Three days passed exactly as planned.
Lord Greengrass did not rush. He did not allow even the smallest hint of desperation to surface—not in his posture, not in his voice, not even in the subtle tension of his gaze. In the world he inhabited, weakness was never a private matter. It drew attention, and attention, in turn, invited danger. So he waited, measured and precise, until the moment was right.
That morning, the grand halls of the Ministry of Magic were alive with motion.
Officials moved briskly through the corridors, arms laden with parchment that whispered against itself with every step. Aurors stood at carefully placed checkpoints, their presence firm but unobtrusive, eyes constantly scanning. Lines of witches and wizards stretched through designated areas, orderly and controlled. Some clutched documents tightly in their hands, others whispered anxiously among themselves, and a few simply stared ahead with quiet hope.
They had all come for the same reason.
The cure.
What had once been considered an impossible affliction—lycanthropy—had been reduced to a process. Something structured and repeatable. It had become routine, almost mundane in its execution. The miraculous had been made manageable, and that alone had drawn people from across the world.
Into this carefully controlled chaos walked Lord Greengrass.
He moved with the ease of someone who belonged, his presence parting the flow of people without resistance. There was no arrogance in his stride, only quiet authority. At his side walked his daughter, Astoria Greengrass, matching his pace without hesitation.
She did not look like someone burdened by illness.
Her posture remained straight, her movements graceful and composed. Her complexion carried a natural pallor, but nothing that would draw suspicion. Her eyes were clear—sharp, observant, and quietly intelligent. There was no tremor in her hands, no falter in her steps. To any casual observer, she was simply a noble young witch accompanying her father through the Ministry.
And that, in its own way, was the truth.
Because the curse within her did not announce itself. It did not weaken the body or distort the mind—not yet. It lingered, hidden beneath the surface, dormant and patient. It waited for the final stage of magical maturity, for the precise moment when her magic would fully stabilize.
Seventeen.
Only then would it awaken.
And by then, every known case suggested, it would already be beyond saving.
Greengrass clasped his hands behind his back as they walked, his voice low enough that it did not carry beyond her ears.
"Stay close."
Astoria inclined her head slightly. "Yes, Father."
She did not ask why they had come or what would happen next. She already understood far more than most would have expected of someone her age.
They passed through the Ministry's layered security without difficulty. Greengrass's name alone ensured that no one obstructed their path. Heads turned in quiet recognition, but no one dared question him.
Eventually, the noise of the main halls faded behind them.
They entered a quieter wing, one that felt distinctly removed from the public areas. Guards were present, but they did not carry the same rigid alertness as those stationed elsewhere. This was not a place one forced entry into. If you were here, it was because you had been permitted.
Greengrass slowed as they approached a final door set into the stone wall. For a brief moment, he paused, his expression unreadable, then raised his hand and knocked once.
A voice responded from within, calm and assured.
"Enter."
The door opened.
The chamber beyond was simple, almost stark in its design. It was not meant to impress, only to function. The central space was open, allowing for unrestricted movement, while shelves lined the walls, filled with carefully arranged magical instruments and artifacts—each one cleansed, each one controlled.
At the far end of the room stood several figures.
They turned as one.
Cassandra Vale stood at the forefront, her presence steady and composed. Beside her were Jason Vale and Sam Keller, along with others who had mastered the art that had brought so many here—the discipline known as Mystic Cleansing.
Their attention shifted immediately to Greengrass and his daughter.
"Lord Greengrass," Cassandra greeted, her tone respectful but neutral. Then her gaze moved to Astoria, assessing, measuring. "And this must be your daughter."
Greengrass gave a slight nod. "Yes."
For a brief moment, silence settled over the room.
Sam Keller stepped forward slowly, his movements careful, deliberate. "May I?" he asked.
Greengrass inclined his head in permission.
Sam reached out and placed his hand gently against Astoria's arm.
The reaction was immediate.
Not visible—not something that could be seen with the eye—but unmistakable. A faint ripple passed beneath his touch, a disturbance that carried a weight far heavier than anything they had encountered before.
Sam's expression tightened almost imperceptibly.
"…it's there."
Cassandra moved closer without hesitation. "Let me see."
She placed her hand over the same spot, closing her eyes briefly as she focused.
When she opened them again, her expression had changed.
"…this isn't lycanthropy."
Jason frowned, stepping nearer. "But it's similar."
Sam nodded slowly. "Darker," he murmured. "Deeper."
Astoria watched them with quiet attention, her gaze moving from one to another.
