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Harry's bedroom was quiet except for the soft ticking of his alarm clock and the occasional rustle of pages as Hedwig preened her feathers in the moonlight filtering through his window. The familiar space felt both comforting and somehow smaller than he remembered, not physically, but in the way that childhood bedrooms always seemed to shrink when you returned to them after growing up a bit more than expected.
He lay in bed with his hands behind his head, staring at the ceiling where shadows from the oak tree outside danced, reminding him of the way Nymphadora's hair shifted through colors when she was thinking. Which was probably not the most restful train of thought to pursue at half past eleven at night, but Harry had long since given up trying to control when his brain decided to focus on inconvenient topics.
"You know what, Itisa?" he said quietly to the darkness. "I think this might be the first summer where I actually know what I'm getting myself into. Sort of."
A soft rumble of agreement came from the end of his bed, where Itisa lay in her true form. No longer the small black cat that fooled the rest of the world, but the magnificent and terrifying Nundu she actually was. In the moonlight, her golden-spotted coat seemed to shimmer like liquid starlight, and her eyes glowed with an inner fire that would have made most sensible people reconsider their life choices. To Harry, she looked like home.
"Though 'knowing what I'm getting into' might be overstating things," he continued, reaching out to scratch behind her ears in the spot that always made her purr like a contented dragon. "I mean, Princess Crystal-Harmony walking on land for the first time? That's either going to be beautiful and historic, or absolutely catastrophic. Possibly both."
Itisa's purr increased in volume, and she shifted closer to rest her massive head on Harry's chest. The weight was comforting in a way that reminded him of being very small and having nightmares, except now the creature providing comfort could level a small city if she put her mind to it.
"And then there's Fleur Delacour," Harry mused, his cheeks warming slightly even in the privacy of his own room. "Brilliant, beautiful, part-Veela Fleur, who wants to collaborate on magical research and probably doesn't realize that her idea of 'professional discussion' is going to leave me tongue-tied and making an idiot of myself."
Itisa opened one golden eye and fixed him with a look that seemed distinctly amused.
"Right, and then there's Russia," he continued, his tone becoming more thoughtful. "Which is either going to be fascinating and educational, or the beginning of some sort of international incident that ends with me accidentally starting a magical cold war. I really should work on my tendency to make things more complicated than they need to be."
Itisa's rumbling purr took on what Harry had learned to recognize as her 'you're being ridiculous' frequency.
"I'm not being ridiculous," he argued. "I'm being realistic. Do you know what happened this week? The British Ministry bought a hundred of my Enhanced Talismans out of more than a thousand Aurors, just so they could claim they're supporting my work while actually doing the absolute minimum. And meanwhile, three different foreign governments are competing to offer me access to magical research that could change everything I understand about artifact creation."
He paused, considering the implications of his own words.
"That's not normal thirteen-year-old problems, is it?" he asked Itisa. "Most people my age are worried about exams and Quidditch tryouts and whether their crush likes them back. And here I am, lying awake thinking about European magical politics and international diplomacy."
The mention of crushes made his thoughts drift inevitably back to Nymphadora, to the way she'd looked in her natural form earlier that evening, to the moment when they'd both realized that something had shifted between them. It was exciting and terrifying, like standing at the edge of a very high cliff and being simultaneously afraid of falling and tempted to jump.
"Though speaking of crushes," he murmured to Itisa, "I think I might be in trouble there too. Because apparently I've gone and developed feelings for my surrogate older sister, who also happens to be brilliant and beautiful and completely out of my league in about seventeen different ways."
Itisa lifted her head and fixed him with both eyes now, her expression clearly suggesting that Harry was being even more ridiculous than usual.
"What?" he asked defensively. "She's almost seventeen, she will become an Auror, she's got metamorphmagus abilities that most wizards only dream of, and she could probably hex me into next week if I ever did anything to annoy her. How is that not out of my league?"
The Nundu's response was to rest her head back on his chest and resume purring, which Harry interpreted as either 'you're overthinking this' or 'we'll cross that bridge when we come to it.' Both seemed like reasonable philosophical positions, coming from a creature who approached most problems by deciding whether they were worth eating or ignoring.
"You know what the really strange part is?" Harry said, his voice becoming softer as exhaustion began to catch up with him. "A year ago, I was just trying to make a decent protective talisman and maybe get through second year without anyone trying to kill me. And now I'm planning international trips, signing business contracts, and apparently being courted by foreign governments. It's like I blinked and suddenly became someone important."
