Wednesday, September 22, 1993
This morning found me once again walking the familiar corridors toward the Hogwarts hospital wing.
Ordinarily, that would mean I was there on someone else's behalf; a student singed, bitten, cursed, or traumatised by an enthusiastic practical lesson. This time, however, Madam Pomfrey herself had summoned me.
Which was… concerning.
I hadn't been injured recently, unless one counted the lingering ache in muscles that hadn't existed prior to my sessions with Grindelwald.
As I walked, my thoughts drifted back to Sunday's lesson.
Brutal didn't quite begin to cover it.
Grindelwald's teaching style lacked anything remotely resembling mercy, but the results were undeniable. My control had sharpened, my spellwork cleaner, my magic felt steadier than it had been in years. Still, I found myself unsettled by what he'd chosen to teach me.
Not because the magic was dark.
But because of why it existed.
I had always assumed the most horrific curses were born of cruelty, invented by sadists seeking new ways to inflict suffering. Grindelwald had corrected that misconception with gleeful efficiency.
The organ-liquefying curse? Designed for slaughtering livestock quickly and efficiently.
The eye-gouging curse? Originally a hunting spell, also for butchering animals, created to remove the eyes without damaging them.
The skin-peeling curse? A tool for preparing hides without damaging the underlying tissue.
Even the Killing Curse itself.
Created not for murder, but for mercy.
A painless way to put down animals too dangerous or too large for conventional means.
It was… deeply uncomfortable knowledge.
Magic, I was learning, was rarely evil in origin. Intent came later. Purpose was corrupted. Tools were repurposed, refined, weaponised.
Which made one thing abundantly clear.
The problem had never been the Dark Arts.
The problem was always who held them.
I reached the doors of the hospital wing and slowed, straightening my robes out of habit. Whatever Madam Pomfrey had called me in for, I doubted it would be pleasant.
She rarely summoned people without reason.
And never without consequences.
With that cheerful thought, I pushed the doors open and stepped inside.
…
The hospital wing smelled faintly of antiseptic potions and clean linen, a scent I had come to associate with equal parts relief and dread. Madam Pomfrey was standing near the far end of the ward, her expression unusually solemn even by her standards.
"Ah, Gilderoy," she said as soon as she spotted me. "You're here. Good."
That, somehow, did not reassure me.
She gestured for me to follow her, leading me past several empty beds and drawn curtains until we reached one that was most definitely occupied. As we approached, I heard soft voices; low, careful, as though the very air might shatter if spoken into too loudly.
Poppy stopped beside the bed.
"She asked for you," she said quietly. "Astoria."
I looked past her then, properly taking in the scene.
Astoria Greengrass lay propped up against a small mountain of pillows, looking even smaller than usual beneath the crisp white sheets. Her dark hair was neatly brushed, her blue eyes alert despite the faint pallor that never quite left her. Tubes of crystal and enchanted glass had already been prepared beside the bed, runes etched carefully along their length.
Beside her sat her older sister Daphne, who looked unusually exhausted.
She was perched on the edge of the bed, one hand clasped firmly around her sister's, the other resting limply in her lap. Her complexion was pale, her posture tense, and only then did I notice the faint shimmer of restorative magic clinging to her skin, the unmistakable residue of blood-replenishing potions.
Astoria noticed me at once.
Her eyes brightened.
"Professor Lockhart," she said softly. "You came."
"Of course I did," I replied, stepping closer. "I wouldn't have missed this."
Poppy cleared her throat gently. "Miss Greengrass requested your presence after learning you were the one who suggested the transfusion."
Astoria nodded. "I wanted you here when it started."
That alone told me more than she likely intended.
Poppy continued, ever the professional. "I consulted with several colleagues at St Mungo's, specialists in blood maledictions and hereditary curses. They all agree the treatment is theoretically sound. Experimental, yes, but viable."
She paused, then added, "We also obtained full consent from her parents."
As if summoned by the words, two figures stepped forward.
Cygnus Greengrass was tall, impeccably dressed, his bearing calm but tightly controlled in the way only a father suppressing fear could manage. His wife, Matilda, stood beside him, one hand resting lightly against his arm, her eyes never leaving Astoria.
"Professor Lockhart," Cygnus said, inclining his head. "Thank you for coming."
"You have our gratitude," Matilda added quietly. "For the idea… and for being here."
I returned the greeting with equal formality. "I'm glad to see you both. And glad you agreed to try this."
Cygnus's jaw tightened almost imperceptibly. "When you're told your child has limited time, you stop caring whether a solution is orthodox, I will do everything in my power to ensure she doesn't suffer the same fate as my sister."
Poppy gestured subtly toward Daphne. "Miss Daphne Greengrass has proven compatible in both blood type and magical resonance. She volunteered without hesitation."
Daphne huffed faintly. "Someone had to do it. And I wasn't letting a stranger near her."
Astoria squeezed her hand weakly. "You're not allowed to pass out," she murmured. "I need you awake."
"I'm fine," Daphne replied at once, far too quickly. "They only took a little over two litres."
I winced. "Only," I echoed dryly.
Poppy shot me a look. "With proper potions, rest, and supervision, she'll recover fully. Still," she added, fixing Daphne with a stern glare, "you are not leaving this wing today."
Daphne didn't argue.
Astoria looked back at me then, her expression strangely calm for someone about to undergo an unprecedented magical procedure.
"Professor," she said, "will it hurt?"
I considered lying.
Instead, I chose honesty, gentler, but real.
