The Brightest Sun

Chapter 16

The Ring: Harry
Chapter Text

Harry was in Cassiopeia Black’s old workroom at the Black Chateau two days after the meeting finagling with a particularly tricky rune sequence as the woman in question hurled ‘encouraging’ insults at him.

“I can see how you and Aunt Dorea are related,” Harry shouted, ignoring her overly loud mutter of butterfingers.

“Finesse! You are lacking in finesse, Herakles!” she called back. “This is an absolute travesty!”

Had she been alive, Cassiopeia would have most likely thrown him from the room and drawn the necessary runes herself but alas, he was left with a cranky portrait.

“Dorea would be far more lenient,” she told him, grey eyes critically scanning the runes he had drawn so far.

“That’s because she likes me,” Harry retorted.

“Please, there’s no need to chase compliments child. I like you well enough,” she sniffed.

He ignored the urge to roll his eyes, focusing instead on powering the runes. It was going well and Harry nearly whooped in excitement until he felt a tingle of magic, strong and building. Eyes wide, he hastily threw up a shield as the runes gave off a shockwave of energy that pushed heavily against his shield, though Harry managed to avoid being forced backward a few steps.

“A splendid job nephew,” Cassiopeia said dryly, eyes staring in disbelief at the smoking hole at the edge of the circle. “What in the name of Morgana have you done?”

“Might have accidentally smudged something,” he mumbled, face dusted red in embarrassment.

“Your mind has been wandering for the past few hours. Care to explain what troubles you?”

The request was more of an order, and Harry thought on it as he cleared the room. He had been going at it for hours, pushing through the beginnings of Old Welsh script with Cassiopeia as quickly as he could, but Harry had reached his limit for the day.

“The Wizengamot,” he replied. “They’ve a new bill on the table.”

“I suppose those old codgers have decided to throw money at the DMLE and little else,” she said, brow raised in question.

“How did yo—”

“They did the same in forty-six. And again in eighty-one, though that did not go so well when Bartemius’s son proved a Death Eater,” she told him. “People don’t like to give their Aurors money when the head proves unsuitable.”

“The current head is unsuitable,” Harry retorted.

“Yes, well. When have they ever been up to par?” Cassiopeia countered.

Before he could comment on Madam Bones’s tenure, Cassiopeia moved the conversation to where he suspected she wanted to lead it to all along.

“How is your displaced princess?” she asked, face a mask of innocence.

“Is gossip the only thing you portraits do?” he asked archly.

“Nonsense,” she sniffed. “We’ve been known to settle old grudges from time to time.”

He rolled his eyes; the Blacks believed that settling grudges was best done with magic and a great many of them had been peeved to discover that portraits did not possess the same capabilities – until a Black had pointed out the close proximity of fencing swords within each portrait.

“Try not to string Walburga up will you? Kreacher will hound me to repair her portrait again,” he added sourly.

“I make no promises,” she grinned, a wicked glint in her eye. “Perhaps Cygnus – the poor dear could use some livening up.”