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It turned out that even Dumbledore had developed an immunity to Gellert’s words.

He wasn’t entirely oblivious to Senior Grindelwald, but in his view, there was no way she could be as Gellert described—hoarding dark magical artifacts and potentially becoming another Grindelwald, leader of a wizarding supremacist movement. So, he dismissed Gellert’s “nonsense” outright. Knowing Gellert well, Dumbledore chalked it up to the antics of an attention-seeking troublemaker.

In truth, his assessment wasn’t too far off…

Veratia, studying in the Muggle world, was completely unaware of the grand schemes her younger brother was concocting on her behalf.

After a few days of classes in the Muggle world, she returned to Hogwarts once more, casually checking in. Thanks to the Time-Turner, that marvelous device, she calculated that by the time she graduated from Hogwarts next year, she’d also earn her degree from a Muggle university.

During dinner, Veratia proudly showed off a small gift she’d bought from the Muggle world to Harry.

“What’s this?” Harry asked, holding a small figurine, his curiosity piqued.

“It’s a souvenir from a concert I went to,” Veratia said with a cheerful grin.

Harry examined the figurine. It had an Asian aesthetic—black hair, black eyes.

“Oh, isn’t this Miss Yuki Morikawa?” Hermione leaned in, her eyes sparkling with excitement. “It’s her figurine… Veratia, did you actually go to her concert?”

“Oh, yeah, I think that’s her name,” Veratia said, raising an eyebrow. “It’s a bit of a mouthful, but her songs were great. I think it was called White Album—you know, like a white photo album. I wish they had an English or German version.”

“I see,” Hermione said, her eyes still gleaming with admiration.

“Here, if you like it so much, it’s yours,” Veratia said, taking the figurine from Harry and pressing it into Hermione’s hands.

“Oh, no, I couldn’t!” Hermione hesitated. “You got this for Harry…”

At that, Veratia couldn’t help but laugh. “He’s just a kid. Why would I buy him a figurine of a woman? I only showed it to him for fun. Since you like it, take it—don’t worry, Harry won’t mind.”

Harry nodded. “I really don’t mind.”

He had no attachment to the figurine anyway.

“But Miss Morikawa’s love life is quite complicated,” Hermione said, fiddling with the figurine and muttering under her breath. “I heard she and her best friend both fell for the same man, but she lost out completely… After that, she threw herself into her career.”

“Why’s that?” Veratia asked, raising an eyebrow.

“I’ve heard some rumors,” Hermione continued. “It seems Miss Morikawa was so focused on her career that she neglected her boyfriend’s feelings, and that’s how Miss Ogata swooped in…”

Veratia suddenly felt there was more to Hermione’s words than met the eye.

Too busy with work, neglecting her boyfriend’s feelings? She scoffed inwardly. Clearly, their relationship wasn’t strong enough to begin with. If their love was truly unshakeable, would a best friend have been able to steal him away?

It was just a small incident, and Veratia didn’t dwell on it.

Time flew by, and soon it was May.

May at Hogwarts was a time of blooming grass and singing birds, the essence of early spring. Even so, the mornings and evenings still carried a frosty chill. The wind seemed to sneak into collars and under arms, forcing everyone to bundle up in thick clothing to ward off the cold.

Professor Snape had assigned a lengthy essay, and the students groaned as if someone had stuffed a nest of Nifflers into their beds. No one wanted to do homework—except Hermione, the academic overachiever who seemed to thrive on it.

“Hermione,” Ron whispered in the Great Hall, “can’t you just let me copy your essay? Merlin’s beard, it’s torture! Eleven inches—how am I supposed to finish that?”

“No way!” Hermione said sternly. “Ron, your homework is your own. What do you gain by copying mine?”

“Happiness,” Ron replied without hesitation.

“That’s not real happiness, Ronald!” Hermione slammed her hand on the table. “If you don’t want to get punished by Professor Snape in class, you’d better write it yourself!”

Ron pouted reluctantly, muttering under his breath as he lowered his head.

“Just do it yourself, Ron,” Harry said, trying to encourage his friend. “The time you spend begging Hermione for her essay could’ve been spent finishing it.”

“But it’s eleven inches!” Ron exclaimed. “How are we supposed to get through that?”

“Why don’t you just… widen the spaces between the words?” Seamus suggested from the side. “Look, like this—stretch out the gaps a bit. But be careful not to make them too obvious, or Snape will notice. Keep it just right, like I do.”

Ron mulled it over and realized it was a brilliant idea.

“Genius, Seamus,” Ron said sincerely. “Why didn’t I think of that? Merlin…”

As it turned out, Seamus’s method was flawless. Professor Snape had specified the essay’s length, not the word count. Those slightly wider spaces between words could easily save a couple hundred words in total.

Seamus was undeniably a genius.

“I really think you two shouldn’t resort to such underhanded tricks,” Hermione said, frowning. “I’m sure Professor Snape will notice your little scheme, and when he makes you write an extra essay, you’ll regret it.”

“Don’t worry, that greasy old bat won’t notice,” Ron said dismissively.

“Well, well…”

Snape’s oily voice slithered from behind him.

Ron’s face froze in terror, as if he’d just seen a giant spider. Trembling, he turned to meet Snape’s piercing black eyes.

“An excellent suggestion, Miss Granger,” Snape said. “Gryffindor will earn one point for your advice.”

After awarding Hermione a point, Snape turned his gaze to Ron, looking at him as if he were a particularly revolting slug.

