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HRHL# Chapter 133: Cassandra’s Pride {3}
🕑 Added 2025-03-26 20:43:52 +0000 UTCThe candle flames flickered, casting shifting light over the countless animated portraits of Lockhart, their eyes following them around the room.
As Harry sealed the hundredth envelope, he suddenly heard a sound.
It was different from the crackling of the candles or Lockhart’s gentle murmurs. It was cold, sinister, and sent a shiver down his spine.
“Come… let me rip you… tear you apart… kill you…”
Harry’s heart pounded. The voice—
It sounded familiar.
Like he had heard it somewhere before… but he couldn’t remember where.
“Professor, did you hear that?” Harry asked cautiously.
Lockhart glanced at him, then at the flickering candlelight, and shook his head. “Not at all, Harry. Did you hear something?”
"Hmm... Must be my imagination?" Harry shrugged.
Professor Lockhart stared at Harry for a while, as if trying to decipher something from his expression.
Unfortunately, he failed.
Could it be... that this Mr. Potter could hear things that ordinary people couldn’t?
Lockhart—no, Vinda—muttered internally. She knew that in this world, some wizards had the ability to see and hear what others could not.
Just like her master, the one the Saints followed—Gellert Grindelwald. He was born with the gift of foresight, able to glimpse into a future beyond the perception of ordinary people.
Could it be that this Mr. Potter possessed a similar ability?
No wonder the master instructed me to keep an eye on him. It seems... the master must have foreseen something...
I must recruit this Mr. Potter into the Saints, Vinda thought to herself. On one hand, it would be delightful to snatch Dumbledore’s "Golden Boy" right from under his nose and watch him fume. On the other hand, Potter’s calm demeanor and remarkable talent made her believe that, under the master’s guidance, he could become a pillar of the Saints.
Or perhaps… he could even become the master’s successor?
Vinda grew increasingly convinced of her theory. The master must have seen something in the river of time, which was why he had sent her to Hogwarts.
If it weren’t for that wretched Dumbledore defeating the master and forcing him into voluntary confinement in Nurmengard, perhaps he would have come to Hogwarts himself this time.
"Maybe you’re just sleepy," Professor Lockhart said in a relaxed tone. "It looks like we’ve spent a delightful two hours together. If you don’t mind, you can stay a little longer—I have some work I’d like your help with."
As he spoke, Lockhart flicked his wand, summoning several potion bottles from a nearby package.
"This is Brain Elixir, Harry," Lockhart said cheerfully. "A potion that may help clarify one’s thoughts. If you’ve read ahead in your fourth-year Potions textbook, you should be aware of its existence."
He handed the potions to Harry. "Consider this your payment for helping me address envelopes. After all, you’ve worked hard, haven’t you?"
"Thank you, Professor." Harry accepted them without hesitation.
Getting paid for work—that was only fair.
Harry lingered in the Defense Against the Dark Arts classroom for a while longer. When he noticed the clock pointing to 8:30, Lockhart’s voice rang out again.
"Harry, do you remember what my ideal birthday gift is?"
"What? Professor?" Harry hadn’t caught his meaning.
"My ideal birthday gift," Lockhart repeated, his face tinged with a look of regret. "It was mentioned in Chapter Twelve of A Weekend with Werewolves. I also brought it up in class."
Harry racked his brain, finally recalling the lesson.
"Your ideal birthday gift is for wizards and non-magical people to coexist peacefully—if I remember correctly," Harry replied.
"Very good, so you do remember." Lockhart’s smile returned. "Yes, that ideal—it’s difficult to achieve, isn’t it?"
"Yes, Professor." Harry nodded. "That’s indeed a difficult goal."
"So, what do you think of this ideal?" Lockhart asked, smiling. "Don’t be nervous, Harry. This is just a casual chat between friends."
"What do I think?" Harry wasn’t sure what Lockhart was getting at.
"I mean, what do you believe the relationship between wizards and Muggles should be?" Lockhart asked, his gaze intent.
Harry thought for a moment, then smiled. "Isn’t that a question beyond the concerns of a second-year student, Professor?"
"Haven’t you ever complained about the Trace?" Lockhart coaxed. "I know young wizards your age hate being unable to use magic during holidays. But the Ministry strictly controls underage magic, fearing exposure to ordinary people—Muggles. Isn’t that right?"
"It’s not too bad, Professor."
Harry didn’t answer Lockhart directly. His instincts told him there was an underlying motive to this conversation.
That instinct—Cassandra had instilled it in him.
In fact, most of his habits, even his intuition, had been shaped by Cassandra.
What Harry didn’t know was that Cassandra would sometimes watch him quietly, feeling both pride and satisfaction—much like Mrs. Weasley watching Bill.
