other two men of his age. "The Muggle world is a treasure trove waiting to be developed. I believe the Greater German Ministry of Magic under Miss Veratia Grindelwald will definitely not be content with wizards hiding behind the scenes forever, so... we should also adapt to the times."
"You mean, letting Muggles know about wizards?" Lucius frowned.
"No, of course not," Sirius smiled. "We absolutely shouldn't be the ones to stick our necks out. But we can prepare in advance, expanding and conducting our business among Muggles. We can't just remain indifferent to future changes, can we?"
"That is true." Lucius nodded in agreement. "If that's the case, I have no objections—how many Galleons do you need me to contribute?"
"I think we can discuss this slowly, Lucius," Sirius said cheerfully. "Our vacation is still young. Now... well, it's July 4th. I think our holiday will last until August 31st. We have until then to discuss this matter in detail, don't we?"
"Good." Lucius nodded in agreement.
By the afternoon, everyone had arrived. Poppy Sweating also brought the Scamander family to Number 12, Grimmauld Place.
Cedric had come too, and of course, not alone.
"Amos!" Mr. Weasley said, smiling as he strode toward the man behind Cedric.
He was a red-faced wizard with a short brown beard who looked quite cheerful.
"Let me introduce everyone; this is Amos Diggory," Mr. Weasley turned back to the group. "He works in the Department for the Regulation and Control of Magical Creatures—and this is his son, Cedric. I think you all know him, right?"
"Of course we do." Cedric smiled shyly. "Harry and I are on very good terms; we're both members of the Dueling Club."
"Heavens," Amos Diggory's eyes went wide as he spotted Harry. "Harry? Harry Potter?"
Harry was long used to people's surprised attitudes when seeing him, and used to them looking immediately at the lightning scar on his forehead.
"Naturally, Ced has talked about you," Amos Diggory said with a smile. "He told me about the Triwizard Tournament. I told him, 'Ced, you can tell your grandchildren about this someday. You can say you witnessed the birth of a legend!'"
Surprisingly, Mr. Diggory's words were quite endearing; at least everyone's impression of him was quite positive.
"Alright, it's about time," Sirius stepped forward and said. "I think we should leave for the Isle of Wight—I've prepared a Thestral carriage. It has an Undetectable Extension Charm, so there's enough room for all of us. Let's go."
They boarded the Thestral carriage. The interior was as spacious as a compartment on the Hogwarts Express.
It had everything: a bar, dining tables, and sofas.
Fred and George cheered, walking over to the sofas first. They turned back and asked, "Anyone for cards? Want to play something new?"
"Cards?" Mr. Granger walked over with a chuckle. "Is it a wizarding game?"
"No, we learned it from Muggles," Fred said honestly. "It's called... um, Blackjack."
"Oh, I know that one," Mr. Granger smiled. "But the adults have some other matters to discuss. Perhaps you kids can play a few rounds, what do you say?"
So it was happily decided. Hermione temporarily acted as the dealer.
"Why me!" Hermione puffed up indignantly. "I was planning to read a book!"
"Silly girl," Fred and George said in unison. "This is a gathering for everyone. How boring would it be to go off and read by yourself? Be good, come and play cards with us for a while."
In the distance, the adults sat at the bar, drinking and chatting.
Meanwhile, by the sofas, the children were enthusiastically preparing to start the new game.
"There has to be a wager," Fred said. "Let's think of what to bet. What do you say?"
"Do we have to bet?" Ron raised his hand to ask.
"Oh, you don't have to play, my dear ickle Ronnie," George said, rolling his eyes.
Ron didn't want to back down; he actually really wanted to play.
"Since you want to play, there must be a corresponding wager," Fred grinned. "The stake is a Knut. How about it? I'm sure you can afford it; Mum gave you quite a few Galleons as pocket money."
Life for the Weasleys was getting better and better, and Mr. and Mrs. Weasley were becoming more generous—for instance, Ron had a full twenty Galleons for pocket money this term. In the past, that would have been unthinkable.
Just two years ago, the Weasley family was still very poor. Now, they had finally become a middle-class family in the magical world.
But Mr. Weasley's aspirations clearly didn't stop there; he wanted the Weasleys to climb even higher.
As the saying goes, water flows downwards, but people always strive to go higher. That was the principle.
"Come on, let me explain the rules briefly," Fred began. "The goal of the game is to get the total point value of the cards in your hand as close to 21 as possible without exceeding 21. The game uses 1 to 8 decks of cards. Each player is dealt two cards initially, and the dealer gets two—one face up and one face down. K, Q, J, and 10 count as 10 points. A can count as 1 or 11. Other cards count as their face value. If a player gets an A and a 10-point card right at the start, forming a 'natural 21' (Blackjack), and the dealer doesn't have the same, the player wins 1.5 times the money. Players can choose to 'hit' or 'stand.' Exceeding 21 is a 'bust.'"
"Does everyone understand?" he asked again.
"Understood," everyone said together.
Fred began dealing, placing two cards in front of everyone.
"What do you say?" He looked at Ron, who was first.
"Hit," Ron said.
"No," Fred said. "Normally, people don't say 'hit.' If you want a card, you have to do this."
Saying that, Fred extended his finger and tapped the table twice.
"Got it?" he asked.
Ron followed Fred's instructions, lifted his face-down card again, but didn't tap the table. Instead, he said, "Don't want one."
"No, you don't say you don't want one either." Fred extended his hand, palm down, and waved it left and right in front of him, teaching him, "Like this."
Ron said "Ah," and waved his hand mimicking Fred.
"That's right," Fred smiled, moving on to ask the next person.
They played for about an hour, ending with Ron achieving a sweeping victory.
"Seriously?" Fred doubted life itself. "How is your luck so good?"
"Guess?" Ron laughed heartily. He was overjoyed—winning money was always a happy occasion, and making his two older brothers question reality made it even happier.
Not far away, Bill and Fleur sat by the window in peaceful serendipity. They held hands, leaning against each other with their eyes closed, resting.
It was a mystery what lovers thought in their hearts, being able to maintain this posture all day without feeling bored.
Harry was originally lying on the sofa, his head resting on Cassandra's thigh, watching everyone play cards. But suddenly, a wave of drowsiness surged up, and his eyelids began to fight to stay open.
He had to admit, there was a big difference between Cassandra and Poppy Sweating.
After all, lying on Poppy Sweating's lap, he couldn't see her face, but lying on Cassandra's lap, he could clearly see Cassandra's small face.
Sometimes, this wasn't necessarily a good thing.
Thinking this, Harry felt the drowsiness gradually take over.
"Found it?"
In his dazed state, Harry seemed to hear a voice.
It was very familiar. Almost immediately, Harry associated it with Voldemort.
"Of course, my Master."
A gloomy voice rang out from the other side. Harry looked up and found that he seemed to be in a crypt.
He looked forward at a figure seen from behind, wearing classic black robes—it was obviously Voldemort.
And in front of Voldemort lay a dormant dragon.
The dragon's silhouette felt incredibly familiar to Harry.
It was him.
Ranrok?!
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