Disclaimer: All characters, proper names, and the world belong to J.K. Rowling
A/N: Sorry for long waiting, but here we are again, hope you will like it. Please rate/comment
XI. Chapter: Take Me Home
The Greengrass Manor stood proudly at the edge of a forgotten forest, as if completely isolated from the rest of the world. Its massive walls, though kept in perfect condition, were richly adorned with intricate ornaments that gleamed in the dim light of the setting sun. The stones from which it was built were dark and glossy, their surfaces smooth, as if carved by magic rather than human hands. The upper parts of the walls were decorated with exquisite sculptures of serpents, griffins, and mysterious symbols that reflected both the family's past and their ambitions. The entrance gate, forged from dark iron, was adorned with intricate details that sparkled in the light, as if every element had its purpose, like a spell protecting the place from unwanted visitors.
Although the exterior facade of the manor exuded a majestic austerity, it was, in reality, perfectly maintained. The estate radiated wealth, but not in the obvious, gaudy way – rather, in a subtle, timeless elegance that only gained in value with the passage of years. Every stone, every column, every sculpture was carefully maintained, as if the manor had its own rhythm of life, giving no impression that the passing of time had any impact on its state. Surrounding it stretched an extensive garden, where dark green bushes, trimmed into perfect shapes, still emanated a magical atmosphere. The air carried the scent of damp earth and old flowers that blossomed in this mysterious garden with extraordinary, unsettling precision.
Passing through the main gate, the first thing that caught the eye was the central courtyard, surrounded by walls covered in intricate frescoes depicting ancient events from the family's history. These images, though beautiful, had something grim about them – they looked at visitors with cold, impenetrable gazes. In the center of the courtyard stood a fountain, which, instead of classical water, was filled with liquid of a dark, almost black hue, reflecting the distorted silhouettes of those who passed by. The sound of the water was disturbingly quiet, as if its flow were tied to something much older, whose existence no one dared to explore.
The interiors of the manor were equally impressive, filled with majestic gravity. The stone walls were covered with precious tapestries depicting not only the family coats of arms but also forgotten legends full of symbolism and mystery. As soon as someone crossed the threshold, the scent of aging wood and incense, burned in special rooms, reached their nostrils – its smell was somewhat stifling, filling the space with something undefined, yet at the same time alluring. Long corridors, paved with marble floors, were empty, and their space was cold, as if unease lingered in every corner of the place. Small, narrow windows allowed only faint light, making the interiors constantly dim, even during the day.
In the main chambers, where the Greengrass family resided, an atmosphere of elegance and seriousness prevailed. The furniture, made of dark wood, was adorned with golden inlays that shone as though they had barely survived the test of time. The walls were decorated with portraits of ancestors, their eyes seeming to look at each guest with insight and distance, as if they had never forgotten their principles and decisions. This harsh, almost unpleasant atmosphere was balanced by the subtle elegance of every detail – from the dark curtains to the massive, sculpted fireplaces, to the meticulously crafted architectural details.
In the Greengrass manor, there was never a sense that it was just a residence. It was a stronghold with its own history, dark secrets, and perhaps its unspoken plans. And although everything outside seemed perfect, nothing here could be fully understood without peering into the darkest corners of this ancestral estate, where secrets lay hidden that could change the course of events.
The silence in the manor was broken by the sound of two figures suddenly appearing in the deep shadow of the corridor, their presence creating an atmosphere of tension that immediately overwhelmed the entire estate even further. As they appeared, the sound of a heavy body falling onto the cold, black marble floor echoed, its icy surface almost absorbing the noise, leaving no trace behind. Moments later, the quiet, quick steps of small feet were heard as two house-elves, accustomed to many visits to the manor, rushed toward the noise to check what had happened.
The house-elves, who knew their masters and their guests well, immediately recognized who had just arrived at the estate. However, what they saw was something they had never expected. When they realized it was Marry Greengrass and her younger daughter Astoria, unease settled on their faces. Astoria, who just came in age of growing up and developing feminine form every day, looked like a shadow of herself. Her body was wracked with tremors, and the blood still pouring from her wounds stained the marble floor a deep, bloody shade. The house-elves instantly understood that Astoria's condition was severe—almost fatal.
Instead of panicking, they immediately rushed to the injured girl, desperation in their eyes. Their movements were swift, surprisingly precise, as if each of them knew exactly their role in this crisis. They ran through the hallways, returning with various items—potions, bandages, and other remedies intended to help save Astoria. Despite their advanced knowledge, the atmosphere in the mansion was now thick with worry. Each of these little elves, bound to the Greengrass family, felt that what was happening now transcended the ordinary limits of their daily duties. Astoria was in a state they saw as practically irreversible, and the only hope was everything these tiny, loyal creatures could offer.
