First he will make afew changes

Harry's gaze flicked toward the lumbering pair at the corridor's end, then back to Cassiopeia, one eyebrow arching as a spark ignited in his mind, sharp and unbidden.

The Crabbe and Goyle clans had long pledged their brute loyalty to Voldemort's twisted banner, their sons little more than echoes of that dark allegiance—muscle without motive, ready to crush at a whisper from the shadows.

Guilt barely stirred in Harry; these two were cogs in a machine he'd already begun dismantling.

"Associates?" he echoed, his tone laced with dry amusement.

She shifted on her feet, a faint flush creeping up her neck, her fingers twisting in the hem of her robe. "They trail after me at their parents' insistence," she confessed, voice dipping low.

"Lackeys, more like," Harry countered with a smirk, leaning against the cool stone wall. "Bet they've never entertained an original idea unless you planted it first."

Crabbe's jaw slackened further, his eyes glazing over like fogged glass, while Goyle blinked slowly, as if processing the words through molasses. Cassiopeia exhaled sharply, her shoulders sagging. "Halfwits, the pair of them—lackwits, outright fools." Her words hung heavy, tinged with old regret. "You know, I once begrudged you those sharp minds at your side, Weasley and Granger, while I got stuck with... this lot."

The shift in her phrasing caught him—'once,' as if that resentment had evaporated like morning mist. Made sense, really; tangled up with him now, she had no room left for envy.

A choice loomed: he'd already clipped their fangs, stripped away any real menace. But why stop at defense? Twist them into something worthwhile, bend their bulk to his own ends.