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Chapter Text

╰┈➤ ESTELLA CELESTE POTTER stood at the imposing doors of Gringotts, the ancient bank of the wizarding world. The familiar weight of her fame clung to her like an unwanted cloak. The world knew her as the Girl Who Lived, a title that had grown heavier with each passing year, and one she could never escape. The endless whispers, the intrusive glances, the constant barrage of questions—it was a life she had never asked for.

Her life, once full of possibility, had become a cage of expectations, and it seemed that every corner she turned, someone was there to remind her of her fame. Every time she stepped outside, the press was waiting, ready to plaster her face on the front page of the Daily Prophet or spin their own stories about her. Even at the simplest of moments, she couldn't get away from it.

She needed a break, a way to step out of the spotlight and find some peace, even if only for a moment.

With a heavy sigh, Estella pushed open the massive doors to Gringotts. The cool air of the bank hit her immediately, a refreshing change from the warmth of the street outside. The high ceilings and glittering chandeliers gave the place a sense of ancient grandeur. Goblins lined the counters, their sharp eyes watching every visitor that entered. Estella felt the familiar weight of being noticed, but she knew there was no avoiding it here.

"Good day," she said, her voice steady but strained as she approached the nearest goblin. "I'm here to request an inheritance test."

The goblin's yellow eyes glinted as it looked her over. "Ah, Miss Potter," it said in a raspy voice. "What inheritance do you seek to explore today? We do have many tests to offer."

Estella took a deep breath. "I'm not entirely sure yet. I have... some things I need to confirm, and I'd rather know them officially."

The goblin nodded, showing a sharp-toothed smile. "Very well. Please follow me, Miss Potter." It turned and led her toward a side room, its movements swift and precise. Estella followed, grateful for the rare moment of quiet—at least until the test began.

"One last thing," the goblin added, glancing back over his shoulder, "You may wish to prepare yourself, Miss Potter. Some tests reveal more than what one expects."

The goblin handed Estella a finely crafted dagger and a fresh piece of parchment. His eyes gleamed with an almost predatory focus as he spoke in his raspy voice, "Please, take the dagger and let five drops of your blood fall upon this parchment."

Estella took the dagger, its cool surface sending a shiver up her spine, and steadied her breath. The ritual was simple, but it carried an ancient weight. She pressed the sharp blade into her palm. The sting was immediate and sharp, but she didn't flinch. Slowly, deliberately, she let five drops of blood fall onto the parchment, watching as the red liquid pooled on the smooth surface.

The moment the fifth drop touched the paper, her wound began to close, the skin knitting itself back together as if the injury had never existed. Estella barely had time to process this strange, healing magic before something more unusual began to happen.

The parchment before her began to shift. The ink, dark as midnight, shimmered as if it were alive. The letters began to carve themselves into the paper, swirling and twisting in an elegant, almost serpentine motion. It was as though the words were being written by an invisible hand, pulling the magic from her very blood and revealing the secrets hidden within her family's legacy.

The air around her thickened with a strange energy, a hum vibrating at the edges of her senses. The goblin, standing silent and watchful, showed no sign of surprise. But Estella could feel it—something ancient, something tied to her bloodline, was awakening.

The parchment continued to reveal the words, their meaning still unclear, but their power undeniable. She couldn't help but stare in awe, feeling the weight of the test pressing down on her. This was no ordinary ritual. It was a passage—a revelation.

The goblin's eyes flickered with quiet approval, but he said nothing. Estella, though still holding the dagger in one hand, felt the full magnitude of the moment settle around her. Whatever she had just unlocked, it was bigger than her reputation or the weight of the past. This was something entirely different.

༺═────────────────────────═༻

ɴᴀᴍᴇ: ᴇꜱᴛᴇʟʟᴀ ᴄᴇʟᴇꜱᴛᴇ ᴘᴏᴛᴛᴇʀ
ꜰᴀᴛʜᴇʀ: ᴊᴀᴍᴇꜱ ꜰʟᴇᴀᴍᴏɴᴛ ᴘᴏᴛᴛᴇʀ (ᴅᴇᴄᴇᴀꜱᴇᴅ; ᴘᴏʀᴛʀᴀɪᴛ ꜰʀᴏᴢᴇɴ ʙʏ ᴀ.ᴘ.ᴡ.ʙ.ᴅ)
ᴍᴏᴛʜᴇʀ: ʟɪʟʏ ʟʏʀᴀ ᴘᴏᴛᴛᴇʀ ɴÉᴇ ᴇᴠᴀɴꜱ (ᴅᴇᴄᴇᴀꜱᴇᴅ; ᴘᴏʀᴛʀᴀɪᴛ ꜰʀᴏᴢᴇɴ ʙʏ ᴀ.ᴘ.ᴡ.ʙ.ᴅ) 
ɢᴏᴅꜰᴀᴛʜᴇʀ: ꜱɪʀɪᴜꜱ ᴏʀɪᴏɴ ʙʟᴀᴄᴋ (ᴅᴇᴄᴇᴀꜱᴇᴅ; ᴘᴏʀᴛʀᴀɪᴛ ꜰʀᴏᴢᴇɴ ʙʏ ᴀ.ᴘ.ᴡ.ʙ.ᴅ)

