Chapter Text
The Greengrass estate did not sit on land.
It claimed it.
Tucked into the ancient Dorset moors where maps blurred and compasses spun, the house stood not by stone, but by pact, its wards etched in deep magic and older silence.
Fog hung like stitched veils from hedgerows. Trees leaned in as if listening. The gates of iron didn’t open. They judged.
Beyond them, the manor waited.
It did not welcome.
Daphne, and the Quiet
Daphne stood alone in the frost-lit conservatory, her hand resting on a crystal balustrade carved in the shape of mourning vines.
Her pale blonde hair shimmered like cold light; her blue eyes carried the same calm pressure as distant thunder.
“She stares again, Trials and lies ahead, Daphne, you keep spacing out” said Rellan crouched beside a glass root planter, ears twitching.
“Don’t scare her, rabbit she has great things waiting for her this year,” said the right head of Vethrys, the Runespoor coiled on the marble tiles, each of its three heads waking in different rhythms.
The left blinked slowly, then in a teasing voice “More like she has a boy waiting for her”
The middle hissed. “The boy of fire thinks her name again.”
The right head gave a low laugh. “And so she dreams with him. Quietly.”
Daphne exhaled without speaking, it was rare for Vethrys’ three heads to stop arguing and their latest agreement was that Daphne and Harry should be something more. She was so embarrassed by it to no end.
Rellan stepped closer. “Are you planning to tell the boy how you feel?”
Daphne looked out over the hedges, hiding her flushed cheeks from her two familiars,
“Not yet. But will see how things are this year.”
She replied her tone gentle as she petted Rellan and Vethrys’ three heads again murmured uncharacteristic agreement.
Lady Evangeline Greengrass, The Matron
Lady Evangeline sat in her private study, a vaulted room lit by spells of soft starlight and the glow of enchanted paper.
Her fingers glided across parchment inked in Runes of Recall. She didn’t pause. She never did.
Beside her lay, her magical origin, familiar, a majestic Sphinx with ivory fur dusted in amber, paws crossed, gaze ever fixed.
“She sharpens faster than we did. Such talent your elder daughter has,” the Sphinx observed.
“She learns faster, Khesaria, but I worry”, Evangeline replied. “This cruel world leaves her no time for slow lessons.”
“And the boy?” Khesaria inquired.
“He is too young to know his name.”
Khesaria's golden eyes glimmered. “Then she will gift him a name when it matters. Such is the mystery of true love!”
On the window perch, a fat barn owl with half-missing feathers rasped,
“You said that about our chosen’s husband once, you are such a romantic Khesaria!
Look at what that got us, trapped with that man and his two monstrous creatures,
my poor Evangeline”
“She was right that time, Griselda, don’t be mean. Khesaria always has my best interest at heart, my line would die if I had not accepted him into the family and given him my family name,” Evangeline replied sternly.
Griselda turned her head fully backwards. “ Khesaria, look how she defends you even after all these years,
but you still have not offered me apologies for hiding my quills?”
“No, you are getting so fat lately,
finding the quills might give you some much-needed exercise”, smirked Khesaria.
Lord Thales Greengrass, The Blooded and Bound
Deep beneath the manor, where no natural light had reached in centuries, Lord Thales Greengrass, born Croaker, stood before a gate made of glass and blood-metal script.
Its wards pulsed with dull crimson rhythm. The silence here was old, carved by blade and promise.
Behind it lay his magical origin familiar, a fully grown Manticore, mane thick with battle-dust, scorpion tail coiled like a judgment, eyes always open, on a grizzled human face hidden behind a lion mask.
A slow, grating voice emerged from the darkness. “Another one of his minions comes.”
“I know, Asharth,” Thales replied.
“The one with the cracked tongue and false hands, this one seems possessed, such an amusing worm”
“Yes.”
From behind a narrow pillar, a small ferret with dark brown ferret, almost black and sharper wit, emerged and sat primly on a low brazier.
“Visitor at the threshold,” it muttered. “Smells like ink and rot.”
Thales didn’t move. “Cricket, thanks for the unnecessary update, what do you think Asharth? what does this one seek?”
The Manticore stirred, slow and deliberate.
“He seeks the rite. But he knows not its price. He serves the ancient serpent, he wants to know our family secret, my Trial of Worth, how interesting…”
“Manticores and their evil lifelong Trials, our chosen is such an unlucky wizard” Cricket asked, voice a half-whisper.
Asharth rumbled low with rage, his breath heat and iron.
“ Shut your trap, maggot,
Our Chosen is destined for greatness.
My kind’s trials last a lifetime, and he has fulfilled the requisite quantity in just his middle years, such promise.
Seven enemy left eyes, Blood must see blood to bind.
I love when I eat sight!”
A pulse echoed through the runes. The air tensed.
From the far side of the threshold, a figure shimmered into view too pale, too quiet, as if assembled from shadow.
“Quirinus,” Thales said.
The man inclined his head. “Lord Greengrass. Thank you for... allowing an audience.”
“I allow nothing. This house belongs to my wife. And it still considers me an outsider if not for my powerful familiar”
Asharth’s tail hissed once, soft, final.
Quirrell’s eyes shifted. “Ah yes, the infamous Manticore, is the ministry still giving you trouble for not disclosing their Trial of Worth?”
“Not that it is any of your concern Quirinus, but no, Asharth does not care for lesser beings”
“Fine, my master extends his invitation, he offers a cure for your younger one”
Thales stepped forward. “Hmm such old ploys are not going to work! What do you really want?”
Quirrell nodded once. “you know exactly what we want, reveal the secret Trial, it might help our cause.”
“No,” Thales said darkly, “but you are welcome to ask Asharth, he would be all too happy to tell”
Asharth growled a terrible, old sound and wagged his enormous scorpion tail at Quirrell.
Quirell took a step back and apparated away.
Astoria Greengrass and her thoughts
Astoria stood barefoot on the frost-dusted balcony outside her room, arms resting on the stone rail.
She was just thirteen, but the moorland wind made her feel older than her years, or maybe it was her sickness.
She watched the fog.
Listened to it breathe.
No one responded.
Not the wind.
Not the manor.
But her tea, untouched beside her, swirled into a wing.
The Bond Unspoken
Later, Daphne returned to the atrium, where moonlight stretched over polished stone and sleeping vines.
Rellan lay curled like a sentinel. Vethrys slithered into coiled silence.
“She’s coming, the Queen who once ruled us," said the middle head, half-dreaming.
“Not yet, she waits in her chamber” the left replied.
“Daphne needs protection,” murmured the right.
Rellan asked gently, “Be careful, my chosen, are you sure you want to return to Hogwarts?”
Daphne turned her eyes to the stars. She spoke in an otherworldly, faraway tone as if not fully present,
“The one who listens even when the world is silent. My love who does not run from fire”