original fanfiction by Kira Wollef

Transfiguration class was done… enlightening, to say the least. Especially for Triss. After Durmstrang, turning a rabbit into a cushion felt like kindergarten. But Mörk got quite a show of the professor's utter indifference. When Finnigan transformed the poor creature into a cushion with ears and paws three times running, McGonagall didn't even glance his way. She was too busy tearing Malfoy for "deviating from the assignment" – he'd painted the cushion green and added silly tassels to the corners.

Now Triss understood what her uncle had been hinting at during the holidays. The rivalry between houses was in full bloom, actively fueled by the Headmaster and the Slytherin Dean.

"Hearing another squeak of distress from behind her, Mörk couldn't hold back any longer. She turned to Finnigan, who was sitting with Weasley.

"Mordred in your bed, Seamus!" she snapped, raising her wand and firing Finite at the rabbit before coaxing it toward her. "Study up on theory before you start tormenting creatures!"

"Miss Mörk, return the subject …"

"Subject? It's a living thing! Why torture them when you can use dummies?"

"Do they really use dummies at Durmstrang?"

"No, at Durmstrang we practiced spells on each other!" Her eyes flashed dangerously. "That's how even the slowest learners get it through their heads."

"This is outrageous!"

"Forcibly transforming a living being is outrageous anyway – what difference does it make if it's a rabbit or your classmate? If you have an ounce of compassion, you'll learn quickly instead of spending hours harassing your 'subject'!

Her words silenced even the formidable Professor McGonagall. The professor began circulating among those struggling to transform the rabbits into cushions, offering advice.

Her gaze drifts towards Mörk, who was soothing the trembling creature with gentle strokes between its ears. The girl had long since left her own rabbit alone; her Transfiguration had come off perfectly on the first try.

"Miss Mörk, please stay."

Still cradling the animal close – they'd secured a window and Triss intended to take it into her room before sending it home with an elf – the girl approached the professor's desk.

"Miss Mörk, I understand your frustration, but you disrupted the lesson today. Next time, I will have no choice but to deduct points."

"Are you really so concerned about competition? More than whether your students can think for themselves?"

"Mr. Finnigan…"

"Simus is a blockhead who listens with his a… well, certainly not his ears! Professor McGonagall, I'll be lodging a formal complaint with the Board of Governors. Durmstrang might have a reputation for Dark Arts, but they don't stoop to this level! And by the way," she added pointedly, "I'm not giving you back the rabbit, so you can just forget about it!"

Professor McGonagall sighed heavily, staring at the defiant girl. The glint in her eyes suggested she was quite serious about sending that complaint.

Something suddenly clicked in the woman's mind, and she offered the student a gentle smile, seemingly oblivious to how sharply the girl had tensed, her nose twitching almost imperceptibly.

"Miss Mörk," she said smoothly, "you should speak with the Headmaster about your concerns. I'm sure he can resolve the issue regarding the textbooks. And that rabbit needs to be returned; it's school property, after all. You wouldn't want to find yourself accused of theft, would you?"

Triss narrowed her eyes, studying the teacher intently. But in those faded green eyes, she saw only a vast indifference and a disconcerting calm, as if she'd just downed a bottle of something sedative. With a dismissive snort, the girl pivoted sharply on her heels and headed for the door.

"Miss Mörk, I'm not dismissing you!"

"I'm leaving regardless," Triss retorted. "Accuse me of whatever you like. Tomorrow, there will be a complaint lodged with the Governors, and The Prophet will run a story about the Professor of Transfiguration's actions bordering on cruelty!"

Slamming the door a little harder than necessary, Triss swept past Potter and Granger, who were frozen against the wall. Harry followed her with his gaze, then let out a low whistle. He'd never heard anyone have the audacity to speak to a Head of House like that.

"You know, she's right. It's just cruel."

"I'm not even arguing," Harry said, scratching his head. "And why didn't we raise a fuss about this sooner?"

"I don't know… Shall we go with her?"

Potter nodded and hurried after her, adjusting the bag on his shoulder, relieved that Ron had been dragged off somewhere by the twins and wasn't dampening the mood with his complaining.

They found Triss near the foot of the tower, in a side corridor. They almost walked right past, but Hermione heard muffled sobs.

"Triss?" Granger approached cautiously. "What's wrong?"

