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After dinner, Harry saw Hedwig glide gracefully through the window, landing on his desk. In her beak, she carried a parchment. Harry opened it and read:
Dear Mr. Potter,
We are pleased to inform you that the new school year will commence on September 1st. The Hogwarts Express will depart from King's Cross Station, Platform Nine and Three-Quarters, at eleven o'clock.
Third-year students will be permitted to visit Hogsmeade on certain weekends. Please have the enclosed permission form signed by your parents or guardian.
Enclosed is the booklist for the new school year.
Yours sincerely,
Minerva McGonagall
Deputy Headmistress
Harry didn't bother with the booklist. Instead, he pulled out the Hogsmeade permission form and headed to the living room.
"Uncle Vernon," Harry said to Vernon, who was watching television. "I've got a form that needs a guardian's signature…"
"Oh," Vernon grunted, barely glancing at the form before scribbling his name with a flourish.
Vernon Dursley.
"Here," he said, handing it back without a second look.
Harry hadn't expected it to be so easy. He'd braced himself for a discussion—surely Vernon would ask what Hogsmeade was. But what Harry didn't know was that ever since Vernon had taken a Cheering Charm, secured a promotion, and soared to the peak of his career, his attitude toward magic had softened.
Magic?
It wasn't some freakish nonsense—it was a marvelous tool for making money!
Standards are flexible when you're reaping the benefits, and Vernon, now basking in his newfound success, found magic rather agreeable. As for Harry, he'd gone from "that freakish boy" to "my dear nephew" in Vernon's eyes.
The root of Vernon's grudge against magic stemmed from a humiliation long ago in front of James Potter, coupled with fear of the dark wizards who'd killed his sister-in-law and her husband. But now that magic had brought him profit and prestige, what was there to resent?
In many ways, despite having attended school a century in the past, Harry wasn't all that different from an ordinary boy. For instance, he loathed doing homework. Even late at night, he'd sit at his desk under the glow of a lamp, scribbling away.
It was nearly midnight now, and he set aside his finished Potions essay with a touch of impatience. He opened another book, its leather cover embossed with gold: A History of Magic by Bathilda Bagshot.
Harry knew of Bathilda Bagshot. Not long ago, he'd visited her with Veratia and Gellert. The old woman was sprightly, delighted to see Veratia, her great-niece, and had even cooked a traditional British meal for them.
As for Gellert…
Bathilda clearly wasn't fond of him. Her disdain seeped through every word and glance.
Thinking of Gellert made Harry frown. He didn't much like that sharp-tongued, sunflower-parrot of a man either. If he had the chance, Harry would love to cast a Langlock on him, leaving his face slack and silent.
Muttering to himself, Harry dragged his quill across the page, searching for material for his essay: "The Practice of Burning Witches in the Fourteenth Century Was Entirely Pointless—Discuss."
His quill paused at a promising passage. Pushing his round glasses up his nose and pulling the lamp closer, he read:
"In medieval times, non-magical people (more commonly known as 'Muggle') were particularly afraid of magic, but they were not adept at recognizing it. On the rare occasions they did capture a true witch or wizard, burning had little effect. Witches and wizards would perform a basic Flame-Freezing Charm, enjoying the mild, tickling sensation of the flames while feigning agonized screams. The seer Wendelin the Weird enjoyed being burned so much that she allowed herself to be caught forty-seven times in various disguises."
Harry recalled Hermione's talk about "God" and Ron's ridiculous comment about witches burning into "human fireballs." Clearly, Ron's History of Magic knowledge was abysmal.
Harry placed the quill between his teeth, unscrewed an ink bottle, and dipped the nib. He began writing his essay. History of Magic was dull, but it was also the easiest subject to fudge. Professor Binns only cared if you turned in your essay, unlike Snape, who practically buried his face in your parchment to find faults.
For two days, Harry powered through his homework. Then he packed his things, ready to resume his search for Cassandra.
But on the morning of the third day, an unexpected visitor arrived.
The doorbell rang, and Aunt Petunia went to answer it. Standing at the door was a beautiful girl with long blonde hair.
"Hello?" Petunia said hesitantly. "This is the Dursley residence."
"Good day, Mrs. Dursley," the girl replied with a polite smile and a curtsy. "I'm Veratia Grindelwald. If I'm not mistaken, your maiden name was Petunia Evans, wasn't it?"
Evans?
It was a name Petunia hadn't heard in ages, so distant it felt like a memory from another life.
"It's been a long time since anyone called me that," Petunia said. "Have we met before?"
Realizing the girl was still standing outside, she added, "Come in, Miss Grindelwald. Your name doesn't sound very British?"
"I'm Austrian," Veratia said, stepping into the Dursley home.
Petunia led her to the living room, where they sat across from each other. "Have we met?" Petunia asked. "Or perhaps your parents know me?"
She racked her brain but couldn't recall ever meeting an Austrian. Even in school, she'd mostly dealt with British folk.
"We haven't met, Petunia," Veratia said softly. "But I knew your sister, Lily Evans."
At the mention of Lily's name, Petunia's cleaning rag slipped from her hand and fell to the floor.
She stared at the blonde girl, lips trembling, unsure of what to say.
Veratia sat quietly on the sofa, giving Petunia time to process.
She didn't know about Harry's life with the Dursleys—Harry had only shared bits with Cassandra, mentioning Dudley using him as a punching bag. But Petunia… Veratia had heard plenty about her from Lily. If Lily felt she'd wronged anyone, it was her sister.
"You were Lily's friend?" Petunia asked after a long pause, her work-worn hands clutching the sofa fabric tightly.
"Yes," Veratia said with a warm smile. "She talked about you often. And that greasy little bat—do you remember his name?"
Greasy little bat?