Astoria lay on the cold marble floor, her body still, lifeless, like a discarded piece of flesh no longer belonging to this world. Thick, dark blood oozed from her deep wounds, relentlessly flowing across the cold surface, creating terrifying stains that spread across the floor like fatal shadows. The dark hue of her blood contrasted sharply with her pallor, as if life itself were slowly draining from her, leaving an empty shell that nothing could save. Astoria's face, usually gentle, was now disturbingly pale, as if everything inside her had frozen, and her closed eyes, once full of life, were now nothing but windows to the emptiness that had consumed her soul. Her forehead, once held high with such dignity, now struck the cold marble, as though the earth had absorbed the remnants of her energy, leaving only an empty shell that had once been alive.
The bloody trail that followed her was like a deadly snake, slithering across the floor, still drinking from her body, sucking the last remnants of life. Each of her breaths grew more shallow, more interrupted, as if death itself was waiting to engulf her entirely. Her clothes, once carefully chosen just hours ago, were now damp, sticky, torn, and covered in bloody stains that spread across the fabric like dark marks of despair. Her hands, once full of life, now hung limp like dead branches, and her fingers were pale, nearly transparent, as if every drop of life had drained from them, leaving them entirely lifeless, as though all her essence had departed those hands. Blood pooled around her shoulders, trickling down her thin, trembling fingers, as if its presence was the final blow of death, unwilling to surrender in this fight.
Drops of blood trickled from her parted lips, and her breath became increasingly rapid, irregular, as though the world around her was dying, and she was still trying to hold on to life, even though death had already knocked on her door. Every contraction of her body, every tiny movement, was a warning of the silence to come, a silence that could no longer be stopped. Her facial features were twisted in a terrible grimace of pain, as if her body was fighting for every moment it no longer had. Her skin, once warm, was now cold, gray, darkened in places where blood had spilled over her. And though nothing in her body moved, the air itself felt thick with the powerful, inevitable presence of death, stretching its dark shadows, ready to consume her into an endless darkness where there was no hope, no return.
Marry felt her youngest daughter's body literally fading in her arms, as if strength was leaving Astoria with every passing moment. Each of her breaths became more shallow, and the small, desperate tremors of her daughter's body echoed in Marry's heart like an unending, painful echo. In that moment, in that silence, everything around them seemed to vanish, and it was just her and Astoria, bound by an invisible thread of pain.
Kira, the house-elf who had arrived with them to the Greengrass estate, watched the scene from a distance. Quietly, as was her habit, she crossed the threshold of the mansion in an instant, taking all the most urgent information with her. She vanished so quickly that Marry barely caught a glimpse of her figure out of the corner of her eye before she disappeared into the mansion's hallways. The house-elf immediately fulfilled the order of her master, Jack Greengrass, heading off to the second part of the task he had assigned to her without a word of protest.
When Kira left, disappearing into the shadows of the corridors, Marry returned to her daughter, overwhelmed with helplessness. Her heart broke at the thought of how Astoria, full of life and energy, was now literally fading with every moment, and she was powerless to stop the unrelenting process. In her chest, anger and despair twisted together, as if every muscle in her body contracted in pain at her inability to help. She tried in vain to recall any clues, any fragments that could explain what was happening before her eyes. But the more she tried to understand, the more everything slipped out of control, and all she felt was an increasing emptiness.
Afraid that any movement of Astoria's body might worsen her condition, Marry cast a Petrifying Charm on her small, bloodied form and then levitated her, hoping that at least this might slow the deadly bleeding. She instructed one of the house-elves to take Astoria to the nearest room and watch over her while giving a brief command that she would return shortly. Marry used apparition to reach her private office located in the dark depths of the estate's basement.
In her office, a half-light enveloped the room, filled with a heavy, almost tangible atmosphere of mystery. Hanging on the walls were heavy books, their leather covers adorned with runes and enigmatic symbols. Marry knew each book by heart and its exact location. Every book, every scroll, filled with forgotten and cursed secrets, seemed to whisper to her in a soft, dark voice. But now, she needed just one. The history behind acquiring this particular tome was as dark as its contents—a tale of knowledge too powerful and dangerous to exist in the waking world. In her hands rested one of the most perilous books, a story saturated with blood and betrayal. Each page seemed to pulse with a malevolent energy, whispering unknown, foreign truths that tied to the past of her family and the future of her daughter.
Marry felt the clash of anger, despair, and an unrelenting will to fight stirring within her, mingled with a terrifying awareness that perhaps no spell, no ancient incantation, could stop the darkness that had crept into Astoria's life. Time passed, and her hands trembled with immense tension as she flipped through the pages, feeling that every decision she'd ever made had led her to this moment of helplessness. At the end of each forgotten piece of knowledge that threatened destruction, she had to find a way to salvation.