"I don't know who put him through this — Finnigan or someone before him. But I didn't get to it in time."

Hermione lowered her gaze to the rabbit lying on Mörk's lap. The girl's trembling hand still stroked the creature's face, but it was clear now that he wasn't breathing anymore.

"Oh, God! Triss, this is…"

"It's a death, Hermione. And just as significant as if it were a person's. Forcing a magical creature to change shape against its will — that's a crime."

"You're really going to file a complaint?"

"Absolutely. Durmstrang has a habit of practicing these spells on inanimate objects or their students. A partial transformation isn't as agonizing as a full one, you see. It's blatant cruelty."

Potter and Granger exchanged a look, then silently led Mörk outside. Harry darted off to find Hagrid and asked for a shovel.

The groundskeeper looked bewildered at first, but then followed along with the trio. He took them to a small clearing where several tiny headstones stood.

With two swift strokes, he dug a hole large enough to hold a dozen rabbits. But Triss asked him to dig deeper.

"What if something digs it up?"

"Don't worry bout it. Professor Snape did something with a spell, apparently. Even the centaurs don't come around here anymore – they're half-horse, you know. It's where students bury their pets, mostly. Things happen, life's like that."

It was quite a revelation for the Gryffindors to learn that the "Underground Bat" had been looking after the emotional well-being of students burying beloved animals here. Mörk just nodded, carefully lowering the rabbit into the grave. Hagrid silently covered it with earth and dabbed at his nose.

"What was your rabbit's name, then?"

"He didn't have one. He was a classroom rabbit."

"Blast it," he muttered. "Again from Professor McGonagall?" The girl nodded, looking surprised at the gamekeeper. "I've told the Headmaster to stop this so many times! They've destroyed so much wildlife, it's dreadful!"

Triss gave a wry smile, nodding along. It was rather odd to realize that the half-giant possessed far more empathy than the distinguished, silver-haired professor.

The next lesson passed by Mörk, who was lost deep in thought. Luckily, today's class was History of Magic – a subject where everyone usually dozed off except for Granger.

But Harry, having "switched" from Ron for the day and seated beside Mörk, kept trying to cheer her up. Eventually, Triss snapped at him, whispering: "Leave me alone, Savior of the bloody world!"

"Don't get upset, Mörk. You just seem so…"

"How? Normal? Suffering over a stupid rabbit?"

"That's not what I meant, and you know it!"

Arguing in whispers proved awkward, but also kind of amusing. Triss scoffed, but privately admitted Potter had a point. She was rather soft-hearted, though her reaction was still strange even for her. Or was it the sudden change of scenery affecting her? Sighing, the girl grimaced as she stared at the dispassionate ghost droning on. First day of term, and she'd already found at least three reasons why a Hogwarts education barely counted for anything in the whole world. Fourth-years listening to lectures from an unrested spirit! And what were they learning about? Goblin rebellions. Wonderful education, really.

For lunch, Mörk was accompanied as usual by Granger and Potter. Even before they reached the Great Hall entrance, Weasley had attached himself to their group, casting a disapproving glance at Triss.

She settled into her familiar spot at the edge of the table, instinctively maintaining a distance from everyone else. The boys arranged themselves opposite her, with Granger to her right. Surveying the spread before them, Triss wrinkled her nose in distaste.

"Nutty!" she called out. The house-elf appeared silently, offering a respectful bow and fixing its gaze on her mistress. "My usual lunch and tea, please. And could you just bring me the standard menu here each time, alright?"

"Certainly, Miss," Nutty replied.

The plate in front of Triss vanished, replaced almost instantly by a silver tray. A light salad, grilled chicken breast with rice, a cup of steaming tea, and a tiny pastry — barely enough for a single bite — were presented before her. Triss reached for a fork, but realized the silence that had fallen was thick enough to cut with a knife. Looking up from her plate, she studied Granger first, then boys. Granger and Potter were simply astonished, while Weasley's face was rapidly turning crimson. He opened his mouth as if to speak, but no sound came out. Merric calmly resumed eating, pretending nothing was amiss.

"Triss, can you cast Silencio?"

"Do you really want to eat lunch with a screaming soundtrack?"

"It's… kind of against the rules."

"Your school is bizarre." She flicked her wand in a nearly imperceptible gesture as she noticed glances their way – Ron was already waving his arms around. "Don't blame me."

