original fanfiction by Kira Wollef
Harry Potter, the Boy Who Lived, listlessly poked at his porridge, trying to make sense of everything that had happened lately.
The events of the Quidditch World Cup still sent a shiver down his spine; sometimes, vague nightmares plagued him at night. Hermione seemed to be feeling something similar – she'd visibly lost weight, dark circles rimming her eyes, and the bone in her wrist jutted out more prominently than usual. Only Ron acted as if nothing had happened: he devoured his food with alarming speed, showering everyone nearby with half-chewed chicken, cracking jokes, and desperately showing off about how they'd seen a Death Eater launch the Dark Mark into the sky.
Dumbledore's announcement of the Triwizard Tournament wasn't exactly helping to stabilize Harry's nerves either. He could practically feel a trap closing in on him, and he planned to stay as far away from the Cup as possible.
Hermione slumped onto the bench opposite him, Ginny settling down on his left. The youngest Weasley had grown bolder this year, seemingly determined to take charge. Harry felt an instinctive urge to pull away when, almost imperceptibly, her chest pressed against his elbow.
"Morning, Harry!"
"Morning, Ginny."
"Sleep well?" She brushed against his hand as if by accident. "Are you going to enter the Tournament?"
"Ginny, could you please shut up for a minute?"
Harry looked at her in surprise. She was almost as unbearable in the mornings as Snape during Potions, but usually quieter. Apparently, Ginny had managed to wear her down a bit.
"Oh, just be quiet, Hermi!"
"You say my name wrong, and I'll turn you blonde." Granger's look spoke volumes. "And besides, Harry isn't seventeen. He can't enter the Tournament. It's far too dangerous, and he doesn't have the necessary experience."
"But it's glory! Everyone will know Harry's name! He'll go down in history!"
Hermione gave a particularly sharp smile, something Harry rarely noticed about her.
"Does the name Jefferson Hague ring a bell?"
"Should it?"
"Christopher Milton? Rosemary Sanders?"
"Why are you grilling me?"
"That's glory for you, Ginny. Those people were champions of past Tournaments. If I start reading out the list of those who died in them, we'll miss a couple of days of classes."
The redhead's information hadn't impressed anyone, but Potter had taken note. He looked at his friend thoughtfully, wondering how she'd managed to unearth it so quickly. It was only the second day they'd been at Hogwarts, and the announcement had been made yesterday.
Realizing that Weasley still hadn't grasped what she was talking about, Hermione shifted her gaze to her friend. She looked at him intently, as if trying to convey something without words. Just as he was about to ask what was wrong, a ripple of unease spread through the Great Hall. Ron, who had appeared in the doorway just moments before, practically sprinted towards the table and slid into the seat beside Potter, immediately piling food onto his plate with careless abandon, scattering bits everywhere. Hermione and Harry wrinkled their noses in unison—more out of habit than anything else.
"Morning to you too, Ron."
"Yeah." He glanced around. "What's all the commotion?"
"You were just there a few minutes ago. How would we know?"
The crowd that had gathered in the doorway suddenly dispersed, and a palpable tension filled the air. Harry craned his neck, trying to see what was happening, while subtly freeing his hand from Ginny's grasp. He could hear an indignant huff behind him; she'd noticed his maneuver, but he didn't care.
Two men of distinctly unusual appearance stood frozen by the doors: their black suits suggested bodyguards—if not for the wands they held. A goblin hurried past them, followed by…
Harry felt his breath catch in his throat for a fleeting moment. The girl, who appeared to be about their age, was the most beautiful creature he'd ever seen.
Her dark hair cascaded over her shoulders like a heavy wave; her robe of expensive fabric draped elegantly around her developing figure — Ginny would never achieve such perfection! — but it was her eyes that truly captivated him. Initially appearing black, they were actually a deep, dark cherry color, though he barely registered the shade before she swept past their table. The goblin and the girl stopped directly in front of the teachers' table, facing Dumbledore.
"How may I assist you?"
"Good morning, Mr. Dumbledore." The goblin nodded curtly at the headmaster, without a hint of politeness. "My name is Karanar, representative of the Mörk clan. Why did you disregard my message, which I sent two days ago?"
"Preparing for the school year..."
"I see."
Karanar tightened his already thin lips but said nothing further. Instead, he seemed to conjure several scrolls from thin air and magically delivered them to Dumbledore.
Potter watched Dumbledore intently, catching a glimpse of the emotions that flashed across his face. He was disconcerted to realize that the "kindly old headmaster" was capable of such raw, unfiltered loathing.