"Will it be cured?" she asked.
Her voice was calm.
Cassandra drew in a slow breath before stepping forward. "We're going to try."
Astoria gave a small nod. "Alright."
The attempt began.
Cassandra moved first, placing her hand on Astoria's shoulder as she focused her magic. Golden light spread outward, enveloping the area where the curse lay hidden.
For a moment, it seemed to respond.
Then the light faltered.
The curse resisted.
Cassandra's expression sharpened. "…it's slipping."
She pushed more power into the spell, her control tightening, but the curse refused to surface. It remained just out of reach, elusive and unyielding.
After a few tense seconds, she withdrew her hand.
"It's not responding."
Jason stepped forward next, his approach far less restrained. His magic surged stronger, brighter, cutting through the air with sharp intensity. The golden light flared, forcing its way deeper.
For a brief instant—
Something moved.
Something dark twisted beneath the surface, ancient and wrong, coiling just beyond their grasp.
Then it vanished.
Jason's brow furrowed. "I almost had it."
Sam tried after him, his method slower, more precise, but there was no reaction at all. The curse remained hidden, untouched by his efforts.
One by one, the members of the Serpent Court attempted their craft.
And one by one, they failed.
The curse was undeniably present. They could feel it, brush against it, sense its shape in the abstract—but they could not seize it. It slipped through every attempt, intangible and unreachable.
Like smoke through open fingers.
Eventually, silence filled the chamber.
Cassandra stepped back, her expression grave. "…we can't remove it."
Greengrass stood motionless, his hands still clasped behind his back, though the tension in his posture had sharpened. His composure remained intact—but only just.
"…I see."
There was no anger in his voice, just a quiet acceptance that cut far deeper than either.
From the side of the room, a figure finally stepped forward.
Lord Umbra.
Theo had remained silent until now, watching with a focus that suggested he had been studying more than just the surface of the situation.
He approached Astoria and placed his hand lightly against her arm.
For a moment, nothing happened.
Then his eyes sharpened.
"…interesting."
He withdrew his hand and turned to face Greengrass.
"This is not a simple curse."
Greengrass's voice tightened. "Can you remove it?"
"No."
The weight of it settled heavily in the room.
"But," Theo continued, "there is someone who might."
Greengrass stepped forward, the first real urgency breaking through his composure. "Who?"
Theo's gaze shifted briefly toward the door, as though he were looking beyond the confines of the room itself.
"Someone with more skill," he said slowly. "More powerful."
Greengrass's jaw tightened. "Where is he?"
"You will have to wait."
"I do not have the luxury of waiting."
Theo met his gaze evenly. "You do not have the luxury of forcing this either."
Then, more quietly, Theo added, "I will contact him."
A brief pause followed before he finished, "And when I do… we will try again."
The invitation arrived without ceremony.
Just a single, concise message—
Dinner. Come with your family.
—Teozad Umbra
It was the kind of summons that did not need embellishment. The name alone carried enough weight.
Lord Greengrass did not delay.
Two days later, precisely as arranged, he arrived at the Zeus Hotel with his family.
The entrance rose before them like something carved out of quiet authority. It was grand, yes—but not ostentatious. The structure did not demand attention; it simply commanded it.
Daphne stepped forward first, her gaze sharp and observant as always, but even she slowed as they crossed the threshold. Astoria followed, her curiosity far less restrained.
The moment they entered—
The world changed.
The space expanded beyond what should have been possible. Light pooled softly across polished marble floors, reflecting upward in a golden haze that made the air itself feel warmer, richer. Magic lingered everywhere, woven so seamlessly into the structure that it felt like part of the building's very existence.
Astoria stopped just inside.
"…this is a hotel?" she murmured, her voice barely above a whisper.
Daphne did not answer immediately.
Because she was staring too.
At the reception desk stood two figures whose presence altered the atmosphere simply by existing.
Veela.
Their beauty was not merely striking—it was overwhelming. Golden hair shimmered as though catching light that did not exist, and their movements carried a fluid grace that seemed almost unnatural. Even the air around them felt different, subtly pulling attention, drawing the eye without permission.
For a brief moment—
Lord Greengrass forgot himself.
His gaze lingered a fraction too long.
His steps slowed.
And then—
Smack.
The sharp sound echoed just enough to be heard by those closest.
His wife's hand withdrew calmly as though nothing had happened.
"Control yourself," she said under her breath, her tone quiet but edged with steel.
Greengrass stiffened, blinking once as composure returned with practiced precision. He straightened immediately, his expression smoothing over as if the lapse had never occurred.
