Harry Potter, innocent as he was, took a long while to recover. He crouched down to pick up the card, returned it to the old man, and still looked dazed when he stood up.
"How did she do it?"
The old man put away the card, gently patted Harry's shoulder, and delivered a piercing remark.
"I suppose people are different from one another, whether in talent or destiny. What do you think?"
Sure enough, Harry Potter clutched his chest, and his face suddenly looked utterly exhausted.
Watching the young Mr. Potter suffer such a psychological blow, the old man holding the Chocolate Frog card smiled faintly, his gaze carrying the detached calm of someone who had seen through the world.
In truth, the old man knew perfectly well that what had happened to Hermione had nothing to do with any of that. It was simply because Deathstroke had proven that money really could let you do whatever you wanted.
He had been wrong back then. If he had known that economic control from behind the scenes could achieve results similar to unifying the Magic World, why had he needed to kill so many people?
Harry immediately felt that the rifle in his arms was no longer nearly as appealing. Someone his own age had already become a benchmark of the Magic World, while he had accomplished nothing.
Thinking of that, he remembered what the old man had said earlier and asked,
"Sir, did you know our Principal before?"
The old man came back to himself, a half-smiling expression appearing on his face. He turned around to find matching ammunition for Harry.
"He and I go way back. Unfortunately, we had a bit of a falling-out later, so when he came here a few days ago, I was too embarrassed to