That said, the Imperius Curse cast by a second-year wizard isn't particularly strong to begin with, so it's hardly surprising that it triggered a breakthrough when it touched Ron's untouchable—his breaking point.
Harry watched them practice on each other with unrestrained glee, showing no intention of reining them in.
In fact, a hundred years ago, he'd had plenty of classmates who'd suffered at the hands of the Imperius Curse themselves.
There was, of course, another way to counter it: Occlumency.
But Harry hadn't learned it—after all, he'd only attended a few days of sixth-year classes before everything went sideways, leaving him no time to pick up that particular magic.
Besides, Occlumency wasn't exactly simple to master; it wasn't something a second-year student could grasp with ease.
So after some thought, Harry decided it was better to let them build a resistance to the curse—first, to get familiar with casting it, and second, to develop some resilience against having their souls yanked out of their bodies.
It was, admittedly, the clumsiest method—but also the simplest, and the most suitable for the delicate constitutions of second-year "babies."
Back in the day, Sebastian had secretly dragged them into practicing the Imperius Curse together during their fifth year, justifying it as a way to build resistance among his friends.
To people from a century ago, the Imperius Curse didn't actually seem all that evil.
At its core, it wasn't a spell that warped the mind—that's why Harry was fine with them practicing it.
Just a moment ago, Hermione had used it to make Ron dance a mechanical jig, and honestly, Harry had done the same thing once.
Back when he was sneaking around the crypt to practice the spell, he'd originally planned to team up with Gareth—but what he hadn't expected was Cassandra barging in and strong-arming him into training with her instead.
"You'd better train with me, Potter," Cassandra said, her haughty eyes sweeping over Harry from above. "Oh? What's this? Don't tell me you're unwilling—can't handle the fact that I'll have you at my mercy?"
With that, she shot a threatening glance at Gareth.
"No way! Harry's my best mate! I won't just sit here and let you torment him—"
Gareth didn't even finish his sentence before he felt the weight of ten gleaming Galleons pressed into his hand.
Ever the pragmatist, he pocketed the gold, turned on his heel with a cheerful grin, and left without so much as a goodbye to Harry, abandoning the crypt to the two of them.
I mean, Miss Malfoy's such a great person—how could she possibly torment Harry?
That said, just to be safe, it'd be wise to find someone to help out—preferably someone who could keep Malfoy in check. Hmm, why not that new girl, Grindelwald? She could come straighten Harry out.
With that thought, Gareth sauntered off, pleased with himself.
Harry looked up at Cassandra and shot back, "If anything, I'm more worried you're the one who can't handle it—"
"Watch yourself," Cassandra interrupted, her eyes narrowing with a slight upward flick. "Fine, Potter. Here's the deal: if you can successfully cast the Imperius Curse on me, I'll grant you one favor. How's that?"
Harry's guard went up. He had no idea what Cassandra was playing at.
"Well?"
When Harry didn't answer right away, Cassandra squinted at him and let out a scornful little laugh.
"Oh, I see. No guts, huh, Potter?"
"Who says I don't?" Harry snapped, yanking out his wand. "Bring it on, Miss Malfoy—"
Cassandra didn't give him a chance to react. With a flick of her wand, she cast, "Imperio!"
A wave of blissful warmth washed over Harry, his whole body tingling with contentment.
Seeing him like this, Cassandra leisurely settled into a chair, crossing her legs with an air of supreme confidence.
It was summer, and the heat had prompted her to wear a light gray pleated skirt paired with gray knee-high cotton socks.
Harry walked over to her side, dropped to his knees, and began massaging her legs…
Truth be told, Cassandra's legs were gorgeous—perfectly shaped, with the knee-high socks hugging them just right, accentuating a youthful, vibrant curve.
"Too light, Potter," he heard her say. "What's the matter—didn't you eat today, my little servant?"
Harry felt like he was coming down with something. Normally, he'd have leapt up and bolted away from Cassandra—so why was he now reveling in this, convinced that massaging Miss Malfoy's legs was the greatest happiness in the world?
Still…
Her legs were really soft, he thought.
Looking down at Harry, Cassandra felt a surge of smug satisfaction ripple through her.
Hmph…
Let's see you ogle that new Grindelwald girl now.
You wretched Potter! Am I not enough for you to look at?
Time to punish you properly!
But then, as her gaze fell on Harry's green eyes, her heart inexplicably softened.
Sigh…
"My neck's sore, Potter," she said again. "Come here and rub it for me."
"Alright."
Harry chirped happily, standing up and moving behind her to massage her shoulders.