"I must stop this," she whispered to herself, her voice quiet in the stillness of the office, as if each silence were part of a complex spell. Marry knew time was running out, and if she didn't act now, she would lose Astoria forever. Holding her breath, she leaned closer, carefully scanning the treacherous words, trying to find a path that might lead her to save her daughter.
But to her deep despair, she found nothing that could even begin to explain what was happening to Astoria. Page after page, she turned the sheets, but there was no fragment that could shed light on this terrifying situation. She only found information about techniques to stop bleeding, which could be caused by various charms, potions, or magical creatures, but nothing that explained Astoria's specific condition. There was not a single mention of such a kind of pain or effects that could accompany such a drastic decline in health. There was nothing to point her in any direction, nothing to calm her mind or give her any hope. The growing panic that consumed her began to mix with a frantic helplessness.
Her maternal instinct began to scream in her ears, unbearably loud, as if her entire body could no longer ignore the inevitable. She felt it in every cell of her being—something that once had been an unwavering, unbroken bond connecting her to her daughters was now starting to snap, like an old rope that would soon completely break. This bond, once strong and unbreakable, was now tearing before her eyes, and she had no strength to hold it together. She felt, with every passing moment, a piece of that rope disappearing forever, and with it, a part of herself, as if the disappearing fragments of her soul were taking away her ability to breathe. Fear gripped her heart, and what was once her most beautiful life was now becoming her worst nightmare. Every second, every moment, in which she felt that bond weakening, was like a never-ending, icy shiver passing through her body, piercing her deeply like a blade. She decided to trust her own experience and intuition, though deep inside she felt the tension rising, like a dangerous storm gathering on the horizon. In these moments, she had always relied on her cool, calculated approach, but this time something inside her told her to hold her breath, as if a premonition whispered that not everything would go according to plan.
Suddenly, through the heavy doors of her private office, Kira's sharp voice pierced the air, shaking it like an alarm bell. "Madam Greengrass! Madam Greengrass!" she shouted, her tone betraying a panic that Marry could not ignore.
The office she shared with her husband, Jack, was one of the most guarded spaces in the entire house. No one but them had access to these private, almost sacred rooms. The sound of Kira, coming from behind the door, was unsettling, as if something had broken the impenetrable calm. Even the nearest boundary, where any person could apparate, was far from this place—the entrance doors. And yet, at this moment, the unsettling message had pierced through all the barriers Marry had set for her privacy.
"Severus Snape... has arrived... he is upstairs... waiting for you!" Kira's words sounded like a hammer strike, their echo still resonating in Marry's mind, drilled into her thoughts like an unyielding sound. She apparated herself again, but this time not to Snape. Her goal was the room where Astoria lay. Her daughter's body was now merely a shell, barely skin, an empty husk devoid of life. The white sheets were soaked with blood, sticky and dark, its presence only confirming the irreversible state of the girl. At the far end of the room, a fireplace burned, but Marry had no time for that. With a single wave of her wand, she extinguished the flames, another moved the curtains, and with a third, using all her power, she began lowering the temperature in the room. In an instant, frost patterns began to form on the large windows, and Marry and Astoria's lips turned a purplish hue. But for Marry, it didn't matter.
"Leave!" she commanded coldly to the house-elves, and a moment later, almost like a shadow, Snape appeared in the doorway. His figure, dark and majestic, immediately filled the space of the room. Marry greeted him with a slight but firm nod of her head, a gesture that showed her complete control over the situation, despite the dramatic moment. Snape returned the nod, though there was something more in his eyes—shock that hadn't left his face, despite years of experience facing all kinds of dangers and tragedies.
He paused for a moment, his gaze moving over the room, over Astoria's body, over the white sheets soaked in blood, and the icy atmosphere that surrounded them. Despite his usually composed demeanor, Snape's face clearly showed surprise. He felt as though he had seen it all—nothing could surprise him—but what he saw now was like a blow that threw him off balance. Of course, he quickly regained his composure, but that brief moment revealed that even he, a master at suppressing his emotions, was not indifferent to the sight.
Marry instructed Snape to turn away for a moment and approached the bed where her daughter lay. Slowly, but firmly, she began removing the clothes from Astoria's slender, now bloodied body. She took off the dress her daughter had spent so long looking for in stores, then removed her undergarments to examine the state of her body closely. There were no visible cuts from the known items, nor any signs of spells that might have harmed the delicate frame of the girl. The only trace that something was wrong were the effects caused by the massive blood loss. Standing up from her knees, she reached for her daughter's hand and kissed her cold forehead. She then ordered Kira to bring Astoria's one-piece swimsuit to cover her body when Snape would examine it. Once Astoria was dressed, Marry leaned over her pale, yet still beautiful face and whispered, "I promise you, my dear, we will find a way to heal you." She then turned to the man who still stood with his back to them and added, "Severus, heal her at all costs."