And that Black family house-elf, Kreacher, seemed like a completely different person. The constant muttering of curses under his breath was gone.
He no longer called Sirius "Master Waste-of-Space" or "Master Traitor," but instead bowed respectfully and addressed him as "Master."
Similarly, Kreacher stopped calling Harry and Ron "Mudblood-loving scum," instead respectfully referring to them as "Young Master Harry and his friends."
Even Hermione gained the right to receive service. Although Kreacher was still unwilling to let her touch him, he was at least willing to make her a cup of hot tea.
It was an unprecedented, massive change, so significant that Sirius was almost feeling a bit uncomfortable.
"Can you believe it? Kreacher actually entered my room and cleaned it. In the past, my room was practically forbidden ground for the entire Black family. If I hadn't also used a Permanent Sticking Charm, they probably would have scraped the entire room clean down to the bare walls," Sirius said with an incredulous look, sitting at the dining table. "But when I went back to my room last night, I found it so clean you couldn't even find a speck of dust."
"This is a good thing, isn't it?" Hermione said happily. "It's certainly much better than Kreacher wishing you were dead."
"Yeah, it really is a good thing," Ron mumbled in agreement. "At least we don't have to struggle to clean this old house ourselves. A house-elf willing to work is far more capable than we are."
"Exactly, Ron," Sirius said, snapping his fingers. "They're born for this. You absolutely cannot imagine how touched Kreacher was just now in the kitchen when I promised him that after he dies, I'd cut off his head and mount it on the wall. I dare say I've only truly become his master now, and at least I don't have to worry about him deliberately causing trouble for me anymore."
"...Does it really have to be done that way?" Hermione frowned, her expression troubled. "The act of decapitation is just so... Regardless..."
After all, the entrance hall of Grimmauld Place held a whole row of house-elf heads. Those were Kreacher's ancestors. Only the most excellent, dutiful house-elves who had worked hard their entire lives were worthy of such an honor. This was Kreacher's lifelong dream — after his Master Regulus's death was avenged and the locket was destroyed, this was Kreacher's final wish.
"Oh, I know you probably find it hard to accept this custom, Hermione," Ron said from beside her, munching on a steak. "But this is Kreacher's wish. Believe me, if you went and told him you wouldn't do it, he wouldn't be happy. He'd probably even turn around and curse you. Well, just like when you first arrived here."
"But it's wrong!" Hermione said angrily. "Everything he knows was told to him by others. He grew up in this environment, exposed to these ideas, which is why he is the way he is. If he could learn what the outside world is really like—"
"Kreacher has always known what the outside world is like," Sirius said somewhat impatiently. "My good girl, I know you mean well, but I must say, house-elves are just like this. It's in their blood, their instinct. They can't defy it — and to be honest, I don't see what's so bad about it. At least Kreacher is willing to cook now, and his cooking is quite good."
Hermione fell silent. She began angrily stabbing the steak on her plate with her fork, as if she were stabbing the very nature of house-elf bloodline.
"What about you? Why aren't you saying anything? Harry?" Hermione suddenly turned and asked. "You didn't treat Alfred that way."
"Kreacher can't be changed, Hermione," Harry explained patiently. "He's old enough, and doesn't have much life left. So, letting him fulfill his final wish in his last days is a form of mercy in itself."
"That's a lie!" Hermione said gloomily.
"Perhaps," Harry shook his head slightly. "But for Kreacher, this is the last thing he wants. There's no need to shatter his world at the very end of his life."
"...Alright," After a few seconds of silence, Hermione finally relented. Sirius immediately looked utterly relieved. "You have a point, Harry."
"Just like Dumbledore," Neville suddenly interjected. "Is this what happens to everyone who becomes Headmaster? Harry is sounding more and more like Headmaster Dumbledore lately."
"Well, I probably still have a long way to go. At least I can't match him in the beard department," Harry said, gesturing to his own chest with a laugh. "And as Headmaster, I must remind you all to remember to finish your summer homework. Don't get too carried away playing here."
That single sentence instantly made Ron and Neville lose their appetite, and their miserable expressions made everyone else laugh.
"By the way, as your friend, I must remind you all to keep practicing magic over this holiday as well," Harry said suddenly. "You never know when you might need it."
"What?" Hermione asked, somewhat surprised. "What's going to happen? Is something else happening at Hogwarts?"
"That's a secret."
"Harry!!"
Headmaster Potter kept a sense of novelty and curiosity for his friends. Then, he had to rush off to France to meet with the Heads of Beauxbatons and Durmstrang to discuss the details of the Triwizard Tournament.
Harry's plan and the British Ministry of Magic's stance had indeed been communicated to them, but in their replies, they hadn't explicitly agreed or refused, only stating that a face-to-face meeting was necessary.
The existence of magic certainly made travel exceptionally convenient for wizards. Harry traveled directly from Britain to France via the Ministry's Floo Network, then proceeded to Beauxbatons — a school of magic located in the Pyrenees mountains.
Unlike Hogwarts, which was centered around a single castle, Beauxbatons more closely resembled a breathtakingly magnificent estate, surrounded by vast lawns maintained by magic. Upon entering, one could see a huge fountain and statues of Nicolas and his wife — Nicolas was a long-time benefactor of Beauxbatons.
So, from the perspective of being Nicolas's heir, Harry actually had a connection to Beauxbatons too... and a rather close one at that.
Headmistress Maxime was the second tallest person Harry had seen in this world — the tallest being Hagrid.