"Hmm."
Cassandra chuckled softly, settling in to enjoy his ministrations.
Perhaps feeling the shirt too restrictive, she reached up with a delicate hand and undid the top button.
Harry didn't mean to look, but his eyes followed the line of Cassandra's slender, pale neck downward, catching a glimpse of the delicate collarbone peeking out from her shirt—
He swallowed hard.
For a fifteen-year-old boy, the impact was a bit overwhelming.
She's gorgeous, he thought. He'd happily spend forever massaging Miss Malfoy's shoulders.
"So, Potter," Cassandra's voice broke through his daze, catching him off guard as he kneaded her shoulders. He answered absently, "Yes, Miss Malfoy?"
"So, you're sticking around to practice with me because…"
She paused there.
"?" Harry had no clue what she meant.
"…because you're after something that doesn't belong to you?" she asked, as if it were a casual aside.
"What?" Harry still didn't get it.
But then, a sudden urge pulsed through him.
I like Cassandra, I like Cassandra, I like Cassandra!
I have to say it! I have to confess to her…
The feeling was so overpowering that Harry jolted, realizing something was off.
No way—how could I even think that?!
He snapped out of it, bolting outward like an arrow.
"No chance! Absolutely not!" Harry shouted, waving his hands in denial. "I, Harry Potter, would rather die—jump off the Defense Against the Dark Arts tower—than like you…"
For a fleeting moment, regret flickered across Cassandra's face before it hardened again.
"Self-flattery," she said, curling her lip. "Alright—your willpower's decent, I'll give you that. Your turn."
Harry felt an odd pang of emptiness.
It wasn't that he didn't like Cassandra—it was just that the gap between them felt too vast.
Come on, he was a sucker for looks, and Cassandra's beauty was top-tier across all of England.
Even after seeing countless actresses on TV in his future life, none of them held a candle to her.
To him, Cassandra shone like the sun—how could someone like that ever glance at a scrawny, underdeveloped weed like him?
"Potter, how long are you going to stand there daydreaming?" Cassandra tilted her head. "You silly little troll?"
"You're the troll!" Harry shot back, raising his wand at her. "Imperio!"
He waved his wand, compelling Cassandra to stand.
While they practiced in the crypt, Gareth was panting his way into the Great Hall.
He scanned the room and spotted Veratia sitting at the Slytherin table, engrossed in a book.
"Grindelwald, Grindelwald!" Gareth huffed as he jogged over, stopping behind her.
"What's the matter, Weasley?" Veratia looked up at him.
"Uh, I need you to do me a favor," Gareth said, bracing his hands on his knees.
"What favor?" Veratia didn't commit right away, preferring to hear him out first.
She knew Gareth was Harry's dormmate and best friend—if this was about Harry, she wouldn't mind lending a hand.
Luckily, the Great Hall was mostly empty, so Gareth leaned in, lowering his voice. "Harry and Malfoy are practicing the Imperius Curse—Merlin's beard, I'm worried she's going to hurt him. You've got to help…"
"What?" Veratia's heart skipped a beat. "Where are they?!"
Her urgency made Gareth feel a twinge of jealous resentment—toward Harry, naturally.
Ugh, why did his best mate have all the luck with girls?
He felt like he'd bitten into a lemon. He'd been pining after a certain Ravenclaw prefect for three whole years, and she wouldn't give him the time of day.
And Harry?
Quiet as a mouse, never chasing anyone, yet Malfoy was into him, and now this new transfer student too…
Oh, Gareth had known about Malfoy's thing for Harry since their first-year Christmas—he'd picked up on the signs.
It wasn't until third year, when Harry tagged along with the Malfoys to Vienna, that Gareth was sure of it.
Apparently, it wasn't just Miss Malfoy who liked him—even Septimus Malfoy, the head of the family, didn't seem to mind.
While Veratia questioned him, she inwardly wondered why Gareth had let Malfoy practice the Imperius Curse with Harry in the first place.
Then she noticed the Galleons clutched in his hand.
Hah…
Well played, Weasley. Looks like Malfoy bribed you with gold, didn't she?
She glanced at the coins—about ten, give or take.
Fine, Malfoy offered ten Galleons? Then I, Veratia, will double it!
She pulled twenty Galleons from her pocket, hesitated, then added thirty more.
No, double wasn't enough to sway Harry's loyal sidekick—she'd need to go big!
Don't be fooled by Veratia's usual thriftiness—she never skimped where it mattered.
"I need Harry's location, now," she said urgently, handing the Galleons to Gareth.