ᴏᴡɴᴇʀꜱʜɪᴘꜱ:

ᴛʜᴇ ᴍᴏꜱᴛ ɴᴏʙʟᴇ ᴀɴᴅ ᴀɴᴄɪᴇɴᴛ ʜᴏᴜꜱᴇ ᴏꜰ ᴘᴏᴛᴛᴇʀ.
ᴛʜᴇ ᴍᴏꜱᴛ ɴᴏʙʟᴇ ᴀɴᴅ ᴀɴᴄɪᴇɴᴛ ʜᴏᴜꜱᴇ ᴏꜰ ʙʟᴀᴄᴋ.
ᴛʜᴇ ᴍᴏꜱᴛ ɴᴏʙʟᴇ ᴀɴᴅ ᴀɴᴄɪᴇɴᴛ ʜᴏᴜꜱᴇ ᴏꜰ ᴘᴇᴠᴇʀᴇʟʟ.
ᴛʜᴇ ᴍᴏꜱᴛ ɴᴏʙʟᴇ ᴀɴᴅ ᴀɴᴄɪᴇɴᴛ ʜᴏᴜꜱᴇ ᴏꜰ ꜱʟʏᴛʜᴇʀɪɴ (ʙʏ ᴄᴏɴQᴜᴇꜱᴛ).
ᴛʜᴇ ᴍᴏꜱᴛ ɴᴏʙʟᴇ ᴀɴᴅ ᴀɴᴄɪᴇɴᴛ ʜᴏᴜꜱᴇ ᴏꜰ ɢʀʏꜰꜰɪɴᴅᴏʀ (ʙʏ ʙʟᴏᴏᴅʟɪɴᴇ, ᴇᴛᴇʀɴᴀʟ ᴄʟᴀɪᴍ).
ᴛʜᴇ ᴍᴏꜱᴛ ɴᴏʙʟᴇ ᴀɴᴅ ᴀɴᴄɪᴇɴᴛ ʜᴏᴜꜱᴇ ᴏꜰ ᴍᴀʀᴏʟᴏ (ᴀɴᴄɪᴇɴᴛ, ᴇxᴛɪɴᴄᴛ ʟɪɴᴇ). 

ʙʟᴏᴄᴋꜱ:

ᴘᴀʀꜱᴇʟᴛᴏɴɢᴜᴇ (40% ʙʏ ᴀ.ᴘ.ᴡ.ʙ.ᴅ)
ᴘᴀʀꜱᴇʟᴍᴀɢɪᴄ (100% ʙʏ ᴀ.ᴘ.ᴡ.ʙ.ᴅ)
ᴍᴀɢɪᴄᴀʟ ᴄᴏʀᴇ (60% ʙʏ ᴀ.ᴘ.ᴡ.ʙ.ᴅ)
ꜰᴀᴍɪʟɪᴀʀɪᴛʏ ᴡɪᴛʜ ᴛʜᴇ ᴇʟᴇᴍᴇɴᴛᴀʟ ᴍᴀɢɪᴄ (30% ʙʏ ᴀ.ᴘ.ᴡ.ʙ.ᴅ)
ᴡᴀɴᴅʟᴇꜱꜱ ᴍᴀɢɪᴄ (75% ʙʏ ᴀ.ᴘ.ᴡ.ʙ.ᴅ)
ʙʟᴏᴏᴅ ʙᴏɴᴅ ᴡɪᴛʜ ᴛʜᴇ ʜᴏᴜꜱᴇ ᴏꜰ ʙʟᴀᴄᴋ (100% ʀᴇꜱᴛʀɪᴄᴛᴇᴅ)
ʜᴇᴀʟɪɴɢ ᴍᴀɢɪᴄ (50% ʙʏ ᴀ.ᴘ.ᴡ.ʙ.ᴅ)
ꜰᴏʀʙɪᴅᴅᴇɴ ᴍᴀɢɪᴄ (80% ᴜɴʟᴏᴄᴋᴇᴅ ᴏɴʟʏ ᴜɴᴅᴇʀ ꜱᴇᴠᴇʀᴇ ᴄᴏɴᴅɪᴛɪᴏɴꜱ)

 ᴜɴʀᴇᴠᴇᴀʟᴇᴅ ᴘᴏᴛᴇɴᴛɪᴀʟꜱ: 