He was quiet for a moment, thinking about the weight of expectations and opportunities that seemed to multiply every time he accomplished something new.
"Sometimes I wonder what Mum and Dad would think of all this," he admitted quietly. "Whether they'd be proud, or worried, or completely terrified that their son is making friends with underwater royalty and having dinner with foreign ministers. I mean, Dad was supposed to be a good wizard, but I don't think he was signing international contracts at thirteen."
The familiar ache of missing people he'd never really known settled in his chest, but it was softer now than it used to be. The Tonks family had taught him that love didn't have to come from blood relations, that family was what you made it with the people who chose to care about you.
"But then again," he continued, "I don't think Mum and Dad would have wanted me to be safe more than they'd have wanted me to be happy. And helping people, building things that matter, making friends across international boundaries... that makes me happy. Even if it's complicated and occasionally terrifying."
Itisa's purr rumbled agreement, and Harry found himself smiling.
"Plus," he added with growing confidence, "I've got you to keep me from doing anything too stupid. And the best family anyone could ask for. And friends who think my tendency to befriend dangerous magical creatures is charming rather than concerning. And apparently, at least three different countries think I'm worth investing in."
He yawned, the day's events finally catching up with him in the comfortable darkness of his childhood bedroom.
"Right then," he murmured, settling deeper into his pillows while Itisa adjusted her position to maintain optimal purring proximity. "Tomorrow we start planning the most important summer of my life. International diplomacy, magical research, underwater princesses, and figuring out how to tell the girl I'm falling for that I'm falling for her without making things impossibly awkward."
Itisa's purr took on what Harry was fairly certain was an amused quality.
"Go ahead and laugh," he told her sleepily. "But mark my words—this summer is going to be absolutely extraordinary. And with any luck, by the end of it, I'll have figured out how to be the person everyone seems to think I already am."
As sleep finally claimed him, Harry's last conscious thought was that whatever challenges the summer might bring, he was ready to meet them. After all, he'd survived basilisks and liberated house-elves, revolutionized international magical security and made friends with creatures that most people considered mythological.
How hard could a few diplomatic visits and a confession of feelings possibly be?
Itisa's purr suggested that she found this question deeply amusing, but Harry was already too asleep to argue the point.
The Next Day
The Tonks family living room had been subjected to what Andromeda called "company cleaning"—a level of tidiness that existed somewhere between "daily presentable" and "the Queen might drop by." Harry watched with amusement as Andromeda made one final sweep of the room, adjusting cushions that were already perfectly aligned and straightening picture frames that hadn't moved since 1987.
"Nymphadora," Andromeda said in her most motherly tone, "please try to act like a proper witch when our guests arrive."
Tonks, who had been sprawled across the sofa like a particularly colorful cat, sat up with an expression of exaggerated offense, looking annoyed that her mother used her full name. "I am always proper, Mother. I'll have you know I'm the very model of witchly decorum and my name is Tonks."
This declaration might have been more convincing if her hair hadn't chosen that exact moment to shift from bubblegum pink to electric blue in apparent protest.
Harry couldn't help the chuckle that escaped him. "Yes, because nothing says 'proper witch' quite like hair that changes color based on your emotional state."
"It's called personal expression," Tonks replied with wounded dignity. "Very fashionable in certain circles."
"Certain circles being 'people who can't control their metamorphmagus abilities'?" Harry suggested innocently.
"I can control them perfectly well," Tonks protested, her hair promptly turning an indignant shade of orange. "I just choose not to. There's a difference."
From upstairs came a distinctly displeased yowl that could only be Itisa expressing her opinion about being excluded from the morning's activities. The sound was followed by what Harry recognized as Hedwig mocking her; he could almost hear her saying, 'Such shame, such a powerful predator, reduced to a cat house,'
"I still think keeping Itisa upstairs is unnecessary," Harry said, though even as he spoke, he knew it was probably for the best. "She's very well-behaved around company."
"Harry," Ted said patiently, "your definition of 'well-behaved' includes 'only slightly terrifying' and 'probably won't kill anyone unless provoked.' I'm not sure Amelia Bones and Mad-Eye Moody would appreciate that particular interpretation, and I don't think is a good idea to make the two even more suspicious of Itisa."
Another yowl from upstairs, this one somehow managing to convey both offended dignity and the promise of future retribution.
"She's not happy about this," Harry observed unnecessarily.
