"My words just now were clear enough. So then… what comes next…"
"Control your mind. Empty your thoughts…"
"Legilimens!"
1990, Surrey.
"Hey! You big oaf!"
A fat boy, his face resembling a stubby-nosed elephant, loomed over little Harry:
"Be a good sandbag for me, got it? Otherwise, this will teach you a lesson!"
As he spoke, the boy jabbed one finger toward the fist clenched in his other hand.
When the pudgy bully lunged forward—several other boys trailing behind him—Harry bolted without looking back.
But he didn't get far. He had run straight into a dead end.
"I warned you, freak!" the fat boy sneered, cracking his knuckles. "Running only makes me angrier… Ready? I'm going to smash your face in!"
He hurled himself forward, the gang of boys pouncing with him.
And then—something strange happened. Harry vanished.
The group flailed at empty air, staring around in shock.
"Where'd he go?!" the fat boy demanded, panic creeping into his voice.
"I—I dunno…" stammered a scrawny monkey-faced boy, too bewildered to process what had just happened.
"There! On the roof!" another cried, pointing upward. "He's up there! How did he get up there?!"
1887, Train.
"My father said there's a Muggle-born starting school this year."
A young Cassandra pushed open the compartment door. Though still a child, her long, straight pale-blond hair lent her the air of a little aristocrat.
"This should be the right compartment, yes?"
"Uh, h-hello…"
Harry instinctively stood, shyly greeting Cassandra.
"Oh, so it's you—the boy with the glasses."
Her eyes held neither disdain nor ridicule, but her tone was lofty, as if she were looking down from on high.
Only Gareth Weasley bristled at her attitude. Harry, compared to Dudley, actually found it rather pleasant.
"Looking at you, I doubt you'll be sorted into Slytherin," Cassandra mused, brows furrowed. "Hufflepuff, perhaps… Gryffindor at a stretch. But not Slytherin."
"I won't be going to Slytherin, my lady," Harry said quickly.
"Hmph."
Gareth gave a cold snort, reminding them he was there.
Cassandra turned her head, fixing him with a glance.
"Let me guess—red hair, blank face. You must be a Weasley. My father says your family doesn't put much stock in blood purity."
Gareth held his tongue. His aunt might be Hogwarts' Deputy Headmistress, but this Malfoy girl's father was someone even Headmaster Black dared not cross.
"He can be your friend, Muggle-born boy."
Her tone felt less like a suggestion and more like a command.
"Yes, my lady," Harry answered meekly.
1888, Malfoy Manor.
"This is your preparation, Potter?"
Cassandra, eyes flashing with irritation, looked down at Harry sprawled on the floor.
"Stand up, Potter—I will not allow you to run away!"
"I—I really can't beat you, Miss Malfoy…" Harry panted. Her spells truly were overwhelming.
"Stand up!" she snapped. "I said, stand up!"
Reluctantly, Harry obeyed. After all, she was his patron, holding his scholarship in her hands. One sour word to her father and that support would vanish—along with his books, his supplies, even his ability to travel home for the holidays.
"Depulso!"
Her wand flared red, blasting Harry back to the ground.
"Leviosa!"
Harry floated helplessly into the air. Cassandra frowned darkly.
"Why didn't you dodge?"
"You didn't say I could…" Harry muttered nervously. He remembered her earlier order: to be her punching bag.
"My cousin Dudley never let me dodge either when he used me as one… but I always ran fast, which made him furious—"
Cassandra froze.
"I permit you to dodge, Potter." She turned away, hiding her expression. "You must dodge—and fight back. If I wanted an unresisting sandbag, I'd buy a few training dummies instead of wasting my time practicing spells with you. Do you understand?"
"Yes, Miss Malfoy." Harry nodded, relief flooding him. She wasn't like Dudley. She wasn't hurting him for fun.
1889, Hogwarts.
"Expelliarmus!"
Cassandra's wand spun from her hand and landed neatly in Harry's.
"Well done, Potter."
She showed no anger—only approval.
"Thank you for your instruction, Miss Malfoy."
Harry stepped forward and returned the wand.
Her eyes narrowed slightly as she accepted it.
"If only you cherished your gift more… You've been spending a great deal of time with that Hufflepuff girl, Sweating, haven't you?"