ᴛʜᴇ ʙʟᴏᴏᴅ ᴏꜰ ᴛʜᴇ ᴀɴᴄɪᴇɴᴛꜱ (100% ᴀᴄᴄᴇꜱꜱɪʙʟᴇ ᴡɪᴛʜ ᴛʜᴇ ʀɪɢʜᴛ ʀɪᴛᴜᴀʟ)
ʟᴇɢᴀᴄʏ ᴏꜰ ᴛʜᴇ ʟɪᴠɪɴɢ ᴀʟᴄʜᴇᴍɪꜱᴛ (ᴘᴀʀᴛɪᴀʟʟʏ ᴜɴʟᴏᴄᴋᴇᴅ)
ᴄᴏɴᴅᴜɪᴛ ᴏꜰ ᴛʜᴇ ꜰᴏᴜɴᴅᴇʀꜱ (ᴘᴀʀᴛɪᴀʟʟʏ ʀᴇᴠᴇᴀʟᴇᴅ)

༺═────────────────────────═༻

Estella stood in stunned silence, the results of the inheritance test still sinking in. She had trusted Dumbledore—had believed in him—and yet the truth was undeniable: he had betrayed her. The revelation was a blow that left her reeling, her mind struggling to process everything that had been hidden from her. But she wasn't one to let betrayal define her. If her legacy was as powerful and ancient as this test suggested, she would take control of it—no matter the cost.

She turned to the Goblin, her voice steady but firm. "Can you remove all the blocks?" she asked, the weight of her request heavy in the air.

The Goblin nodded slowly, his ancient eyes narrowing as he considered her words. "It is within my power, Lady Potter. But you must understand, the blocks you carry are not simply magical restraints. Some of them are tied to long-forgotten pacts and ancient bonds, many of which cannot be undone without consequences."

Estella met his gaze, unflinching. "I'm aware. Do it."

Without another word, the Goblin moved with practiced precision, his fingers tracing arcane symbols in the air. The air around her shifted, as if unseen forces were being loosened, and Estella could feel the change—like invisible chains breaking, releasing something vast and powerful within her.

She took a deep breath, the surge of magic coursing through her veins. It was exhilarating, but also frightening. She had just unlocked something profound, something dangerous. Yet there was no turning back.

"Now, I need one more thing," Estella said, her voice quieter but no less determined. "Can you unfreeze the portraits and check if Remus Lupin has one?"

The Goblin paused, his sharp gaze flickering with curiosity at the mention of Remus Lupin, but he made no comment. He moved swiftly to a nearby shelf, running his fingers over the collection of enchanted portraits, each one frozen in time. His eyes scanned them intently for a moment before he spoke.

"I have found three portraits in Dumbledore's vault," the Goblin said. "They are of your kin, Lady Potter. As they belong to you by inheritance, we will retrieve them." He hesitated before adding, "And yes, there is a portrait of Remus Lupin. But it does not belong to you, Lady Potter. It belongs to his son, Teddy Lupin."

Teddy. Estella's mind immediately jumped to her godson. A year old now, a bright-eyed baby with a mop of messy hair just like his father's. She had held him in her arms not long ago, whispering promises of protection and love into his tiny ear. She had been there when Remus had first become a father, had seen the love and pride in his eyes. Now, that legacy would live on in Teddy, the next generation.

A small smile tugged at Estella's lips, despite the weight of everything else. "Thank you," she said quietly, her voice thick with emotion. "Bring the portraits to me."

As the Goblin moved to retrieve the portraits, Estella allowed herself a moment to gather her thoughts. Remus, though gone, would never truly leave her. His legacy lived on through Teddy, her godson, who she would protect and guide as her own. The portraits, now freed, would serve as a constant reminder of the family she had lost—and the one she would protect with everything she had.

Her path ahead was uncertain, but Estella knew one thing for certain: she would honor the memory of those who came before her—and for Teddy, she would carve a future that was theirs to shape.

●・○・●・○・●

After claiming the three enchanted moving portraits, Estella Potter made her way toward Diagon Alley. As she walked briskly, she conjured a glowing silver Patronus—her magical messenger—and sent it off to Ron, Hermione, and Draco. The message was brief but urgent: "Do an inheritance test immediately. Meet me at Hermione's house once it's done. Her parents must be waiting."

As she neared the Leaky Cauldron, Estella suddenly froze. Her heightened senses—sharpened ever since the magical blocks on her abilities had been removed—picked up a faint, unfamiliar sound. It wasn't the usual bustle of alleyway chatter or the clatter of cauldrons. It was a low, rhythmic rustle, like scales brushing against stone.

Turning her head, she followed the sound to a nearby magical creature shop, tucked between a dusty apothecary and a neglected bookstall. The sound grew louder as she stepped inside.