"She's a Nundu," Andromeda replied dryly. "I don't think 'happy' is in their emotional vocabulary. The best we can hope for is 'temporarily placated' or 'plotting revenge later rather than immediately.'"
"What do you think this meeting is actually about?" Tonks asked, shifting to a more serious tone as she attempted to wrangle her hair back to a bright pink. "The golden Patronus message was pretty vague about 'business matters.'"
Ted set down his morning paper with a thoughtful expression. "Most likely about Harry's talisman sales. Or rather, the poor sales from the Ministry of Magic of Britain."
Tonks frowned in confusion, tucking her legs under her in a way that made her look more beautiful, and something that captured Harry's attention. "Why does it matter so much if Harry's new talisman version doesn't get many sales in Britain? Italy is buying them, and Harry made them specifically for Italian requirements. Who cares if our own ministry doesn't buy enough?"
She gestured expressively, warming to her topic. "After all, they bought plenty of Harry's first edition talismans last year. Maybe Minister Fudge just isn't fond of the idea of buying a newer version if the old one is already doing the job well enough. That's just being economical, isn't it?"
"The ministry stopped purchasing my first edition talismans in September of last year," Harry said carefully. "They only bought four hundred talismans of the first edition total, and other, more private parties bought thirty-eight."
"Four hundred?" Tonks repeated. "That sounds like quite a lot."
"Not when you consider the numbers," Harry continued. "The ministry has now bought one hundred of the enhanced edition. But Tonks, if you remember from our previous discussions, there are one thousand Aurors on active duty right now, with another three hundred in training who are expected to become full Aurors within three to five years—or one year if they pass their examinations quickly."
He paused, letting the mathematics sink in. "Overall, there aren't enough talismans purchased for all Aurors to have one. And that's not counting how many talismans of the first edition have self-destructed because the wearer was in critical condition during their duties."
"Self-destructed?" Tonks asked, looking slightly alarmed.
"It's a safety feature," Harry explained. "If the wearer is mortally wounded, the talisman sacrifices itself to provide emergency healing. Based on the reports I've received, I estimate at least seventy-one talismans have self-destructed since we started selling them last year."
Tonks nodded slowly, understanding dawning in her eyes. "So the Ministry is deliberately under-equipping their Aurors. That's... that's actually quite horrible."
"Hence why Amelia Bones is likely paying us a personal visit," Andromeda interjected. "That woman is sharp as a black knife and twice as dangerous when she sets her mind to something. She's not coming here just for a social call to remind Harry that Minister Fudge is the sort of man who mistakes inertia for wisdom and cowardice for caution. If he ever had a spine, I imagine it's collecting dust in some Ministry drawer labeled Misplaced Vertebrae—Do Not Disturb."
"Andromeda," Ted said with mild reproach, though his lips twitched with suppressed amusement.
"What? I'm simply making an objective comparison," Andromeda replied with perfect innocence.
Harry was about to respond when the fireplace suddenly flared with emerald flames. Andromeda moved forward, opening the Floo connection with a flick of her wand.
The first figure to step through was unmistakably Amelia Bones. Her long auburn hair was pulled back in an elegant knot that somehow managed to look both professional and slightly dangerous, like she could transition from bureaucrat to duelist without messing up her hairstyle. She wore formal robes of deep blue that emphasized her authority without being ostentatious.
Mad-Eye Moody followed immediately after, his wooden leg hitting the hearth with a distinctive thunk that probably woke every magical creature within a three-block radius. His magical eye was already spinning wildly, no doubt cataloging every potential threat in the room including the suspiciously innocent-looking umbrella stand.
But it was the third figure who caused the real surprise.
The woman who stepped gracefully from the flames possessed the sort of beauty that made people walk into walls and forget their own names. Her hair was the white blonde of moonlight on snow, swept up in an elegant style that probably cost more than most people's monthly salary. Her robes were midnight blue silk, and her gray eyes held the sort of keen intelligence that suggested beauty was merely her first weapon, not her only one.
For a moment, Harry thought he was looking at an older version of Daphne. Then realization struck like a Bludger to the head.
"Cassiopeia," Andromeda said, sounding very surprised to see her. "I never expected to see you here."
The name hit Harry, Ted, and Tonks with varying degrees of confusion. Harry's mind raced through his knowledge of magical genealogy before landing on the answer: Cassiopeia Black, Andromeda's cousin, who had married into the Greengrass family. Which made her...