"You! Death Eater scum!"

The girl rolled her eyes, abandoning any hope of a peaceful meal. Honestly, she could have anticipated this. She should have. But she was used to it; far too used to it.

She tuned out Weasley's squeals until he blurted out something particularly nasty:

"And your mother…"

"Don't you dare!" Triss surged forward, her wand pointed directly at Ron's face. "One more word, and I'll curse you!"

"A Death Eater whore is what your mother was!"

Squinting, Mörk began to demonstrate the required move when she suddenly froze. She'd asked her uncle to bring her a copy of Hogwarts rulebook over the summer, and there was one particularly interesting clause in it.

"Ronald Bilius Weasley! I, Bellatrix Khara Mörk, challenge you to a duel. Here and now!"

"Miss Mörk!" The teachers heard the girl's bright voice, and Professor McGonall practically leaped to her feet. "Fighting is forbidden!"

"Fighting is forbidden, not dueling. Minerva, have you even read the rulebook?"

Snape looked at his colleague with a smirk, always irritated by her astonishing narrow-mindedness, and rose from his seat. Flitwick followed suit, the best duelist who had held the championship for years.

Weasley, still oblivious to what was happening, kept firing curses at Mörk. But the girl, having calmed down somewhat, listened silently, gathering her emotions within.

Ron only fell silent when Snape cleared his throat pointedly behind him. Flitwick approached Triss and respectfully bowed his head. The girl returned a low curtsy.

"Miss Mörk, are you certain?"

"Absolutely, Professor Flitwick."

"Very well then, Mr. Weasley, you may either agree to a magical duel or offer an apology. Whether it will be accepted is another matter entirely…"

"I'll take the duel!"

Mörk mentally applauded the little professor. Weasley clearly hadn't grasped the nuances of duels; otherwise, he would have insisted on a physical confrontation. But ignorance of the rules doesn't absolve one of responsibility. Therefore, ignoring McGonagall's protesting murmurs, the professors drew a protective circle, pushing aside the house tables. A platform rose in the center of the circle, and Flitwick ascended it, beckoning the duelists forward.

Weasley swaggered, tossing his cloak aside with a flourish. Mörk merely snorted and continued ascending the steps. There were certainly duels where combatants fought practically bare, but this wasn't one of them.

"Miss Mörk, your terms?"

"I'd prefer to fight to the death, naturally, but we are at school. So, until they beg for mercy. Or until their opponent loses consciousness."

"Mr. Weasley?"

"You're going down, you Death Eater scum!"

With a dismissive sniff, Triss remained perfectly still, awaiting the professor's next words. He recited the rules with impeccable adherence to protocol: No Unforgivables, no curses causing lasting harm. Giving her cloak a suspicious glance, the diminutive professor also added a clause prohibiting potions. Mörk even managed to pull off an offended pout, which only earned a smirk from Flitwick.

"Bow!"

Triss gave a graceful bow, though every instinct urged her to simply flick her head in disdain toward her opponent. But what would be the point if Weasley wouldn't even grasp how he'd been put in his place? Still, she'd managed to mimic her adversary — otherwise, Triss would have had free rein, and even Flitwick wouldn't have intervened.

"Ten paces!"

Turning sharply on her heels, Mörk headed toward the end of the platform. Precisely ten steps later, she pivoted just as abruptly, her cloak swirling around her like a dark wave. Harry barely suppressed a laugh watching her. Hermione stared at him with wide eyes, utterly bewildered by what he found amusing.

"Doesn't she remind you of someone?"

The girl glanced at Mörk and then it clicked — second year, the dueling club, and Lockhart sent flying by Expelliarmus. It had been quite a sight.

Meanwhile, the duelists were frozen in their stances. Triss had adopted one of the classic dueling postures, but Ron… Ron was just being Ron.

"Three. Two. One!"

"Expelliarmus!"

Ronald had clearly been trying to emulate Snape's infamous trick – the very one they'd just been discussing. But Triss was sharper than the handsome liar. A cloak billowed, deflecting a spell aimed at her hand. Ron Weasley's wide eyes spoke volumes.

"Oppugno apis!"