The room was dimly lit and filled with the scent of straw, parchment, and musky fur. Cages lined the walls, holding creatures both common and exotic. But Estella's eyes were immediately drawn to the darkest corner of the shop, where a massive serpent coiled ominously, its black-and-green scales shimmering faintly under the flickering light.

It was like nothing she had seen before—a hybrid between a python and a dark basilisk. It bore an uncanny resemblance to Nagini, Voldemort's infamous companion, but this creature radiated even more danger... and sorrow.

As Estella approached, the serpent raised its head, golden slit-pupiled eyes locking with hers.

"Please... take me in. I need a master," it hissed in Parseltongue, its voice surprisingly soft, almost pleading.

Estella didn't hesitate. "Very well. I'll take you in," she responded fluently in the snake's language. Her tone was calm but firm. "But understand this—you are not allowed to attack anyone unless I give the order. Do you agree?"

The serpent bowed its head slightly in submission. "Agreed, mistress. My fangs are yours to command."

Estella gave a small nod, her expression unreadable. Whatever this creature was, she had a feeling it would play a role in the unfolding destiny that now gripped the wizarding world once again.

Estella reached into her robes and handed a small pouch of Galleons to the shopkeeper, the heavy clink of coins sealing the exchange. Without another word, the serpent slithered forward, its sinuous body wrapping itself around her waist like a living sash—heavy, warm, and protective. It settled there with surprising ease, as if it had always belonged at her side.

She looked down at the creature, its golden eyes now level with hers.

"Do you have a name?" Estella asked, her voice calm but curious, speaking in the soft, flowing hiss of Parseltongue.

The serpent blinked slowly. "No," it hissed, voice low and quiet. "Not anymore."

There was a flicker of something in its tone—loss, perhaps, or the weight of too many years forgotten.

Estella tilted her head, thoughtful. Then she said, "How about Epeion?"

The name hung in the air, ancient and strange—like it had been waiting to be spoken aloud.

The serpent's eyes gleamed, and it let out a pleased, slow hiss. "Yesss... Epeion. I accept."

Estella gave a small nod. "Then it's settled."

Epeion tightened its coils slightly, not threatening, but affirming—a silent vow between them. Whatever this creature was, it was hers now. And in a world unraveling with secrets, Estella knew better than to ignore the gravity of a name.

●・○・●・○・●

Estella apparated just outside Hermione's house, the familiar surroundings coming into sharp focus as the smoky residue of apparition faded. Hermione was waiting on the doorstep, her expression calm yet filled with a quiet strength. After the ordeal of recovering her parents' memories, she now stood whole again—her mother and father restored to their true selves.

Almost immediately, Hermione's parents stepped forward. With warm smiles, they invited Estella to come inside and encouraged her to gather their friends. Soon, Ron and Draco arrived, each carrying the weight of recent revelations on their faces.

Estella wasted no time and shared everything—the cruel magical blocks that Dumbledore had imposed on her, limiting her powers and freedom. The room fell into a stunned silence. Ron, Hermione, and Draco exchanged looks of disbelief and anger.

"At least there were no blocks on the three of you," Estella added quietly, "since Dumbledore was never your magical guardian."

The group sat in thoughtful silence, the magnitude of the truth settling heavily upon them. After all they had endured—deceptions, betrayals, and the constant threat looming over their lives—a difficult decision emerged.

William Granger, Hermione's father, spoke with quiet resolve. "Perhaps it's time to leave the wizarding world behind. There's a place I know—Mystic Falls, Virginia. It's a small town, far from the prying eyes of the magical community. My wife's family home is there. You could start anew, away from all this turmoil."

The idea resonated deeply with them all. A fresh beginning in a peaceful town where they might finally live freely, without fear or restriction.

Hope flickered in their eyes for the first time in a long while. They had faced darkness before, but now, together, they would seek the light in a place where magic and mystery mingled quietly—where they could rebuild their lives on their own terms.

●・○・●・○・●

After a long flight filled with quiet conversations and occasional laughter, Estella, Ron, Hermione, and Draco finally arrived in Mystic Falls. The journey had been surprisingly pleasant—time spent sharing stories, hopes, and the weight of their shared pasts brought them closer together.

As they stepped off the plane and into the bustling airport terminal, a familiar pair awaited them near the arrivals gate. Richard Lockwood, Hermione's adoptive uncle, stood tall and welcoming beside his wife, Carol Lockwood. Their warm smiles and open arms instantly eased some of the tension the travelers had carried with them.

"Welcome to Mystic Falls," Richard said, his voice steady and reassuring.

Carol stepped forward, her eyes kind as she greeted each of them. "We're so glad you're finally here. It's been too long coming."

The group exchanged embraces and greetings, a mixture of relief and excitement buzzing in the air. This marked the true beginning of their new chapter—one filled with promise, healing, and the chance to live freely away from the shadows of their past.