"Mrs. Greengrass," Harry said, his voice thankfully steady despite his surprise.
Cassiopeia Greengrass turned her attention to him with a smile that probably made grown men weep. "Mr. Potter. How perceptive of you. Though I do prefer Cassiopeia—'Mrs. Greengrass' makes me feel positively ancient."
Amelia cleared her throat, looking slightly uncomfortable. "I apologize for not informing you that Cassiopeia would be joining us—"
"Nonsense," Cassiopeia interrupted with a beautiful smile. "When I heard you were planning to visit the Tonks family this morning, I simply couldn't resist the opportunity to see my dear cousin again. It's been far too long, hasn't it, Andromeda?"
The temperature in the room seemed to drop several degrees as the two Black family cousins regarded each other.
"Indeed," Andromeda replied with careful neutrality. "Though I recall the last time we spoke, you made your position on my life choices quite clear."
"Times change," Cassiopeia said with an elegant shrug that somehow made even dismissiveness look graceful. "As do perspectives. Besides, I'm here in my capacity as a concerned parent rather than a Black family cousin."
She turned her attention to the others, her smile warming considerably. "Edward, you're looking well. Wizard life seems to agree with you."
"Thank you," Ted replied with politeness, yet Harry was sure Ted was not happy to see her here, in his home. "You're looking well yourself."
"And you must be Nymphadora," Cassiopeia continued, studying Tonks with obvious interest. "I've heard of you, of course, though this is our first meeting. Andromeda mentioned in her letters years ago that you had quite the talent for metamorphmagus abilities."
Tonks's hair shifted through several colors before settling on a defensive pink. "That's me. Though most people just call me Tonks."
"How delightfully informal," Cassiopeia said with what might have been genuine amusement. "The younger generation does so love to break with tradition."
Finally, her attention returned to Harry, and her expression shifted to something more genuinely interested. "And Mr. Potter himself. I've heard so much about you from Daphne. She speaks of you quite often."
"All good things, I hope," Harry replied, finding his diplomatic voice. "How is Daphne? I trust she's enjoying the summer holidays?"
"She's quite well," Cassiopeia said, studying him with those sharp gray eyes that reminded him uncomfortably of being evaluated for purchase. "Currently in France with her younger sister, studying advanced charm work with a private tutor. She mentioned you might be visiting France yourself this summer?"
"Briefly," Harry confirmed, wondering exactly how much Daphne had told her mother about his summer plans. "I have some business there in late June."
"Hmm." Cassiopeia gave him a once-over. "You have the Greengrass tolerance test. I'll admit I'm impressed."
Tonks leaned sideways to whisper: "What's the Greengrass tolerance test?"
"If you annoy them, they ignore you," Harry whispered back. "If you impress them, they talk to you. If they like you—well. They smile. I think I passed."
"You definitely passed something," Tonks muttered.
Mad-Eye Moody, who had been suspiciously quiet during this entire exchange, finally spoke up with his characteristic growl. "If we're done with the society page reunions, perhaps we could get to the actual purpose of this visit? CONSTANT VIGILANCE doesn't include standing around making small talk while potential threats go unaddressed."
"What threats?" Tonks asked with interest. "The most dangerous thing in this house is Harry's cat, and she's—"
Another yowl from upstairs, this one somehow managing to convey both agreement with Tonks's assessment and offense at being excluded from the interesting visitors.
"—upstairs and definitely not happy about it," Harry finished weakly.
Moody's magical eye swiveled upward, staring through the ceiling with unnerving intensity. "That's quite the vocal cat you've got there, Potter."
"She has strong opinions," Harry said carefully. "Very... expressive."
"Sounds like it," Amelia said with mild amusement. "Though I've heard cats can be quite territorial about visitors."
"Oh yes," Ted agreed quickly. "Itisa is particularly protective of the family. She doesn't always appreciate strangers in her territory."
"Perhaps we should sit," Amelia suggested with the sort of firmness that made it clear this wasn't actually a suggestion. "We have several matters to discuss, and I'd prefer to do so without the background accompaniment of an upset pet."
"Would anyone like tea before we discuss whatever Byzantine political maneuvering brings the Head of Magical Law Enforcement to our living room?" Andromeda asked.
"Tea would be lovely," Cassiopeia said, smiling.
After some small talk, asking how Susan is doing, and being told that she is doing wonderful.
