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Lost her magic?
Harry's heart skipped a beat.
"How could this happen?" His voice trembled slightly.
Veratia's tone was light, almost breezy, as if losing her magic was no great matter at all.
"It's just losing my magic. To travel through time for so long, there's always a price to pay—besides, it's not like I haven't lived through days like this before."
At that, Veratia suddenly reached out with her right hand and pinched Harry's face, her voice carrying a playful threat. "Or what? Are you going to look down on me now? Think less of me because I'm a Squib?"
"N-no, of course not…" Harry mumbled, his words muffled by her grip. "I'm just worried about your health. What if this has some lasting effect on you?"
"Is that so?" Veratia's expression softened.
"Of course it is. I think we should go to France," Harry said, his words still slightly garbled. "To Mr. Flamel's alchemy workshop. I bet he'd have some answers for us."
Fiona, perched on Veratia's shoulder, let out a couple of indignant chirps.
"See? Even Fiona's upset!" Harry pointed at the phoenix.
He continued, trying to reassure her. "I think it's probably because you're physically weak right now. Maybe your magic will come back by tomorrow?"
Veratia finally released his face, sighing with a touch of exasperation. "Fine, I'll listen to you… Take me to the Leaky Cauldron, then. Let Fiona help you."
"Fiona." Harry reached out, coaxing the phoenix onto his own shoulder, then gently grasped Veratia's wrist.
For a fleeting moment, Veratia froze, caught off guard.
Before she could say anything, the world spun around them, and in the next instant, they stood outside the Leaky Cauldron's entrance.
The moment they landed, Harry noticed Veratia wobbling, barely holding herself upright.
"Are you okay, Veratia?" Harry rushed forward, steadying her by the arm.
Veratia braced one hand against the wall, offering a faint smile. "I'm fine… just a bit weak. Apparating so suddenly caught me off guard."
"Sorry, Veratia," Harry said, realization dawning. He hadn't considered that, without her magic, and in her weakened state, Apparition would be harder on her.
"It's alright. Just give me a moment to catch my breath," Veratia said softly, though she made no move to let go of the wall.
A polite cough interrupted them from the doorway.
"Oh, Draco," Harry said, waving casually. "Hey there."
"Harry," Draco replied with a curt nod, his gaze shifting to the older woman Harry was supporting.
Instinctively, Draco felt an immediate dislike for her—something about her screamed rival to the Malfoy name, he thought.
"And who's this?" he asked, his tone probing.
Harry scratched his head awkwardly. "Oh, this is my sister."
"Sister?" Draco's eyebrows shot up, and he leaned back slightly, frowning. "Since when do you have a sister?"
"Now you know," Harry said quickly. "Er, could you step aside? My sister's feeling a bit dizzy, and I need to get her inside."
"Fine," Draco said, still frowning but stepping aside. He made a mental note to tell his father—and maybe his great-grandmother—about this later.
Harry guided Veratia into the Leaky Cauldron, leading her straight to the counter where Tom, the innkeeper, stood.
"Hello, Tom. We'll need two rooms," Harry said, then, feeling the need to clarify, added, "This is my sister."
"Oh, Mr. Potter," Tom said, glancing at Veratia, then back at Harry, his skepticism clear. The Potter family was down to one, as far as anyone knew—where had this white-haired sister come from? Still, Tom knew better than to pry. He arranged two adjacent rooms for them.
"Here we are," he said, leading them upstairs. "Two rooms, side by side. If you need anything else, just let me know."
"Thanks, Tom," Harry said with a nod, helping Veratia into one of the rooms.
The Leaky Cauldron's guest rooms, though worn and aged, were surprisingly tidy, with crisp, clean bedding.
"Let's rest here for the night, Veratia," Harry said, easing her onto the bed. "We'll head out tomorrow… What do you want to eat?"
"Room service is fine," Veratia replied, then tilted her head. "Can you tell me about the last hundred years? In detail?"
"Of course," Harry said with a grin. "Let me order dinner from Tom first. You haven't eaten in over a century—you must be starving."
He stepped out of the room and headed downstairs to the bar, ordering some of Veratia's favorite dishes from Tom.
Soon enough, a server brought their dinner to the room.
"British food, honestly, isn't great," Harry said, chewing on a piece of bread. "I remember in 1888, in Vienna, the imperial cuisine was absolutely stunning. If only British food could borrow a bit from other countries."
Veratia ate quietly, savoring her meal. After swallowing a bite, she asked, "So, what's the best food in London?"
Harry froze mid-chew. Truth be told, he hadn't exactly explored London's culinary scene. But as a proud Brit, he felt obligated to defend his country's honor—especially in front of an Austro-Hungarian woman. He racked his brain and finally recalled the burger Hagrid had bought him years ago.
