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HRHL# CHAPTER 232
🕑 Added 2025-07-04 19:53:44 +0000 UTC“Miss Malfoy’s condition?”
Mr. Flamel turned slowly, appraising Cassandra from head to toe, making her shift uncomfortably and tilt her head back.
“Exactly,” Harry said, following Flamel’s gaze toward Cassandra. “Last year, after Veratia woke up, she lost her magic. I’m worried that Cassandra might have some issue too… After all, you told us that tampering with time always comes with a price.”
“Oh,” Mr. Flamel said with a playful smile. “I did say that, but… people’s constitutions differ. Miss Grindelwald’s problem may not apply to Miss Malfoy.”
“What do you mean?” Harry asked, curiosity piqued.
Could it be that Cassandra’s constitution was stronger, immune to the issues Veratia faced? But that couldn’t be right—Veratia wasn’t frail either. Harry recalled how, back in the Muggle world as a governess, she could carry a twenty-pound box with ease.
What kind of robust Veratia…
“Well…” Mr. Flamel drawled, clearly reluctant to elaborate just yet.
From his demeanor, Harry sensed Flamel was waiting for something.
Sure enough, just as Flamel seemed to run out of patience, the door to the alchemy room swung open again.
A silver-haired figure glided in, moving to Harry’s side and naturally slipping her arm around his. It was Veratia, who had hurried over from Hogwarts Castle!
As the saying goes, enemies meeting face-to-face spark instant tension. Cassandra recognized Veratia at once, narrowing her eyes with a hostile glint.
Her look seemed to say, Change your hair color all you want—I’d know you anywhere!
Veratia returned the same piercing stare, and those around them could almost feel sparks flying where their gazes met.
A crackling, electric kind of spark.
“Oh, Cassandra,” Veratia said, her tone dripping with feigned surprise. “My goodness, you’ve made it a hundred years into the future—wait a moment. Didn’t I invite you to join me in the Slytherin study’s time seal? And didn’t your reply say, ‘You wouldn’t pick a boy who has nothing to do with you’?”
Classic Veratia, landing a verbal blow right from the start.
Poppy, who had been dozing nearby, snapped her eyes open.
Mr. Flamel’s face lit up with the glee of someone enjoying the drama. For an old man, watching a spectacle was the greatest fuel for living.
Who doesn’t love a good show? Especially one orchestrated by Flamel’s subtle hand…
But from his expression, it was clear he wanted to spice things up further, to make the spectacle even grander.
“Oh,” Veratia continued, sensing the moment wasn’t juicy enough. “You also left Harry a bank note, didn’t you? Stashed away in a Gringotts vault…”
Cassandra nodded knowingly. “So you’ve seen the note, Grindelwald.” She turned to Harry. “It seems your little girlfriend’s jealousy is quite something, Potter. But it’s just a poor notebook. Why can’t she let it go?”
At this, Cassandra feigned sudden realization. “This reminds me of a story—perhaps you haven’t heard, Potter. Once, when Grindelwald was sneaking around at night, she got the bright idea to break into the Hufflepuff common room. But, as you know, only Hufflepuffs can enter their common room… So, she got doused with a bucket of vinegar and returned to her dorm reeking of it.”
Veratia’s smile didn’t waver, but her grip on Harry’s arm tightened, making him struggle to breathe.
This was news to Harry.
He did know about the Hufflepuff common room, though. Its entrance was in the corner of the kitchen corridor, marked by a stack of large wooden barrels in a shadowy stone recess. Unlike other common rooms, it required no password—just a specific rhythm, tapping the bottom of the second barrel from the middle in the second row, mimicking Helga Hufflepuff’s cadence.
Tap correctly, and the barrel’s lid would open, revealing a crawlspace to the cozy basement common room. Tap incorrectly—or if you weren’t a Hufflepuff—you’d be drenched in vinegar.
A century ago, Veratia’s Slytherin roommate had been Cassandra, which explained how she knew this story.
“It was actually Hermione’s parrot, Jack,” Harry said, his face darkening. “I was looking for clues about you, and Jack tore up your notebook while I wasn’t looking, exposing the bank note inside.”
“Hermione?” Cassandra echoed the name.
“Oh, my good friend, Hermione Granger,” Harry explained. “A Gryffindor, like me.”
