The afternoon sun slanted through the tall windows of the unused classroom, warming the circle of students bent over their books and parchments. Quills scratched in rhythmic concert, occasionally punctuated by a question or quiet explanation. Chris looked up from his Ancient Runes translation to observe the study group that had, over the weeks, evolved from an awkward collection of inter-house rivals into something resembling friendship. Hermione and Daphne were debating the finer points of a complex Arithmancy equation, their initial frostiness having melted into mutual academic respect. Hannah was helping Susan with a diagram for Herbology, their heads bent close together, while he worked through the particularly challenging elder futhark passage Professor Babbling had assigned. The peaceful productivity felt almost fragile, as if too sudden a movement might shatter it. When the classroom door creaked open, five heads turned in unison, their synchronised reaction a testament to how attuned they'd become to one another's presence.
Chris felt a small jolt of surprise as a slender figure with strawberry blonde hair stepped hesitantly into the room. Astoria Greengrass stood in the doorway, her Slytherin tie slightly askew, clutching a stack of books to her chest like a shield.
"Astoria?" Daphne's voice held a rare note of unguarded surprise. "What are you doing here?"
The younger girl shifted from foot to foot, her eyes scanning the room before settling on her sister. "Professor Snape cancelled Potions. Something about a melted cauldron and toxic fumes." She attempted a smile that didn't quite reach her eyes. "I thought maybe I could study here with you? I have homework and..." Her voice trailed off as she seemed to register the mixed-house composition of the group.
Susan and Hannah exchanged glances, while Hermione straightened in her seat, already looking prepared to welcome a fellow knowledge-seeker regardless of age. Daphne, however, appeared conflicted, her usual composed expression flickering between concern and something that might have been protectiveness.
"We don't normally include younger students," she began, her tone gentler than Chris had ever heard her use in public.
"It's alright with me," he interjected smoothly, earning a sharp glance from Daphne. "We have plenty of space, and I'm sure we could help with first-year material if needed."
The others nodded in agreement, Hannah adding warmly, "Of course you can join us, Astoria. We met on the train, remember? I'm Hannah, and this is Susan."
"And I'm Hermione Granger," the Gryffindor offered, shifting her books to make space at the table. "You're welcome to sit here."
Astoria's posture relaxed slightly, but as she moved into the light streaming through the windows, Chris noticed what he'd missed in the doorway's shadow. Her skin held an unnatural pallor, almost translucent in the bright sunlight, with faint shadows beneath her eyes that spoke of poor sleep or recent illness. As she set her books down and took the offered seat, her hands trembled slightly, a subtle tremor she attempted to hide by quickly folding them in her lap.
Daphne's eyes followed her sister's movements with the hyper-awareness of someone who had long monitored another's well-being. The slight crease between her brows deepened as she watched Astoria arrange her materials.
The study session resumed, though a new current of awareness flowed beneath the academic discussions. Chris observed Astoria while pretending to focus on his translation. Unlike their first meeting on the train, where she had bubbled with enthusiasm and questions, this Astoria seemed subdued, her movements measured as if conserving energy. Occasionally, she would pause in her writing, closing her eyes briefly before continuing with visible determination.
After one such pause, when the tremor in her hand became pronounced enough that she had to set down her quill, Chris spoke quietly. "Are you alright, Astoria?"
The simple question seemed to crack something in the girl's carefully maintained facade. Her shoulders slumped slightly, and she looked up with eyes that suddenly seemed too old for her young face.
"Not really," she admitted with surprising frankness. "It's just been a bad day with my stupid Malediction Curse. Some days are worse than others."
The scratching of quills ceased abruptly, the silence that followed as heavy as a physical weight. Daphne's face drained of colour, her expression freezing in horror.
"Astoria!" she hissed, reaching across the table to grasp her sister's wrist. "That's private family business."
The younger girl blinked, genuine confusion crossing her features. "But you said these were your friends. And it's not like it's going away. The Healers said…"
"That's enough," Daphne cut her off, voice sharp with panic. She looked around the table, meeting each student's eyes in turn. Her usual ice-queen demeanour had shattered, revealing raw fear beneath. "Please," she said, the word clearly unfamiliar on her tongue when used as a plea rather than a polite formality. "This can't leave this room. Our family's reputation, our future, depends on this remaining secret."
