The Truth in Pieces
Chapter 7: The Truth in Pieces
Harry wasn’t sure what he had expected Cassia Black to be like.
Her name had been a mystery, her letter an enigma. He had pictured someone older, maybe like McGonagall—strict, serious, calculating. Or someone like Hagrid—open, loud, quick to trust.
But Cassia was none of those things.
She was watching him now, grey eyes sharp but not unkind, as if measuring what to say next. She had an ease about her—calm, controlled. But there was something else beneath it, something he couldn’t quite place.
“Let’s start simple,” she said, leaning forward slightly. “What do you know about Albus Dumbledore?”
Harry blinked. “Er—he’s the headmaster of Hogwarts?”
Cassia gave a humorless chuckle. “Right. That’s what most people would say.”
Harry frowned. “Isn’t he supposed to be… good?”
Cassia didn’t immediately answer. Instead, she tilted her head, as if considering how much to tell him.
“Dumbledore is… powerful,” she said carefully. “And very, very good at making people believe he has their best interests at heart.”
Harry narrowed his eyes. “That sounds like you’re saying he’s not.”
Cassia didn’t confirm or deny it. Instead, she studied him, then asked, “How much did Hagrid tell you about your past?”
“Not much,” Harry admitted. “Just that my parents were killed by Voldemort—” Cassia barely flinched at the name, which was odd, “—and that I somehow survived. That’s why I have this.” He gestured vaguely at his lightning-shaped scar.
Cassia exhaled through her nose, almost like she had expected that answer but was still annoyed by it.
“Let me guess,” she said. “No one told you about your family’s will? Or your inheritance?”
Harry’s stomach twisted. “Inheritance?”
Cassia sat back in her chair. “Right. So they didn’t tell you.”
Something cold spread through Harry’s chest. He wasn’t stupid. If there was something about his inheritance that had been kept from him, someone had wanted him in the dark.
Cassia tapped her fingers against the table. “Look, I could explain everything here, but we’d get a lot more answers if we just go straight to Gringotts.”
Harry glanced around the pub. No one seemed to be paying them much attention, but he could tell Cassia was choosing her words carefully.
“Why Gringotts?” he asked.
“Because goblins don’t lie,” Cassia said simply. “And if anyone has the real records of your family, it’s them.”
Harry hesitated, but something about the way she spoke—calm, confident, sure of herself—made him trust her, even if he didn’t fully understand why.
“Alright,” he said, standing. “Let’s go.”
Cassia smiled slightly. “Good choice.”
On the Way to Gringotts
The walk through Diagon Alley was overwhelming.
Harry had never seen anything like it. The street was alive with color and movement—shopkeepers calling out deals, owls hooting from their perches, cauldrons stacked high in storefronts. Witches and wizards bustled past, robes swishing, wands tucked into belts and holsters.
“This place is…” Harry struggled to find the right words.
“Something else?” Cassia offered.
“Yeah.”
She smirked. “You get used to it.”
Harry wasn’t sure he would.
A flash of movement caught his eye—a boy with red hair, dragging a reluctant-looking woman toward a shop window.
“—but Mum, we need new ones, these are rubbish—”
Cassia followed his gaze and her smirk disappeared. “That’s a Weasley.”
Harry blinked. “You know them?”
“Not personally.” Cassia’s voice was unreadable. “But you will.”
There was something strange in her tone, but before Harry could ask, she nodded toward the massive, white-marble building at the end of the street.
“Come on,” she said. “Time to find out just how much Dumbledore has been keeping from you.”
Harry swallowed hard.
For some reason, he knew this moment was going to change everything.