What was Dumbledore carrying?
Oh…
Harry squinted, but he couldn't quite make out what it was.
Dumbledore didn't linger in the Great Hall. Instead, he strode through it, clutching those two mysterious objects, and disappeared up the stairs at the back.
"What's he holding?" Ron whispered. "Why do I get the feeling it's not exactly… proper?"
"Keep your voice down, Ron," Hermione hissed, nudging him twice in the ribs. "Do you want to get in trouble again for badmouthing professors? Isn't one Snape glaring at you enough?"
Ron, who usually took Hermione's advice to heart, didn't even try to argue this time. He promptly shut his mouth.
She had a point. Offending Snape might cost you house points, but crossing the Headmaster? Good luck getting out of that one.
"Maybe Professor Dumbledore's preparing for something," Neville ventured. "But it's not really our concern. What we should be worrying about is the homework Snape assigned."
"Yeah," Ron groaned. "Snape, that old… er, esteemed professor, piling on all this homework. Honestly…"
He caught himself mid-sentence and quickly backtracked.
"I mean, he's clearly so invested in our academic success."
As he spoke, Ron cautiously glanced up and locked eyes with Snape. A shiver ran down his spine, and he tugged his shirt tighter, as if it could ward off the chill from Snape's piercing stare.
"You alright?" Hermione asked, concerned.
"Nothing, just a cold shiver," Ron muttered under his breath.
Moments later, Dumbledore reappeared and announced the winner of the House Cup for the year.
No surprise there—Gryffindor claimed it again. Even Snape's grumpiest efforts couldn't change that. While the Gryffindors were practically numb to winning the Cup by now, they still erupted in enthusiastic applause, especially the first-years.
After one final celebration, they left the school and boarded the train home.
On the Hogwarts Express, the mood was lively as they shared the latest gossip. Percy had passed his N.E.W.T.s with flying colors, while George and Fred had—barely—scraped together all their O.W.L.s.
The twins, of course, couldn't resist needling Percy, implying his top marks weren't as impressive as their own hard-earned ones.
"How about you, Cedric?" Harry asked, turning to him.
"Oh, I did fine," Cedric replied with a sunny grin. "About the same as George and Fred. Passed everything, no major disasters."
"Oh, come off it!" the twins scoffed in unison. One was picking his nose, the other cradling his head dramatically. "You got an 'O' in every subject! Do you know what that means? Even our golden boy Percy only managed 'O's!"
"But let's be real," Ron said, scratching the back of his head. "Cedric's grades aren't just 'O's.' He deserves better than that."
"Oh, stop it…" Cedric said, blushing slightly at Ron's praise.
The twins, undeterred, joined Ron in loudly singing Cedric's praises, hyping him up to mythical proportions. Anything to one-up Percy was a cause they'd happily champion.
Watching the group banter so energetically, Harry couldn't help but smile. When the trolley witch came by, he bought himself a hearty lunch—though, to his disappointment, it didn't include any chocolate.
"I still don't get why you're so obsessed with chocolate-filled bread," Ron said, chomping on a piece of Blowing Gum with gusto.
"Because chocolate's delicious," Harry replied simply.
"Harry," Hermione said suddenly, glancing over his shoulder, "what's that outside your window?"
Harry turned to look. A small gray shape was bouncing erratically just above the windowpane, flickering in and out of view.
He tilted his glasses down slightly to get a better look—it was a tiny owl, struggling with a letter far too large for it.
The owl was so small it kept tumbling in the air, buffeted by the train's wake.
"Open the window, quick!" Hermione urged, sounding anxious. "What if it gets swept away?"
Harry slid the window down and reached out, snatching the owl with the practiced ease of catching a Golden Snitch.
The owl dropped the letter onto Harry's seat and began zooming around the compartment in steep loops, clearly proud of completing its mission.
Hedwig, ever dignified, gave a small, disapproving twitch of her beak, her large eyes narrowing at the tiny messenger.
Jack, the parrot, wasn't much happier. His head swayed side to side, beak snapping as if he were tempted to take a bite out of the owl.
Ron noticed and quickly scooped the little owl into his hands, shielding it from harm.
"Who's the letter from?" Ron asked, curious.
"It's from Veratia," Harry said, pulling the letter from its envelope. "No idea why she didn't send a phoenix. Why bother this poor little owl…"
"Oh," he continued, reading the letter twice over under their curious stares. "Veratia says she's successfully joined the Austrian Ministry of Magic. She'll be coming to Britain with the Austrian Minister during the Quidditch World Cup…"
"What?" Hermione beamed. "Veratia's working at the Ministry? That's brilliant news! I should write to congratulate her."
"Mm," Harry nodded, fishing a badge inscribed with Austrian German from the envelope and handing it to Hermione. "She sent this for you. Apparently, it's just for you. Oh, and she asked me to pass on an invitation—she'd love for you to join her at the Austrian Ministry after graduation."
"Really? Wow!" Hermione exclaimed, cradling the badge in her hands and examining it closely. After a moment, she added with a touch of regret, "I'd love to work with Veratia, but I can't leave Britain. My parents are here."