With luggage in hand and hearts a little lighter, they stepped out into the warm Virginia air, ready to start their journey in Mystic Falls.

Chapter Text

╰┈➤ WITHIN AN HOUR, ESTELLA, HERMIONE, RON, AND DRACO arrived at their new residence. The house was grand—elegant in structure, with towering pillars and ivy-laced balconies—and stood just next to the imposing Lockwood Mansion.

"Welcome to your new home," Carol Lockwood greeted them warmly, her smile radiant. "This evening, we're hosting a masquerade ball at our mansion. You're all invited, of course. It would be lovely to have you there."

As the group began to thank her, Richard Lockwood stepped forward. "Hermione, how is your mother? I haven't heard from her in quite some time."

"She's doing well, thank you," Hermione replied politely. "And thank you both for the ride—and for the invitation."

"No need to thank us, dear," Carol replied with a wave of her hand and a gracious nod. "Well, we'll take our leave now. You all should take some time to settle in and freshen up. There's a ball to attend tonight, after all."

With that, the Lockwoods turned and left Hermione's new home, their presence leaving a lingering air of sophistication behind.

"A masquerade ball on the very first day we arrive..." Ron muttered, clearly less than enthusiastic. "Brilliant."

"Oh, come on, Weasley," Draco said with a smirk. "What could possibly go wrong?"

None of them had an answer. And none of them knew what truly awaited them that night—behind masks, music, and mystery, something far more ominous was beginning to stir. 

●・○・●・○・●

The Golden Trio—and the bleach-blond ferret, as Ron still liked to call him—had finally settled into their new mansion. Though the house was sprawling, with high ceilings, long corridors, and more rooms than they could count, the four of them had grown used to such grandeur in the wizarding world. After all, they'd seen their fair share of magical castles and cursed manors.

"I'll take that room for my portraits," said Estella, her eyes already scanning the walls, mentally mapping where each frame would go.

"And I'll turn the other room into our library," Hermione added. "I brought enough books to keep us company for years."

With a casual flick of her wand, Hermione opened her enchanted beaded bag—still charmed with an Undetectable Extension Charm—and released a torrent of books. They floated neatly through the air before arranging themselves across the empty shelves with near-military precision.

Ron's jaw dropped slightly as he watched volumes upon volumes fill the room.

"Bloody hell, 'Mione! I can't believe you actually brought the entire Black family library with you—and Estella let you?"

Hermione merely smiled, brushing a strand of hair behind her ear.

"What did you expect, Weasley?" Draco drawled with a smirk. "It's Granger. She doesn't travel light—especially when it comes to books."

Despite the teasing, there was no malice in Draco's voice. His sharp tongue was now more of a habit than a weapon.

Draco had been on their side since their sixth year at Hogwarts. The decision hadn't come easily, and the transition had been anything but smooth. At first, he was hesitant, even fearful, but Estella—ever the manipulative strategist—had played a key role in convincing him to join the Order of the Phoenix. Her influence, along with his own growing doubts about Voldemort's cause, had ultimately saved his life.

But that choice hadn't come without a price.

Changing sides made him a traitor in the eyes of the Death Eaters. And the Dark Lord had made his punishment cruelly clear. Both of Draco's parents were killed during the final stretch of the war—swiftly, without mercy. The guilt still lingered behind his carefully composed facade, but he rarely spoke of it.

He'd survived—but at a cost only those who had truly lived through the war could understand.

●・○・●・○・●

Estella carefully settled the portraits along the grand hallway wall, using a temporary Sticking Charm—one that only she could remove. With a fluid motion of her wrist, she layered a protective enchantment over them, shielding them from dust, tampering, and unwanted magic.

"There," she murmured, admiring her handiwork. Then, smiling to herself, she added softly, "Oh, I love magic."

It was fortunate, really, that during their time on the run, Kingsley Shacklebolt had managed to erase the magical signatures of all four of them. It meant they couldn't be tracked by Ministry sensors anymore, even if a Muggle happened to witness their spell work. Still, that didn't mean they could be reckless—caution was second nature now.

With another flick of her wand, the portraits shimmered faintly—then came to life.

"Estella? Is that you?" came the voice of James Potter, eyes wide with emotion as he stepped forward inside his frame.

"My sweet baby girl... you've grown so much," Lily Potter said, her voice thick with tears. Her green eyes—mirrored in Estella's own—shone with pride and longing.

Estella stepped closer, her gaze fixed on the three familiar faces. "I miss you. Mum... Dad... Padfoot."

Her voice was barely above a whisper, fragile and soaked in the ache of years lost.

From the frame beside James and Lily, Sirius Black leaned forward, scanning the unfamiliar walls behind her.

"Where are you, Stell?" he asked, curious and concerned. "This doesn't look like Hogwarts... or Grimmauld Place."