"And what is it you require, Mr. Karanar?"
"Professor Dumbledore, are you mocking me?"
"Certainly not! I was merely…unprepared."
"You yourself signed and magically sealed a pact with the Mörk family just a month ago, and now you feign ignorance?"
"But Lady Mörk —"
"Lady Mörk deserves respect!"
"Hmm. Then why wasn't Lady Mörk present yesterday with the others?"
"Bureaucrats muddled the paperwork again, forcing my clients to wait nearly an entire day for a decision in the neutral zone after their arrival. Are you going to proceed with the sorting?"
"I believe it's unnecessary. It's quite clear that Lady Mörk would prefer—"
"Director, I don't think you are privy to my preferences." Harry flinched at the low, resonant voice, laced with a subtle rasp – a tone wholly unsuited to a teenager. "I insist on the standard sorting procedure."
Potter could have sworn he heard the Director's teeth grind. Professor McGonagall had been dispatched for the Sorting Hat, and within minutes — the Dean was practically sprinting down the corridors—the new student was seated.
The entire school had previously watched in silence, but as soon as she sat, whispers rippled through the hall, escalating into a low hum. Everyone began placing bets on where the enigmatic Mörk would be sorted. Ron, between mouthfuls of pastries, muttered:
"She's bound to be another Slytherin snake. Just look at her robes – clearly pure-blood aristocracy, just like Malfoy."
"Oh, have you learned to judge someone's status by their clothing?" Hermione shot him a skeptical glance. "You should tell Abbott she's become pure-blood then. She'd be thrilled!"
"Don't start, Hermione!"
Granger simply rolled her eyes, returning her gaze to the new student. In all her memory, the Hat had never lingered so long with a single student. And Harry seemed to recall it too, a faint smile playing on his lips. The girl's face was utterly serene as the hum in the hall swelled exponentially. The Weasley twins began taking wagers.
"Gryffindor!"
The Hall erupted. The red and gold table thundered with applause; Ravenclaws and Hufflepuffs offered a more subdued clapping response. Then, abruptly, the Gryffindor table fell silent as the lions realized that Slytherin wasn't conceding – they were applauding the girl too. Rising gracefully from the stool, Mörk gave a polite nod to Professor McGonagall and murmured something quietly to the goblin before making her way to the Gryffindor table.
Karanar didn't linger, casting a dismissive glance at the headmaster before heading for the door. The men flanking the entrance followed in his wake.
It seemed the new girl had hoped to find a seat as far from everyone else as possible, but her plans weren't destined to materialize. Hermione, offering a polite smile, turned to her just as Mörk passed by.
"Hi, I'm Hermione Granger. Want to sit with us?"
"M-mm… Sure, if no one minds."
"Someone does mind!"
"Ginny…"
"Sorry, Hermione, but the atmosphere here is completely ruined. I think I'll go find somewhere else to sit."
With a gentle smile directed at the open-mouthed Weasley, Mörk turned her back on Hermione and made for the end of the table.
"Granger, why did you invite her? Don't we give you enough trouble?"
"Ginny, are you serious? — Granger's lips tightened. — You're not acting like a Gryffindor at all!"
Rising abruptly, the girl grabbed her bag and hurried after Mörk. Harry hesitated for only a moment, giving the two Weasleys a peculiar look.
The red-haired siblings were so taken aback they didn't even bother to follow. They simply exchanged glances and began murmuring to each other, their eyes darting towards the end of the table.
Settling across from the new girl, her friends sighed wearily.
"What's wrong?"
"I'm really sorry."
"For what?" Mörk's thoughtful gaze shifted between them until it dawned on her. "Oh, because of Weasley? You have nothing to apologize for. That kind of behavior is typical of Blood Traitors."
"Where did you even learn about that?"
Noticing the girl was looking at him strangely, Harry frantically replayed his words in his head, trying to figure out what he'd said wrong. Then, a blush crept up his neck.
"Sorry. I'm Harry Potter. Nice to meet you."
"Likewise. I'm Triss Mörk. I know about the Weasleys from the same place all purebloods do – history."
"History?"
"Honestly, what do they teach you? There's a Family Grimoire — essentially a magical record book. It details not only each family's lineage but also key events in the histories of others. The Weasleys have a long story, but…"
"Wait a minute… 'Blood Traitors'? That's just a slur, isn't it? Why would they put that in the grimoires?"
