original fanfiction by Kira Wollef
"Go bother Mordred, Potter! People like you should have been Avada'd when they were kids!"
"And your ancestor could have stood to learn about contraception!"
Draco Malfoy's face flushed crimson, and Mörk started to worry for Harry's safety. But the blond managed to regain control, a smug smirk twisting his lips.
"Dentisimus!"
"Protego!"
A brawl erupted, more like a scuffle between first-years than anything serious. Cheering Charms, Tarantallegra, and a Coughing Charm – nothing too heavy. Predictably, Ronald and Ginny were front and center, enthusiastically egging on Potter. The twins, surprisingly, stood back, regarding the younger boys with disapproval. Mörk made a mental note to keep an eye on them; they weren't as simple as "pranksters and jokers," just like Granger. She thought to herself – there was more than met the eye. Mörk noticed Potter's gaze and gave him a barely perceptible nod. They were dragging this performance out long enough already. If this had happened at Durmstrang, everyone would have understood it was just showmanship. But here, judging by the expressions on people's faces, they genuinely believed it was real. Barely suppressing an eye roll at such naivete, Mörk refocused on the fight.
Malfoy spat out some obscure incantation, and Harry suddenly stumbled, falling directly into a teal beam of light. But Hermione was there beside him, taking the brunt of the curse.
The Double Hit – Gryffindors crumpled to the floor, unconscious. A quiet chuckle escaped Triss as she practically lunged forward, pushing back Ginny who'd tried to reach Potter.
"You git, Malfoy!" She scanned the room, her gaze landing on the Weasley twins. "Fred, George, lend a hand getting them to the Hospital Wing!"
The twins, frowning in concentration, raised their wands.
"Idiot! Use your hands! They've caught a curse! Who knows how it'll react? You want to kill them?" Triss's eyes snapped back to Draco, still flushed with anger. "And I'm having words with you, Malfoy, later! Move it!"
They moved silently through the corridors – the twins, quite sturdy lads, carried the fourth-years with ease. Mörk walked ahead, maintaining a diversionary charm to draw attention away from their procession. Of course, Snape was waiting in the Hospital Wing.
"And what mess have Potter and Granger gotten themselves into now?"
"Your favorite! Malfoy hit them with something nasty – don't know exactly what."
"Watch your tongue, Miss Mörk!"
The twins exchanged a look, observing the exchange. Clever lads who knew their way around a prank, they sensed a subtle falseness threading through the room. But they kept quiet.
"Poppy! You've got patients!"
"What happened?" Madam Pomfrey peered out of her office. "Oh, Brigitt! Not them again!"
The mediwitch fussed over the students, already laid out on beds. Snape dismissed the Weasleys with a single look, and as soon as they were gone, he conjured several silencing charms.
"Poppy, step aside. I'll break the curse."
"Severus, are you meddling again?"
"Apologies for the lack of warning. They're practically filled with potions instead of blood; we needed to get them to the goblins quickly. Will you cover us?"
"Miss…"
"Mörk, Madam. Yes, I'll accompany them. Nutty!"
The house-elf appeared silently, her large eyes fixed on her mistress. While Severus dealt with the Gryffindors, Triss led the elf to Madam Pomfrey.
"Madam, I'd like Nutty to remain here and maintain the illusion. House-elf magic is a different breed entirely; it's unlikely anyone would detect a substitution. Are you amenable?"
"Very well."
"Nutty, conjure the forms of Harry and Hermione. While we're gone, assist Madam Pomfrey, understood? Standard guest privileges apply."
"Understood, Mistress. May Nutty speak freely?"
"Speak."
"The old wizard can sense elven magic. I'll require a sample of your friends' blood."
Nodding, the girl slipped away and quietly relayed the house-elf's request to the Potions Master.
When the Gryffindors awoke, finding illusions occupying their beds, Poppy beckoned them all into her office. She gestured towards the fireplace with a smile.
"But what about the Headmaster…?"
"He's not tracking us. I personally wove the concealing charms; Albus won't be able to discern that you left the school grounds. But you have no more than three hours."
"We'll make it well before then, Master Karanar has been notified and is expecting us." Triss snatched a handful of Floo Powder and stepped into the fireplace. "Don't forget your hoods; we need to avoid recognition. Professor Snape will cover for you. Gringotts, reception area!"