"I don’t think that’s the real issue," Harry mused after a moment. "The immediate problem lies in wizarding education—like how young wizards are taught in school. The gaps aren’t just in Defense Against the Dark Arts; there are weaknesses across multiple subjects."
"Is that so?" Lockhart studied Harry carefully. He couldn’t help but notice that this young Harry... bore certain resemblances to the master.
That realization pleased her even more. She had only meant to probe Harry’s views on the Statute of Secrecy, but instead, she found an unexpected level of maturity in him.
"That’s true. I’ve heard that many Aurors can’t even cast a proper Shield Charm," Harry said with frustration. "With such poor teaching results, how can the wizarding world possibly improve?"
Vinda was secretly delighted.
She saw it now—this young Harry...
It seemed... he had quite a few grievances with Headmaster Dumbledore.
She felt rather satisfied. This probe had yielded some useful insights—but of course, further tests and recruitment efforts were necessary.
Why should Dumbledore’s "Golden Boy" not fall into the master’s hands instead?
The more Vinda thought about it, the more convinced she became.
For some reason, she simply couldn’t muster any fondness for Dumbledore—not just because he had defeated Gellert Grindelwald.
As for Dumbledore’s lapdog... what was his name again?
Oh, Newt Scamander.
Vinda didn’t find him as detestable.
She feigned a surprised look and stretched elegantly.
"Merlin’s beard! Look at the time! We’ve been here nearly four hours! I can’t believe it—time flies, doesn’t it?"
Still smiling, the Lockhart-disguised Vinda said, "I think it’s time for you to head back. At your age, you should be getting plenty of rest."
"Alright then. Goodbye, Professor Lockhart." Harry stood up and stretched as well.
As it turned out, stretching was contagious.
"Goodbye, Harry." Lockhart grinned.
Leaving the Defense Against the Dark Arts office, Harry made his way swiftly to the Room of Requirement.
As he entered, he envisioned a meeting room, then pushed open the door.
Taking a seat in the Gryffindor section, he uncorked the Aging Potion and took a small sip, enlarging his clothes with a flick of his wand.
Moments later, a seventeen-year-old Harry stood in his place.
He took out his two-way mirror and sent a signal to Bodrig.
Soon, Bodrig’s face appeared in the mirror.
"Mr. Potter!" he greeted respectfully.
"Hello, Bodrig." Harry nodded. "Do you have any news regarding the Angel’s Feather or Basilisk Fang?"
Bodrig looked troubled. "Apologies, Mr. Potter. Despite Gringotts’ extensive search, we’ve found no trace of either material."
Harry tapped his fingers on the armrest.
"I did find information on the Angel’s Feather," he said.
"Please, Mr. Potter." Bodrig straightened. "Gringotts will procure it for you."
"It won’t be easy. The one holding it..." Harry tapped the armrest. "Might not care about Gringotts’ influence."
"Rest assured, Mr. Potter," Bodrig said confidently. "Everyone must show Gringotts respect."
"And if they refuse?" Harry asked with a smile.
Bodrig’s expression turned ruthless. "Then we’ll make them sell it. Just tell us who it is. Leave the rest to us."
"Oh." Harry nodded. "The one holding the Angel’s Feather... is Hogwarts’ Headmaster, Albus Dumbledore."
Bodrig’s face froze.
This... was going to be a problem.
He had initially thought that the person holding the Angel’s Feather was just an ordinary wizard. But never in his wildest dreams did he expect it to be none other than the Headmaster of Hogwarts—Albus Dumbledore.
This...
This was going to be tricky.
Who was Dumbledore?
President of the International Confederation of Wizards, Chief Warlock of the Wizengamot, the most powerful white wizard in the world...
Gringotts might be audacious, but even they wouldn’t dare stir up trouble in front of Dumbledore.
Seeing Bodrig’s troubled expression, Harry asked calmly, “Is this difficult to handle, Mr. Bodrig?”
Hearing Harry’s words, Bodrig swallowed discreetly.
Dumbledore was formidable, without a doubt. But the man standing before him—the Goblin Slayer—was someone they absolutely could not afford to offend.
Merlin only knew how many goblins had perished at his hands a century ago...
If he messed up Mr. Potter’s request, who knew what kind of wrath he’d have to face?
“Rest assured!” Weighing the lesser of two evils, Bodrig gritted his teeth and said, “Gringotts will communicate with Headmaster Dumbledore and secure the Angel’s Feather for you as soon as possible!”
“Thank you,” Harry said politely. “This won’t be too much trouble for you, will it?”
Bodrig replied without hesitation, “No! Not at all! Not in the slightest!”