A swarm of tiny bees shot from Triss' wand and hurtled toward him. Ron let out a shriek that echoed through the hall as the first stinger pierced his wrist. Mörk saw his face and arms begin to swell, but she wasn't backing down. Besides, there was a condition – the duel wouldn't end until her opponent begged for mercy.

"Exenterio!"

A truly foul stench wafted through the Great Hall. Weasley's face flushed even redder, if that were possible. Merric smirked, catching sight of Snape rolling his eyes out of the corner of her vision.

"Dissolvere..."

She'd really liked to dissolve his bones – starting with one in his leg, perhaps – but she caught Professor Flitwick's warning glance and cut off the spell, drawing the lingering energy into the floor.

"Expelliarmus! Finite apis!"

Ron's wand slipped from his fingers, and the swarm of bees vanished. Mörk remained frozen, her weapon still raised, staring intently at Weasley. He ground his teeth, fully aware that he'd lost, and the reckoning was upon him.

"Mercy…"

"Louder."

"MERCY!" His desperate roar echoed through the Great Hall. "Are you satisfied?"

"More than."

"Victory to Bellatrix Mörk! Minerva, would you be so kind as to escort the student to Poppy's office."

The Head of House approached the boy, her lips pressed into a disapproving line and her eyes flashing at Lestrange, but recoiled with a grimace. She then grabbed Weasley's sleeve and hurried out, holding a hand to her nose.

Snape dispelled the protective shield, and Harry and Hermione rushed towards Triss. The rest of the students flowed around them, casting wary glances at the newcomer who had put on such a spectacle on her very first day.

"Triss… you!"

"Yes, Hermione." The girl sighed. "You don't need to start — I already know everything. How could you? That was my frie…"

"It was amazing! Mind teach me how to do that?" Triss choked on her breath and gave Granger a stunned look. Harry watched with a grin, but remained silent.

"You… Hermione, I humiliated Weasley. In front of everyone."

"Exactly!"

"He's your friend. And I embarrassed him."

"And it was brilliant!"

"Right." Merk worth took a deep breath and exhaled slowly. "I think I'm missing something here. Let's talk after class. Eighth floor, meet me by the portrait of trolls playing cards."

"But we have Care of Magical Creatures!" I didn't sign up for it. So, that's it for today. See you later.

Without another word, Murk practically bolted from the Great Hall, weaving through students who weren't in any hurry to leave.

Harry and Hermione exchanged a look and started after her, but someone blocked their path. Meeting Snape's gaze head-on, they tried to slip past.

"Don't go after her," the Potions Master said quietly, his voice seeming to chill them to the bone. "Sometimes we all need solitude."

"But, sir…"

"Potter, just listen to me for once."

Harry studied the professor intently and then nodded. Taking Hermione's hand, he steered her toward the entrance hall where their next class was about to begin. Granger managed a quick glance back and caught a faint smile flickering across the Potions Master's face.

"You got lucky the headmaster was out to lunch."

Triss jumped at the sound of her uncle's voice behind her. She bolted away from the other kids, running blindly until she found herself at the top of one of the towers. It seemed like an unvisited spot, which suited her just fine.

She shrugged, staring out at the sprawling expanse of the Forbidden Forest. She was too shaken up, too upset to say anything.

"Triss, what's wrong?"

"I don't know. I'm so used to people disliking me… And then Hermione just dropped that I was cool. She actually asked me to teach her spells. And Potter… the way he looked at me. I humiliated one of their friends! Don't they even care?"

"I think it's simpler than you realize. Potter, as clueless as he is, listens to Granger. And she clearly thought things through this summer. They were whispering for ages by the Great Hall doors on the first day, while everyone else was already seated. Considering those two saved a fugitive last year, I wouldn't be surprised if Miss Granger actually figured something out. But I still don't get why you're beating yourself up over this. It's not just about giving that little know-it-all a good talking to, is it?"

"We were chatting with the others this morning. Seems like that Ginny's got her eye on Potter. And what if he likes her? He was raised in such a… sheltered environment! He wouldn't understand things like family obligations and magical commitments."

"So you wanted to fix things, didn't you? You hold all the cards now. I still can't say I approve of you being engaged to Potter, though. He's as reckless as his father was."

"Uncle, please. I haven't forgotten your opinion on James. I've heard it all summer long. "

"As you wish." Severus gave a wry smile and changed the subject. "Have you arranged meetings with them?"