Triss blinked a few times, her expression blank for a moment. Then, abruptly, she buried her face in her hands and muttered something so elaborate, Harry found himself listening with genuine curiosity.
Once she'd regained a semblance of composure, she pulled her hands away and straightened, fixing the Gryffindors with a look. Hermione could practically hear the gears whirring in Mörk's head as he patiently waited for her to continue.
"If you're truly interested, I suppose I can explain. — Granger started to interject, but Triss silenced her with a dismissive wave of her hand. — But on two conditions."
"What are they?"
"First, this stays between the three of us. No telling your friends. Second, you won't argue with my explanations. I'll answer questions, certainly, but I have no patience for pointless debate. Besides, you two seem to know absolutely nothing about this – which is odd, really."
"Why is that odd?"
"Because it's written down. In books."
Mörk shrugged as if that settled everything. Harry felt a blush creep up his neck – he wasn't much of a reader and rarely did any reading outside of schoolwork. Hermione, however, was lost in thought, mentally scanning the shelves of the library. And after a few moments, she reported that she'd never read anything like it, nor even seen mention of it.
Triss arched an eyebrow, her expression becoming subtly reminiscent of Snape. But she remained silent, refraining from comment. Instead, they arranged to meet after classes.
Percy Weasley approached, as always radiating a touch of self-importance. He'd been sent to Hogwarts by the Minister himself! According to Mr. Fudge, the young Weasley lacked experience, but that was more than compensated for by his diligence. And Percy couldn't very well refuse a request from the dean, whom he'd always held in high regard, so he agreed to deliver the schedule to a new Gryffindor student.
"Miss Mörk, your schedule. Welcome to Hogwarts."
"Thank you, Mr…"
"Weasley. Percy Weasley," he replied, flashing a smile at the newcomer and his former classmates before heading off on his way. "Have a good day!"
"Wow. A pleasant exception to the family?"
Harry noticed the girl seemed to sniff the air, give a small, private chuckle, and then focus on the schedule. After studying it, Miss Mörk turned her gaze towards the Gryffindor students.
"What electives did you choose?"
"Divination and Care of Magical Creatures."
"Numerology and Runes."
"Harry, why didn't you pick something a bit more… practical?"
"How would runes help me anyway?"
Mörk's eyebrows shot up as if Harry had suddenly sprouted a horn in the middle of his forehead and rabbit ears to match. Hermione, when she caught the newcomer's eye, shrugged sheepishly.
The girl sighed heavily, calculating just how much reading material – and mental fortitude – she would need. But judging by what she'd seen so far, the situation wasn't as dire as she initially thought.
"Let's go to class."
"Merlin, Potions first… again," Harry muttered quietly, rolling his eyes. "Just dreadful."
"What's wrong with that? You have the youngest Magister teaching you! You should be thrilled!"
"Magister? I know he became a Master about twenty years ago, but I've never heard of a Magister."
"He earned his Magister title five years ago, after patenting three new potions. Though not in England."
"That doesn't change the fact that he's a right jerk! Snape hates Gryffindors!"
Harry didn't notice how anger flared in the new girl's eyes. Hermione, however, did, and she felt distinctly uncomfortable. But Triss remained silent, and the other girl didn't press her. Harry had already fallen quiet, stomping his feet with exaggerated force as he vented his frustration on the poor floor.
They reached the classroom, even managing to discuss their skills in the subject, when groups of students materialized from opposite ends of the corridor.
A crimson-and-gold contingent was led by a puffing Ron Weasley; the silver-and-green followed with the languid grace of Draco Malfoy. Ignoring Mörk completely, the redhead launched himself at his friends with a shout:
"Why didn't you wait for me? I had to come with others!"
"Ron, you've been here four years already! And Triss just transferred – were we supposed to ditch her?"
"Yeah! You're my friend, Hermione, not that… That… Serpent!"
"A rather peculiar skin tone for a reptile, Mörk."
"Greetings to you too, Malfoy. — Triss smiled as Draco mimed a kiss on the back of her hand, his gaze still fixed on Weasley. — How are things?"
"Not bad. My mother's hosting a Christmas party; you should come."
"I'm not sure yet, but probably. Dad adores your gardens, you know."
"Speaking of which, we acquired a new…"
A pig-like squeal from Ron shattered the otherwise calm conversation. Sighing softly, Mörk turned to face the redhead, crossing her arms over her chest.
Seeing Weasley's face turn an alarming shade of red, she genuinely hoped it would give him a heart attack. Sadly, such things were rare in fourteen-year-olds, so she braced herself for a torrent of almost incoherent abuse.