“Just like your good friend Miss Grindelwald, right?” Cassandra asked with a sly smile.
Mr. Flamel, meanwhile, had somehow produced a bag of puffed shrimp crisps, munching away with no sign of an elderly man’s dental woes.
“Want some?” he offered, holding the bag out to Poppy. But before her eyes could light up, Perenelle, his wife, snatched the bag from him.
Clearly, Flamel meant to share with Perenelle.
“What I didn’t expect,” Cassandra said, eyeing Veratia with disdain, “is that you’re still the same… My goodness, Potter’s only thirteen, and you’re what? Seventeen? An old hag clinging to him like that. If I’m not mistaken, it’s September, not springtime when everything comes alive. Even if it were that season, you two should retreat to some love nest, not do this in front of everyone.”
Mr. Flamel, who had been gleefully spectating, suddenly spoke up.
“As you can see, Miss Malfoy,” he said, “Miss Grindelwald lost her magic during her time travel. But Harry, having absorbed my Philosopher’s Stone, carries its boundless magic within him. He can replenish Miss Grindelwald’s magic through physical contact, much like touching the Stone itself.”
At this, Veratia rubbed her cheek against Harry’s arm, looking utterly content.
She mouthed silently to Cassandra, Jealous, are you?
Cassandra huffed and turned away, refusing to look at them. Her arms were crossed tightly, and if not for her white lace gloves, you might have seen her knuckles whitening from the force.
Veratia flashed a victor’s smile, certain she had the upper hand.
But Flamel, ever the keen observer, saw through Cassandra’s facade.
“Oh, with all this banter, I nearly forgot the most important thing,” he said leisurely. “As Harry mentioned, time travel always exacts a price. Miss Grindelwald lost her magic, but Miss Malfoy… are you sure you want to keep this from your dearest friends?”
“Keep what?” Harry asked, bewildered. “Cassandra, do you know what’s going on?”
“Shut up,” Cassandra said coldly.
“Let me explain,” Flamel said, knowing Cassandra’s pride would keep her silent. “The potion I gave Miss Malfoy comes with a steep cost.” He glanced at Harry mysteriously. “While it grants deep slumber and eternal youth, it also takes a heavy toll: only one year of life remains.”
The room fell silent, shocked. Even Veratia’s grip on Harry’s arm loosened.
“What did you say?” Harry asked, incredulous. “Cassandra only has one year left?! That’s impossible… How could that be?!”
“It’s true, Potter,” Cassandra said with a faint, breezy smile. “That’s the price I paid.”
“But that’s unacceptable!” Harry paced frantically, then rushed to Flamel, grabbing his hand. “Mr. Flamel—”
Crack.
Harry’s grip was too strong, snapping Flamel’s hand.
“Ow! Why so reckless?” Flamel shot Harry a displeased look, shaking his hand to realign the bones. “Of course, I have a solution, but… it depends on whether Miss Malfoy is willing.”
Flamel, ignoring his briefly broken hand, tapped Harry twice, then pointed his wand at Cassandra, muttering an incantation.
Veratia, who had been worried, suddenly felt a sinking dread.
Sure enough, Flamel said calmly, “There we are—done. You remember the Philosopher’s Stone’s properties, Harry?”
“The Stone?” Harry parroted, recalling Hermione’s words from their first year: “Ancient alchemy involved crafting the Philosopher’s Stone, a miraculous substance that can turn any metal into pure gold and produce the Elixir of Life, granting immortality.”
He repeated it aloud.
Veratia suddenly grasped the implication. Cassandra looked confused, while Poppy’s eyes sparkled with innocent wonder.
“Yes, immortality,” Flamel said with a chuckle. “You, now fused with the Stone, possess that eternal quality. You can not only restore Miss Grindelwald’s magic but also replenish Miss Malfoy’s life force.”
Veratia’s jaw dropped. So Harry can restore magic and life force?!
“You mean…” Harry’s heart gave a small, secret thrill, though he wasn’t sure why.
Veratia clung to his right arm again.
“Just like Miss Grindelwald,” Flamel said, arms crossed, “Miss Malfoy can sustain her life force through contact with Harry… and avoid death.”
Cassandra froze, her cheeks and neck flushing a delicate cherry-blossom pink.
Hugging Potter?! The very idea was shameless!
But… that sneaky cat, Veratia, was already clinging to him so brazenly.