"Yes. I'll use the Room of Requirement. Thanks for mentioning it, by the way."

"Don't linger here. The Astronomy Tower gets chilly winds all year round."

Nodding to his niece, the Potions Master swept his cloak and walked away, leaving Tris alone with her thoughts. And she had plenty to consider, especially given that Care of Magical Creatures class was about to end.

They needed to discuss a great deal before dinner, so the girl cast one last look at the forest and turned away from it.

"Albus, this is simply dreadful! She's threatening to file a complaint!" Flitwick exclaimed. "The Weasley boy can't seem to stay out of the lavatory; Poppy hasn't been able to stop him. It's constant."

"Filius, how could you allow this?" Dumbledore shook his head, clearly dismayed. "Encouraging such behavior… it's unheard of."

"Albus, Mr. Weasley made a public, and quite offensive, remark about Miss Mörk's mother — right in the middle of lunch, in front of everyone! She was perfectly justified. Until the Charter is revised, there's nothing you can do."

"And you, Minerva? Why didn't you intervene?" Dumbledore shifted his attention to his Deputy Headmistress, noticing she showed no sign of contrition. "And what complaint are we talking about, exactly?"

"She felt sorry for the rabbits!" McGonagall retorted. "Apparently, they're suffering, so she thinks it's necessary to practice spells on her classmates! Why ever did you accept this… this… child?"

Flitwick simply rolled his eyes. He'd been trying to convince Dumbledore for years not to work with live subjects or take in anything invertebrate — basic psychology, really! It's far easier on a child's mental health to turn a snail into stone than to experiment on something soft and fluffy like a rabbit. McGonagall didn't notice his gesture, nor did the Headmaster.

Snape, frozen in a corner, went unnoticed. He used this to his advantage, observing the Headmaster. Having studied the old man extensively, he knew that after today's speech, those from Triss would be under intense scrutiny.

He was increasingly convinced it would have been better for the girl if she'd been sorted into his house. But she had stubbornly decided she needed to cultivate a future husband! He'd spent all summer trying to dissuade her. He'd long known that Gryffindors were kept on a tight leash, stifled and prevented from developing; they were being bred into nothing more than expendable pawns. The old man was clearly up to something, but after years of service, Severus still couldn't decipher it. No matter how much he probed, no matter how hard he tried to find even the slightest flaw in this sugary façade known as "The Great Light Wizard" — he found nothing. Was the old man truly beyond reproach, or was he simply too skilled at concealing his machinations?

Snape felt an almost irresistible urge to seek help, but that particular card was far too valuable to risk using for gathering information on the Headmaster. So, the Potions Master had to rely on his own resources.

"And you, Severus? What do you think?" The Headmaster's voice lacked its usual honeyed quality; he sounded weary. "Why didn't you intervene?"

The Potions Master snorted. "Did you honestly expect me to step in, as if I were the Head of Gryffindor? If Mörk had challenged Crabbe or Zabini, then I might understand your complaint!"

He dismissed the matter with a dismissive puff of air, reverting to his characteristic aloofness. He knew perfectly well Dumbledore was asking out of formality, so he continued to observe. And finally, he noticed something peculiar. Whether it was the Headmaster's fatigue, his own experience, or something else entirely — it hardly mattered.

Severus had observed how Minerva and Flitwick's eyes had glazed over the moment Dumbledore began discussing… Potter! He barely managed to compose himself, ensuring his expression didn't betray him.

"Minerva, dear, could you keep an eye on Miss Mörk? I suspect she's still adjusting to life outside Durmstrang; you know how they run things there."

"Absolutely dreadful!" Filius Flitwick practically bounced in his chair. "Practicing Transfiguration on students! Honestly!"

"Quite right, quite right!"

The Headmaster smiled sugary, beginning to bid farewell to the heads of house, handing each one a box of their favorite lemon slices. Flitwick clutched the gift to his chest, rambling about how he'd be having tea with the students later and would definitely treat them. Minerva didn't hesitate; she popped one in her mouth right away, though without any obvious relish. Severus, noticeably, received no box—though there were three sitting on the table. The Potions Master mentally applauded Sprout, who ignored roughly eighty percent of these "gatherings" unless her puffskeins were involved.

Flitwick headed for the door, already debating with McGonall the merits of orange slices versus lemon ones.