Hannah and Susan exchanged bewildered glances, while Hermione's expression shifted to one of academic concern, as if already mentally reviewing everything she'd ever read about blood maledictions.
"What does she mean by 'curse'?" Hannah asked tentatively. "Is she ill?"
"It's a blood malediction," Astoria explained before Daphne could silence her again. "It's been in our family for generations, though it skips some people. I got unlucky." The matter-of-fact way she described her condition, without self-pity, spoke volumes about how long she'd lived with this knowledge. "The Healers at St. Mungo's say there's no cure. Just management until..." She trailed off, seemingly unwilling to finish the sentence even with her candour.
"Until it kills her," Daphne completed, her voice hollow. She had released Astoria's wrist and now sat rigidly upright, her dignity reasserting itself despite the trembling of her hands. "It progresses slowly at first, then more rapidly. By her twenties, it will begin affecting her major organs. By thirty..." She stopped, unable to continue.
The classroom felt suddenly cold despite the afternoon sunlight. Blood maledictions were rare, ancient magic, the darkest kind of curse that worked its way through generations like poison in a bloodline. Even in the magical world, where healing could mend bones in minutes and regrow entire limbs, such curses remained stubbornly incurable.
Chris had been silent throughout this exchange, his mind racing as the opportunity he'd been planning for presented itself unexpectedly. He set down his quill deliberately, the small sound drawing everyone's attention.
"My family has experience with blood maledictions," he said, his voice calm and measured, a stark contrast to the emotional tension that had gripped the room. "Specifically, with curing them."
Daphne's head snapped toward him, her eyes narrowing in disbelief and something that might have been the first flicker of desperate hope. "That's impossible," she said flatly. "Every Healer we've consulted, every specialist across Europe has said the same thing. Blood maledictions are permanent. Incurable."
"For most wizarding families, that's true," Chris acknowledged. "The knowledge has been lost over centuries as such curses became rare. But the Emrys grimoires contain records of a potion developed by one of my ancestors who suffered from a similar affliction. It was successfully used to break the curse permanently."
The silence that followed was absolute. Even the ambient sounds of the castle seemed to have faded away, leaving nothing but the weight of his words hanging in the air between them.
Daphne moved with sudden, startling speed. She was out of her chair and around the table before anyone could react, her hands gripping the front of Chris's robes as she hauled him half out of his seat. Her face was inches from his, her composure completely shattered.
"If you're lying to me, Emrys," she whispered, voice shaking with emotion, "if you're giving us false hope as some kind of cruel joke…"
"I would never lie about something like this," Chris replied steadily, meeting her gaze without flinching. "The potion exists. It's complex and requires rare ingredients, but my family has everything needed in our stores."
Daphne searched his face with desperate intensity, looking for any sign of deception. What she saw must have convinced her, because her grip on his robes slowly loosened, though she remained standing over him.
"You're serious," she breathed. "You actually have a cure."
"Not personally, but yes, my family does," Chris confirmed. He gently removed her hands from his robes and gestured for her to sit. When she remained standing, he continued calmly, "I can write to them immediately, request that they begin brewing the potion. It's a lengthy process, several months from start to finish, but it could be ready by Christmas."
"Do it," Daphne commanded, then seemed to catch herself. "Please," she added, the word sounding less awkward this time.
Chris reached for a fresh sheet of parchment, aware that every eye in the room was fixed on him. He dipped his quill and began to write in formal, flowing script:
Jilly,
I write with a matter of grave urgency concerning the wellbeing of Miss Astoria Greengrass, daughter of the Most Noble and Most Ancient House of Greengrass, who suffers from a blood malediction similar to that which afflicted our ancestor, in the year 683.
I require the preparation of Malediction's Bane according to the formula preserved in our family grimoire. All necessary ingredients should be available in our stores, including the phoenix tears collected during the lunar eclipse of 1643, the white unicorn horn powder from the Northern expedition, and the heart of the midnight-blooming asphodel cultivated in the basilisk-scale medium.
The potion must be ready by Yuletide, as the young lady's condition shows signs of early progression. I will assume personal responsibility for its administration and any consequences thereof.
Thank you in advance,
Christopher Emrys
He finished the letter with a flourish of his quill, then set it aside to dry for a moment. The study group watched in stunned silence, the casual revelation of such ancient and powerful magical knowledge clearly having an impact on all of them. Hermione's eyes were wide with academic fascination, while Hannah and Susan exchanged looks of amazement.