Estella took a deep breath and began explaining everything—the magical blocks Dumbledore had placed on her from birth, meant to protect her identity. How those blocks had finally lifted after the war. How, seeking peace, she and Draco had distanced themselves from the wizarding world, joined by Hermione and Ron. They'd chosen to settle, at least for now, in a quiet, mystical town far from the politics and memories of Britain—Mystic Falls.

She also mentioned the masquerade ball happening that evening at the neighboring Lockwood mansion.

The conversation drifted for a while. James and Sirius quickly fell into their old rhythm—teasing each other mercilessly, cracking jokes, and laughing with that trademark mischief in their eyes. Lily, as always, kept them from getting too out of hand, occasionally scolding them with fond exasperation.

For the first time in a long while, Estella felt something close to warmth. Safety. It felt... good.

Eventually, the hour grew late, and she knew she needed to start preparing.

"I'll talk to you all again soon," she promised, smiling fondly at her family. "I love you."

"We love you more," Lily said, while James winked and Sirius gave a mock salute.

With one last look, Estella turned and headed down the hallway to her bedroom, the echoes of laughter and love lingering behind her. It was time to get ready for the ball—but she couldn't shake the feeling that tonight would be more than just dancing and masks.

Something was coming.

●・○・●・○・●

Within half an hour, they were all ready—transformed from war-worn witches and wizards into figures of elegance and mystery. As they stepped into the hallway, it was as if time itself had paused to admire them.

Estella looked ethereal in her gown—an enchanting black creation that shimmered like the night sky, with silver thread delicately embroidered into stars and crescent moons. The fabric flowed around her like smoke, whispering secrets with every step she took. Off-the-shoulder sleeves of sheer material gave her a regal silhouette, and her black lace mask, adorned with tiny silver gems and a single onyx teardrop in the center, made her look both haunting and beautiful. She was a mystery wrapped in moonlight.

Hermione had chosen a deep burgundy gown that suited her perfectly. The lace sleeves clung softly to her arms, while golden embroidery in the shape of vines and phoenix feathers danced across the bodice and hem. Her skirt moved like water, and her mask—golden and shaped like the open pages of a book—glittered in the light. A tiny time-turner charm dangled from the side, a quiet tribute to the past she had lived through and survived. She was grace and knowledge personified.

Ron, to everyone's surprise, looked remarkably dashing. He wore a dark formal suit lined with emerald-green trim and stitched with subtle magical runes along the collar—charms of protection, perhaps. His black and green mask was simple yet bold, framing his blue eyes with a quiet confidence. The awkward boy who once tripped over his robes at Hogwarts was nowhere to be seen.

Draco, always polished, looked every bit the part of a noble wizard. His tailored grey suit was elegant, detailed with silver patterns that resembled the fine scales of a dragon. A soft velvet cloak flowed behind him, the color of storm clouds just before a downpour. His silver mask was sleek and angular, adorned with a small, coiled dragon curling over one cheek. On his hand gleamed a silver serpent ring—an heirloom of the Malfoy line, and a subtle nod to the legacy he now carried differently.

Together, they looked like royalty—like the kind of figures one might read about in ancient magical tales. As they made their way toward the grand staircase, bound for the masquerade, they didn't just look like guests.

They looked like destiny.

●・○・●・○・●

"Oh my, you all look absolutely stunning," Carol exclaimed, her eyes shining with delight as she took in their elegant appearances. "Come, let me introduce you—this is my son, Tyler."

Tyler stepped forward with an easy smile and a confident wave. His gaze quickly landed on Hermione, and he said, "So, you're my cousin from Britain? It's a shame we haven't met before."

"Yeah, I haven't had much time," Hermione replied with a small smile. "Mum enrolled me in a boarding school, so it's been hectic." She then gestured toward her companions. "These are my friends."

"Hello, I'm Estella Morgan," Estella said smoothly, offering a polite nod.

"Ron Morgan," Ron added, a bit more reserved but friendly.

"Draco Walker," Draco said with a slight, confident smirk.

Tyler had just introduced them to the Scooby Gang. Estella felt something off the moment she laid eyes on Stefan and Damon. Their presence was magnetic, but unnaturally so — ancient and cloaked in charm. Hermione subtly shifted beside her, clearly sensing it too.

The ball carried on — elegant and vibrant, the Lockwood Mansion brimming with music, laughter, and flickering candlelight. But amid the glittering facade, danger lurked.

While sipping from her goblet, Estella caught the faint sound of footsteps and a muffled thud from upstairs. Curiosity stirred. Slipping away unnoticed, she followed the sound.

At the top of the stairs, she stopped cold.

Tyler stood over a girl's lifeless body, her neck snapped at a grotesque angle. His chest rose with labored breaths, and then — his eyes shimmered gold.

A werewolf. A genetic one.

Estella's eyes narrowed.