What if she led Potter astray?
Yet the thought of it made her heart resist.
“Miss Malfoy,” Flamel pressed, ever the matchmaker for chaos, “you should set aside certain outdated notions. You have less than a year left. I doubt your friends or family—your father, your brother—would want to see you die after all our preparations, would they?”
Cassandra bit her lip, glancing at Harry’s earnest yet secretly delighted face, then at Veratia’s wary expression.
He’s right, she thought. I can’t let Father and Draco grieve again… And that Grindelwald girl—how could I let her corrupt Potter?
Resolved, Cassandra stepped forward with elegant poise, taking Harry’s other arm.
She didn’t press her whole body against him like Veratia but merely held his arm lightly.
“Relax, Potter,” she said, tilting her head with a smile that suggested she was doing him a favor. “Mr. Flamel’s right. I shouldn’t cling to such worldly prejudices. You understand—I’m doing this for myself.”
“Right, right!” Harry nodded vigorously, his usual sharp tongue silenced. If he scared Cassandra off with a quip, and she only had a year left, what then?
But… Relax? You’re not relaxed at all! Harry thought, tears welling up. Ease up on the grip, please!
The alchemy room’s atmosphere grew increasingly strange.
On Harry’s left, Cassandra clung tightly to his arm, refusing to let go. On his right, Veratia hugged him, rubbing against him. The two women locked eyes, waging a silent, smoldering war.
Something was off...
Veratia suddenly sensed a subtle unease.
Her intuition told her that Mr. Flamel was up to something rather novel.
At that moment, Mr. Flamel slowly turned to her, a mysterious smile playing on his lips.
“Well, children,” Mr. Flamel said with a warm chuckle, “this is exactly what I wanted. You should understand the heart of an old man who has seen life and death. Though accustomed to farewells, he still seeks the most sincere and beautiful emotions this world has to offer.”
At those words, Cassandra recoiled as if struck by a jolt, quickly withdrawing her hand.
“Relax,” she said, waving dismissively with an air of indifference. “I only touched Potter to extend my life, not because my head’s filled with pink bubbles like yours, Grindelwald.”
“Oh—~” Veratia flashed a knowing smile. “Very well, I’ll take your word for it.”
Mr. Flamel nodded with satisfaction and returned to his seat by the computer.
“Mr. Flamel,” Veratia said, standing and moving behind him.
“I’m listening,” Mr. Flamel replied, engrossed in clicking through the computer’s interface. “At least, I’m listening for now.”
“I think you’ve strayed onto a misguided path,” she said. “With this computer.”
“A misguided path?”
Mr. Flamel set down the mouse he’d been fiddling with and looked up at Veratia with keen interest. “Do tell—what path have I strayed onto?”
“I don’t believe we should follow the Muggle’s predetermined direction,” Veratia said, her body leaning slightly forward, her tone carrying a natural, almost hypnotic allure. “We can learn from Muggles, but we shouldn’t lose what makes us wizards.”
Austrians, it seemed, were often born orators—like Veratia, for instance…
Of course, Austrians took the most pride in convincing the world that Beethoven was Austrian and that the mustached man was German.
“Go on,” Mr. Flamel said, seemingly swayed, nodding for Veratia to continue.
“For example…” Veratia reached for a crystal ball nearby. “What if we used a crystal ball?” She held it up. “We could make it function like this computer—or rather, give it a display. We could use the crystal ball to…”
As she spoke, Veratia cast a spell, conjuring what looked like a virtual screen in the air to demonstrate for Mr. Flamel.
“Like this—holographic imagery, perhaps? That’s one way to think of it. We could interact with it by hand, and it would also train wizards to hone their magical control.”
This time, Mr. Flamel was genuinely intrigued, his eyes gleaming with fascination.
“Brilliant, brilliant,” he murmured. “This is indeed a grand vision… Let me think about how we might bring it to life…”
Seeing Mr. Flamel captivated by the blueprint she’d painted, Veratia turned slightly and caught Harry giving her a discreet thumbs-up near his waist.
With the matter temporarily resolved and Mr. Flamel immersed in crafting this new type of wizarding computer, Harry and his companions returned to the castle to resume classes.
Veratia didn’t join them. In front of Cassandra, she boldly clung to Harry, siphoning a bit of his magic before hurriedly leaving Hogwarts to attend to her studies in the Muggle world.