The gargoyle guarding the entrance to the Headmaster's office barely registered as Professor Flitwick bid a warm farewell to the Head of Gryffindor and hurried towards his tower, seamlessly shifting his conversation to Severus. The moment they rounded the corner, however, Flitwick seemed to transform. Scanning the hallway, ensuring no portraits were observing, he flicked his wrist, weaving a subtle charm around them.

"Master Flitwick?"

"Save your pretenses, Severus," the half-goblin's eyes twinkled with mischief. "Old Sprout has grown far too complacent, and you finally noticed what needed noticing."

"Your levity is… unsettling."

"Forgive me, my friend. It's a certain goblin predisposition, I'm afraid."

"Goblins don't interfere in wizarding affairs?"

"Generally not. But how about this: care to stop by my place later for a dram? "

"I'll bring your favorite Glenfiddich. Just need to discuss something with a student first. I'll come after lights out, alright?"

"If Miss Mörk can hide even a fraction as well as you do — bring her along. She's quite promising; I'd have taken her on as an apprentice myself."

"I don't…"

"Severus, you forget you aren't the only one with eyes and ears in these walls."

The half-goblin smiled, catching the grimace that tightened Severus' features. They'd been friends since Severus's school days, and for years they'd engaged in a playful rivalry — a contest to see who could outwit whom.

They knew each other almost better than their families did… which weren't much to speak of for either of them. The barrier shielding their conversation dissolved with a faint chime, and the professors dispersed back to their respective domains.

Triss waited in a discreet alcove in the corridor for the two Gryffindors. Those twenty minutes it took them to climb the stairs gave her plenty to observe.

Thanks to her uncle, she had a decent grasp of the faculty already, so she could at least make educated guesses as to who she was seeing. Professor Trelawney slithered along the wall, clutching a satchel from which bottle necks peeked out. Following close behind, moving with the stealth of a predator—slow and deliberate — came Professor Vector. The Head of Hufflepuff rolled down the corridor like an energetic ball, but in completely the opposite direction. And Madam Sprout didn't smell of fertilizer at all. Snorting softly, Triss concluded that nearly every other professor couldn't resist having a drink or two before – or even during – class. She could almost sympathize with them.

"...The portrait?"

"How would I know, Harry? I'm new here too!"

"Hey!" Triss peered out from her hiding place. "Be quiet! Over here."

Finding the right wall, the girl focused on the room's appearance and stepped left along it. The Gryffindors clearly hadn't a clue what was going on, but they remained silent. One… two… finally, the door materialized. Triss glared at the bewildered group as she slipped through. Once inside, Mörk surveyed her surroundings with satisfaction. She wasn't entirely convinced by her uncle's claim that the room could take any form imaginable.

But now she saw it – the very library from Mörk-Manor that she adored. Plush carpets, towering bookshelves, and cozy armchairs clustered around a coffee table.

She doubted an elf would be able to find his way in here, but she took the chance anyway and called for Nutty. It went off without a hitch, and the house-elf bowed its head, awaiting instructions.

"Tea, sandwiches, and your signature pastries," Mörk said, then glanced at the group and nodded towards the armchairs. "Make yourselves comfortable. We've got two hours until dinner; hopefully, we can get through at least some of it."

"What is this place?"

"It's a Room of Requirement." She raised an eyebrow. "Didn't you know about it?"

"No. It's not even on the map…" Harry trailed off, his eyes widening.

Triss couldn't help but smile at the look on Potter's face. She'd long suspected he had some sort of tracking device — an artifact that allowed him to monitor the movements of the professors. Severus's frustrated hunt for Potter over the last year had confirmed her suspicions. But until they established some level of trust – and that might never happen – she wasn't about to reveal what she knew.

Nutty hadn't been seen around in a while, but eventually the table was set with meticulous care. Triss, taking charge as hostess, poured tea into the cups.

Potter reached for the sandwiches, only to be gently rebuked.

"What's your hurry?"

"Manners, Potter!" Triss wrinkled her nose. "Or did Weasley bite you?"

"What did I do wrong?"

"You didn't wash your hands. And you just dove into the sandwiches without asking if anyone else wanted some first."

"The sink-"

"See those towels?"

