Chapter 62: Old Ancestor Cassandra and the Bottle of Felix Felicis

Cassandra Malfoy?

Draco recalled the ancestor his father had mentioned just days ago.

Wait, didn’t she disappear?

“Are you really Cassandra?” Draco scribbled in the notebook.

“Yes.” The delicate handwriting reappeared.

“But… why?” Draco wrote, his confusion evident. “Why are you suddenly communicating with me through this notebook? Did you use some sort of dark magic to create it?”

“Magic is full of wonders, isn’t it?” the elegant handwriting replied.

Beneath that line, two more sentences quickly appeared: “Why don’t you tell me about yourself, my descendant? What is your relationship with Abraxas?”

“He was my grandfather. He’s already passed away,” Draco responded.

It took a moment for his words to vanish. Then he waited, becoming slightly impatient, until the graceful script returned.

“Oh, how unexpected... Time is truly merciless. When I left home, Abraxas was just a little boy.”

Seeing the text fade, Draco eagerly wrote, “So you really are my ancestor! I’ve heard so much about your heroic deeds from a century ago—quelling the goblin rebellion, defeating the Ash Snake cult—but Father never told me the details. Can you share them? I’m very eager to know about the glory of my ancestors.”

What a child so obsessed with family prestige…

The notebook stayed silent for a while before finally responding.

“I’m sorry, my descendant. This notebook is merely for recording magical insights; it cannot fulfill your wish.”

Draco felt a twinge of disappointment, but his attention was quickly captured by the phrase “magical insights.”

“Magical insights?” Draco wrote hastily. “Can you teach me, Ancestor? I know you were one of the most outstanding witches at Hogwarts in your time. With your guidance, I’m sure I can defeat Harry Potter!”

“Very well, my descendant.” The notebook agreed surprisingly readily. “If you’re serious about learning magic with me, defeating any classmate at Hogwarts will be a breeze.”

Draco was ecstatic, nearly jumping three feet in the air.

In his mind, he was already imagining what it would be like to defeat Harry Potter and dominate Slytherin.

“But…”

Draco’s daydreaming was interrupted by new words appearing on the notebook.

“You must follow my instructions. First and foremost, you must keep this a secret. If anyone covets this notebook and steals it from you, I won’t be able to teach you magic.”

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“Don’t worry, Ancestor,” Draco pledged solemnly.

“Also, I’ve left a few trinkets hidden in Hogwarts. If you help me find them, I’ll gladly share them with you,” the handwriting continued.

“Trinkets?” Draco was clearly uninterested. “It’s been a hundred years, Ancestor. I doubt your belongings have remained intact.”

“You cannot imagine the secrets of Hogwarts, my descendant,” the notebook replied. “The place where I stored them is absolutely inaccessible to others.”

“I don’t think it’s worth the risk. After all…”

Draco’s sentence vanished before he could finish writing.

It was replaced by the delicate script:

“Rest assured, my descendant. Aren’t you curious about the Merlin Relic stored in that chamber?”

“What’s its use?” Draco asked, now intrigued.

“Don’t you wonder why my magical prowess was so extraordinary?” the handwriting countered.

Draco’s thoughts quickly connected the dots based on the mention of the Merlin Relic.

“Could it be because of that Merlin Relic?!” Draco wrote hurriedly and sloppily.

“Yes, child,” the notebook replied.

“It was thanks to this item that I possessed magical abilities far beyond my peers.”

“I’ll help you, Ancestor.” Draco’s expression turned solemn as he resolved to fulfill this wish.

What he failed to notice was that as he conversed with the notebook, a faint magical force was slowly, almost imperceptibly, flowing from his hand into his brain.

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Hogwarts during Christmas was quieter than usual, but it didn’t feel any less lively.

Under the guidance of Professor McGonagall and Professor Flitwick, the students began decorating the Great Hall with Christmas ornaments.

The group of students staying at the castle bustled about, adding a festive cheer to the atmosphere.

The Weasley twins were busy teasing Percy, joking that the “P” on his sweater stood for “Prefect” rather than Percy. This prompted Percy to chase them with a book, attempting to swat them.

“You’re not allowed to hang out with the prefects today!” Fred yelled while running, “You have to spend Christmas with us—family comes first, you git!”

“Ah, youth…” Dumbledore mused from the high table, a bright floral bonnet perched on his head.

“I’m sure Dumbledore’s gay,” Ron whispered to Harry. “Look at that floral hat… seriously.”

“No way!” Harry scratched his head. “You can’t just say that because he’s wearing a bonnet. Maybe he’s just into cross-dressing? And even if he is gay, who could someone as brilliant as him possibly fall for?”

Ron didn’t respond, merely shrugging. His earlier comment was more a mix of intuition and playful banter.

Nearby, his rat, Scabbers, was busy burying its head in the Christmas feast, indulging to its heart’s content.

“Speaking of which, mate,” Ron said, shifting topics, “why don’t we have a snowball fight after dinner? Fred and George just invited me, and they insisted you join too.”

“I think we have more important things to do, Ron,” Harry said in a low voice. “Now that I’ve got this invisibility cloak, why not explore the castle?”

“Great idea!” Ron’s face lit up before quickly falling. “But the cloak only fits one person. I can’t come with you.”

“Don’t worry, Ron. I don’t need a cloak to turn invisible,” Harry said with a grin.

Now more comfortable in his eleven-year-old body, Harry’s magic had improved to the point where he could cast a Disillusionment Charm on himself without flaws.

Before Ron could reply, Hedwig swooped in, hooting softly as she flew into the hall.

“It’s Hedwig,” Ron said. “No wonder I haven’t seen her around—I thought you’d forgotten about her.”

“She’s probably delivering something.” Harry extended his hand, catching the small gift box Hedwig dropped as she soared down.

“Is it a Christmas present? Who’s it from?” Ron asked, leaning in curiously.

Harry picked up the little box, noting the absence of any tag or note.

“No name,” he said with a shrug.

Opening the gift, he found a small, crystal-clear vial inside.

“Well, I think I know who sent this,” Harry said immediately.

He recognized the contents of the gift right away—it was a small bottle of Felix Felicis.

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