"Jilly," Chris called softly but clearly.
A soft pop announced the house-elf's arrival. Jilly appeared beside his chair, her large amber eyes taking in the scene with quiet intelligence.
"Master called for Jilly," she said with a dignified bow, seemingly unperturbed by the presence of five wide-eyed students.
"This letter needs to be delivered to the Manor immediately," Chris explained, folding the parchment and sealing it with a tap of his wand. "Please begin brewing Malediction's Bane. All the instructions are in the sealed section of the library, and the ingredients in the special storage vault."
Jilly accepted the letter with another bow. "Jilly will deliver Master's message at once. The brewing will begin today." She glanced briefly at Astoria, her expression softening almost imperceptibly before she disappeared with another soft pop.
The room remained silent for several seconds after the house-elf's departure, the sudden confirmation of Chris's extraordinary resources clearly having stunned his study partners. It was Astoria who broke the silence, her voice small but steady.
"Is it really possible?" she asked, hope and disbelief warring in her expression. "Can your family's potion actually cure me?"
Chris turned to her, his manner gentle but confident. "Yes. The potion works by completely severing the curse's connection to your magical core, then rebuilding the damaged portions. It requires three doses taken at precise intervals determined by your date of birth." He addressed Daphne directly. "I'll need to know her exact birth time to calculate when the doses should be administered."
"February 12th, 1982, at 3:17 in the morning," Daphne replied without hesitation, the precise knowledge of her sister's birth another sign of her deep concern.
Chris nodded. "That's perfect. The brewing process is complex, the ingredients must be added in specific sequences aligned with the lunar phases. Some components require distillation processes that take weeks to complete properly. But if we begin today, it should be ready for the first dose by Christmas."
Daphne had returned to her seat, though she sat perched on its edge as if ready to spring up again at any moment. "The Healers all said the same thing," she said, her voice still holding a note of disbelief. "That blood maledictions were beyond current magical medicine. That the best we could hope for was management of symptoms." She shook her head slowly. "How is it possible that your family has this knowledge when even St. Mungo's most senior specialists don't?"
"Some magical knowledge isn't shared widely," Chris explained carefully. "Certain families keep their most powerful magic within their bloodlines, passing it down through private grimoires rather than publishing it for all to see. The Emrys family has always been private. I am the first in centuries to even attend Hogwarts."
"You must come to our home for Christmas," Daphne said suddenly, the words tumbling out as if she couldn't contain them. "When the potion is ready. Our parents will want to meet you, to thank you properly." Her usual cool reserve had completely dissolved, replaced by naked gratitude. "I don't know how we can ever repay this, but…"
"There's no debt," Chris interrupted gently. "This is what magic should be used for, helping others when we have the means to do so."
Astoria stood up from her chair, walked around the table, and without warning, threw her arms around Chris in a fierce hug. "Thank you," she whispered against his shoulder. Despite her small stature, her embrace conveyed surprising strength, as if the possibility of a future had already begun to restore her.
When she finally released him and returned to her seat, Chris noticed the others watching with various expressions of wonder and emotion. Hannah was wiping away a tear, while Susan regarded him with a warmth that went beyond their recent Hogsmeade understanding. Even Hermione, who typically approached all problems through the lens of academic learning, seemed moved by the simple human moment they had witnessed.
Daphne cleared her throat, visibly pulling herself together. "I think we've had enough studying for today," she said, her voice steadier now. "But I'd like to continue meeting. All of us." She looked around the table, including each person with her gaze in a way she never had before. "If you're willing."
The afternoon sun had shifted, casting longer shadows across the classroom floor. In the golden light, five heads nodded in agreement, their earlier house divisions and academic competitions fading into insignificance against what they had just shared. Something had changed in that sunlit classroom, a desperate hope had been offered, accepted, and in that exchange, ordinary schoolwork had given way to the deeper magic of human connection.
Chris gathered his books slowly, watching as Daphne helped her sister collect her materials, the older girl's movements gentler than he had ever seen them. His long-term plan to help Astoria had unfolded in a way he couldn't have predicted, driven by the girl's own candour rather than his careful manoeuvring. Sometimes, he reflected, the most elaborate plans were outshone by simple human moments of truth.