The girl's form dissolved in a burst of emerald flame. Granger and Potter followed swiftly behind. Severus was about to step into the hearth when Poppy caught his sleeve.
"Severus, this was your idea?"
"No. Granger went down with food poisoning last summer, and Triss asked me to check them out."
"Seriously, how did I not see that?"
"You didn't run any specific tests, Poppy. So don't beat yourself up about it. We'll be back soon!"
"We've got a few minutes before Master Karanar arrives with everything we need." The Gryffindors stared, surprised, at Mörk, who looked visibly nervous. "And I need to talk to you, Harry."
"Alright. Go ahead."
"In front of everyone?"
"I don't keep secrets from Hermione. And I doubt you do from Professor Snape."
Triss paled slightly and shot a panicked glance at Severus. The Potions Master simply shrugged – he'd advised the girl to talk to Potter at Hogwarts yesterday, but she'd stubbornly refused. Hermione touched Harry's shoulder, sensing that Triss was panicking for a very good reason.
"Come over here."
"I said I don't keep secrets from you!"
Granger pursed her lips, instantly recognizing Potter's familiar stubbornness kicking in. Triss started with vague explanations, stumbling over words about scrolls, magic, and all the technicalities. It got to the point where Potter snapped at her: "Just spit it out, Mörk!"
"Don't yell at me!"
"Then stop beating around the bush!"
Severus sighed quietly as he caught sight of his niece's expression. When Triss dug in her heels, only her mother could stop her. And Primrose wasn't about to magically appear from a jar right now.
As the Potions Master braced himself for an impending blow-up, Mörk practically leaped from her chair and hurried over to Potter. Snape noticed in passing that they made quite a good pair together.
Mörk had never been particularly delicate, but Potter had shot up — grown in leaps and bounds, you might say. Beside the boy, Triss looked graceful, especially considering she was nearly half a head shorter than him. Both were dark-haired, though the girl's hair held a bluish undertone while Potter's was a warm brown. And their eyes… emeralds versus garnets.
"We're practically married!"
"What?"
Severus swore aloud, making Hermione jump. The Gryffindor girl shifted her gaze between Triss and Harry, trying to make sense of what she'd heard. Fourteen years old — and practically married? How could that be? Potter seemed just as bewildered, but stubbornly pursed his lips, refusing to ask questions. He turned on his heel and headed for the door, though attempting to escape Merrick was always a losing battle.
"Duratus! Don't you dare walk away from me, darling."
"As far away from a drama queen as possible!"
"Look at yourself, you scarred idiot!" Mörk circled the boy frozen by her spell and peered into his face. Harry flinched, catching the fiery glint in the girl's eyes. "This isn't changing, Potter! I didn't do this; it's a decision of Magic itself! And you, Mordred in your bed — you're going to sit in that chair right now, endure this devilish trial, and listen to me!"
Her last words were almost a growl, as Mörk rose onto her toes, bringing her face close to Harry's.
The next moment was unexpected by Triss, Severus, or Hermione. Because the boy's legs weren't the only thing that remained still. And he hadn't come up with anything better than kissing his suddenly-acquired wife.
Mörk recoiled a meter from Potter, staring at him with wide-eyed bewilderment.
"What on earth are you doing?" Her voice was slightly hoarse, and she cleared her throat. "Have you lost your mind?"
"At least you've stopped yelling at me," Potter replied, feeling his cheeks flush. "Just lift the spell, and I won't leave."
"If you try anything, Mr. Potter, I will stop you." Harry felt sensation returning to his legs. With a quiet sigh, he made his way to a chair and practically collapsed into it. He was already berating himself for his outburst, but some habits were hard to break. At that moment, three goblins entered the study. One carried a small box, another a large ledger. The third came empty-handed and took his place at the head of the long table. A clawed hand gestured towards the available chairs.
"Please, be seated," the goblin said. "My name is Karanar, and I am the solicitor for the Mörk line." His gaze fixed on Harry. "Mr. Potter, your own solicitor, Griphook, accompanied me. He insisted on this meeting, claiming you've been ignoring correspondence."
"What letters?"