"We'll worry about that when we graduate," Ron chimed in. "We're only third-years."
"Fourth-years when term starts," Hermione corrected, shaking her head.
Harry set the letter down. "It also says that Miss Farley from Slytherin went with Veratia to Austria and got a job at the Ministry too. Sounds like Veratia's got a familiar face there, so she won't be alone—or bullied."
Bullied?
Hermione's face clouded with worry, but the others in the compartment exchanged looks like they'd just heard a ghost story.
Seriously? You think someone with the last name Grindelwald would get bullied at the Austrian Ministry?
Merlin's beard, if anything, they'd be lucky if she didn't bully the entire Ministry.
"You should be more worried about whether she'll bully the Austrian Ministry," the twins muttered under their breath.
Why so quiet? Well, there was Veratia Grindelwald's boyfriend and her biggest fan in the compartment. Who knew which of them might snitch?
If Veratia found out, they'd be in for a fate worse than death.
Harry, oblivious to the twins' whispers, was already plotting how to counter Veratia's subtle Legilimency when they met. She's definitely calling me 'master' a few times, he thought wickedly.
"By the way," Fred said suddenly, "have you lot planned when we're meeting at Grimmauld Place? I heard Ronnikins tagged along last Christmas. Sounds like a blast… Can we come too?"
"Of course," Harry said with a grin, not at all feeling like an outsider at Grimmauld Place.
And why should he? He was Sirius Black's godson. Round it up, and Grimmauld Place was basically his home too.
Well, not that Harry ever truly thought of it as his.
"Wicked!" the twins said, their faces lighting up. "Dad says he can get Quidditch World Cup tickets. He was bragging in a letter about knowing Ludo Bagman. We reckon he might actually know the guy… Here's hoping he scores a few extra tickets."
"I'm just worried he won't get enough," Ron said gloomily. "If there aren't enough tickets, one of us might miss the match—and I bet it'll be me."
"No way," the twins said, slinging their arms around Ron's shoulders with exaggerated cheer. "You won't be first in line to miss out. We've got your back—unless, say, twenty Galleons could smooth things over?"
"For twenty Galleons, I'd forget the Quidditch World Cup even exists," Ron said with mock righteousness.
Twenty Galleons! Who cared about some Quidditch match?
"But Dad's gutted you're not staying with your aunt and uncle anymore," Ron added, turning to Harry. "He's obsessed with Muggle stuff—televisions, telephones, all those gadgets. Refrigerators, whatever those are."
"Honestly, I don't get why they call it a 'refrigerator' either. Sounds like gibberish," Harry said, spreading his hands. "It's just for keeping food cold so it doesn't spoil. You know, Muggles don't have magic, but their science is like its own kind of magic."
"Cool," Ron said, grinning.
"If your dad's curious about Muggle things, he should visit my place," Hermione offered. "My dad actually likes your dad. I bet they'd get along."
"Speaking of your dad," Harry said, "didn't he mention something about buying a house in China? What's the deal with that?"
"Oh, he wrote something about investing in… I don't know, I didn't catch the details," Hermione said with a shrug. "I don't really keep up with his business. Economics isn't my thing."
"There's something Miss Know-It-All doesn't know?" the twins said, their eyes glinting with interest.
"Even gods aren't all-knowing," Hermione shot back, smacking her thigh for emphasis—a statement that would've scandalized any Muggle.
As the train rumbled toward King's Cross, a knock sounded at the compartment door.
Hermione opened it to reveal Cassandra.
"Miss Malfoy," Hermione greeted politely.
"Hello, Miss Granger," Cassandra replied with a flawless smile before turning to Harry.
"Potter?" she said. "Come with me. I need to talk to you."
With that, she turned and walked off.
As soon as she was out of sight, the compartment erupted in a chorus of "Ooooooh!"
"Potter, come with me~" Fred mimicked, nailing Cassandra's tone and manner—well, almost. He couldn't quite capture the aristocratic haughtiness that seemed to radiate from her very bones.
"Oi, quit playing copycat," Harry said, rolling his eyes at the twins' laughter as he stood and followed her.
He found Cassandra at the carriage junction, staring thoughtfully out the window.
"What's up, Cass?" Harry asked, concerned.
"You're coming with me to Malfoy Manor," Cassandra said coolly. "That was our deal, remember?"
"Well, I…" Harry started to protest, but then he caught the faintest flicker of anticipation in her eyes. He swallowed his words.
"Alright, I'll come with you," he said decisively. "But I need to let my godfather know first. He's waiting for me at Grimmauld Place."
Cassandra's eyes gleamed with satisfaction. "Good. You haven't forgotten our agreement, my little shadow. It's settled then—when the train stops, you're coming with me."
It felt like stepping back in time.
Harry's heart stirred with nostalgia, and he gave a mock bow, just like he used to. "As you wish, Miss Malfoy."
But no reply came.
He looked up to find Cassandra watching him with an unreadable expression.
Their eyes met, and the corner of her lips curled into a faint, teasing smile.
"You still remember your place, don't you, Potter?"'
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