Harry glanced at the tray with surprise, noticing the steaming rolls of fabric. He'd initially thought they were some kind of dish. With a sigh, Triss decided to lead by example and picked up a towel. She carefully unfurled it, demonstrating how to properly dry one's hands and, most importantly, fold the towel neatly afterward. Hermione watched with interest, though Triss was sure the girl's parents had already drilled her in basic etiquette. Potter fumbled through the motions but eventually managed to mimic Mörk's actions.

"And what's the point of all this?"

"Then you could end up not just at a school table during lunch, but in with the aristocracy. And if you happen to drink water from a ceremonial cleansing bowl there… they'll eat you alive!"

"Who would invite me to hang out with aristocrats?" Harry scoffed. "I can't imagine sitting down to dinner with Malfoy, for example."

"Longbottom, Bell, Brown, Patil."

"What about them?"

"They're pure-bloods you eat lunch with every day."

"But Neville…"

"What 'Neville'? He's an heir, and potentially a Lord Longbottom, considering what happened to his family. But don't even think about asking him about it unless you want a duel. He'll tell you if he wants to."

Potter and Granger exchanged a look, finding it hard to believe that the chubby Neville could be anything special. After a moment of silence, they started on the food, watching the Gryffindors with barely contained amusement. Etiquette was definitely where they'd start — that was for sure. Even Hermione, who generally seemed well-mannered, occasionally did something that made your hair stand on end.

Mörk understood that things weren't always straightforward, but... you could easily create such chaos at something as simple as a tea party that your grandchildren would still be dealing with the fallout.

"So, since you've agreed to my terms, I need you to swear a Non-Disclosure Agreement now."

"You don't trust us?" Hermione narrowed her eyes. "You just…"

"Yes, Granger, I don't. Blind faith in the magical world is for fools. If anyone finds out I'm teaching you... it won't be pretty for me."

The Gryffindors exchanged glances and nodded. After hearing the wording of the oath, they recited it together. Triss just shook her head, watching them.

"What's wrong?"

"Lesson number one, the most important – don't throw around oaths and promises like confetti. What did it say?"

"I swear not to disclose any information I've heard from Bellatrix Mörk in any way possible. I swear not to harm Bellatrix Mörk, to follow her will, and obey her in everything. So, what's the big deal?"

"Hermione, you are a clever witch!" Triss almost groaned aloud. "I could order you right now to go kill Dumbledore! Follow her will and obey her in everything! Fine, Potter, he's a bit of an idiot, but you? Where are you going with this?

"This…" Granger's eyes widened, filling with panic. "And what? You..."

"No. I, Bellatrix Khara Mörk, permit Hermione Jean Granger and Harold James Potter to discuss our lessons with anyone they please, without mentioning names or sources of that knowledge. I swear not to harm by word or deed, and I swear not to use this promise for personal gain. Settle down, Hermione; I'm not about to turn you into slaves."

"That's… rather forceful, isn't it?"

"It gets the point across. Proven fact."

To ease the Gryffindor nerves a little, Triss poured everyone another cup of tea and leaned back in her chair.

"First question," she said, as the pair fixed their gaze on Mörk. "What do you know about Voldemort's rise and the Death Eaters?"

"Well, I've read about it in books," Hermione began. "Voldemort wanted to seize power, so he started a war. The Death Eaters are his followers — pure-bloods who want to drive Muggle-borns out of the wizarding world."

"Right… Potter?"

"Same here. With the added detail that this monster murdered my parents and nearly killed me."

"That's awful. My condolences, belated as they may be."

"Thank you. But why 'awful'? " Potter raised an eyebrow in surprise. "Do you know something more?"

Sighing, Triss rose from her chair and moved towards the bookcase, subtly feeling for the wand handle concealed within her sleeve. Hermione was unlikely to cause any trouble, but she couldn't predict Potter's reaction.

"I do, as a matter of fact. I know Voldemort's history — but from a different perspective."

Mörk forced herself to calm down. It wasn't easy for her to be open with anyone, but it was like ripping off a bandage from an old wound — you just had to do it quickly, ignoring the sting.

"The thing is," she began, turning to the Gryffindors, "Ron Weasley wasn't entirely wrong about my mother. My father… he was one of those Death Eaters you talk about."

J.M.: Hi! Looking for a proofreader for this translation. Just need someone to check for accuracy, as it's a translation