Harry hovered in midair for what felt like ages before he finally managed to struggle back to the ground.
He'd been careless, not dodging in time.
But, truth be told, letting Cassandra vent her frustration was part of Harry's plan. Otherwise, who knows how many days of silence he'd have to endure?
Harry knew Cassandra all too well.
"I don't think she's actually mad," Poppy said from the side. "I know her. If she were truly angry, she wouldn't have just hit you with a Levitation Charm."
"Is that so?" Harry turned to Poppy, raising an eyebrow. "Sounds like you're quite the expert, then."
"Joking aside!" Poppy puffed out her chest. "I'm super knowledgeable, alright? If you want to win Cassandra over, just ask me for advice!"
Harry felt a pang of envy watching her. How had he not noticed Poppy's remarkable talent before?
As Professor Hao Ying would put it, she had grand ambitions.
"I need to check with Mr. Flamel on his progress," Harry said quickly. "Hopefully, he'll have that potion brewed by the time school starts, so you can be successfully revived."
He glanced at Poppy again. "Aren't you worried that helping me out might put you in Veratia's crosshairs?"
"Ha, Veratia?" Poppy crossed her arms, though they barely managed to wrap around her frame. "She's too proud. And excessive pride? That's a recipe for a big fall!"
No sooner had she spoken than Ron's head poked out from the room.
"Come on, Harry," he said. "You've got to see Sirius's room. You won't believe what we found…"
"Coming," Harry replied, striding into Sirius's bedroom.
It should be said that ever since Sirius left this house, no one had set foot in his room. Neglected for years, the once emerald-green velvet curtains of the four-poster bed had faded to the color of a dreary marsh under a rainy sky. The gilded bedposts bore scorch marks from some spell—evidence of Sirius's rebellious days when he'd tried to transform the Slytherin silver serpent carvings into Gryffindor lions. As he'd put it, how could a Gryffindor possibly sleep in a Slytherin's bed?
Naturally, this earned him a thorough thrashing from Walburga. The young Sirius couldn't stand up to his mother's rod-and-stick discipline, but by the time he was sixteen, he decided that if he couldn't fight, he'd run.
If I can't win, can't I at least escape?
"Look at this," Ron said, pointing to the windows. "They're all sealed shut."
"You know how old-fashioned the Black family is," Sirius said with a shrug, his tone indifferent. "In their eyes, a Gryffindor born into a pure-blood family was a disgrace. So they sealed the windows and doors of my room."
"You can tell," Poppy whispered to Harry. "These locked windows and doors are just as rigid as the Black family's closed-off mindset."
"But those Muggle women are seriously hot," Cassandra chimed in with a smirk. "I think I need to have a word with Grindelwald about this, so Potter doesn't get corrupted by his lecherous dog of a godfather—or maybe he's already been corrupted."
Before Harry could respond, Sirius shot back, "What, you don't approve?"
Cassandra gave Sirius a blank stare, but… truth be told, she kind of liked this more enlightened side of Harry.
As long as he stayed far away from that sneaky cat—or that dim-witted donkey.
Sirius, sensing his assist had landed, didn't press further, giving his "future daughter-in-law" some space.
It wasn't a bad way to think about it. After all, Harry was his godson, and with Harry's parents gone, Sirius's role wasn't far off from that of a father.
Though, between this "father" and godfather… their personalities were a bit unreliable.
Sirius reached out and opened a mahogany wardrobe, its surface worn and faintly rotting, the smell of decayed wood lingering in the air.
He rummaged inside and pulled out a black leather jacket.
"Look at this, my old treasure's still here," he said with a booming laugh. "Remember this jacket, Harry?"
"Vaguely," Harry admitted. He did have a faint memory of it.
"I was wearing this jacket when I rode my motorbike to hand you over to Hagrid," Sirius said, his face lighting up as he spoke. But then his expression dimmed, recalling why he'd had to deliver Harry. "Ugh, it's all because I trusted Peter too much…"
"No one could've predicted he'd betray us," Harry said, placing a hand on Sirius's shoulder. "It's not your fault, Sirius."
Sirius nodded heavily, patting Harry's hand.
Harry's gaze drifted past Sirius to the faint writing illuminated by sunlight on the wall.
"Moony, Wormtail, Padfoot, and Prongs hereby swear never to betray!"
Perhaps sensing the heavy mood, Ron quickly changed the subject, pointing to the bed, which was still faintly creaking. "Mr. Black, what's under there?"
"Just call me Sirius. You're all Harry's friends," Sirius said with a grin, brushing off the unfortunate nickname of "dog godfather" from the two Slytherin "daughters-in-law."
He knelt by the bed, reached underneath, and then yanked his hand back as if shocked.
"Ugh, there's a spider down there," Sirius said, shaking his hand. "Bites pretty hard."
"It's not a black widow, is it?" Ron asked, his voice trembling. Spiders were his worst fear.
"Nah, just a common garden spider. No venom to worry about," Sirius said with a chuckle, pulling the spider out.
The spider, gripped by its leg, struggled to bite Sirius but only managed to chomp on his fingernail, unable to break through.
"Look at it, full of life," Sirius said, watching the wriggling creature. "I saw plenty of these in Azkaban. Believe it or not, they're decent for filling your stomach, though the taste isn't great."
"But they've got five times the energy of beef," Hermione said in her know-it-all tone.
Her words drew puzzled looks from everyone, with Ron's gaze a mix of shock and horror.
"I saw it on TV," she hurriedly explained. "They said spiders taste a bit like chicken."
"No way," Sirius countered. "I bet they've never eaten a spider raw. The taste is awful, like slimy goo bursting in your mouth, especially when you bite into the abdomen…"
"Alright, stop!" Ron interrupted, his face alternating between pale and green. "This isn't fun anymore!"
