Chapter 369
Harry, this guy’s shamelessness, once again refreshed Cassandra’s understanding of the absolute limit.
Taking a bath together?
How could he even say that out loud!
Utterly shameless!
Of course she knew Harry wasn’t joking. Even with that grinning face, even with those lecherous eyes, even while he was idly tossing around the Triwizard Tournament’s golden egg in his hand...
But compensation...
Now that she thought about it, she really had intended to prepare a Christmas present for Harry. She had even finished it long ago.
In fact, this Christmas present was...
It was just that Veratia’s arrival had suddenly made her not want to give it anymore.
Yet she had forgotten one thing: if Harry didn’t receive a Christmas gift, he would absolutely demand compensation from her.
And right now was the exact moment Harry had come to collect.
"Say something, won’t you?" Harry continued tossing the golden egg lightly in his hand. "I spent a whole day wandering Diagon Alley just to pick out a Christmas present for you... and you? You forgot the most important thing."
At this point, Harry suddenly set the golden egg down, his tone growing heavier.
"Or am I... just not that important to you, Miss Malfoy?"
"No!"
Cassandra denied it loudly on reflex.
"Is that so?" Harry’s brain went into overdrive, entering full-blown "you forgot about me" mode. "Because it really feels like you don’t care at all. You don’t care about Cass’s Christmas present, you don’t care about me. That really hurts, you know."
"No, I didn’t!" Cassandra protested.
She was already feeling a bit guilty and ashamed about the whole thing, and Harry’s sudden verbal barrage only deepened that guilt.
"Really?"
Harry gave a small smile, put the golden egg back into his pouch, stood up and said,
"Fine, let’s just say that’s the case... Come on, we should head back to school. What do you think? Later tonight I still need to solve the egg’s riddle."
With that, he turned and walked straight toward the door.
But when he reached the doorway, he found Cassandra still sitting in the same spot, clearly locked in an internal struggle.
Harry didn’t bother with her. He returned to Hogwarts on his own, tidied up a bit, then video-called Veratia.
"So you tried it my way?" Veratia was grinning like a little devil.
"Tried it." Harry spread his hands helplessly. "You could tell Cassandra wasn’t exactly thrilled... Don’t you think we went a bit too far? That we hurt her a little too much?"
The moment those words left his mouth, inspiration struck Harry with a sudden chill on his forehead.
He ducked instinctively; something whooshed over his head and smashed into the wall behind him.
"Nice reflexes," Veratia snorted.
"Haha..." Harry gave an awkward laugh. "All that practice dodging Bludgers... You don’t survive Quidditch without a bit of agility."
Veratia folded her arms and smiled. "Relax. That level won’t actually hurt your little girlfriend... Listen, do exactly what I say: tonight, go straight back to Grimmauld Place without telling her. Wanna bet that by tonight she’ll show up there herself? You believe me?"
"I’m... not entirely convinced." Harry sniffed. "Maybe I should go comfort her after all. I really feel bad about this. Cassandra, she—"
"Harry..." Veratia sighed. "With a woman like Cass, you can’t just keep giving in to her every time. You have to make her realise how serious the situation is, understand?"
"I don’t understand." Harry rubbed his nose.
"You’re hopeless." Veratia rolled her eyes. "Don’t you even trust me anymore?"
Harry thought to himself: It’s precisely because I trust you that I’m scared to do this.
Who knows what evil scheme you’re cooking up...
But of course he couldn’t say that out loud. He’d already made Cassandra upset; he wasn’t about to hurt Veratia too.
He wasn’t going to end up hugging Poppy and crying in a corner, was he?
"Alright, I trust you," Harry said at last. "I’ll head straight back to Grimmauld Place later. Perfect timing anyway—I need to crack the egg’s secret."
"That’s my boy!" Veratia praised. "Just do what I told you, trust me..."
"Miss Grindelwald, there are documents here that require your signature."
Miss Farley’s voice came from the side.
"Mhm, I have to hang up," Veratia said. "I’m waiting for your victory report, okay?"
"Got it." Harry waved and ended the call with Veratia.
After hanging up, he thought it over and finally decided to just follow Veratia’s plan.
But before leaving, the still-hesitant Harry dialled Sirius.
He figured it was still safer to ask his godfather’s opinion.
Not that he didn’t trust Veratia—of course he did—but on matters like this it was best to get multiple perspectives, especially from a certified ladies’ man like his godfather.
After a few rings, Sirius picked up.
"Harry?"
Sirius looked a little weary, but his eyes still sparkled like stars in the night.
"Did you get the Christmas present I sent you? Oh, right—that multifunctional little gadget... I figure next time Miss Grindelwald ties you up, you might need it..."
"What on earth..." Harry’s face darkened. "Veratia has never once intended to tie me up. That time was just an accident... an accident, got it?"
"Oh, I get it," Sirius said cheerfully. "But do you believe that yourself? Professor Dumbledore told me about that starry-moon nightgown. Who do you think Miss Grindelwald had that made for? Surely not Gellert Grindelwald? No way, right? Really no way?"
Clearly, Sirius was a master of sarcasm.
And he was obviously treating his godson like his old mate James—teasing Harry the same way he used to tease James.
"No," Harry’s face flushed crimson. He decided to change the subject.
So he recounted everything that had just happened, including Veratia’s advice.
To his surprise, after listening, Sirius said nothing at first and just kept drinking what looked like whisky—on the rocks, judging by the several stones clinking in the glass.
In the old days in Scotland there were no ice cubes, so when people wanted chilled whisky they’d fetch stones cooled by snow from the mountain tops and riverbeds and drop them into the drink. The wizarding world had happily preserved the tradition; plenty of wizard pubs still served authentic "on the rocks" whisky that way.