The goblins exchanged glances, and Mörk frowned. The situation was growing increasingly perplexing, with no answers in sight. Once everyone was settled, Karanar outlined the verification process and asked who would speak first. Harry volunteered, seemingly eager to confirm his marital status.
The third goblin — no one knew his name — gestured for the wizard to come closer and handed him a dagger and a goblet. With a quiet prompt, he waited until the goblet was half-filled with blood, then healed the cut on the boy's palm before beginning to mix the blood with potions. Within a minute, a golden liquid spread across a clean parchment, completely covering its surface. While Potter's scroll was being prepared, the goblin had already performed the same ritual for Hermione, and after gathering his tools, he bowed and left the room.
"You'll be able to read your scrolls in a few minutes," he said. "In the meantime, Mr. Potter, please explain yourself. How is it that you haven't received any letters, when, according to our agreement, we send quarterly reports?"
"I never did," Potter replied. "A few packages over the years — summer letters from friends — but nothing from the bank."
"My apologies, Master," Mörk said thoughtfully, her gaze fixed on Potter even as she addressed the goblin. "To whom were these letters sent?"
"To Mr. Potter's guardian, as the law requires. Until a client reaches adulthood, their affairs are managed by a guardian. However, reports are delivered directly to the heir, unless magic dictates otherwise."
"And Mr. Potter's guardian is…?"
"Mr. Dumbledore, surely you know?"
Triss muttered a curse under her breath; Severus echoed it with a sharp intake of air. Hermione simply shook her head, trying to grasp the core of the problem. Then, realization dawned on her, and she gasped.
"Triss, I really don't know anything about this sort of thing," Harry said quietly. "Could you help me out?"
"Of course." A sharp voice cut in. "My name is Bellatrix Mörk. Can you provide financial records for the last four years? And I'd like to know how Mr. Potter's safe is secured."
"Just a moment," the goblin replied, producing a small sphere from his pocket and muttering something in Gobbledegook into it. "The documents will be brought right over. As for the safe… anyone with a key can access it."
Bellatrix raised an eyebrow. "An utterly ridiculous system. Is Mr. Potter the heir to a noble line?"
"According to the Will, yes," the goblin conceded. "But we suspect there's been an early emancipation."
"Lord at fourteen? You're joking, right?"
"He's the last, Lady Mörk. The last of his line, surviving the Killing Curse. We've repeatedly urged the heir to visit the bank, but…"
The goblin spread his hands in a gesture of helplessness. Triss just shook her head. Those green-skinned meddlers had managed to mess things up for themselves again. Suddenly, scrolls flared into existence, drawing everyone's attention.
Harry reached out to hand Murk her papers, but she deftly caught them at the edge of the table and gave his gesture a dismissive shake of her head. Rising from her chair, she circled the table and settled onto the armrest of Harry's seat, placing the parchment directly in front of him.
"You really need to read this yourself, Harry."
"I'm scared, Triss. Just…scared."
"I understand. But you have to. I'll sit with you while you do it. Don't keep esteemed goblins and Professor waiting."
A small vial of pale lavender liquid suddenly slid across the table. Mörk caught it, popped the stopper, sniffed delicately, and handed it to Harry.
"A calming draught. Drink this and read."
With another sigh, he obediently drained the vial and set it aside before picking up the parchment.
Name: Harold James Peverell-Potter-Black, Lord Peverell, Lord Potter, Heir of Black.
"Triss…" Harry's finger traced over the surname. "How…?"
"It's your inheritance. We'll talk about it when we get back to school. But a rather intriguing twist, wouldn't you say?"
Mother: Lilyana Elizabeth Potter (née Evans), status: alive
Father: James Carlos Potter, status: alive
Brother: Pollux Ignatius Potter, status: alive
The parchment slipped from Harry's grasp. Mörk stared at the writing, equally stunned, but managed to pull herself together just in time. One look at the boy was enough for her to mutter a curse under her breath.
"Master! Shields up now! He's about to destroy everything!"
"Triss!" Snape lunged forward towards the girl, but she silenced him with a sharp look. "He'll incinerate you."
"Bonds won't let him!"
Grimacing, Severus yanked Hermione from her chair and practically pressed her into a corner, shielding her with his own body. The goblins raised their shields barely a second before Harry's magic erupted outwards in a wild surge.
