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How about taking down that old git Snape's arrogance?
Ron was clearly tempted, but then he recalled Snape's almost supernatural spider-sense, and he lowered his head, falling silent.
He was genuinely scared—scared that if he opened his mouth, he'd somehow summon that old… old professor.
"That doesn't seem like a good idea," Hermione said hesitantly. "After all, he—I mean, he is a professor, and we're just students."
Sirius let out a chuckle, casting Hermione a mysterious glance.
"No, no, you don't need to do anything. All you need to do is play along in class—I've heard some rumors that Snape doesn't exactly treat you lot fairly, does he?"
At those words, Ron couldn't hold back any longer.
"Merlin's beard, if you put it like that, I've got loads to say!" Ron blurted out, almost tripping over his words. "You know, just because our hands slipped a bit… like when Neville added porcupine quills at the wrong time, Snape tore into him like a banshee…"
To everyone's surprise, Sirius hesitated.
"You're talking about brewing the Cure for Boils potion?" he asked.
"Yeah," Ron nodded.
"Well, that's somewhat deserved—if I recall correctly, adding porcupine quills at the wrong time in that potion can make it splash onto someone's face. Maybe old Snivellus was actually saving him."
Sirius, for once, spoke a fair word in Snape's defense, but his tone shifted quickly.
"But, let's be honest, as a professor, Snivellus is hardly up to par. Just you wait and see."
After lingering a bit longer with Sirius, Harry and the others returned to the Great Hall.
It's fair to say that everyone—except the Slytherins—was quite excited about Sirius. After all, in the eyes of the pure-blood Slytherins, Sirius was a traitor to their kind. A Black, of the ever-pure House of Black, defecting to Gryffindor? Utterly unforgivable.
Students from the other houses, especially Gryffindors, were thrilled at the prospect of Sirius teaching. If it meant putting Slytherin in their place, every Gryffindor felt duty-bound to join in—a tradition passed down from their parents' generation.
Back in the dormitory, Harry suddenly remembered Professor Trelawney's nonsensical prophecy. Not that he could be blamed for forgetting; right after hearing it, he'd been summoned to the Headmaster's office, where Sirius had been found.
He decided to talk to Veratia about it.
"You must really have nothing better to do, Potter," Cassandra said, waving her hand dismissively, her expression one of disbelief. "Trelawney's just a fraud who's lost whatever prophetic blood she had. You said it yourself—she doesn't even remember her own words. You're telling me you'd trust a nutcase like that?"
"No, Cass," Veratia said seriously. "You don't understand. Professor Trelawney actually has considerable prophetic ability. The prophecy about Harry? She's the one who made it."
"Oh, really?" Cassandra's lips curled downward. "And who's to say it's the prophecy's accuracy and not the fact that You-Know-Who heard it and decided to go after Harry?"
With that, Cassandra crossed her legs haughtily, leaning back in her chair and tilting her head toward Harry. "So, go on then, what did that loony say that's got you so worked up?"
"She told me…" Harry paused, organizing his thoughts before continuing. "She said something about a Dark Lord breaking free from chains, conquering the boundary between life and death, and casting the New World under a shadow of death. And something about a servant…"
Harry racked his brain, trying to recall Trelawney's manic prophecy, then let out an "Oh!" as it clicked. "Right, she said the Dark Lord became the servant of a true 'Demon King,' and that's how he'd break free. Something like that."
"Potter," Cassandra said, her expression dripping with exasperation. "You're really going to believe that kind of vague drivel?"
"Cass," Veratia shook her head helplessly. "I know you still hold a grudge against Cassandra Trelawney for what she did to you, but I hope you can set aside your bias and recognize the power of her Seer bloodline."
"Oh?" Cassandra turned to Veratia. "And why would I hold a grudge against Trelawney?"
Veratia paused for a moment, then delivered a verbal knockout.
"I'm still wondering how many tears it took to soak a letter that thoroughly."
Cassandra fell silent.
Cassandra looked up.