Gareth's eyes nearly popped out. He hadn't expected an even bigger player.
He'd thought Cassandra Malfoy was loaded, but this new transfer student was on another level?!
"Happy to serve, esteemed Miss Grindelwald," Gareth said, his eyes practically turning into Galleon shapes. "Right—Harry and Malfoy are in the crypt. You know the spot, the one with the cabinet Harry showed you…"
Veratia remembered—Harry had gotten an earful from Malfoy over that.
"I'm on it!" She tossed aside her ladylike composure, shoved her book into her pocket, and dashed out of the Great Hall.
Back in the crypt, Harry, having just cast the Imperius Curse on Cassandra, sauntered over to the chair and sat down, mimicking her earlier pose by crossing his legs high.
"Massage my legs!" he commanded.
The arrogance melted from Cassandra's face, replaced by a gentleness Harry had never imagined—didn't even dare to imagine.
"Yes, master," she said, kneeling beside him like a maid and beginning to rub his legs.
That single word—"master"—sent a shiver down Harry's spine, his muscles tensing as he pressed himself back into the chair, scrutinizing her expression.
If anything seemed off, he was ready to jump up and beg Miss Malfoy's forgiveness.
After all, he'd always been her little lackey—put nicely, though he figured "manservant" was closer to the truth.
Suddenly having the high-and-mighty lady he served massaging his legs? It left him a bit rattled.
But then he remembered—this was Imperius practice, and they'd agreed beforehand not to get mad.
So a sly thrill started creeping in.
This was the life, Harry thought, smugness bubbling up inside him.
Getting Miss Malfoy to massage his legs even once? Heh…
Not gonna lie, it felt pretty darn good.
Harry gleefully ordered Cassandra to rub his legs, then his shoulders, and finally had her perform a mechanical dance.
It was the trendiest dance from the era he'd crossed over from—an absolute chart-topper.
Once he'd had his fun, Harry lifted the curse.
No sooner had he done so than Cassandra snapped back to her usual imperious self.
She marched up to him, grabbed his tie, and pinned one knee against his leg, her eyes glinting with a dangerously sharp edge.
Harry stared at her in panic, flailing his hands. "We said no getting mad—"
But then Cassandra leaned in close, her warm, fragrant breath brushing his face.
"Need me to massage your legs, my little master?" Her tone and expression were dripping with menace.
She put extra emphasis on "master."
Just as Harry scrambled for a response, the crypt door swung open.
Veratia's first sight was this: Harry perched on the stool, Cassandra clutching his tie, her face inches from his—like they were about to kiss…
"What—what are you doing?!" she demanded, incredulous.
At the same time, a wave of relief washed over her.
Good thing she'd made it in time, or else…
"Doing what?" Cassandra's eyes narrowed as she spotted Veratia.
Hmph…
Little thief.
"As you can see," she said coolly.
With that, Cassandra slid her leg off Harry, released his tie, and stepped back.
"Well, I'm done with Potter," she said, strolling toward the door with a breezy gait. "But Grindelwald… if you're aiming to play the hero, I'd suggest arriving a tad earlier next time. If I were a dark witch, Potter might already be…"
She raised a hand, slender fingers curling together before blooming outward.
"Poof~"
With that, Cassandra pushed the door open, leaving behind a trail of silvery laughter.
"Harry," Veratia stepped forward, concern lacing her voice. "She—she didn't do anything to you, did she?"
"No worries, Miss Grindelwald," Harry replied. "Just practicing some harmless little curses, that's all."
He stood up from the chair.
"Alright," Veratia said softly. "But—we're friends, remember? You promised to call me Veratia last time."
"Right, sorry, Veratia," Harry said with an apologetic grin.
"Let's head out and take a break," she suggested. "We've still got that trip to the Forbidden Forest tonight—you haven't forgotten, right? We promised Jackdaw we'd help him rest in peace…"
With Veratia's reminder, Harry suddenly recalled that they still needed to help Jackdaw find the pages from his corpse.
This time, it was just the two of them assisting Jackdaw—originally, they'd wanted to invite Cassandra along to see it, but she'd rejected Harry's invitation to join them with palpable disdain.
Left with no choice, Harry set off with Veratia alone.
Of course, through this task of helping a restless spirit find peace, Harry and Veratia also discovered the map chamber beneath Hogwarts—a place Cassandra had referred to in a letter as "the house of love."
"Harry, Harry?"
Ron waved a hand in front of Harry's face. "Why're you zoning out again, mate?"
"Oh, just reminiscing about some old times," Harry said, flashing Ron a grin. "How's your practice going?"
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