"London's McDonald's is pretty good," he said.
"McDonald's?" Veratia reached out, dabbing at a smear of ketchup on Harry's lip with her napkin. "What's that? A fancy restaurant?"
"Er, it's more like American fast food," Harry admitted, his shoulders slumping.
Merlin's beard, was there nothing delicious in Britain?
"But American fast food is kind of British, in a way," Veratia said, graciously coming to his rescue. "If I recall correctly, America was one of your colonies that gained independence."
"Not anymore. Now it's all missile launch bases for them," Harry said, setting down his knife and fork with a sigh, recalling something Mr. Wellesley had mentioned.
"Missile launch bases?" Veratia blinked, confused. "What's a missile?"
"Missiles are a Muggle weapon," Harry explained, launching into an enthusiastic explanation. "I saw it on the telly. They can shoot from London all the way to Moscow. One missile could wipe out an entire city…"
"That powerful?" Veratia's eyes widened. "A hundred years ago, Muggles were so weak… and now, in just over a century, they've come this far?"
"Yeah, Muggle technology is incredible," Harry said, warming to the topic. "In some ways, their lives are more convenient than wizards'. Take phones, for example. You can talk to someone thousands of miles away. If you were in Vienna, you could call me in London. It's like a two-way mirror, but way easier to use."
"Oh!" Veratia's eyes sparkled with curiosity. "Are phones expensive?"
"Not really. You can get one for a dozen Galleons or so," Harry said. "I actually think wizards should adopt some Muggle stuff and improve it with magic. Like Mr. Flamel—he even gave me a bag of pounds to buy him a computer… Oh no! I forgot to get his computer! Remind me tomorrow, okay?"
"I will," Veratia said, spearing a cherry with her fork and popping it into Harry's mouth. "Now, tell me about Muggle transportation. A hundred years ago, they had carriages, automobiles, trains, and ships, just like us. They must have something even better now, right?"
"Oh, yeah, planes are the big thing now," Harry said, grinning. "They're super fast. You can get from London to Paris or Vienna in just a few hours."
"I want to ride a plane!" Veratia clenched her fist, her eyes shining with determination as she looked at Harry.
"Er…" Harry hesitated, scratching his head. "The thing is, you're from the Austro-Hungarian Empire. Even now, you'd be considered Austrian, not British. And, well, neither of us has a passport. I don't think we can just hop on a plane."
"What's the problem?" Veratia said airily. "We've got Gringotts, don't we?"
"Right! Gringotts!" Harry smacked his fist into his palm, grinning. "They still owe us a Basilisk fang, too. We can't let that slide."
Veratia picked up her napkin, gently dabbing at her lips.
"Alright, then," Harry said, planning aloud. "Tomorrow, we'll start by buying that computer. I should probably contact Hermione—you know, the girl Ron fancies. She's from a Muggle family, so she'd be a huge help."
"Sounds good," Veratia said, then leaned in, her voice dropping to a conspiratorial whisper. "Now, tell me all about this Ron and Hermione thing. How did you know they like each other?"
"Instinct," Harry said, nodding sagely. "Plus, Ron's always going on about Hermione, but when those Slytherin pure-blood snobs insult her, he's the first to jump to her defense."
"Oh!" Veratia nodded eagerly. "And why do you think Hermione likes Ron?"
"Because she's always nagging him," Harry said, wiping his mouth with a napkin. "She doesn't bother with anyone else, just Ron. There's other stuff, too, but I can't quite put it into words. It's just a gut feeling."
Veratia smiled faintly, studying Harry for a moment, which left him slightly bewildered.
In her heart, she was both amused and relieved. As an outsider, she could see clearly what Harry couldn't: Cassandra's feelings for him were plain as day. But Veratia also understood why Harry was oblivious. Back in her time, a commoner marrying a noble was unthinkable. A poor orphan like Harry being fancied by a noblewoman like Cassandra? That was the stuff of fairy tales.
Veratia's own aunt, Princess Sisi of Bavaria, had been a duke's daughter, and even she had been mercilessly tormented by her mother-in-law. For Harry, a "Muggle-born orphan," to think someone like Cassandra could like him? He'd be laughed at as a toad dreaming of swans.
This was why Veratia had always downplayed her own status around Harry. She'd presented herself first as someone who'd been bullied, then as an orphan, and only later as a witch—building a connection through shared struggles.
Harry stayed in Veratia's room until past ten, regaling her with tales of the last century's changes. His grasp of global politics was shaky at best, and his explanations were a bit of a mess, but they piqued Veratia's curiosity all the same.
She decided they should buy some books to learn more about the modern world.
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