Then Damon appeared from the shadows. "You shouldn't have seen that," he said smoothly, stepping toward her. His eyes darkened, shifting as he activated his vampiric compulsion.

"You'll remember nothing of this," he murmured, gaze locking with hers.

Estella didn't flinch.

The spell rolled off her like mist on stone. As a Core Witch — one born with raw, unbreakable magical essence — she was immune to such mind tricks. But she didn't reveal that. Instead, she tilted her head, feigning haziness, and offered a soft, "Of course," before turning away and heading downstairs with calm precision.

Once back among the crowd, she immediately sought out her friends. Pulling Hermione, Ron, and Draco into a quiet corner, she cast a quick, wordless Muffliato, forming a bubble of silence around them.

"There are vampires and werewolves in this party," she said, her voice low but firm. "Tyler Lockwood just killed a girl upstairs. He's a werewolf. And Damon tried to compel me — but it didn't work. He doesn't know I'm a Core Witch."

Hermione's expression turned serious. "I suspected as much. The Salvatore brothers — I've been watching them closely. They're definitely vampires."

Draco gave her a sidelong look, a teasing smirk tugging at his lips. "They don't call you the brightest witch of your age for nothing."

Ron looked deeply unsettled. "So what do we do now?"

"We stay calm, blend in, and stay alert," Estella said, eyes scanning the ballroom. "They don't know what we really are yet. That's our advantage."

The rest of the evening passed in a strange, tense dance of grace and vigilance. They smiled, they chatted, but every movement was calculated, every glance double-checked.

What they didn't yet realize was that this was only the beginning. The town of Mystic Falls was steeped in supernatural secrets — and the witches from their world had just stepped into its darkest heart.

Chapter Text

╰┈➤ HERMIONE WOKE EARLIER than the other three idiots. The house was still, the morning air cool and quiet. She made her way to the kitchen, careful not to disturb anyone, and began preparing a cup of coffee. The familiar scent of freshly ground beans filled the space, grounding her in a sense of routine and calm.

Her thoughts drifted, as they often did in these quiet moments, to her uncle—Richard Lockwood.

He was her favourite person in the world, and her one and only uncle. Although they weren't biologically related, that had never made a difference. Richard had loved her like his own daughter from the very beginning.

Hermione had started visiting the Lockwood household when she was just a child. Tyler, Richard's son, had only been four at the time. He was too young to remember much now, especially with how young they both had been back then. But Hermione remembered it all clearly—afternoons spent in the garden, reading by the fireplace, Richard lifting her onto his shoulders so she could reach the highest shelves of his towering bookcases.

The Lockwood's had become a second family to her. A place of warmth, love, and belonging.

But all of that had changed the summer she turned eleven.

When her Hogwarts letter arrived, everything shifted. She had been whisked away into a world she never knew existed—a world of magic, spells, and hidden truths. And with that came the most painful consequence of all: separation. Not just physical distance, but the kind that grew silently, made heavier by the things she wasn't allowed to say.

She couldn't tell Richard the truth. She couldn't explain where she went every year or why her stories never quite added up. The Statute of Secrecy forbade her from revealing anything about the wizarding world to Muggles—non-magical people. Even someone as close to her as Uncle Richard.

And so she kept the secret, no matter how much it weighed on her.

Her letters home became vague, her visits less frequent. She knew he noticed the change—Richard wasn't the kind of man to miss things like that—but he never pushed. Maybe he understood more than she gave him credit for. Maybe he simply trusted her.

Still, every time she returned to the Lockwood home, it felt like stepping back into a life she could never fully explain. And as she stood there, sipping her coffee, surrounded by the quiet comforts of that familiar kitchen, she wished—just for a moment—that she didn't have to keep such a big part of herself hidden.

Hermione was lost in her thoughts when her phone buzzed, pulling her attention back to the present. It was a message from her uncle.

Message from Best Uncle:
"Mia, would you like to join school? Do you think your friends would be interested in joining as well?"

Hermione paused for a moment, considering the idea. She knew she couldn't decide alone—it was something she needed to discuss with her close friends.

Hermione's reply:
"I'll think about it and get back to you. I'd like to talk to Estella, Ron, and Draco first before making a decision."

●・○・●・○・●

After nearly two hours, Estella finally stirred awake, followed closely by Ron and Draco, their movements sluggish, eyes still heavy with sleep.

Ron stretched with an exaggerated yawn. "I didn't want to wake up," he grumbled. "Stella forced me to get up."

Draco snorted. "Come on, Weaselbee, it's already bloody eight in the morning."

Hermione walked toward them, clearly amused by their banter. "Good morning, all of you," she said, a smile tugging at her lips. "I've made breakfast."

She began setting the food on the table—perfectly scrambled eggs, toast, and warm tea, all prepared with a few flicks of her wand. One of the many reasons she adored magic—it made even mundane tasks like cooking feel effortless.