"What’s wrong?" Harry asked cautiously. "Did I do something wrong?"
Sirius thought: Wrong? You shouldn’t have listened to a woman—especially Miss Grindelwald—on something like this in the first place.
She’s treating Cassandra like the French treat people!
Though, to be fair, if one ignored the psychological damage to Cassandra, it was... somewhat effective.
"It’s already done; I don’t have any better ideas," Sirius sighed. "My only advice is to keep following Miss Grindelwald’s plan... but after Miss Malfoy gives in, make sure you comfort her properly, understood?"
"Er, got it, Padfoot," Harry nodded quickly.
"Right then," Sirius said. "If there’s nothing else, I’ll hang up."
"Wait," Harry said. "Any other good tips? About Cassandra, I mean. I know you’re basically an authority on women, so could you pass on some life experience?"
"My experience is..." Sirius’s face contorted for a long time before he finally said helplessly, "Sorry, Harry—I’ve never met a woman quite like her, so I don’t actually have any constructive advice. If possible, just be direct with her. Straight balls—she can’t block those. Alright, bye."
After the call ended, Harry stared into space for a while.
Fine. If even his godfather said so.
He quickly packed a few things in his dorm, took Hedwig with him, and left.
On his way out he spotted Ron playfully bickering with Hermione, the two of them practically radiating pink bubbles—disgustingly lovey-dovey.
Noticing Harry with Hedwig perched on his shoulder, Ron paused the horseplay.
"Where’re you off to, Harry?"
"Back to Grimmauld Place for a bit; got something to take care of," Harry said with a grin. "Don’t mind me, you two carry on—I didn’t see anything."
Only then did Hermione let out a belated shriek and bolt toward the girls’ dormitories.
Harry clapped Ron on the shoulder, gave him a knowing man-to-man smile, and left the Gryffindor common room.
Ron stood frozen for a long moment before suddenly realising something was off.
Hang on—what was that smile supposed to mean? What exactly do you think you "understand"?!
But Harry had already vanished into the corridors of Hogwarts. Moments later he arrived at Grimmauld Place.
The instant he appeared, Kreacher’s voice boomed like a bullfrog’s croak:
"Kreacher welcomes the noble Master Potter’s arrival!"
You could tell Kreacher genuinely adored Harry; otherwise he wouldn’t have bellowed with such vigour—it gave Harry quite a start.
"Oh, Kreacher." Harry smoothed his chest and wiped the sweat from his brow. "Next time could you not scare me like that? I thought thunder was going off right by my ear..."
"Kreacher deeply apologises for disturbing you." Kreacher bowed even lower, though he didn’t share Dobby’s fondness for self-punishment.
Or rather, he only punished himself when Regulus’s name came up.
At least that’s what Harry figured.
Harry was actually glad to see the old elf in such spirits, so he said, "It’s fine, really. Just pay attention next time."
"So, has the noble Master Potter returned to the Noble and Most Ancient House of Black for any particular reason?" Kreacher asked, one hand still holding little Regulus’s.
Regulus himself was hilarious—he kept eagerly trying to bite Kreacher, only to be dodged at the strangest angles every time.
"Nothing major," Harry scratched his head. "Later could you draw some water for me? I feel like a bath—and the master bathroom still works, right?"
"It is fully functional, noble Master Potter," Kreacher said, bowing. "Kreacher is honoured to serve."
With that, he started to lead Regulus away.
"Er," Harry raised a finger, "when you prepare the bathroom, could you maybe keep Uncle Regulus a good distance away?"
Kreacher understood perfectly. "Rest assured, Master Potter. Kreacher will place Master Regulus somewhere safe."
Then he shuffled off, still holding Regulus’s hand.
Harry stretched, climbed the stairs, and headed to his bedroom.
Since he was home, he might as well change into something comfortable.
By the time he’d changed into his dressing gown, Kreacher appeared in the doorway.
"Noble Master Potter, the bathroom is ready."
"Great, I’ll be there in a minute," Harry called back. "I’m going to take a quick nap first—"
He really was tired. Last night he’d stayed up half the night chatting with Ron and the others; around midnight Seamus and Neville had insisted he show off the new features on his phone.
So he’d ended up starting a quick game of Civilization...
Lying in bed, Harry fell asleep without any trouble.
When he opened his eyes again, there was suddenly someone sitting beside the bed.
A completely expressionless Cassandra.
"Yo, Cass?" Harry propped himself up and looked her over.
You could tell she was sincerely intent on making it up to him—she was wearing a full maid outfit.
Harry’s eyes weren’t exactly well-behaved; they drifted downward and caught sight of the delicate feet in white stockings peeking out from beneath the long skirt.
The classic British maid dress had a longer hemline—nothing like the scandalously short ones from Japan that were practically made for... other purposes.
Cassandra held her head high, wearing her usual haughty expression.
Yet paired with the maid outfit, she somehow gave off the vibe of a fallen noble lady in a humiliating situation dot avi.
"You’re awake?" Cassandra huffed coldly. "I thought you were going to sleep until tomorrow."
"Why sleep long while still alive? You’ll sleep forever after death," Harry stretched. "What time is it, Cass?"
Cassandra pulled out a pocket watch, glanced at it: "Eight fifteen p.m."
"Oh, then it’s dinnertime." Harry sat up properly. "I’ll have Kreacher prepare something. After dinner I’ve got to solve the golden egg’s riddle."
At that, he deliberately asked, "What brings you to Grimmauld Place, by the way? And in that outfit?"
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