Cassandra clearly did not expect Harry to ask this question, so she forced a faint smile.
"You already know the answer."
"I know nothing," Harry spread his hands, looking like a rogue.
Cassandra exhaled softly and lifted Harry's blanket.
"Time to get up, my master."
She said this while pulling Harry up as mercilessly as uprooting a Mandrake.
Harry obviously did not expect Cassandra to move so quickly. By the time he came to his senses, he was already dressed in the clothes Cassandra had put on him.
"Go have some food," Cassandra said to Harry. "I've already instructed Kreacher to prepare dinner."
Yawning, Harry slipped on his slippers and walked out of the bedroom.
He went downstairs to the dining room, and the moment he stepped in, a sumptuous dinner appeared on the table.
No wonder people want a house-elf as a servant; with such professionalism, they're the perfect choice.
Dinner was a very traditional English meal, with items like Yorkshire pudding and steak pies — only someone like Harry, being from the United Kingdom, could stomach these things. Otherwise, one might easily lose their appetite.
Who in their right mind would enjoy eating English cuisine?
"Aren't you eating?" Harry asked Cassandra, seated at his place.
"I've already eaten," Cassandra replied with a composed smile, exuding the air of a head maid. "I ate back at Hogwarts."
"What did you have?" Harry forked a piece of Yorkshire pudding.
"Braised beef tripe, cream of mushroom soup, smoked salmon, and some garlic butter baguette with curry beef," Cassandra replied.
"What did you drink?"
Taking a deep breath like facing execution, Harry stuffed the Yorkshire pudding into his mouth.
In fact, Yorkshire pudding isn't the pudding we imagine; it's more like a bread, resembling soft bread, slightly salty, shaped like a coffee cup with a soft and collapsed center and a crispy outer rim.
If you have to understand it, it somewhat looks like an egg tart that's had the egg removed.
Because Yorkshire pudding easily absorbs gravy, it is often served with roast beef.
Yorkshire pudding isn't bad tasting; on the contrary, it's quite nice.
But as someone from the United Kingdom, Yorkshire pudding is a regular on Harry's menu.
In other words, he's grown tired of it.
"I had a Butter Beer," Cassandra replied, "with Swedding."
Harry glanced at the dining table in front of him, finding no trace of Butter Beer.
There was nothing besides a glass of wine.
He flashed a bloodthirsty smile at Cassandra.
"Don't look at me like that; I know what you're thinking, Potter," Cassandra said disdainfully. "Forget it… If you don't like it, I'll have Kreacher make another meal instead of letting you take your frustration out on me."
"No problem, I quite like it," Harry smiled and continued eating the essential nutrients laid before him.
What's so good about Dai Ying even eating feels like going to execution…
After dinner, Harry patted his slightly bloated stomach.
Even if the food wasn't gourmet, he believed in eating properly.
Not wasting food was his life's motto.
"It's time for a bath," Cassandra reminded him expressionlessly. "Your egg needs to be opened in the water. Do you remember the legend about the Siren I told you?"
Oh, the Siren.
If she hadn't mentioned it, Harry would have forgotten. Bathing is the real priority.
Harry thought the bathroom in the Black Family Mansion was quite big.
He didn't know if it was because of the Traceless Stretching Spell, but it seemed at least bigger than the Hogwarts Great Hall.
Harry quickly stripped down and was just about to dive in when he heard a startled cry from behind him.
He turned around and saw Cassandra with her hands over her eyes.
"What are you doing?" Harry asked.
"...Pervert," Cassandra held it in for a long time before finally saying.
Pervert?
"What's wrong with men being perverts?" Harry asked, puzzled. "Besides, it's a maid's duty to assist her master in bathing, Cassandra—"
"Alright, I get it."
The proud Miss Malfoy walked forward, trying her best not to look at anything she shouldn't.
"Here's your towel." She neatly folded the towel, "And your egg, oh, the Golden Egg."
"I really have to control myself," Harry said through gritted teeth.
He took the Golden Egg, turned, and jumped into the pool.
"Remember to open it underwater," Cassandra reminded him. "I don't want those screeching wails piercing my eardrums, okay?"
Harry nodded, placing the Golden Egg beneath the foam-covered water surface and opening it... This time it didn't screech.
From the Golden Egg came a bubbling song, floating from the depths, though he couldn't make out the words.
This is promising!
He felt a thrill of joy — it seemed this was the correct way to open the Golden Egg.
"Dip your head in!" Cassandra reminded him again: "It seems you can't hear what it's singing above water, and I think you should go underwater, maybe you'll hear it clearly then."
Harry didn't reply. He took a deep breath and plunged underwater—now, submerged beneath the surface, he heard the strange voices from the open Golden Egg in his hand, singing in unison:
"Look for us where our voices resonate,