Triss winced, feeling a sickening twist in her gut. Because of the betrothal, Harry wouldn't truly harm her, but the sensation was far from pleasant.
"Harry." Mörk touched his face with the back of her hand, fighting against the surge of magic. "Look at me."
"They're alive…"
It was painful to look at Potter. His gaze was so lost that Triss nearly choked on the emotion rising within her. She rarely comforted anyone her age, but now, instinctively, she slid onto his knees and practically forced his head against her chest. Harry wrapped his arms around her waist, gripping his cloak with fingers so tight she heard the fabric strain. The magic slowly subsided, spilling out in tears that streamed down his young face. Triss whispered foolish reassurances into his ear, stroked his hair, coaxed him to pull himself together. After about five minutes, Harry managed to quell his power and, with a shuddering breath, pulled back slightly from her.
"I'm sorry."
"Nonsense," Mörk said softly, meeting his tear-filled eyes with a weak smile. "You have nothing to apologize for. Feeling a little better?"
"Yeah. If it weren't for the calming draught, I probably would have blown the whole place apart, right?"
"Exactly, Potter. Imagine having that kind of power and your brains!"
The potion master's last remark prompted Harry to chuckle quietly, with a touch of resignation.
Triss glanced over at Severus. He was pale as a ghost, but trying to maintain composure. With a slight quirk of his lip, Snape released Hermione, who was trembling violently.
"Now then, could you explain what triggered that reaction?"
Severus helped Hermione into a chair, conjuring a glass of water for her. After she nearly spilled it all over herself, the Potions Master sighed with weary resignation and retrieved another vial of Calming Balm from his pocket, forcing the student to swallow it.
"Honestly, Miss Granger! I didn't realize you were so… affected!" Snape's gaze grew concerned as he knelt beside Hermione, turning towards Potter. "Triss? "
"My parents are alive, Professor. You knew?"
"H-how could that be?"
And now Triss was concerned for her uncle's sake too. His face cycled through shades of green and white – a truly unsettling sight
"I saw their bodies! They were buried in my presence!"
"Then things aren't quite as we thought." Without rising from Harry's knees, Triss reached out and took the parchment a thoughtful goblin had retrieved during the initial chaos. "Let's continue, Harry."
"I don't want to."
"Well, I'll read it aloud then!"
"You—"
His eyes darted quickly over the names of his parents, avoiding lingering too long for fear of another wave of emotion.
Godfather: Sirius Orion Black, Status: Alive.
Relationship Status: Engaged, Fiancée – Bellatrix Khara Mörk. Ritual: Bonds of Magic.
Magical Abilities: Transfiguration, Advanced Transfiguration, Charms, Potions.
Magical Talents: Artefact Creation, Necromancy, Animagus, Parseltongue.
Magical Potential: Unquantifiable.
Discovered: Distraction Potion, Amity Potion (Target: R.B. Weasley), Antipathy Potion (Targets: D.L. Malfoy, S.T. Snape, T.M. Riddle), Love Potion (Target: G.M. Weasley), Tranquility Potion, Aphrodisiac Potion.
Discovered: Magic Dampener – 80% (Magical Signature: A.P.W.B. Dumbledore). Ability Suppression – 80% (Magical Signature: A.P.W.B. Dumbledore).
Discovered: The Kaekus Curse.
"And the Headmaster, too."
Harry sighed heavily, then leaned against Tris. Stroking his hair, Tris struggled to grasp the sheer magnitude of the mess his mother had gotten them into with her promise.
"I'm terrified to look at my scroll. "Hermione glanced at the parchment with apprehension, as if it were a venomous snake. "What if there's something… like that in mine too?"
"Read it, Miss Granger. I'm right here."
The girl looked at the professor and suddenly seemed calmer. At least they had an adult nearby to rely on. She'd grown up with parents who'd fostered independence in her almost from birth, and sometimes she just longed to be a child again. With a sigh, Hermione pulled the parchment closer and began to read.
"This can't be possible…"
Another scroll went flying onto the floor. Triss braced herself for another outburst, but Granger clearly knew how to compose herself.