The phrase conjured an image in Petunia's mind instantly.
Who else but him?
"Severus Snape?" Petunia asked through gritted teeth.
"That's the one," Veratia said lightly. "Lily told me a lot—how she shouldn't have egged Snape on to read your letter to Dumbledore, and other things she regretted…"
"It's all in the past, Miss Grindelwald," Petunia interrupted, her head bowed, her expression unreadable. "I've forgiven her."
"I'm sorry," Veratia said. "I'm speaking on Lily's behalf. Before she died, she told me about you and Vernon Dursley—your husband. Your first meeting wasn't exactly pleasant, was it? She wanted me to convey her apologies."
Petunia wiped a tear from her eye, shaking her head. "I don't hold it against her anymore. But even if I did, would it bring her back? Oh, heavens…"
She cried for a moment, then dried her tears. "But you, Miss Grindelwald—you didn't come here just to say this, did you? There must be something else."
"Oh, yes," Veratia said. "I'm looking for Harry. But I figured your family wouldn't take kindly to wizarding methods, so I came the Muggle way."
"Thank you," Petunia said softly. It was the first time she'd met a wizard who respected Muggle ways.
And since Veratia was Lily's friend, Petunia felt no ill will toward her.
Her feelings about Lily were complex. She'd been jealous of her sister's magical talent and resentful of her arrogant husband. But Lily was gone now—dead. What was there left to hold onto?
"My husband, though—" Petunia lowered her voice. "Vernon… he doesn't take well to magic, so…"
"Don't worry," Veratia reassured her.
Just then, Vernon descended the stairs. Seeing Veratia, he froze.
"Petunia, a friend of yours?" he asked.
"I'm here for Harry Potter," Veratia said.
Petunia's heart sank, but Veratia continued smoothly, "I'm a student at Oxford University and a neighbor of the Evans family. Here's my ID."
She flashed a student ID from her morning class.
"I see," Vernon nodded, impressed. Even a rough-around-the-edges man like him knew the prestige of Oxford.
Petunia was stunned. A wizard attending a Muggle university?
"Harry's upstairs," Vernon said, pointing. "The room at the far end."
"Thank you," Veratia said, ascending the stairs.
"Didn't expect that boy to know someone like her," Vernon chuckled. "She said she's a neighbor of the Evanses?"
"Yes," Petunia replied curtly, thinking it best to say little.
Veratia crept upstairs, quietly opening Harry's door. She found him slumped on his bed, hugging a pillow, lost in thought.
Stepping forward, she wrapped her arms around him from behind.
"Harry~" she whispered in his ear, her breath warm.
Harry, deep in his brooding, jolted at the sound. Realizing it was Veratia, he relaxed.
"You scared me!" he said. "I thought it was someone else…"
He started to stand, but Veratia held him down, whispering, "Don't move. Let me measure your waist."
Harry's mind screeched to a halt. Measure my waist?
She's practically a succubus, after my magic!
"Haha!" Veratia laughed, her voice light. "Just teasing. Besides, I haven't recharged my magic in days—"
"Shh!" Harry hissed. "My aunt and uncle don't exactly love wizards…"
Before he could finish, Veratia cut in. "I already talked to your aunt. I told her I'm your mum's friend." She leaned closer, her voice mischievous. "So, you should call me Auntie Veratia. Go on, say it."
Harry's face turned as red as a ripe apple.
He hadn't expected Veratia to be this playful.
"Auntie?" he sputtered. "That's… too much!"
"Don't be shy," she teased, grinning. "What's so embarrassing about calling me Auntie?"
"Stop it!" Harry said, now resembling a boiled shrimp. "Give me a second to breathe…"
They bantered for a bit before Veratia finally let him go.
"Finally free, am I?" Harry quipped, his wit returning. "I thought Auntie Veratia was about to do something wicked to her poor nephew."
Before she could reply, he added quickly, "So, why are you here? Didn't you say you'd be studying over the holidays?"
"I need to recharge my magic," Veratia said with a sly smile. "And I wanted to check on you, make sure you're not wasting your holidays acting like a kid."
Harry rolled his eyes. "I'm marking Merlin's Trials on a map. If you hadn't shown up, I'd probably be in the Forbidden Forest by now. Also, I got my hands on some more Mallowsweet leaves."
"Looking for Cassandra, huh?" Veratia said with a hum, though she didn't seem inclined to stop him.
Finding Cassandra was serious business. Once she returned, it would mark the start of their rivalry—Veratia relished the thought of competing with her, especially emotionally.
"I've checked over thirty Merlin Trials," Harry said. "Only three left, all in the Forbidden Forest."
"What about Gellert?" he asked. "You said he'd leave Hogwarts after the term. Where is he now?"
"Back in Nurmengard," Veratia replied, a hint of irritation in her voice. "You know he's just a prisoner."
Her frustration wasn't with the Ministry or Dumbledore but with her foolish brother. Stealing my property and failing at it—what's he good for?
"And Professor Scamander?" Harry pressed.
"He's staying at Hogwarts," Veratia said. "Told me he loves the students and teaching."
Harry frowned. He recalled Dumbledore mentioning that Scamander hated teaching.
So why lie to Veratia?
He sank into thought.
"And the new Defense Against the Dark Arts professor?" Harry asked.
"Oh," Veratia said, patting his shoulder. "He's decent enough, or so we think. He's got some personal quirks, but Dumbledore says it won't affect his teaching."
"Good," Harry nodded. "I hope, like Gellert's prophecy, we can find Cassandra by Christmas, locate Ominis's portrait, and figure out a way to save Anne."
"Don't worry, Harry," Veratia said, pulling him into another hug. "Everything will work out. Trust me."
"Mm," Harry mumbled, resting his head against her, letting his mind go blank.
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