"They're probably talking about cooked spiders," Hermione continued. "I read that the meat under their black chitinous shells does look a bit like chicken—or maybe crab."
"Crab?" Harry said, nodding. "Makes sense. Spiders and crabs do look kind of similar…"
"Theoretically, spiders and crabs are both in the phylum Arthropoda," Hermione explained. "But they belong to different classes—spiders are Arachnida, while crabs are Malacostraca. Even though they look alike, their relation is as distant as humans in Mammalia are to turtles in Reptilia."
"Why not try eating one to find out?" Sirius said with a shrug. "There are plenty of Acromantulas in the Forbidden Forest… or, I mean, land-dwelling hairy king crabs. Maybe we can catch some when school starts."
"Is that really a good idea?" Harry asked skeptically. "Those are Hagrid's prized pets. He'd be heartbroken if you ate them."
"Oh, really? When those Acromantulas tried to eat me, I didn't see Hagrid shedding any tears," Sirius said, waving a hand. "It's settled then. Those Acromantulas are disrupting the Forbidden Forest's ecosystem. It's our duty—our responsibility—to deal with them!"
As he spoke, Sirius frowned. "Where's Kreacher? I haven't seen him in ages. Kreacher?!"
A small whirlwind appeared, and old Kreacher materialized before them.
"Kreacher," Sirius said. "As you can see, we have guests. I'd like you to prepare a lavish dinner to entertain them."
"Of course, noble young master," Kreacher replied, bowing. But just as he turned to leave, Sirius stopped him.
"Wait—" Sirius narrowed his eyes. "What did you call me? Noble young master? Haven't I always been the 'beastly young master' to you?"
"Oh, things have changed," Kreacher answered honestly. "The mistress said you're her favorite son, her lifelong pride. So old Kreacher must obey her wishes. From now on, you're the most noble young master—"
"What's gotten into my mother?" Sirius muttered, frowning. "Did my great-grandfather slip her some kind of love potion? Or can portraits cast Imperius Curses now?"
"That's not for Kreacher to know, nor is Kreacher worthy of knowing," Kreacher said, bowing respectfully.
Though Walburga's earlier lion-like roar had been loud, Sirius, busy showing off the Black family home, hadn't quite caught what she was saying.
He assumed, as usual, she was scolding him, so he didn't pay it much mind.
If it was the first time being yelled at, he might've felt hurt or upset. But after years of constant berating, he'd grown used to it.
After all, when you're deep in debt, you stop worrying about it; when you're covered in lice, you stop itching.
"I think I heard Mrs. Black say you're her favorite son," Ron said hesitantly, looking at Sirius.
Sirius snorted. "Impossible! Even if the sun rises in the west tomorrow, even if Merlin stops wearing lace stockings forever, I'd never believe I'm my mother's favorite son!"
As he finished speaking, Harry felt a vibration in his pocket.
He pulled out a crystal ball, where Veratia's half-figure was waving at him.
"It's Veratia," Harry said to the others, stepping toward the door.
"Where are you going?" Sirius asked, curious.
"To take a call," Harry said simply. "As for what a phone is… maybe Poppy can explain. I need to answer this now—"
With that, he hurried out of the room.
He had to take the call outside. Who knew if Veratia would be like last time, teasing him from a bathtub?
He could enjoy that view himself, but he certainly couldn't let anyone else see it.
But he'd overthought it. Why would Veratia be bathing in the middle of the day? When the call connected, she was dressed in a beige trench coat, smiling at him.
Seeing her fully clothed, Harry felt a twinge of disappointment.
He knew exactly why he was disappointed. Who wouldn't want to see a beauty bathing? Would you?
Especially since he wasn't sneaking a peek—he had full permission to look!
"I can tell, Harry," Veratia said with a playful smile. "You're disappointed, aren't you?"
"Ahem," Harry coughed twice to cover his embarrassment. "When are you coming over? We're at Grimmauld Place…"
"I'm at the door," Veratia said with a chuckle.
"I'm coming!" Harry said, pocketing the crystal ball.
He hurried downstairs, reached the front door, and opened it to find Veratia standing gracefully outside.
"Good afternoon, Harry."
Veratia opened her arms, inviting him in.
Harry stepped forward and gave her a warm hug.
Veratia leaned down, planting a gentle kiss on his forehead.
"Let's go inside," she said with a smile. "Don't keep your godfather waiting."
"Godfather?" Harry looked up at her.
"Well, yeah. Your godfather is my godfather too, isn't he?" Veratia teased, pinching his nose lightly. "What, you think that's not allowed?"
"Of course it's allowed."
They walked inside, chatting as they went.
As soon as they entered, the portrait of Mrs. Black in the hall spoke up. "Mr. Potter—who's this young lady?"
As an old Slytherin, Walburga could spot Slytherin qualities the moment she opened her eyes.
This elegant, refined girl might seem Ravenclaw-like, but her facade couldn't fool Walburga.
In her eyes, Walburga saw a fire of ambition capable of setting all of Europe ablaze.
"Oh, she's my good friend," Harry said. After all, Walburga was his godfather's mother, so he was willing to speak calmly when she did.
"Hello, Mrs. Black," Veratia said with a charming smile. "My name is Veratia Elizabeth Emmeline Grindelwald."
"Grindelwald?"
Walburga's voice shot up an octave.
"You're Miss Grindelwald? It's an honor to meet you—"
At that moment, the Slytherin locket tucked in Kreacher's arms suddenly emitted a puff of black mist.
Kreacher's eyes glazed over for a moment. He paused, then mechanically continued preparing the feast for his masters.
--
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