HRHL# Chapter 154: You Really Deserve to Die, Harry {2}

He and most of his friends were now separated by the divide of life and death.

Harry folded the letter and tucked it behind Gareth’s notebook.

He particularly remembered Gareth’s words: a good brother would usually just tease him, but never truly deceive him—though how had Gareth known with such certainty that Cassandra would travel back a hundred years to find him?

Harry didn’t dwell on it too much, though. That detail wasn’t important. What mattered was that even someone as dense as his good brother Gareth had seen through Cassandra’s desire to come forward a century to find him—so why hadn’t he realized it himself back then?

Harry sighed, feeling a pang of melancholy mixed with deep emotion.

The melancholy came from knowing he’d never see Gareth again, while the emotion stemmed from the fact that his good brother had genuinely cared about him.

With that thought, he opened the notebook.

On the first page was a record of Gareth’s income and expenses.

So, it’s a ledger, he thought.

A first-year’s ledger, huh. Pocket money: one Galleon, twelve Sickles, and three Knuts—that was all Gareth had for an entire term.

Harry felt a bit puzzled. It seemed the Weasley family wasn’t well-off a hundred years ago either, so how did they end up with so much money later?

Musing over this, he turned the page.

Christmas: Income, 10 Galleons.

Note: Harry’s my good brother—how could I abandon him and go home for Christmas? But Miss Malfoy offered way too much. Heaven bless her.

Oh, and bless Harry too, by the way.

There was another short note further down, explaining that Miss Malfoy had given him 50 gold Galleons to run an errand and buy fireworks.

Harry could tell Gareth had written those words with absolute sincerity—the pressure of his quill had been so strong it bled through to the back of the page.

Harry: ...

Wait a second?

Something’s off here.

Hold up, mate—you went home for Christmas because Miss Malfoy paid you ten gold Galleons?

Harry felt a twinge of anguish, as if the little boat of his friendship with Gareth was starting to capsize.

He recalled Gareth’s seemingly genuine concern at the door, then pictured Cassandra’s haughty face.

Was this part of your plan too, Cassandra?

Harry kept reading.

“Summer break: Miss Malfoy gave me twenty Galleons to keep my mouth shut—Merlin’s beard, she’s so generous. How could someone as kind and generous as her ever treat Harry badly?”

Harry: ...

Oh, so that’s how it was.

The entries went on like this: 10 Galleons at Christmas to send Gareth home quickly, and 20 Galleons in the summer to keep him quiet.

With such small sums, how had Gareth managed to save up over twenty thousand Galleons?

Harry was baffled.

That is, until he reached the fifth-year entries.

There was no denying it—fifth year was when Gareth’s fortunes truly took off. Because that year, it wasn’t just Cassandra—it was Veratia too.

Here’s how it unfolded:

“Hard to believe, but besides Miss Malfoy, there’s another generous lady—she’s outrageously generous, always offering double what Miss Malfoy pays to get info about Harry.”

“Merlin’s beard, a hundred gold Galleons to give her a detailed rundown of Harry’s likes and dislikes. I was just… uh, um, Harry? Who’s Harry? Oh, he’ll be fine.”

“But I don’t think I should keep this up. I ought to tell Miss Malfoy—tell her there’s a Miss Grindelwald who’s got her eye on Harry.”

“As for Harry? He’ll be fine.”

“When practicing the Imperius Curse, Miss Malfoy gave me ten Galleons to stay away from Harry—ha, Harry thought I was staunchly defending him, but little did he know, I’d already sold my soul to the Galleons…”

“Honestly, though, more than the Galleons, I’d love to see Harry stuck between those two, squirming—haha, that blockhead.”

“But I’m definitely not settling for just ten Galleons. After leaving, I told Miss Grindelwald about Harry being alone with Miss Malfoy, and naturally—I got fifty Galleons as a reward.”

“In the Great Hall, watching sparks fly between Miss Malfoy and Miss Grindelwald over Harry, I felt such a sense of accomplishment! Merlin’s beard!”

“Merlin’s beard, I think I might be a bit twisted—but I’m so thrilled!”

“And so, I became the eyes and ears for both Miss Malfoy and Miss Grindelwald, helping them vie for Harry’s time. Especially during fifth-year Christmas, after Miss Malfoy got mad at Harry, Miss Grindelwald actually gave me a chance to spend time alone with Miss Wendice from Ravenclaw as a reward for convincing Harry to spend Christmas with her in the Austro-Hungarian Empire.”

By this point, Harry’s fists were clenched.

Well, well, well—so there was a shameless traitor right under his nose!

No wonder Cassandra could track his every move so precisely, and Veratia always showed up at the perfect moment when he was alone with Cassandra…

It was you all along, you little sneak!

But as he read on, Harry froze.

“Still, I turned it down. Harry had obviously upset Miss Malfoy, and I felt I should do something to keep him from completely siding with the other one—so I decided to work for Miss Malfoy for free.”

“But sadly, Miss Malfoy was too pathetic and got thoroughly trounced by the sudden arrival of Miss Grindelwald… So I figured it was time to root for the underdog and join team childhood friend.”