"You may feel uncomfortable," I said carefully. "Possibly tired. But you'll be monitored every second, and Madam Pomfrey doesn't tolerate suffering where it can be avoided."
Poppy sniffed approvingly.
Astoria nodded, seeming satisfied, and leaned back against her pillows. "That's all right, then."
There was a quiet strength there that unsettled me more than fear ever could.
Poppy began preparing the final components, activating runes and checking flow regulators with meticulous precision.
"We'll begin shortly," she said. "If you wish to stay, you may. But I won't have interruptions."
"I'll stay," I said immediately.
Astoria smiled faintly.
As the Healer moved into position and the magic hummed to life, I found myself uncomfortably aware of how fragile everything in this room truly was, hope, life, time itself.
And for once, I wasn't here as a teacher, or a duellist, or a man preparing for war.
I was simply here because a child had asked me to be.
And that felt like the heaviest responsibility of all.
…
Madam Pomfrey wasted no time.
With a precise flick of her wand, the air around the bed shimmered, runes along the crystal tubing igniting one by one with a soft, steady glow. The apparatus was elegant in its complexity: one conduit aligned with Astoria's left arm, another with her right, both suspended in place by delicate bands of stabilising magic.
"Lie still," Poppy instructed gently. "This will feel… odd."
Astoria nodded, fingers tightening briefly around Daphne's hand.
The first spell activated with a low hum.
From Astoria's left arm, a thin thread of blood was siphoned cleanly and painlessly through the enchanted conduit. At the same time, the second tube pulsed, introducing Daphne's blood into Astoria's right arm, glowing faintly gold where the magic assessed compatibility before allowing it to pass.
The exchange was seamless.
No spilling. No agony. Just a steady, rhythmic flow, like breath.
Astoria gasped softly.
"Easy," Daphne murmured. "I've got you."
I watched closely as colour returned to Astoria's cheeks with startling speed. The unhealthy pallor that seemed to perpetually cling to her skin began to retreat, replaced by something warmer, more alive. Her breathing evened out, shoulders relaxing as though a weight she had long carried had finally loosened its grip.
"I feel…" Astoria said slowly, eyes widening. "Light. Like I can breathe properly."
Madam Pomfrey was already at her side, wand tracing precise diagnostic patterns across Astoria's chest and temples. Her expression shifted, concentration giving way to something dangerously close to relief.
"Well," she said after a moment, lowering her wand. "That's remarkable."
She looked at me then, eyes sharp.
"The curse has slowed. Not halted, but slowed considerably. The degradation rate has dropped by more than half."
Cygnus exhaled sharply, one hand coming up to cover his mouth. Matilda closed her eyes, pressing her forehead briefly to his shoulder.
Astoria blinked. "So… it worked?"
"It did," Poppy confirmed. "And better than expected."
I allowed myself a quiet breath of relief.
Once the flow stabilised and the runes dimmed, Pomfrey straightened. "She'll need rest now. Both of them. I'd like a word with the adults."
Cygnus and Matilda nodded at once. Daphne hesitated, but Astoria squeezed her hand.
"Stay," Astoria said. "Please."
Daphne didn't need to be told twice.
We stepped a short distance away, far enough to give them privacy without leaving the ward entirely.
"This isn't permanent," I said softly, rubbing my chin as I considered the implications. "The body takes three to four months to replace all blood naturally. To maintain this effect, the transfusion would need to be repeated every two months or so."
Cygnus nodded immediately. "Whatever it takes."
"There may be a more lasting solution," I added slowly. "A bone marrow transplant. In theory, replacing the source rather than the symptom. But I don't yet know how that would interact with a blood malediction… or how such a procedure could be safely done with magic involved."
Poppy frowned thoughtfully. "It would require unprecedented safeguards. But… it's not impossible."
Cygnus turned to me fully then.
"Professor Lockhart," he said solemnly, "you have my thanks. And my house's gratitude. Tell me what you wish in payment."
I blinked. "Payment?"
"Yes. A debt of this magnitude cannot go unanswered."
I shook my head at once. "I didn't do this for recompense. I merely offered a suggestion."
Cygnus's expression hardened, not in anger, but in stubborn resolve. "An unpaid debt is an insult."
Then, without preamble, he said, "I will offer you a betrothal with my eldest daughter."
I sputtered.
"I'm sorry, what?"
Matilda smiled serenely. "Daphne is young now, yes. But she will grow. We can wait until she graduates."
"That's… that's absurd," I said, genuinely flustered. "She's a child."
"She won't always be," Matilda replied calmly.
I grasped for another angle. "And Daphne? Doesn't she get a say in this?"
Matilda's smile widened just slightly. "I don't believe she would object. She's quite taken with her handsome professor."
I opened my mouth.
Closed it.
Then sighed.
"Very well," I said firmly. "Then allow me to be clear. I already have a future wife. Two, in fact. And I have no interest in Daphne, not because she isn't lovely, but because she is far too young for me."
That, at least, landed.
Cygnus studied me for a long moment, then inclined his head. "Unfortunate. But… I can respect that."
I relaxed slightly. "However," I added, "if you insist on repaying me, there is something I could use."
He gestured for me to continue.
"I'm in the process of establishing a new magical House. To do that properly, I'll need support in the Wizengamot. The backing of an ancient house like Greengrass would be… invaluable."
Cygnus exchanged a glance with Matilda. Their disappointment at the failed betrothal was evident, but so was their pragmatism.
"Consider it done," Cygnus said at last.
I inclined my head. "Then we are agreed."
From across the ward, I heard Astoria laugh softly, a sound I realised I had never heard before.
…