Standing up, the young witch took her own scroll and, circling the table, handed it to Triss. Mörk raised an eyebrow in surprise, but accepted the parchment, noticing the tremor in the girl's hands.
Name: Capella Hermione McKinnon-Black (adopted name: Granger), Lady Black.
Mother: Marlin McKinnon, status: deceased.
Father: Sirius Orion Black, status: alive.
Relationship Status: Single.
Magical Abilities: Transfiguration, Advanced Transfiguration, Ritual Magic, Mind Magic.
Magical Gifts: Animagus, Intuition, Mentalism.
Magical Potential: Unquantifiable.
Discovered Potions: Distraction Potion, Friendship Potion (target: H.J. Potter), Hostility Potion (targets: D.L. Malfoy, S.T. Snape), Love Potion (target: R.B. Weasley), Calming Draught, Arousal Potion.
Discovered: Magic Block – 80% (magical signature: A.P.W.B. Dumbledore). Ability Suppression – 80% (magical signature: A.P.W.B. Dumbledore).
"Well, at least it didn't come out that you and Harry are related. That's something, anyway." Mörk chewed her lip thoughtfully, staring at Hermione's file. "Harry, please let me through. We need to sort a few things out and then we'll be back. We'll talk when you're feeling more yourself.
Harry reluctantly released his grip, letting Triss go. A tremor still ran through him; he desperately needed someone to calm the storm raging within. A warm hand settled on his shoulder.
"Hold on, Mr. Potter. We'll be at Hogwarts soon – I'll have a 'Dreamless Sleep' potion prepared for you. Monday's coming, and you need a good rest."
"And you, Professor? Are you alright?"
"What could happen to me?"
"Someone told me… that you were in love with my mother…" Harry hesitated, the words feeling heavy. "…with Mrs. Potter."
Severus sighed, a weary sound. "Lies. We had a friendship, nothing more. But by my sixth year, we'd drifted apart. I did see their bodies, Harry. I believed they were gone."
"So you were deceived too. You don't want revenge?"
Severus let out another sigh, anticipating a headache far worse than the one he already had. The boy was entitled to ask, and he wouldn't deny him.
Besides, Mörk was a master of schemes; let her assist her future husband. He would simply have to ensure their children didn't get in too deep.
"Master Barrak," a goblin announced, inclining his head slightly, "this is Miss Mörk. Lady Black isn't quite herself at the moment, so she's delegated her authority to her friend." He cast a curious glance at Hermione, who had been offered a steaming cup of hot chocolate, just as Harry had.
"Master," the goblin continued, "does Lady Black have a magical guardian?"
"No. Lady Black is partially emancipated, so she doesn't require a guardian. A mentor is needed, but that's chosen and approved by the client themselves."
Triss paused for a moment, considering, then turned to Griphook. "And Harry's also partially emancipated, isn't he? Then why does he have a guardian?"
Griphook nodded understandingly, leaning over the communication sphere and chattering away in Gobbledegook. Triss returned to discussing matters with Barrack. She requested full financial records for the past few years from both of them, along with linking lockboxes through which all those reports would be securely transmitted to the Gryffindor parties.
"No correspondence, gentlemen. Communication is either in person or via the lockboxes. You can reach Lady Black and Lord Peverell through me, but never, I emphasize! Never send anything addressed to Dumbledore or anyone else." She turned her attention to Harry and Hermione. "Harry, Hermione, do you have any preferences?"
"Can I lock these vaults against the… you know, the Potters?", Harry blurted out.
"It's not advisable, young Lord," Griphook cautioned.
Harry flinched at the unfamiliar title. Lord? Triss, yes, Lady – with a capital L, just like she'd laid down the law with the goblins earlier while he was… well, dithering.
"Master Griphook is right, Harry," Triss added. "Sealing the vaults would raise suspicions. We can't let anyone know you're emancipated."
"Why not?"
"Can't you deduce it yourself? You saw the audit results. That beard with bells keeps popping up everywhere. We'll discuss that later. Gentlemen, I need standard ancestral protection sets prepared. Lady Black and Lord Peverell aren't versed in all the necessary disciplines, so we need to safeguard them as if they were the most valuable asset of our most important client."
