"What's wrong with you?"
The next day, when Harry staggered out of bed near noon, his legs wobbling like noodles, Ron couldn't help but voice his soul-deep concern.
Earlier that morning, the entire Weasley clan had left Grimmauld Place, leaving behind only their youngest son, Ron, and the two twins who stubbornly refused to budge.
So, Harry wasn't too embarrassed. After all, not many people had witnessed his sorry state.
Sirius, on the other hand, caught sight of Harry's wobbly legs and let out a playful whistle.
"Looks like my godson's become a man, hasn't he?" he teased with a hearty chuckle. "So, how was it? Any profound insights? Perhaps… a speech on becoming an adult?"
"Ahem," Harry coughed twice, trying to mask his embarrassment. "It's really nothing. Food—uh, is there anything to eat? I'm starving."
"Oh, you definitely need to refuel that body of yours," Sirius said with a wink, sauntering out of the living room to instruct Kreacher to whip up something hearty and nutritious for Harry.
Ron, utterly baffled, had no idea what cryptic conversation was unfolding between the two.
"What are you guys talking about?" he asked, his face a picture of confusion.
"Nothing," Harry replied, patting Ron's shoulder with a knowing look. "You'll understand in a few years—actually, maybe not that long."
Leaving Ron to puzzle over the cryptic remark, Harry grabbed a teacup and ambled into the dining room.
Veratia had already left Grimmauld Place that morning, but not before leaving a note on Harry's bedside table.
In essence, it told him to rest well, replenish his strength, and promised she'd return when she had time.
Harry scratched his head, still savoring the lingering thrill of last night.
After all, it was his first time—his first time—and feeling a bit insatiable was only human, wasn't it?
As he ate, his mind wandered.
Veratia's waist… how was it that tiny?
Especially from behind—it was downright breathtaking.
Last night, it had all started with Veratia taking the lead.
But as a high-damage, low-defense big sister, after one round of "combat" with Harry, she'd completely lost her edge. Harry had turned the tables, dominating the battlefield and flipping their roles entirely.
"What're you thinking about?"
Sirius returned with a plate of food, setting it in front of Harry.
"Human nature," Harry quipped. Sirius immediately read the expression on his godson's face, clapping him on the shoulder with a knowing grin. "But you're still young—not mentally, mind you, but physically. You're not quite ready for… high-intensity activities, if you catch my drift."
"Got it, Sirius. Thanks," Harry said, taking his godfather's advice to heart. After all, Sirius was the true master of the romantic battlefield.
Sirius gave Harry's shoulder another pat and left him to his thoughts.
That afternoon, Cassandra arrived at Grimmauld Place.
The moment she stepped into the house, something felt… off.
But she couldn't quite put her finger on what it was.
Unbeknownst to her, Veratia had already stolen a march on her.
That evening, when Veratia returned to Grimmauld Place and saw Cassandra, her disappointment was palpable.
Hmph…
With Cassandra here, there'd be no chance for her and Harry to… continue where they'd left off.
Harry was a bit disappointed too, but his biggest problem wasn't figuring out how to shoo Cassandra away to rekindle things with Veratia. No, it was how to charm Cassandra into joining the fray alongside Veratia.
Wouldn't that be delightful?
What Harry didn't expect was that, in the dead of night, Veratia slipped stealthily into his bedroom.
"Are you insane?" Harry hissed, his pupils shrinking as he stared at the beauty straddling him. "Cassandra's in the next room! How could you—how dare you sneak in like this?"
"And what if I did?" Veratia pressed a hand to Harry's chest, tossing her head to flick her hair aside. With a deft motion, she unbuttoned her blazer, revealing a tight white shirt underneath.
"Perhaps…" she purred, letting out a soft moan as she arched her graceful neck like a swan struck by an arrow.
Under Harry's stunned gaze, her flushed face dipped closer.
"Like this? Should we give Cass a little… participation?"
Harry, struggling to keep his composure, managed to choke out, "You're absolutely wild…"
"Only for you," Veratia said with a seductive wink.
As she leaned in closer, Harry's final words slipped out.
"Don't take off the shirt. Put on the glasses!"
Cassandra felt like she'd been trapped in a nightmare—a long, dreadful nightmare.
In it, she was horrified to discover that Harry had been completely devoured by that wretched woman.
Worst of all, as they carried on, they shot her smug, triumphant looks.
She woke up in a rage, her flat chest heaving with indignation.
This was too much…
She glanced out the window. It was the middle of the night.
Maybe…
That woman was in Harry's room right now?
The more Cassandra thought about it, the more something felt wrong. She had to do something.
Throwing off the covers, she slipped on her slippers and crept to the door.
Tiptoeing to Harry's room, she pressed her ear against the door…
Wait, what was that sound?!
Furious, she flung open the door, only to be met with the exact scene from her nightmare.
Especially when they both turned to her, flashing those smug, victorious smiles…
It was unbearable.
And then—she woke up.
She glanced out the window. Still the middle of the night.
Wait, what?
Cassandra ruffled her hair. Another dream?
This time, she pinched her arm to be sure.
Ouch!
That hurt.
Convinced it wasn't a dream, she threw off the covers, slipped on her slippers, and crept to the door again.
Tiptoeing back to Harry's room, she pressed her ear to the door…
Hmm…
Silence.
It seemed this wasn't a dream after all.
But… something still felt off.
Suspicious, Cassandra pushed the door open just a crack, enough to peek inside.
On the bed, Harry was fast asleep, even snoring softly.
Relieved, Cassandra let out a sigh.
Whew…
It must've been a case of day thoughts turning into night dreams. She'd been too worried about that woman stealing Harry away, hence the nightmare.