"Yes—of course."
Daphne turned her face slightly, shoulders shaking with suppressed laughter. Astoria, far less restrained, allowed a small smile to escape.
But the moment passed quickly.
Because as they moved deeper into the hall—
The world only grew stranger.
The interior stretched far beyond natural limits. What should have been a modest reception area opened into a vast dining space, filled with long tables and smaller private sections, each occupied by witches and wizards from across the world.
Their robes varied in style and color. Their voices carried accents unfamiliar to the ear. Magic clung to them differently—subtle variations that marked them as coming from entirely different traditions.
Astoria's gaze moved slowly, absorbing everything.
"…they're not all British," she said softly.
At one table, goblins sat in composed conversation, their sharp eyes reflecting candlelight as they ate without haste. At another, a figure sat unnaturally still, pale and composed in a way that felt… wrong.
Astoria's breath caught.
"…is that—"
"Yes," Daphne answered before she could finish. "A vampire."
House-elves moved swiftly between tables, carrying trays laden with food and drink. Some dishes shimmered faintly with fire, others released curling steam that carried scents both familiar and exotic. The entire hall thrummed with life.
Astoria exhaled slowly.
"This isn't just a hotel."
Daphne nodded, her gaze still moving. "No," she agreed. "It isn't."
Astoria took another step forward, her attention caught between too many impossible sights at once.
And then—
She walked straight into someone.
The impact was light but enough to startle her.
"Oh—sorry," she said immediately, stepping back.
The boy she had collided with steadied himself effortlessly.
He looked to be around Daphne's age. His uniform was immaculate, marking him as part of the hotel staff. In his hands, he held a glass container filled with a thick, glowing red liquid that seemed to shift faintly as it caught the light.
"It's fine," he replied casually, as though such things happened often.
His voice was calm. Unbothered.
As he adjusted his grip, his fingers brushed lightly against Astoria's arm.
For a brief instant—
Something shifted.
His gaze sharpened, just for a fraction of a second.
Understanding flickered behind his eyes—too quick, too subtle for most to notice.
"…so that's why," he murmured under his breath.
Astoria frowned slightly. "Why what?"
But the moment passed as quickly as it had come.
Daphne's attention had fixed on the container in his hands.
"What's that?" she asked, curiosity evident.
The boy glanced down at it, as though he had momentarily forgotten he was carrying it.
"Oh—this?" He lifted it slightly. "Dragon blood."
Astoria blinked. "…what?"
He nodded toward the far end of the hall, where a table sat slightly apart from the others.
"For the vampire lord at table forty-seven."
Astoria followed his gaze.
A figure seated in perfect stillness, watching the room with quiet detachment.
Her breath caught slightly.
"You're serious?"
"Of course," the boy replied with a faint shrug, as though it were the most ordinary thing in the world.
He adjusted his hold on the container.
"I should get going."
And then he was gone.
Astoria watched him disappear into the crowd, a faint crease forming between her brows.
"…that was strange," she said quietly.
Daphne tilted her head, thoughtful. "…very."
They were led to their table soon after.
It was set apart from the main hall, offering privacy without isolation. The arrangement was elegant—enchanted candles casting a soft, steady glow, the table set with quiet precision.
Teozad Umbra took his seat as though he had always occupied it, his presence settling over the table with quiet authority.
Lord Greengrass straightened immediately.
"Lord Umbra."
Theo inclined his head in acknowledgment.
"The one who can cure your daughter," he said evenly, "is not here."
Greengrass's expression did not change, but something tightened beneath the surface.
"…I see."
"He is outside the continent," Theo continued. "He will return in one or two weeks."
A brief pause followed.
"I have already made the necessary arrangements."
Theo's gaze shifted to Astoria.
"Can you wait two weeks?" he asked.
The question was simple.
But it carried weight.
Astoria met his eyes. For a moment, she felt it—the depth behind that calm exterior, the certainty, the age of it.
Then she smiled.
"Two weeks is nothing," she said lightly. "It's not like the curse is hurting me right now."
Theo studied her for a moment.
Then nodded once.
"Great."
And just like that—
The tension eased.
The food arrived shortly after.
Prepared by a goblin chef, each dish was crafted with precision and care. The flavors were rich, layered in ways that spoke of both skill and subtle enchantment. Even Lord Greengrass, despite the circumstances, allowed himself a moment to appreciate it.
Conversation remained minimal.
Hope—
Delayed.
But not denied.
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