The goblins, smirking at the comparison, departed the office—they had vaults to descend into, and needed to be quick about it given the time constraint. Merok was meanwhile lost in intense thought, a fact noticed by Severus, who remained seated beside Hermione. A subtle cough drew the girl's attention away from her musings. Blinking, she looked up at her uncle with a puzzled expression.
"What's troubling you so?"
"I can't fathom how they managed to pin Black with treason." Tris noticed the surprise on the Gryffindor faces. "A magical godfather isn't merely an honorary title. Such a person cannot harm their godchild or his family; magic itself punishes such actions, far more severely than dishwashing duties. And Sirius, as I understand it, is alive — simply wandering about."
"He's at Grimmauld Place, in the Black family ancestral home. But you're right, his arrest seems just as fabricated as everything else."
"Master Karanar," she said, waiting until the goblin made eye contact with her. "Please get in touch with Lady Malfoy and Mr. Black. We'll need to pull him out of the mess he's found himself in."
Barrak and Griphook returned, laden with chests. The Gryffindors, despite their protests, were festooned with artifacts like Christmas trees.
The standard set typically included a bracelet, ring, and earrings, each with unique properties woven into them. Hermione's bracelet offered protection against mental manipulation; her ring shielded her from poisons; and her earrings functioned as a sort of beacon, programmable like a Portkey. Harry's bracelet analyzed substances in food, his earring guarded his mind, and his ring was enchanted to deploy a magical shield in case of attack. It wouldn't last long, of course, but those few seconds could be crucial in a confrontation. The goblins also presented the ancestral rings of their respective Houses. A darkly mesmerizing morion on the Black ring captivated Hermione instantly. She took the ring from the box and, after a moment's hesitation, decisively slipped it onto her right-hand ring finger. It immediately shrunk to fit perfectly, settling snugly against her knuckle. No matter how she struggled, she couldn't remove it.
"Congratulations, Lady Black," Barrack said, bowing to the new head of the House. Mürk gave the prospective groom a mocking look. "Now, Harry."
"What if it refuses?"
"It won't. Just put it on."
Taking a deep breath, as if preparing for a plunge, Potter reached for the Peverell ring first. Something told him that was the right order.
Inside the rare black diamond, he could make out an emblem. Squinting, Harry peered into its depths. His eyes widened in surprise.
"There are bones."
"Naturally. The Peverells were necromancers, favored by the Lady herself."
Startled, but quickly regaining his composure, Harry slipped the ring onto his left-hand ring finger, just as Hermione had done. For a moment, it didn't react, then suddenly Potter cried out, feeling a sharp sting as the band tightened around his finger.
"Damn it! It bit me!"
"Be thankful it didn't pull your finger off," Triss smirked. "Now, the Potters."
The Potter ring proved far simpler; it yielded immediately. The goblins congratulated the newly appointed Lords and Ladies, discussed final arrangements, handed over connecting lockboxes and instructions, then bustled out—their workload had significantly increased. Mürk turned to Granger.
"Hermione, how are you feeling?"
"I'm reeling," she said, her voice trembling slightly. "My whole world is reeling. I never thought… we look so much alike!"
"Now that I look at you," he replied, studying her face carefully, "I can see traces of your biological parents, Miss... or Lady Black, I suppose."
"No," she corrected sharply, a flicker of defiance crossing her features before she composed herself. "Please, call me Miss Granger." She paused. "Did you know my mother?"
"We were in the same year at school. I only remember her appearance, though. You'd be better off asking Black about it."
Hermione slumped into a chair, utterly bewildered. How could life take such an abrupt turn? For nearly fifteen years, she'd had some certainty about her family, and now… this.
"Hermione, you're worrying needlessly," said a calm voice. "You need to process everything first, then we can start thinking. Let's tackle it tomorrow."
"Why did you ask to contact the Malfoys?" she asked, her brow furrowed.
"Narcissa is Sirius's cousin and would be happy to assist the Black family. If she can locate Black, it will resolve a great many issues – including Harry's living situation. He isn't obligated to live with Muggles anymore, but we might be able to navigate the Ministry regulations…"
Murk noticed Hermione's eyes glazing over, even her usually inquisitive mind struggling to absorb everything. She raised a hand, deciding to postpone further explanations until tomorrow. Too much had come out all at once, and they still needed to undergo the Cleansing Ritual, which wasn't exactly a walk in the park.