Comforted by this thought, she returned to her room, slipped on her Slytherin-themed snake-green sleep cap, and drifted back into a cozy slumber.
The next morning, as Cassandra sat in the dining room, she caught Sirius giving her a wistful glance.
"What's up, godfather?" she asked casually.
"Nothing," Sirius replied tightly. "Just… eat less salad in the morning. It's not great for you."
He was referring to the pile of green leafy vegetables on her plate.
"Oh, and you forgot to take off your hat," Sirius added, pointing to her head.
Cassandra realized she was still wearing her sleep cap.
Just then, Harry entered the dining room, followed by Mr. Weasley and Percy arriving at Grimmauld Place.
"Urgent business, Sirius," Mr. Weasley said, brandishing a copy of The Daily Prophet. "Look at this! The Prophet's spouting nonsense again!"
Veratia, already seated in the dining room, called out to Mr. Weasley. "Could you pass me the paper? I'd like to see what it says…"
They all gathered in the Black family's spacious kitchen, large enough for them to chat comfortably. Hermione brewed Sirius a strong cup of tea, into which he insisted on pouring a splash of Ogden's Old Firewhisky.
Mr. Weasley handed the paper to Veratia.
Veratia skimmed the article while Cassandra stood up, peering over her shoulder to read along.
"I knew it," Veratia said, unable to suppress a laugh. "The Ministry's in a panic… criminals still at large… lax security… dark wizards roaming free… bringing shame to the nation… Who wrote this? Oh, of course… Rita Skeeter."
Say what you will, but Rita Skeeter's article was right up Veratia's alley.
It was exactly the outcome she wanted—a chance to undermine her enemies, Barty Crouch and Minister for Magic Cornelius Fudge.
"That woman's always stirring trouble with the Ministry!" Percy fumed. "Last week, she said we should've focused on wiping out vampires instead of nitpicking over cauldron thickness! Doesn't paragraph twelve of the Guidelines for the Treatment of Non-Wizard Part-Humans clearly state—"
"Give it a rest, Percy," Fred interrupted with a yawn. "Enough already."
"They mentioned Dad," Veratia said, looking up from the article's closing lines toward Mr. Weasley.
"They mentioned Dad?" Ron's head shot up, his tone worried.
"Not by name," Veratia said, adjusting her gold-rimmed glasses. "Listen to this: 'Wizards stood in panic, holding their breath by the forest's edge, hoping for reassurance from the Ministry—only to be sorely disappointed.'
'Shortly after the Dark Mark appeared, a Ministry official emerged, claiming no one was harmed but refusing to provide further details. Whether his words will quell the rumors of several bodies being carried out of the forest an hour later remains to be seen.'
"Oh, for heaven's sake," Mr. Weasley said, slamming a fist on the table. "No one was harmed! What am I supposed to say? Rumors of bodies being carried out of the forest… Now that she's written this, the rumors will spread like wildfire!"
He let out a heavy sigh.
"This needs clearing up, or the British wizarding world will become an international laughingstock—"
"I should go with you, Dad," Percy said proudly. "Mr. Crouch will need everyone in their places, and I can personally deliver my cauldron report to him…"
"No need to be so eager, Weatherby," the twins said in unison, rolling their eyes.
At the mention of "Weatherby," Percy felt a wave of suffocation.
That nickname was likely to haunt him for life—unless the twins suddenly dropped dead, he'd never escape it.
"What should we do?" Mr. Weasley asked. "If I recall, Sirius, you and Rita Skeeter—"
He chose his words carefully. "You're on decent terms with her, aren't you? Could you convince her to print a clarification?"
"Sorry, Arthur," Sirius said regretfully. "You know as well as I do that The Daily Prophet doesn't bow to anyone."
Mr. Weasley sighed. Sirius wasn't wrong. If the Prophet caved to the Ministry's pressure, it wouldn't be the Prophet.
"So what do we do now?" Percy asked, scratching his head in frustration.
"If I may," Hermione interjected. "If you want to bury one story, you cover it with a bigger one…"
She knew full well that Rita Skeeter was already in Veratia's pocket.
But Hermione had changed. In her eyes, Veratia was a closer ally than the Minister for Magic.
I know him, but does he know me?
"A bigger story?" Percy's eyes lit up.
"Exactly. A bigger story," Hermione said. "Think about it—what could that be? It's Muggle journalism and politics, but politics are universal. Muggles don't lag behind anyone in that game."
"Can't we just deny it outright? Issue a clarification?" Percy asked, sucking his teeth.
"Even I know," Hermione said, rolling her eyes and holding up a finger. "The first law of politics: only the news officially denied is believable."
"Then what do we do?" Mr. Weasley asked. "Just let the rumors fester?"
"That's why I suggested finding a bigger story to overshadow the World Cup fiasco," Veratia said, crossing her arms on the table and leaning back slightly, her head resting against Cassandra's chest.
"Like what?" Percy asked eagerly.
"For example…" Veratia held up a finger. "A story about Voldemort. First, you claim Voldemort's about to return. Then, you provide compelling evidence he won't return, debunking the rumor. By then, the World Cup story will be drowned out by the distraction."
Percy considered it for a moment before shaking his head vehemently. "Absolutely not!"
"Or…" Veratia continued, "how about a scandal involving the Minister for Magic? That's a great way to divert attention."
"Even less likely," Mr. Weasley said, rolling his eyes. "Fudge cares more about his reputation than any actual achievements. The moment trouble brews, he's out the door."
"Then… what else can we do?" Percy was genuinely desperate.
Seeing his anxiety, Veratia flashed a devilish smile.
"There is a way," she said. "But… it might make you rather upset."
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