"Can't you two see? She's just as slimy as Malfoy! Her parents are probably Death Eaters, sucking up to the Dark Lord! Look at her cloak, her bag – it's got to be piles of money!"
"Weasley, make up your mind: am I a serpent or a slime? I'm losing track."
"Shut up, dark creature!"
"Oh, and now I'm a werewolf too?"
"Shut up!"
"Or what, Weasley? Are you going to spit at me? Or pelt me with crumbs at dinner?"
Harry and Hermione couldn't help but stifle giggles, marveling at how Triss had managed to hit so many "pressure points" on Ron in just one breakfast.
They hadn't the slightest idea that before arriving at Hogwarts, she had compiled detailed dossiers on more or less significant figures from every house. Draco had been a considerable help in this endeavor.
The carefully concealed smirks of her friends finally pushed Weasley over the edge. With a frustrated yell, he snatched his wand from his pocket, only for it to fly out of his hand the next instant. Catching the wand deftly, Triss recoiled with distaste and re-gripped it, holding it now between two fingers.
"Honestly, Weasley, wipe it down first!"
With a roar like an injured boar, Ron charged at his adversary – only to misjudge the direction entirely. He'd aimed for Malfoy, who had been standing nearby with Triss, and hadn't intended to witness the spectacle. The girl flicked her wand.
"Petrificus Totalus!"
Weasley should have fallen from his considerable height, but Mörk had no desire to be accused of intentionally causing harm. So, Ronald's body gently settled onto the floor. Triss didn't put away her wand, carefully observing her classmates.
Some looked surprised; others openly mocked Weasley, but most nodded in approval – he had certainly worn out everyone with his volatile temper.
Realizing that she wouldn't be facing serious consequences anytime soon, Mörk turned her gaze to Weasley, who was glaring at her with furious eyes. But she didn't get a word out when the crowd parted, making way for a professor.
"What is going on here?" Severus Snape's quiet, almost hushed voice made everyone jump. "Potter!"
"It wasn't him, sir."
"Explain yourself, Malfoy."
"Miss Mörk immobilized Mr. Weasley to prevent him from harming anyone. He was having another… outburst."
Triss barely managed to stifle a laugh hearing such a characterization of the situation. It was as if he hadn't accused him, but stung him so offensively that he would be simmering for the next day and a half.
Snape, whether he believed a word of it or not, gave nothing away. Instead, without a spoken spell, he dispelled whatever charm had been placed on Weasley and, with a dramatic flourish of his heels, turned toward the door.
"Enter," he stated, his voice clipped.
Triss immediately headed for the first table, noting with some surprise that Hogwarts seemed to seat students in groups of three. Hermione and Harry settled beside her, while a disgruntled Ron was pulled away by Thomas and Finnigan.
"A brief assessment of how much your brains have emptied out over the summer," Snape began, his gaze sweeping across them. "Weasley, what are the components of Draught of Living Death?"
"Uh… um…"
"Remarkably insightful." He turned to Potter. "Potter? What goes into the Draught of Living Death?"
"Fluxweed, valerian root, powdered unicorn horn... I paused for a moment." — The boy hesitated. — "And moonstone. And as needed, aconite."
"Not bad. Miss Mörk, what was your grade in Potions?"
"'Outstanding,' Professor Snape."
"What are the ingredients of Dreamless Sleep Potion?"
"Extracted essence of Soothing Mint, dreamless poppy seeds, powdered unicorn horn and three more ingredients prohibited within England."
"And the effect of 'Shrivelling Solution'?"
"Applied to open wounds, like Balm of Restoration, but with a composition that allows the patient to remain active for three days or longer. It cauterizes bacteria, infections, and stops bleeding. It smells absolutely dreadful and commands a very high price."
"Very good, Miss Mörk. Ten… no, fifteen points to Gryffindor."
The red and gold house froze, as if startled rabbits. Snape had voluntarily awarded his house more than five points? Had the Dark Mark thawed, or were Merlin, Morgana, and Mordred resurrected?
Snape, ignoring the stunned expressions of his students, continued with the questioning. After about ten minutes, satisfied that not everyone would be blowing up their cauldrons tonight — just Longbottom — he flicked his wand and a recipe appeared on the board.
"Anti-Burn Salve," he announced. "You have one hour to present me with a sample. Begin!"