They turned their attention to that very matter then. The Gryffindor students were led away by the goblins, leaving Mörk and Severus alone. The girl approached an empty chair beside her uncle and slumped into it, muttering under her breath.
"If I'd known — I would have transferred here ages ago."
"You're like… you'd have outshone Cassandra Trelawney."
"How so?"
"About as much as Granger. Never thought Lily would go along with something like this. We need to find them, figure out what's going on. Maybe they were Obliviated? Or Imperiused?"
"Don't look for excuses before you have the facts. You taught me that yourself."
"You're too clever for a fourteen-year-old."
"That's because you're used to dim English schoolkids, Uncle."
The same four figures emerged from Madam Pomfrey's office fireplace as had entered. But the healer, possessed of a keenly developed empathy, sensed a shared air of dejection. Without preamble, she ushered them to a table, sending Nutty off for tea and pastries.
When everyone held a warm cup in their hands, Pomfrey quietly addressed Severus, who was meticulously crumbling a piece of cake with his fork:
"Severus, is it truly that dire?"
He looked up, his expression unreadable. "Just… some unpleasant discoveries, Poppy. I'm afraid I can't discuss them. Not my secret to share."
"I see," she replied. Turning to Harry and Hermione, she asked, "Do either of you need assistance? Perhaps a calming draught?"
"They'll be receiving a dose of 'Dreamless Sleep' tonight, Poppy," Severus interjected. "The matters are genuinely troubling, and they have lessons tomorrow."
"Then you'll remain in the Hospital Wing. And no arguments!" Pomfrey fixed her gaze on Hermione, who had opened her mouth to protest. "You won't be allowed anywhere near the common room. Albus has been hovering around three times already; I'm quite tired of sending him away. So finish your tea, change into your nightclothes, and get some rest. A little quiet time will do you good."
Tristan echoed Pomfrey's sentiment, emphasizing that Harry had already endured one episode and a second would certainly be detrimental. Pomfrey threw up her hands at the news. She proceeded to douse Harry in potions, layering them over his head until it was practically dripping. He seemed to grow slightly vacant as a result. Hermione received a smaller but still significant dose; she'd managed to suppress her own episode with considerable effort.
Triss and Snape were finishing their tea in Madam Pomfrey's office, listening to the usual bickering between Gryffindor students, when they heard Dumbledore's voice.
"Albus, I told you, no visitors! Getting cursed isn't a joke!"
"Now, Poppy," the old man chuckled, his voice like a milky stream with chocolate banks. "I'm just worried about the children."
"They'll be on their feet tomorrow, and they need rest now! And that's final."
"Just let me take a quick look to make sure they're alright? You seem awfully protective of them. Is something serious going on?"
"Mordred and his lot! Third and fourth beds, go! You have five minutes!"
Triss strained her ears, trying not to miss a single word. Something told her Dumbledore's visit wasn't just a casual one.
"Harry, my dear boy!" There was a hint of concern in the old man's voice. "What on earth has happened?"
"A curse, sir. I don't know what kind; Madam Pomfrey won't say."
Harry's voice was petulant and whiny, which almost made Triss burst out laughing. The mediwitch, desperate to keep the boys confined, had concocted a story about being hit by some sort of "blue-skinned" hex. Nothing serious—just a temporary skin discoloration that turned the person into a walking, shifting mosaic of blues and purples, making them look rather unpleasant.
Dumbledore clearly wasn't thrilled either. After a few minutes spent trying to coax a confession out of Harry – unsuccessfully attempting to get him to admit Draco had tried to hit him with Avada – the old man fled, muttering under his breath.
"Well, what a brute…" Triss said, genuine admiration in her voice. "How did he even make it to his age with that temper?"
"Thanks to it, most likely," Snape replied. "We need to be careful, Triss. The spider hasn't suspected anything yet, but…"
"I know, Uncle. And I'll do everything I can to keep him in the dark for as long as possible." Triss's lips curled into a sly smile. "After all, where else am I going to find a necromancer husband?"
J.M.: Hi! Looking for a proofreader for this translation. Just need someone to check for accuracy, as it's a translation