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Game of Thrones White Dragon Rising
Game of Thrones The Sun Dragon Descends
The sunset had not yet dipped below the horizon. An orange-red glow bathed the entire world.
In a room in Hampstead, a slender little figure leaned against the headboard, cradling a mug of hot cocoa meant to soothe nerves. She sipped it slowly, but her gaze never left the doorway.
Four silhouettes stood there: the Muggle Studies professor on a holiday house call, Mr. Granger just home from the dental clinic, Mrs. Granger still wearing her apron, and Hermione with her small face set in determination.
A busy street lay just beyond the window, full of passers-by, but the upscale neighbourhood's houses were well soundproofed. No need to worry about Muggles overhearing anything strange.
The previous week, after Melvin and the others had brought Regulus's body back from the seaside cave to Grimmauld Place—fulfilling his last wish—the genuine locket had also come into Melvin's possession.
The soul fragment inside had already been excised. Only Slytherin's ancient legacy remained. Extensive study had revealed only the most basic methods of use; there had been no breakthrough in understanding the relationship between soul and emotion. Still, it had greatly deepened Melvin's knowledge of magic and the soul, giving him fresh insight into curing the Obscurial condition—magical mutation caused by soul distortion.
Obscurials were exceedingly rare in the wizarding world. Bastian's secondary mutation made her a singular case, and Melvin was the only suitable healer. His research into soul and emotion was the most profound—even St Mungo's could not compare.
Now Melvin explained quietly:
"An Obscurial illness is essentially a physiological disorder triggered by psychological trauma. To cure it completely we must resolve the mental scars left from her orphanage days. I've found a method that can unearth the deepest, most painful memories she refuses to face. Combined with the emotion-absorbing principles of Dementors and Boggarts, it may achieve a true root cure."
"It sounds like some kind of surgery?" Mrs. Granger mused.
"You could call it that."
Mr. Granger hesitated. "Professor Levent, we're deeply grateful you're making a house call to treat Bastian before she's even started school. But she only returned from Paris a year ago… Is it too soon? Shouldn't we wait until she's a couple of years older?"
As a top medical-school graduate, Mr. Granger understood nothing of magical theory—what link existed between magic and soul was beyond him—but he knew many childhood conditions required a body strong enough for surgery.
Melvin smiled. "An Obscurial isn't heart disease; it doesn't need physical strength. It concerns soul stability—strong willpower and a longing for life."
"It sounds very… philosophical."
"Don't worry, Mr. Granger. Bastian is no longer the lonely, helpless child she once was. She feels your love and returns it. Believe she can face those memories and defeat her past self."
"Will there be side-effects after treatment?"
Mr. Granger asked, unable to stop thinking like a doctor even though he knew the question was hardly magical.
"Involving the mysteries of soul and magic, I cannot promise anything," Melvin replied honestly. "Souls differ in ways that are impossible to quantify—especially Bastian's after two mutations. No one can predict the long-term consequences."
The Granger parents exchanged uneasy glances.
Hermione paced anxiously beside them. She had heard Professor Levent explain the source of magic before, but those were only beginner-level theories—too shallow to grasp what was happening now.
"I want to try!"
Bastian had somehow appeared at the doorway, cocoa foam still on her lips, her young face full of resolve.
"…"
The group returned to the girl's bedroom. Bastian lay back down; Mrs. Granger tucked in the blanket corners. Hermione and Mr. Granger stood straight-backed, ready to keep vigil until it was over.
Melvin took out the locket.
It looked brighter than it had at Grimmauld Place. The dull gold shell worn by centuries had been re-forged at high temperature until it gleamed again, set with a string of emeralds that resembled twisting snakes—or perhaps some celestial pattern.
Opening the lid, the bloodstains left from burning Riddle's eyes had been wiped clean, leaving only two crystal-clear little windows.
Following Melvin's instructions, Bastian gripped the locket and held it before her face, staring straight into the crystal panes.
Sunset light struck the surface, throwing dazzling white reflections into her eyes. Bastian felt a flash of whiteness and waves of dizziness.
Outside the window the orange sunset looked like splendid stage lighting; on the low table beside her sat the hot cocoa, its sweet scent still on her tongue. Blurred vision made the faces around her indistinct.
For an instant Bastian felt she had returned to the New Salem Charitable Association, preparing for the coming Christmas banquet.
Her mother's voice echoed in her ear: "Little Bas, don't be greedy—finish your chores and hide. Don't let the gentlemen and ladies see you."
In the second-floor bedroom in Hampstead the locket suddenly trembled. Ancient runes linked in the array glowed faintly. From the two small windows rose two soap-bubble shapes that swelled and twisted.
They became two heads—one male, one female—limbs and bodies gradually taking form.
Seeing the bizarre, eerie scene, Mrs. Granger gave a startled cry and stepped back into her husband's arms.
"Mummy… Bishop…"
Bastian's gaze had already left the locket. She seemed lost in another world, completely unaware of Melvin and the Grangers beside her. She stared blankly at the two illusory figures.
The woman wore cheap overalls and ragged winter clothes; her thin face and work-roughened hands spoke of years of labour and malnutrition.
The man was the opposite—plump, dressed in fine ornate robes, a kindly smile on his lips.
"Bas… tard!"
The bishop's illusory face twisted from benevolence to fury. A roar tore from his throat like a demon risen from hell, chilling everyone to the bone:
"You betrayed Salem! You abandoned your chance at redemption! You thought you could escape me? No! Impossible! I curse your lowly bloodline, your lowly name…"
"Your lowly name…"
The woman in overalls repeated softly, voice full of sorrow and pity: "You've shed that name now, haven't you? Bastian, my Bastian… remember Mummy's words—don't appear before those gentlemen and ladies anymore…"
Bastian stared at her mother's haggard face, tears streaming silently.