Harry settled into his chair, adopting what Andromeda called his "diplomatic posture"—spine straight but not rigid, hands folded but not clenched, expression attentive but not eager. It was a careful balance he'd learned through trial and error, mostly error.
"Lady Bones," he said with measured politeness, "what can I do for you this morning?"
Amelia Bones straightened in her seat into what Harry recognized as her official mode. "Mr. Potter, I'm here to inform you officially that the Ministry of Magic has authorized the purchase of one hundred units of your enhanced protection talismans."
One hundred, Harry thought, keeping his expression neutral. Out of over a thousand Aurors. How wonderfully generous of them.
"Thank you, Lady Bones," Harry replied with perfect propriety, inclining his head slightly. "I hope the hundred talismans serve your department well and help keep your Aurors safe in the field."
Mad-Eye Moody's derisive snort could probably have been heard in the next county. "One hundred talismans for over a thousand active Aurors," he growled, his magical eye spinning with agitation. "That's barely ten percent coverage, boy. Nowhere near enough to make a real difference."
"I'm aware of the mathematics, Auror Moody," Harry said carefully. "However, the price is already as low as I can reasonably set it without compromising the quality of materials or enchantments. Any lower and I might as well make them free—which would be financially impossible given the cost of basilisk skin and the time required for proper enchantment."
Not to mention that giving them away for free would probably make Fudge value them even less, Harry thought bitterly. Nothing's worth anything to politicians unless it costs them something.
"The boy has bigger problems than just a Minister who couldn't find his own arse with both hands and a map," Cassiopeia interjected smoothly, earning a reproachful look from Amelia for her crude but accurate assessment.
"What do you mean?" Tonks asked, her hair shifting to a curious yellow.
Amelia sighed, setting down her teacup with the delicate clink of china on china. "What Mrs. Greengrass means is that Minister Fudge's reluctance to properly equip our Aurors sends a message to the international magical community. Other countries observe our purchasing decisions closely."
"Precisely," Cassiopeia continued, examining Harry with those sharp eyes. "Italy has a contract with you—they're committed to their purchases regardless. But other nations? They'll look at Britain's token purchase and wonder if perhaps your talismans aren't as revolutionary as advertised. After all, if your own government won't invest in them..."
Harry felt his stomach drop. He'd been so focused on the immediate challenge of creating the talismans that he hadn't considered how Fudge's penny-pinching might affect his international reputation.
Bloody hell, he thought. They're right. If Britain won't buy them, why should anyone else? Italy already knows they work, but France? Russia? They might think this is all just clever marketing.
Cassiopeia cleared her throat delicately, the sound somehow managing to command attention despite its softness. "However, Mr. Potter, I believe I have an opportunity that might interest you."
Harry's diplomatic instincts immediately went on high alert. Beautiful women offering opportunities rarely came without significant strings attached—a lesson he'd learned from watching Ted navigate Ministry politics.
Andromeda's reaction was immediate. "Harry," she warned, her voice carrying the protective edge of a mother bear defending her cub, "any deal with Cassiopeia means selling a part of yourself to her. The Greengrass family doesn't do charity."
Cassiopeia's laughter was mocking. "Really, Andromeda, you need to calm down. I'm not some fairy tale villain here to steal the boy's soul. I'm offering a legitimate business arrangement."
"Let's hear her out first," Ted murmured quietly to his wife.
"Thank you, Edward," Cassiopeia said with a smile that could have charmed birds from trees. "Mr. Potter, I'm offering you a partnership with House Greengrass, specifically, with the Greengrass Foundation."
Harry's eyes widened fractionally before he caught himself. The Greengrass Foundation was legendary in magical business circles—a multi-national operation that had fingers in every profitable pie from London to Moscow. They didn't just move money; they moved mountains when it suited their purposes.
"What exactly would the Foundation do for me?" Harry asked, proud of how steady his voice remained.
"Help you find buyers," Cassiopeia replied simply. "Real buyers, not the handful of private collectors you've managed to interest so far."
"I sold thirty-eight talismans to private buyers," Harry pointed out, trying not to sound defensive.
"How cute," Cassiopeia said with a tone that made Harry want to demonstrate exactly how uncute a basilisk-skin talisman could be. "I'm talking about real distribution, Mr. Potter. The Foundation can put hundreds—possibly thousands—of your talismans into shops across Britain alone. We have established relationships with every major magical retailer from Diagon Alley to the smallest village apothecary."