"Didn't know you had a hobby of snooping through other people's letters, Grindelwald," she said coolly. "Not exactly surprising, though…"
"But you know," Veratia said, tapping the table, "even if Trelawney's bloodline has thinned, she still has some prophetic ability. If any of us had that gift back then, maybe Harry wouldn't have…"
"Fine, if you insist," Cassandra said, crossing her arms. She didn't concede as readily as Veratia, but she couldn't deny the logic. Trelawney was, after all, a descendant of Seers, with some degree of prophetic power.
"Maybe we should ask Dumbledore about this," Veratia suggested again. "Harry, you know that while we might've started at Hogwarts a few years before Dumbledore, we're still just teenagers."
"I get what you mean," Harry said, not dismissing Veratia's point. He had to admit, in terms of experience, Dumbledore far surpassed them.
What was that saying?
I've eaten more candy than you've had meals!
Harry and Cassandra followed Veratia toward the Headmaster's office. Cassandra shot a sour glance at Veratia's gracefully swaying figure and leaned in to whisper to Harry, "You're into that sort, aren't you?"
"Huh?" Harry didn't catch her meaning.
Cassandra jerked her chin toward Veratia ahead.
Harry glanced over, coughed twice, and looked away, pretending nothing had happened.
"No surprise there," Cassandra said, rolling her eyes disdainfully. "People like you only care about appearances, not what's inside, right?"
Harry stayed silent. He knew in moments like this, the more he said, the more trouble he'd be in. Less was better, and silence was safest.
But still…
To be fair, Veratia did have a great figure. Cassandra, though, aside from being flat as a board, didn't have much to complain about either. Those long legs of hers? Longer than his life.
Veratia seemed to overhear Cassandra's muttering behind her, and her next steps were even more deliberately graceful, swaying in a way that made Harry suddenly crave peaches.
"Shameless!" Cassandra muttered, her lips pursed.
The trio arrived at Dumbledore's office. The stone gargoyle was so used to them by now that it barely bothered with the password, hopping aside to reveal the passage.
Of course, Harry was the only one at Hogwarts with this privilege. Even the gargoyle, made of stone, wasn't keen on being roasted by Harry's fire.
As if anticipating their arrival, Dumbledore had three cups of tea set out on his desk.
Harry walked straight over, plopped down on the middle stool, and grinned. "Looks like you knew we were coming, Professor?"
"Not quite," Dumbledore said, winking at Harry. "These were prepared for someone else, but they also work for you. They just informed me they'll be arriving at the school a bit later."
"Well, I won't say no to that," Harry said with a laugh, reaching for a teacup.
"So, what brings you here?" Dumbledore asked once they were all seated.
As he spoke, Dumbledore couldn't help but muse to himself.
Look at this, one on each side…
He knew, of course, that as Gellert's sister, Veratia was a walking jealousy magnet. But her guilt toward Cassandra allowed her to tolerate Cassandra's presence by Harry's side. After all, she was the newcomer.
Otherwise, she'd surely have delivered the classic Grindelwald line: "You think Potter will mourn for you?"
"Professor Trelawney gave me a prophecy," Harry said, taking a sip of tea before continuing. "In it, she mentioned a Dark Lord—said he's about to break free from chains, cross the boundary between life and death, and return to the world. He'll serve a true 'Demon King,' and the New World will be shrouded in death's shadow because of him… After saying all that, she forgot the prophecy entirely, like she didn't even know what she'd said."
"Is that so?" Dumbledore sat up straighter.
He knew Trelawney's peculiarity well. Her most accurate prophecies came when she was in that hazy, almost possessed state. Her everyday predictions? Those were just for laughs.
"If I'm not mistaken, the 'New World' likely refers to America," Cassandra said. Despite her earlier dismissal of Trelawney's prophecy, she'd clearly been mulling it over. "As for being 'shrouded in death's shadow,' I think it might tie to what Mr. Scamander was investigating in North America. What do you think, Professor?"