"Bastian, wake up! Wake up!" Hermione cried anxiously, reaching for Melvin's sleeve, but the professor only raised a finger to his lips.
Melvin observed the locket's illusions from another dimensional perspective. Strange magic now filled the artefact; power flowed along the alchemical arrays, carrying traces of Legilimency and Parseltongue whispers.
The illusions created by the locket were different from Boggart manifestations.
Boggarts changed shape according to fear; the creature itself remained the core and could imitate an object's magic but could not construct a full personality or speak coherently.
The locket reflected the heart itself—like a fragment of the user's own soul—constructing personalities from memory and speaking through the illusions' mouths.
Even with the same locket, the illusions Riddle had produced when controlling it differed from those the locket generated on its own.
The figures that had targeted Dumbledore's memories had been Grindelwald and Ariana—his closest people—manic, furious, hateful, attacking the headmaster relentlessly, trying to shatter him with the most unbearable recollections in order to control him.
But the figures reflected from Bastian were the New Salem bishop and her mother—one an enemy, one a mother. What emerged was not purely negative emotion; the mother did not attack through intimate ties but instead comforted and offered emotional support.
Salazar Slytherin had not created the locket to produce a dark-magic artefact.
"It's all your fault, Bastard! Evil, filthy magic hides in your soul and blood! You're lazy and greedy—that's why your mother, that slave, had to steal food from New Salem to feed you!" the bishop's figure sneered.
"Bastian… seeing you living happily now makes me so glad…"
The mother's face was gentle. "You've tasted chocolate and fruit candy, haven't you? It's sweet, isn't it? The moment Mummy first saw you, it felt exactly the same—like eating candy."
"Bastard, you killed your mother!"
"Bastian, live on with my blessing."
On the bed before the two illusions, Bastian wept. She reached out trembling hands to hold her mother, but touched only empty air.
"Wake up! Bastian!"
Hermione's urgent shout rang out. She saw Bastian's body beginning to destabilise—turning into the grey-black smoke of an Obscurial outburst.
The innate destructive power of the Obscurus erupted in a near-explosive shockwave. The two illusions vanished into the dark mist; the cocoa on the bedside table boiled instantly, sending up scalding steam; the bedroom windows trembled, on the verge of shattering.
Mr. Granger pulled his wife tightly against him, trying to shield her with his own body from the oncoming smoke.
A magical procedure really ought to have been performed in an isolated area…
For one frozen instant the world seemed to stop. Everyone clearly felt something enclose the bedroom. Centred on Bastian, a bubble-like spherical field formed—an unbreakable domain.
The escaping Obscurus mist was trapped inside, like ink spreading in water, blocked by a vast, majestic power.
Mr. Granger could scarcely believe his eyes. Though he had seen an Obscurial before and knew the professor's magic, witnessing it at such close range still shattered his materialist worldview.
"Is this… the normal treatment process?"
Everyone noticed the grey mist inside the bubble begin to move.
Bastian had adapted to her transformed body. She was no longer a small, frail girl but a formless cloud of smoke brimming with destructive force.
A pair of faint eyes appeared within it, touching the bubble's boundary, sensing the two illusions with apparent confusion.
Melvin waved his wand; his consciousness entered the bubble and made the two figures visible again. The Obscurus mist split under magical guidance—one dark-red, almost black portion surged into the bishop's figure; the rest flowed into the mother's figure.
The mist entering the bishop darkened to near-black. As the black-red haze peeled away, the original cloud grew clearer, gradually turning pure white—like morning mist in the Hogwarts forest.
"This… this really is surgery!" Mr. Granger muttered, worldview thoroughly reconstructed. "Cut out the diseased tissue, leave the healthy part—exactly like pulling a tooth or doing root-canal work!"
Melvin did not continue. He guided the black-red figures back into the locket, sealing them behind the little windows, then popped the bubble that had contained Bastian.
With a soft pop, the little girl reappeared in her original form, lying peacefully on the bed, breathing evenly.
The three Grangers gazed at her sleeping face—pale, but with relaxed brows and smooth features.
"Let her rest well."
Melvin put the locket away and motioned for them to give her space. The four left the bedroom, closed the door, and only downstairs did they speak in normal voices again.
"Mr. Granger is right—the process is like surgery. But the Obscurial lesion lies in the soul; ordinary magic cannot locate or precisely excise it. Bastian is fortunate that I recently obtained the locket, which provides exactly the tool we needed."
"Will there be any chance of recurrence?" Mr. Granger asked cautiously.
"The source of the Obscurus power has been removed. From now on, what flows from her soul will be normal wizard magic. In a few years she will probably receive her Hogwarts letter."
Hermione did quick mental arithmetic and felt a pang of disappointment. By the time Bastian started school, she would already have graduated.
A house call that ended at dinner time inevitably led to an invitation to stay. Given how many times Melvin had helped them, the Grangers were especially warm. Melvin politely declined, but Hermione insisted on walking him part of the way.
Outside the front garden, Melvin chatted casually with her: "Planning to spend the whole summer on the internship?"
"That's the plan."
"Aren't you going to watch the Quidditch World Cup final?"
"I'm not the die-hard fan Harry and Ron are."
Melvin thought for a moment, then suggested: "The World Cup isn't just about the matches. There are wizards from different countries, Quidditch clubs, and you can see how the Department of International Magical Cooperation and the Sports Department organise a major event. It only happens once every four years. Compared with staying at the newspaper office, going in person would give you far more experience."
"But I can't afford a ticket," Hermione said, looking up at him hopefully.
"Then don't go as a spectator. Ask Mr. Goode for a press pass. Daily Prophet staff can roam the front and back areas freely."