She leaned forward slightly, her silk robes whispering against the chair. "Moreover, the Greengrass Foundation maintains alliances with distributors in France, Germany, and Spain. We could help you reach markets you couldn't even dream of accessing on your own. We're talking about potential earnings of hundreds of thousands of Galleons."
Too good to be true, Harry's mind immediately warned. When something sounds too good to be true, it usually comes with a price that makes your soul weep.
"What's your cut?" Harry asked bluntly, abandoning diplomatic niceties for direct negotiation.
"Typically, we take twenty-five percent of gross sales," Cassiopeia replied without hesitation. "However, given your unique position and potential, we could reduce that to twenty percent."
"Why can't I simply open my own shop?" Harry countered. "Cut out the middleman entirely?"
Cassiopeia's smile turned pitying, as if he'd asked why he couldn't simply fly to the moon on a broomstick. "You certainly could try. Of course, opening a shop requires Ministry permits, licenses, inspections... Tell me, Mr. Potter, are you willing to trust Minister Fudge to handle your application fairly? Or do you think he might use the opportunity to saddle you with a contract that would make a goblin loan shark blush?"
Harry didn't answer immediately, his mind racing through the implications. She was right, of course. Fudge would absolutely use any official interaction to try to control or limit him.
"I need time to think about this," Harry said finally.
"Of course you do," Cassiopeia agreed graciously. "Take all the time you need. The Foundation isn't going anywhere."
"The Foundation has always been good at profiting from others' work," Andromeda observed acidly. "Greengrass greed is legendary."
"We're not greedy," Cassiopeia replied with cool amusement. "We're practical. The world runs on gold, Andromeda. Even the Dark Lord himself needed funding for his operations."
The temperature in the room seemed to plummet. Harry's mind made the connection instantly—the Greengrass family had remained neutral during the war. They hadn't joined Voldemort's ranks, but they'd sent him gold to keep his attention elsewhere. Blood money, paid to keep their hands clean while others died.
Harry felt his magic stir with anger, but forced himself to remain composed. Don't act like a child, he told himself firmly. You're dealing with a predator. Show weakness and she'll eat you alive.
"I'll consider your proposal," Harry said with forced calm. "Thank you for the opportunity."
"Think as long as you need," Cassiopeia replied, clearly pleased that he hadn't rejected her outright. "The Foundation values patience in our partners."
The conversation shifted to safer topics after that. Tonks eagerly engaged Mad-Eye in discussion about Auror training, her enthusiasm making her hair cycle through various shades of excitement.
"I want to apply the moment I finish Hogwarts," she said earnestly. "I've already started preparing for the entrance examinations."
"What year are you in, girl?" Moody growled, though his tone held more interest than irritation.
"Starting my seventh year in September," Tonks replied proudly. "And I'll be seventeen even sooner—my birthday's in August."
"Metamorphmagus abilities would be useful in undercover work," Moody mused, his magical eye fixed on her with uncomfortable intensity. "But can you duel? Track? Think under pressure? Walk stealthily?"
As Tonks launched into an enthusiastic description of her training regimen, Harry noticed Andromeda and Cassiopeia had drifted toward the kitchen, their voices low but their body language suggesting tension.
Harry caught fragments of their conversation despite their attempts at privacy—something about old grudges and family obligations. The discussion grew more heated until Cassiopeia's voice cut through clearly:
"Why did you never retrieve your inheritance from the will?"
Even from the living room, Harry could feel the ice in Andromeda's response. "My family disowned me, Cassiopeia. Or did you conveniently forget that detail?"
There was a pause, then Cassiopeia's voice again, thoughtful: "What about Sirius Black?"
"What about him?" Andromeda's tone could have frozen hellfire. "He's rotting in Azkaban where he belongs. Let him rot."
Through the doorway, Harry saw Cassiopeia's expression shift to something like dawning realization. "I see," she murmured. "It can't be him... and not you... certainly not Narcissa nor that mad whore Bellatrix... so..."
Her gray eyes flicked toward the living room, landing briefly on Harry with an intensity that made his skin prickle. But she said nothing more, simply filing away whatever conclusion she'd reached.
What was that about? Harry wondered, but before he could analyze further, the kitchen door opened fully and both women returned.
The rest of the morning passed in relatively normal conversation, but Harry couldn't shake the feeling that Cassiopeia Greengrass had just uncovered something significant. The question was whether that discovery would prove to be an opportunity or a threat.
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