"Perhaps," Dumbledore said noncommittally. "The question is, who is this 'Demon King' Sybill spoke of?"
"It can't be Voldemort himself," Harry said with a shrug. "But didn't Professor Scamander tell us? Voldemort seems to have pledged himself to Death. Could this 'Demon King' refer to Death itself?"
"Death isn't necessarily a 'Demon King,' Harry," Dumbledore said, rubbing his eyes. "In some mythologies, Death also rules over the underworld, so the title of 'Demon King' fits. In others, Death is merely a guide, escorting souls to the afterlife—like a civil servant. Calling that a Demon King feels a bit far-fetched."
"Then who do you think Voldemort might have sworn himself to?" Veratia asked.
Dumbledore was deep in thought when Harry suddenly raised a finger.
"Wait, why don't we just summon Death itself and ask her directly?"
At Harry's suggestion, all three of them gave him a look of utter exasperation.
Summon Death? Ask her directly?
And what if they accidentally summoned whoever Voldemort was serving? That'd be a disaster.
"I suggest you come up with a better idea," Cassandra said, her face a mask of disbelief.
Harry sniffed. Honestly, he thought it was a pretty solid plan.
Maybe they should bring in someone else, like Mr. Flamel. As an alchemist who'd lived for over six hundred years, he surely knew a thing or two about Death. Perhaps they could ask him?
"I'll head to the International Confederation of Wizards' headquarters in a few days," Dumbledore said with a sigh. "The situation in America does warrant attention. If—and I mean if—Sybill's prophecy comes true, the consequences for the entire continent could be catastrophic."
"If it's that kind of prophecy, I'm afraid even we'd struggle against such a Dark Lord," Cassandra added. "As we all know, Demon Kings often require soul sacrifices to grow stronger. If they sacrificed the billions in America…"
"I can't even bear to think about it," Harry interjected.
"Besides investigating in America, I think we should consult Mr. Flamel," Harry said to Dumbledore. "Why don't we go to his alchemy workshop now and ask him?"
As Hogwarts' headmaster, Dumbledore's decisiveness was unmatched. With the help of his phoenix, Fawkes, they arrived at Flamel's alchemy workshop in an instant.
Their sudden appearance nearly made Flamel drop the crystal ball he was holding. One might've thought he was clutching a grenade.
"Oh, you've come at just the right time!" Flamel said, waving them over with a grin. "Look at this—I've taken your suggestions and developed a computer better suited for wizards. Perhaps we should give it a grander name, though I haven't decided on one yet. Anyway, I've even managed to connect these computers through some kind of 'network.' But I need a powerful hub to make it work."
Flamel rambled on excitedly. "With this hub, I can link all the computers together. We could talk or even video-call anytime, anywhere. And get this—I've figured out how to integrate portraits into the wizarding network. That way, portraits won't be stuck in their frames anymore; they can move freely through the network. Isn't that a groundbreaking invention?"
At Flamel's words, everyone gasped.
After a long pause, Dumbledore asked, stunned, "Then what's the difference between a portrait and a living person?"
"Of course there's a difference—they don't have physical bodies, Dumbledore," Flamel said, waving dismissively. "But it's not an impossible topic to explore. Once I refine the theory behind wizard computers and the wizarding network, I'll look into it. I could even connect it to the Floo Network—pretty magical, right? Like this: if I hold the computer and say, 'Diagon Alley…'"
As soon as the words left his mouth, Flamel vanished.
The four of them stood frozen.
"Find him!" Dumbledore said calmly, still as composed as ever, completely unfazed by Flamel's disappearance.
Thankfully, Flamel had mentioned "Diagon Alley" before vanishing, so they found him, dusty and disheveled, without much trouble.
"See? Isn't it convenient?" Flamel said, grinning, not the least bit upset about being whisked away. He proudly showed off his Floo-connected wizarding crystal ball computer.
"This is a revolutionary breakthrough!" Veratia and Cassandra said almost in unison, both immediately sensing the commercial potential.
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