“Except, not long into sixth year, Harry vanished, and my plans couldn’t go any further—Merlin’s beard, if Harry hadn’t disappeared, I could’ve kept this balancing act going and been happy forever…”

“But honestly, I felt bad for Harry too—after all, Miss Grindelwald and Miss Malfoy are both so outstanding. It’s genuinely tough to choose.”

And that’s where the notes ended.

Harry was equal parts furious and amused—furious that his so-called good brother had played him for so long, and amused that neither Cassandra nor Veratia had noticed Gareth’s invisible hand stirring the pot.

Brilliant, Gareth.

Who’d have thought—Gareth, with his bushy brows and big eyes, was a total mischief-maker.

Harry sighed and closed the notebook with a helpless shrug.

What could he even say?

But he wasn’t foolish enough to march into the Room of Requirement with the notebook and confront Veratia—there wasn’t much to confront, anyway.

Blame Gareth? Well… not entirely.

He just had a bit of a twisted sense of fun. Deep down, in a place Harry wouldn’t admit to himself, he was actually kind of grateful.

Of course, what exactly he wouldn’t admit, Harry certainly wasn’t about to dwell on.

Putting the notebook away, Harry decided to step outside for some fresh air.

A little breeze wouldn’t hurt, right, Scabbers?

Harry reached down and scooped up the passing rat, holding it up to meet his gaze.

But for some reason, the moment he lifted Scabbers, the rat let out a screech like a strangled chicken.

“What’s wrong with you?” Harry quickly set it back down, worried he’d somehow hurt the old rodent.

Scabbers couldn’t exactly speak human, though—at least, it didn’t seem like he could. Once on the ground, he bolted off without giving Harry a chance to stop him.

“Harry?”

Ron’s voice came from behind, sounding groggy and half-asleep.

The night before, they’d stayed up late playing Wizard’s Chess in the common room.

They were only second-years, after all—being a bit playful was perfectly normal.

“Did you see my Scabbers?” Ron asked, rubbing his eyes.

“He just scurried by me,” Harry said honestly. “I picked him up, and he started squeaking like he was terrified. After I put him down, he ran off somewhere.”

“Oh, that’s how it is,” Ron nodded. “That rat’s a bit of a coward—we all know that. Oh well, he’ll come back eventually, won’t he?”

“Yeah,” Harry nodded. “I think you’re right. He’ll come back.”

After dinner, much to everyone’s anticipation, Professor Lockhart’s Duelling Club made its grand debut.

The long dining tables in the Great Hall had vanished, replaced by a gilded stage along one wall, illuminated by hundreds of floating candles overhead.

The ceiling had once again turned a velvety black, shimmering with what looked like nebulae—utterly breathtaking.

Nearly the entire school had shown up, packed in tight, each student clutching their wand, faces alight with excitement as they awaited Professor Lockhart’s arrival.

“We won’t just have one professor, will we?” Hermione said eagerly from the side. “I mean, besides Lockhart—he’ll need an opponent, right? I bet it’s Professor Flitwick. I heard he was a duelling champion in his youth.”

“That’s hard to say,” Ron grinned. “I’d rather Lockhart’s opponent was Professor Snape. Then Lockhart could flatten that big nose of his.”

“Well said, Weasley,” Snape’s voice drawled from behind Ron.

Ron whipped around in horror, coming face-to-face with Snape’s smirk.

“Very well, Gryffindor will lose two points for your behind-the-back slander of a professor, Mr. Weasley,” Snape said with a sinister smile, his black robes billowing as he swept aside.

Moments later, Professor Lockhart strode into the Great Hall, resplendent in his plum-colored robes, looking every bit as dazzling as ever.

At his side was Professor Flitwick, taking quick little steps to keep up with Lockhart’s long strides—a task he clearly struggled with.

Lockhart took his place on the stage, flashing his signature grin at the crowd.

“Welcome, welcome, everyone, to my Duelling Club! As I’ve said in class, Professor Dumbledore has graciously allowed me to start this little club to train you all thoroughly, in case you ever need to defend yourselves using methods I’ve employed countless times—for more details, do consult my published works.”

“Allow me to introduce the special guests invited to this Duelling Club,” Lockhart continued, still smiling. “Professor Filius Flitwick, former champion of the Duelling Tournament! He’s here today to share some handy tips on duelling.”

Flitwick stepped forward, waving to the crowd.

The students burst into applause, cheering warmly for their Charms professor.

The Ravenclaws, especially, clapped and shouted with pride and delight.

“And Professor Severus Snape!” Lockhart went on. “He tells me he knows a thing or two about duelling himself, and he’s generously agreed to assist me with a little demonstration before the lesson begins.”

“But let me assure you, I don’t want you little ones worrying—once I’m done with him, I’ll return your Potions professor to you in one piece, no need to fret!”

“I really wish he’d dismantle Snape’s bones,” Ron muttered, clearly not learning his lesson. “Toss them into a Potions cauldron—bet that’d brew a top-notch poison.”

Harry couldn’t hold it in, ducking his head as he chuckled.

Hermione was the same, lightly smacking Ron while stifling her own laughter, clearly tickled pink.

Snape seemed to sense the snickering aimed at him, casting a cold glance their way, though he said nothing.