Chapter 39: Cassandra's Letter

“Cool!” Ron’s eyes lit up. “Can I?”

“Why not?” Harry shrugged.

Children at this age are always easily influenced by those around them.

Under Harry and Hermione’s subtle guidance, Ron had gradually shed the rebellious attitude he’d shown at the start of the term.

For a young wizard like Ron, studying Potions or Transfiguration might not spark much interest—but learning some minor curses? That was a whole different story.

Just imagine casting a few clever curses at Malfoy’s smug face. How satisfying would that be?

“But we’ll need a suitable place to practice spells,” Hermione said with a touch of concern. “The Gryffindor common room doesn’t allow magic…”

“I’ve got it covered,” Harry assured her.

The next day, Harry decided to investigate the dungeon, careful not to draw any attention.

Ron and Hermione provided perfect excuses—finding a proper place to practice spells. Taking advantage of their classmates being occupied at the banquet in the Great Hall, Harry quietly made his way to the Defense Against the Dark Arts classroom and located the dungeon entrance.

The entrance resembled a cabinet with four clock-like dials on the door. To pass through, the dials had to be aligned in specific directions.

Drawing his wand, Harry adjusted the dials, following the method Sebastian had taught him.

When the last pointer clicked into place, the door swung open with a loud creak, revealing the dungeon beyond.

Harry stepped inside, momentarily disoriented by the familiar sensation of dizziness, and surveyed the space.

The dungeon, Harry thought, seemed untouched for years. Thick layers of dust coated every surface, and the air was heavy and stale.

Wrapping a scarf around his nose to avoid breathing in the stirred-up dust, Harry refrained from using a Cleaning Charm. He didn’t want to risk erasing potential clues during the cleanup.

The dungeon earned its name—it lay at the very base of the Defense Tower, with only faint shafts of light filtering in through the skylight above.

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Taking out his wand, Harry lit the braziers and torches, illuminating the dark chamber.

He approached a nearby desk, brushing aside the thick dust with his wand. To his surprise, he discovered a letter, its handwriting unmistakably Cassandra’s.

Excitement flickered as he picked it up, but the passage of time had blurred much of the writing. With careful effort, Harry managed to decipher it:

> “I think Veratia Grindelwald is truly insane. Time is forbidden magic, something even Merlin dared not tamper with. When she emerges from that so-called ‘Love Shack’ with Potter, I hope you can dissuade her. Ancient magic isn’t omnipotent.

>

> — C.C. Malfoy”

Harry’s heart raced.

Time magic?

Could it be that Veratia had attempted to use time magic to find him after his disappearance?

If Cassandra was correct, Veratia had likely failed—with grave consequences.

This would explain why the name of Gellert Grindelwald had echoed through history, while no word of his sister ever emerged. Veratia, with her unwavering loyalty to family, wouldn’t have abandoned them willingly.

Could she have been trapped somewhere?

Harry’s mind lingered on Cassandra’s biting remark. The “Love Shack” was her nickname for the Chamber of Secrets, as only inheritors of ancient magic could freely enter.

Pocketing the letter, Harry’s determination hardened. He needed to uncover the truth and harness the artifact within the Chamber to awaken ancient magic. Perhaps he could even approach the headmaster for help.

For now, Harry set the matter aside. Among the dungeon’s contents, he found several thick books on dueling techniques, which he tucked into a pocket enchanted with a Disillusionment Charm before slipping out unnoticed.

Returning to Gryffindor Tower, he placed the books in front of Hermione, who was meticulously reviewing Ron’s homework.

“You made another mistake here,” Hermione corrected, pointing at Ron’s parchment with a teacher-like precision.

“Oh,” Ron muttered, looking sheepish.

Noticing Harry’s return, Ron quickly switched the topic.

“Harry! You’re back! Did you find anything?—Oh, and Hermione checked your homework and marked the mistakes. It’s over there.”

Harry glanced in the direction Ron indicated, spotting his own work with neat red marks. He and Ron had convinced Hermione to review their homework, but Hermione had flatly refused to let Ron copy hers.

“Harry, you only have a few gaps in your History of Magic essay,” Hermione said sharply, before turning to Ron with a glare. “And you, Ronald! Look at your mistakes! How many times have I told you? It’s ‘Leviosa,’ not ‘Levio-sar!’”

“Oh,” Ron muttered again, puffing out his cheeks in frustration.

“I found it,” Harry said, steering the conversation away from Ron’s blunders. “We’ll head there later. Look at these books I found.”

“Dueling Strategies of the 19th Century, Harmless Little Curses…” Hermione’s eyes sparkled with curiosity as she examined the titles. “Good heavens, Harry, these aren’t in the library!”

“How do you know?” Harry asked instinctively.

Hermione shot him a pointed look, and he understood—never question the overachievers.

She opened Harmless Little Curses, her expression curious. A moment later, she slammed it shut, her face pale as if she’d seen a ghost.

“Good heavens, you call these ‘Harmless Little Curses’?!” she hissed.

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