To put it simply, Madame Maxime's height and build gave the immediate impression that she and Hagrid would be well-matched. But unlike Hagrid, she carried herself with elegance, exuding a distinct French air, and was impeccably groomed.
"Welcome, Headmaster Potter," Madame Maxime said, having to bend down slightly to allow Harry to kiss her hand. Even then, Harry had to stand on his tiptoes, making the hand-kiss a somewhat awkward endeavor.
"I anticipated Headmaster Dumbledore's retirement, but I never imagined his successor would be so... young," she said, carefully choosing her words. It was clear she didn't want to offend Harry. "This indicates you are truly a capable individual. Otherwise, I cannot imagine the British wizarding community selecting a twelve-year-old child as the head of a school of magic — even the British wouldn't do something so peculiar without good reason."
"Thirteen, actually," Harry joked. "As for capability, I am quite confident I am up to the responsibilities of Headmaster."
"That is excellent to hear," Madame Maxime said with a smile. "Come, Headmaster Potter, Headmaster Karkaroff and the various Ministers have been waiting for some time. Now, I hope you won't feel constrained at Beauxbatons. After all, for you, this is practically a second home — you are aware of Nicolas's relationship with Beauxbatons, I presume?"
"Yes," Harry nodded slightly. "You know about it?"
"Indeed. I know of you, and Nicolas is my friend as well," Madame Maxime said. "As Nicolas's heir, logically, you should have closer ties to Beauxbatons. Yet, the reality is that this is your first time setting foot here."
"This... matters have been rather unexpected," Harry said with some helplessness. "Your attitude is better than I imagined. I thought French wizards might find it difficult to accept my inheritance of Nicolas's knowledge."
"Oh, they certainly would," Madame Maxime laughed. "But you needn't worry about that. After all, Nicolas hasn't seen outsiders for a very long time, and the few friends he has left are all rather advanced in years."
"Rest assured, I will not speak of your matters publicly, nor will I let Headmaster Karkaroff know," the two chatted as they walked. "It's a pity it's the summer holidays now, otherwise you could have seen many beautiful and passionate French girls."
Beautiful and passionate French girls... What did she mean by that?
Harry pretended not to hear that remark and followed Madame Maxime to a meeting room within Beauxbatons.
Headmaster Karkaroff was already waiting there, looking agitated and, of course, impatient. Although he feigned surprise upon seeing Harry enter, he fortunately wasn't foolish enough to directly question anything outright.
Naturally, it wasn't just the three school heads present. Also there were British Minister for Magic Rufus Scrimgeour, French Minister for Magic Fernando — only these two Ministers were present, as Durmstrang was located far north in Europe and drew students from several smaller nations, making it impossible for a specific Minister to represent it. Having all the Ministers from those smaller nations would have been too many.
Harry took a seat next to Scrimgeour.
"Now that we're all here, let's begin promptly," Karkaroff said hastily once Harry and Madame Maxime were seated. "Regarding this new Triwizard Tournament you've proposed, Headmaster Potter, are you serious? Are you truly prepared for such a public event, one that even involves Muggles?"
"One moment, Headmaster Karkaroff," Harry raised a hand to interrupt. "I am not certain how the British Ministry communicated with your respective Ministries, but the matter of the new Triwizard Tournament is already settled, at least for Hogwarts and Britain — whether Beauxbatons or Durmstrang choose to participate or not, this tournament will be held. The only question is what it will be called."
"The Hogwarts Championship, Wizarding Competition... whatever the name, the key point is that its occurrence is confirmed," Harry stated in an unequivocal tone. "So, if your intention was to say you disagree with such a tournament or anything similar, you can save your breath."
As Harry's words faded, an odd silence fell over the meeting room. Even Madame Maxime, who had just escorted Harry in, stared at him in astonishment, completely taken aback by the fact that the polite and amiable Harry from moments ago had opened the discussion with such an unyielding, non-negotiable stance.
The others turned their gazes towards Scrimgeour on the other side, but they didn't see what they might have expected. Scrimgeour merely nodded, affirming Harry's statement.
"Ha, I truly didn't know the will of the Hogwarts Headmaster could directly represent the British Ministry of Magic these days," Karkaroff couldn't help but let out a short laugh. "What is this supposed to be?"
"It represents a consensus," Scrimgeour said sternly, his gaze sharp as a lion's, locked firmly on Karkaroff's face. "Isn't that right, Karkaroff? — If I recall correctly, thirteen years ago I personally caught you, a former Death Eater. You named quite a few names to barely escape a trial yourself. I hadn't expected you to end up as Headmaster of Durmstrang. It seems the rumors about that school being rotten to the core aren't unfounded."
Scrimgeour's aggressiveness was a bit too strong. He directly exposed Karkaroff's past, causing the ill-faced Headmaster to nearly jump out of his chair in agitation.
"That's slander! I was under the Imperius Curse! I was innocent!!" Karkaroff stood up and shouted.
The atmosphere of the meeting seemed less than pleasant, having immediately entered a confrontational stage.
"Calm down, everyone," French Minister Fernando said with a weary expression, tapping the table. "Those matters are in the past. I thought we gathered here today to discuss the Triwizard Tournament."
"Quite right. Hold on a moment, Rufus," Harry nodded. "And please sit down, Headmaster Karkaroff. Whether you were a Death Eater is not for us to judge definitively, but rather for those Death Eaters still at large... We all know what truly happened back then. After all, I had an excellent Potions master. You understand my meaning, I'm sure."
Karkaroff was left speechless. He merely tugged at his collar, his face flushed red. Only after several seconds did he sit back down.
And this time, the look he gave Harry held no trace of disdain.
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