“As for you, Mr. Weasley, you will submit two additional eleven-inch essays. And let me be clear—no copying from your classmates. I will be scrutinizing your work closely.”

“Furthermore, Gryffindor will lose five points for your slander of a professor behind his back.”

With that, Snape glided away.

“I think next time you shouldn’t badmouth Professor Snape in the Great Hall,” Hermione said, patting Ron’s shoulder sympathetically. “At least wait until you’re back in the Gryffindor common room. He can’t follow you there, can he?”

Then, lowering her voice, she added, “But I can help you with one of the essays. I’ll write it, but you’ll have to copy it by hand.”

“Thanks, Hermione,” Ron said, his eyes brimming with grateful tears.

He’d rather perform a tap dance with a giant spider than write Potions essays. They were pure torture.

Lately, Harry had been searching for Merlin’s relics. But with Snape’s essay looming, he decided to return to Hogwarts and finish it before continuing his quest. It wasn’t that he feared Snape—he just didn’t want to give him an excuse to dock points.

Harry knew all too well about the bad blood between his godfather and Snape. Given the chance, Snape would probably deduct a thousand points from Gryffindor just for Harry skipping an assignment, maybe even tacking on charges like “disrespecting a professor.”

While writing his essay by the Black Lake, Harry was interrupted by Poppy Sweating.

“Harry, Harry!” Poppy tugged at his sleeve with her mouth. “Come play with me! Come on, play with me!”

“I’m working on my essay, Poppy,” Harry said helplessly.

“I’ll help you write it!”

Before he could protest, Poppy snatched his essay parchment in her mouth and hid it somewhere.

“Where’d you put it?” Harry asked, searching her but finding nothing.

“Hahaha, Harry, stop tickling me!” Poppy giggled, tossing her head back. “If you play with me, I’ll help you with your essay. It’s a fair deal, right?”

“You…” Harry started to say she couldn’t possibly write with hooves, but he swallowed his words.

He wanted to treat Poppy like a normal person, to make her feel useful and needed, to avoid stirring up her painful memories.

“Alright, deal,” Harry said, ruffling her face. “You help with my essay, and I’ll play with you.”

“Yay!” Poppy pranced with joy.

Harry spent the day playing with her on the outskirts of the Forbidden Forest. When it was time to part, Poppy looked reluctant.

“When you’re tired, come play again,” she said softly. “Don’t overwork yourself. Finding Cassandra isn’t something you can do in a day or two. Don’t wear yourself out.”

“Got it,” Harry said, waving as he left.

That night, in a tent, Poppy sat cross-legged on the ground, a quill in her mouth as she scribbled on parchment.

“Let me help, Aunt Poppy,” Newt said, feeling a pang of sympathy.

He couldn’t understand why Harry would let a unicorn write his essay. Wasn’t that just exploiting her?

“No, this is the task Harry gave me!” Poppy said earnestly. “You all see me as a ghost or a unicorn—only Harry treats me like a real person…”

Her mouth moved, and the quill fell to the ground with a clatter.

“Oh no, the nib’s broken!” Poppy wailed.

Newt sighed, casting Reparo to fix the quill.

Harry doesn’t treat you like a person, Newt muttered under his breath.

“This body is so useless,” Poppy said sadly. “If I had hands, could I do so much more?”

At the end of May, Harry participated in the Quidditch match as scheduled. It was a straightforward game against Hufflepuff. In the fourteenth minute, Harry caught the Golden Snitch, securing a 190-40 victory for Gryffindor.

Veratia had returned from the Muggle world just for the match. As a Slytherin, she sat at the Slytherin table, waving a flag cheering for Gryffindor’s Quidditch team and shouting for Harry.

The other Slytherins didn’t dare protest. After all, this was a Grindelwald girl—they knew they couldn’t take her on. Slytherins were pragmatic; if they couldn’t win, they’d join in. So, spurred by Miss Grindelwald, some Slytherins reluctantly cheered for Harry too.

Draco, however, seemed genuinely enthusiastic, waving both arms and shouting for Harry. Others thought he was impressed by Harry’s skill, but only Draco knew he was cheering for his future great-uncle-in-law!

The victory put Oliver Wood in high spirits. To him, this was another year poised for a Quidditch Cup win. As long as Harry, their star Seeker, was on the team, they’d never lose—not even against Slytherin.

“All you’ve got is a good Seeker,” Slytherin students grumbled, glaring at Oliver Wood. Marcus Flint even taunted him to his face.

Wood just grinned. “Yeah, so why doesn’t Slytherin have one?”

That single retort silenced not only the Slytherins but also the Ravenclaws.

Hufflepuffs, however, were unbothered. To them, Cedric Diggory was already outstanding. It wasn’t that Cedric wasn’t skilled—Harry was simply a freak of nature.

Met the Gryffindor Quidditch team, their Seeker’s a monster, no chance even with all our effort.

Over the past few months, Harry had scoured nearly all of Scotland for Merlin’s relics. They did indeed seem to recharge over time, appearing just as they had when he first undertook the Merlin Trials with Cassandra. But his supply of Mallowsweet leaves was running low. To get more, he’d need to visit Diagon Alley or Knockturn Alley.

Since he’d been away from Hogwarts so often, Colin’s obsession with him seemed to have waned. Now, Colin was like a wild dog off its leash, roaming the school with his camera, snapping photos of everyone tirelessly.

The other students didn’t mind—free photos were always welcome. Muggle cameras could produce moving pictures too, but only if treated with a special potion, turning a static JPG into a GIF.

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