As everyone surged towards the ingredients, including Granger and Potter, Triss pulled a sleek set of scales from her bag — a professional potioner's kit in a well-worn case. Only after the others had left the storeroom did she head that way. When she returned to their table, Harry and Hermione were already intently chopping the main ingredient: fireweed roots. But they froze as Triss almost lovingly unfolded the case revealing a collection of knives.
The next few moments resembled a high-end culinary show Harry had once caught his aunt obsessively watching at the Dursleys'. She'd been utterly captivated, and he'd just needed to ask where to plant the roses — a ten-minute ordeal that stretched until the commercials started.
With lightning speed, she diced the fireweed, then moved on to preparing magical slugs, completely bypassing the recipe's instruction about prepping blastroot stems.
"Triss, but…"
"Granger, focus on your potion!" Snape materialized as usual from nowhere and loomed over their table. "Mörk, why did you deviate from the sequence?"
"The slugs need a moment to settle after being separated; I'll have time to prepare the blastroot."
The Potions Master considered this for a moment, gave a curt nod, and moved on to observe the Slytherins, once again leaving the Gryffindors suspended in his wake. Triss was just beginning to work with the blastroot stems when she saw Harry's knife raised.
"You idiot!" she hissed, barely managing to grab his wrist. "Do you want to kill us all?"
"What? Why?"
"First of all, you didn't wipe your knife after handling the fireweed. Secondly — you don't cut blastroot diagonally! You slice it across the grain; otherwise, it'll live up to its name completely, and you'll be nothing but ash!"
"Miss Mörk, please keep your rescue efforts for your new friend to a minimum. Potter, minus five points for a breach of safety protocol!"
Muttering under her breath, Triss beckoned Harry closer to their cauldron and, offering barely audible instructions, demonstrated the correct way to prepare the stems—ensuring neither the potion nor himself would be harmed.
Harry watched her movements with wide eyes, mentally berating himself for his stupidity. He'd skimmed through the Herbology textbook last night, but had glanced over the chapter on blastroot!
"Thanks, Triss."
"Don't mention it. Just try to be a bit more careful in the future; I don't have an endless supply of ways to save your skin. — She narrowed her eyes with a smirk. — And you really should pay attention when you're reading. There's some fascinating stuff in those books."
Harry just nodded, heading over to his cauldron. Under Professor Murk's watchful eye, both he and Hermione had brewed decent potions. Only Triss's and Malfoy's were truly flawless.
"Excellent work, Mr. Malfoy. Ten points." Mörk paused, then turned to Hermione. "Miss Mörk … five."
"For helping others?"
"Precisely. I appreciated the enthusiasm, but don't expect any leniency next time."
That was when Ron, whose cauldron had produced a bizarre concoction of caramel and tar, decided it would be brilliant to mutter something about a "sly git."
The Gryffindors groaned quietly as Snape slowly turned towards Weasley. But at that moment, a torrent of soapy foam erupted from the redhead's mouth, and he began coughing violently.
Sighing, the Potions Master cast a counter-curse on Weasley, but nothing happened. Raising an eyebrow in surprise, Snape tried again, with no result.
"Finnigan, get your classmate to the Hospital Wing. The rest of you are dismissed."
Hermione watched Triss's benign smile carefully and caught the knowing look she gave the foam-spewing Weasley. Exchanging a glance with Harry, they discreetly lagged behind the crowd and waited for Triss, who was strolling along at her own pace.
"Why do you defend Slytherins?"
"Because I can." Triss's expression suddenly became serious. "Do you enjoy dealing with someone like that?"
"Well, Ron isn't exactly polite, but…"
"Hermione, I understand you've been friends with him for four years. But your 'not exactly polite' is a rather generous description. Calling the Potions Master and Lord of Magic an idiot is something only a brainless suicide would do. A kamikaze, basically."
"You're going to tell me…?"
"Yeah. I have a feeling this is going to be a very long lecture series." She chuckled softly, quickening her pace slightly. "Transfiguration next, right?"
Hermione nodded and the trio hurried up the stairs. Triss, who had never been in the castle before, followed the Gryffindors, lost in thought.
Author's P.S.:
Hey everyone!
I'm Kira Wollef, the author of "The Chosen's Bride." I'm so excited that this is my first fanfic to be translated into English – a huge thanks to John Malfoy for making it possible.
Hope you like it!
Please visit my fanfiction profiles!
fanfics . me / user 682522
ficbook authors / 1519118
J.M.: Hi! Looking for a proofreader for this translation. Just need someone to check for accuracy, as it's a translation