Poppy Sweating, meanwhile, scampered joyfully back to the Forbidden Forest, leaving only Cassandra and Harry on the path.
“Don’t look at me like that, Potter. I know what you’re thinking,” Cassandra said, eyeing Harry with disdain. “But I’m not like that shameless Grindelwald, clinging to someone of the opposite sex.”
At that, Cassandra stopped abruptly.
She looked down at Harry, arms crossed over her slender frame, a faint smile on her lips.
“Of course—if you begged me, I might, for the sake of our friendship…”
Harry gave her a baffled glance.
“Oh, please,” he said with a hint of sarcasm. “Thanks for the offer, but my clothes aren’t dirty enough to need washing by the river just yet.”
With that, he didn’t pause, striding toward the castle.
Cassandra stood there, puzzling over what Harry meant for quite a while…
A pureblood witch, whose delicate hands had never touched spring water, could hardly be expected to understand how Muggles washed clothes.
This didn’t stop the two from slipping into a cold war, much like the ones Harry had endured a century ago.
Harry had no idea how to start a conversation, and Cassandra was a bit awkward.
She didn’t want to distance herself from Harry, but somehow, whenever words reached her lips, they twisted into something else—nothing like what she felt, or at the very least, the complete opposite.
At the castle entrance, Cassandra was called away by Professor McGonagall, who had been waiting. Harry returned to the Great Hall alone.
It was dinnertime, and the hall buzzed with activity.
“Harry!”
Hermione spotted him from afar, waving enthusiastically.
Harry joined the Gryffindor table, sitting beside Hermione and Ron.
Hermione was holding her new timetable, while Ron propped his face in his hands, staring at it with far less enthusiasm.
“Wow, this is great. I’ve got several new classes tomorrow,” Hermione said cheerfully.
“Let me see,” Ron said, peering over her shoulder at the timetable and frowning. “They’ve messed up your schedule. Look—they’ve given you ten classes in one day. You don’t have enough time!”
“I’ll manage. I’ve already spoken with Professor McGonagall,” Hermione said confidently.
“But look,” Ron said with a grin, “tomorrow morning at nine—Divination… and then, nine o’clock, Muggle Studies, and—” Ron leaned closer to the timetable, incredulous. “Look at this—Arithmancy, also at nine! I mean, I know you’re brilliant, Hermione, but no one’s that brilliant. How are you going to take three classes at once?”
“I have my ways, Ron,” Hermione said, glancing at Harry with a smile. “And I also know why Veratia managed to complete four years of Muggle university in less than a year…”
Yes, the Time-Turner.
Harry noticed the necklace around Hermione’s neck but had no intention of mentioning it to Ron.
If Hermione wasn’t telling, he certainly wouldn’t spill her secret.
“Pass the jam,” Hermione instructed Ron. “If I’m in a good mood, I might even help you with your homework.”
Just then, Cassandra returned from her talk with Professor McGonagall, her expression clearly sour.
Harry, ever perceptive, knew better than to provoke her in this mood.
Draco, however, leaned in with concern toward his silent great-aunt.
“What’s wrong?” he asked.
“Nothing,” Cassandra said, carefully tucking away her timetable, a glint flashing in her eyes. “I just didn’t expect a descendant of the Trelawney family to be teaching at Hogwarts…”
“You know Professor Trelawney?” Draco asked tentatively. “My father says she’s a complete nutcase. No idea why Dumbledore hired her.”
“Your father has good taste, Draco,” Cassandra said, giving him an approving look. “The Trelawney family has never lacked for lunatics or frauds.”
She certainly had a grudge against the Trelawneys—not Sybill Trelawney specifically, but anyone bearing the name.
After all, a century ago, a seer named Trelawney had humiliated her, even mocking that she should become a carpet weaver.
Cassandra’s voice carried, loud enough for Harry’s group to overhear.
Hermione lowered her voice, whispering to Harry and Ron, “Merlin’s beard, how can she say that? Typical Malfoy… Why’s she so harsh on Professor Trelawney? The professor’s never done anything to her…”
Oh, but a Trelawney had done something to her, Harry thought to himself.
Just not this Trelawney.
T/N: If you find any typos or incorrect names, please leave a comment. Thanks, and enjoy reading!