Harry's stomach twisted.
"How do you know?" He wasn't even sure why he felt guilty—just that it felt like being caught.
"I just know." Cassandra's lips curled in a smile, though disappointment glimmered in her eyes. "You squander rare talent on playing with little creatures. Truly, Potter, it's a pity."
"I—I won't go anymore," Harry blurted. He couldn't bear that look from her.
"On occasion, the Forbidden Forest has its uses. But next time, you'll go with me. The forest is dangerous, full of poachers. You understand."
"Yes, Miss Malfoy."
1890, Malfoy Manor.
"You've done well, Potter."
Cassandra flicked back her waterfall of hair, smiling in satisfaction.
"Ha-ha…"
Harry grinned foolishly. Praise from her lit him up inside.
"My father wants me to tell you—the Ministry is hosting a banquet tonight. You'll accompany him."
"O-oh… really?" Harry swallowed nervously. A Ministry banquet?
"Your dress robes are already prepared. You may be underage, but for important occasions, proper attire is required. Go now—your fitting is waiting."
1891, Train.
"My father says there's a transfer student this year."
Cassandra sat elegantly, stirring her drink with a silver spoon, its delicate chime filling the compartment.
"Is that so?" Harry asked absently, eyes on the scenery outside.
"Indeed. From Austria-Hungary. Why Hogwarts, when Durmstrang should suffice?"
Austria-Hungary? Harry immediately thought of the young lady he'd once met there—a striking girl named Grindelwald. Surely not her… she was a Muggle. Yet he couldn't help but wish it were.
And then, when he least expected it, the compartment door swung open.
Professor Fig stepped inside, and with him—
Her?!
Harry's heart leapt.
The girl's searching eyes found his, and she broke into a radiant smile.
Headmaster Black was displeased, but Professor Weasley placed the Sorting Hat upon her head.
"Slytherin!" the Hat cried.
But instead of heading to the Slytherin table, Veratia Grindelwald strode straight to Harry's side and sat down.
"Hello," she said sweetly, her German-accented English heavy but charming. "I am Veratia Grindelwald, from Austria-Hungary. We have met before. Thank you again for your help. You may call me Vivi."
Harry nearly spat out his pumpkin juice. Vivi calmly offered him a handkerchief.
When he turned, he caught Cassandra watching him with the coldest look of disdain. His stomach dropped.
1993, England.
The memories blurred—Harry finding Cassandra's vault, traversing Merlin's trials, his school years, the Christmas holiday at Grimmauld Place…
Now he lay awake, restless, until a rustle stirred beside him.
He turned—and saw Vivi slip under the covers, smiling softly at him in the moonlight.
"Vivi? What are you doing here?"
"Why, can't I?" she teased.
"Of course you can." Harry grinned despite himself. "I was just thinking of you—and here you are."
Her smile deepened, though something unspoken lingered behind it.
"What is it?" Harry asked gently. Something felt off.
"Nothing." She bit her lip, then brushed her golden hair aside, letting it spill across his face.
Her fragrance filled his senses.
"Do you like it?" she asked, eyes tender.
"O-of course…" Harry stammered, heart racing.
Her fingers deftly unfastened the top button of his collar, tracing delicate circles along his collarbone. She leaned close, their breaths mingling.
"How about this?" she whispered.
Harry's brain stalled. Who am I? Where am I? What am I doing?
And then—her lips touched his. Soft. Sweet. Her body melted against him.
For a long stunned moment, Harry froze. Then he kissed her back fiercely.
But before he could draw her closer, a voice intruded.
"Enjoying yourself?"
Cold. Familiar.
Harry's eyes snapped open. Cassandra stood at the bedside, her gaze dripping with disgust.
The memory shattered.
He gasped, collapsing into a chair.
"That… that part wasn't meant to be seen…" he muttered.
Cassandra sneered.
"Well then… tell me, Potter—since Lord Voldemort is a master of Legilimency, would he have seen it?"
Harry's heart lurched. She was right. If Voldemort ever…
Still, some relief flickered—thankfully, that night had gone no further than kissing and holding.
"I never thought you could fall so low, Potter," Cassandra said icily. "To do such things in your godfather's home. Have you no shame?"
Harry thought for a moment. Then answered plainly:
"No."
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