As they sat down and began eating, the familiar comfort of shared meals settled over them. Then, between bites, Hermione brought up the topic that had been on her mind since dawn.

"Uncle Richard messaged me earlier," she said. "He asked if you three would be interested in joining a Muggle school."

Estella immediately groaned, slumping dramatically in her seat. "School? No way. I can't deal with maths and physics and chemistry!"

Draco blinked, looking genuinely puzzled. "What's... physics?" he asked.

Hermione barely had time to process the question before Ron let out a loud laugh, quickly joined by Estella. The two clutched their stomachs, giggling uncontrollably at Draco's expression, which only deepened into confusion.

Hermione raised her eyebrows but smiled fondly. "Alright, alright, that's enough," she said, gently calming them down. She turned to Draco, softening her voice. "Physics is a branch of science that deals with the properties of matter and energy. Things like motion, gravity, electricity... It's how Muggles explain the world around them—without magic."

Draco considered that, brows drawn together thoughtfully. "Fascinating," he murmured. Then, after a pause, added, "I'd like to join."

His response surprised them all, but Hermione's heart swelled with warmth. 

Of course she planned to join too—how could she resist? It was an opportunity to reconnect with her roots, to walk the halls of a Muggle institution again. And, perhaps most importantly, it was a chance to share that part of her world with the people she cared about most.

Besides, she was Hermione Granger—education ran in her blood, and the prospect of new books, new subjects, and a fresh learning environment was practically irresistible.

She looked around the table at her mismatched trio of friends—Estella, dramatic and brave; Ron, loyal and sleepy-eyed; and Draco, curious in a way he'd never let show back at Hogwarts.

Maybe this could work. Maybe bringing them into the Muggle world, even just a little, would make both halves of her life feel more whole.

●・○・●・○・●

After they finished breakfast, Hermione stood from the table, wiped her hands on a napkin, and pulled out her phone.

She quickly typed a message to her uncle.

Hermione's Message:

"Draco and I have decided to join the school. Thank you for the opportunity, Uncle. Let us know what the next steps are."

It didn't take long for Richard to reply.

Richard's Response:

"Wonderful news, Mia! Bring Draco with you today if you can—we'll get the admission process started."

Hermione couldn't help the small smile that tugged at her lips. She turned to Draco, who was finishing the last bite of toast. "Uncle Richard wants us to come by today. He'll help us with the admissions," she said.

Draco raised a brow but nodded. "Alright. Let's get it over with, then. I'd rather not be behind on anything once classes start."

Hermione almost laughed. "Look at you, sounding like an overachiever already."

Draco smirked. "Don't flatter yourself. I just don't like being unprepared."

●・○・●・○・●

Meanwhile, Estella stood from the table and stretched, rolling her shoulders with a groan. "I'm not in the mood for school talk today," she said with a half-smile. "I think I'll head to the Mystic Grill. Could use a drink."

Hermione gave her a mildly disapproving look but didn't say anything. Estella could take care of herself—and besides, the Mystic Grill was familiar ground, especially now that they were in Mystic Falls for the summer.

"Just... be careful," Hermione said gently. "Don't go looking for trouble."

Estella smirked over her shoulder. "I never look for trouble. It usually finds me."

She tossed on her black leather jacket, grabbed her wand from the side table, and sauntered toward the door.

Coiled snugly around her waist was Epeion, her black-green scaled serpent, charmed with a Notice-Me-Not spell. The enchantment shimmered faintly, rendering the magical creature invisible to Muggle eyes—and most wizarding ones too.

With that, she was gone. 

As for Ron, well... Ron had no intentions of moving an inch.

He burrowed deeper into the couch, tugged the blanket over his head, and mumbled, "Wake me when something explodes... or when there's lunch. Whichever comes first."

Hermione rolled her eyes but said nothing. That was Ron for you—always the king of naps when given the chance.

●・○・●・○・●

With Estella gone and Ron in full hibernation mode, Hermione grabbed her bag, made sure she had all her documents, and nodded to Draco.

"Ready?"

Draco gave her a small, confident smile. "Always."

Together, they stepped out into the sunlight, heading toward the Lockwood estate—toward a new chapter neither of them had quite expected, but one they were oddly ready to face.

●・○・●・○・●

Estella apparated into a narrow, shadowed alley just a few steps away from the Mystic Grill. The charm of the small town hadn't changed—the air was thick with late-summer humidity, and the scent of coffee, alcohol, and fried food lingered even outside.

She adjusted the collar of her jacket, Epeion coiled invisibly around her waist, still concealed under a strong Notice-Me-Not charm.

Without hesitation, she stepped out of the alley and headed toward the entrance.

It didn't matter whether it was morning, noon, or night—the Grill was always buzzing, as if Mystic Falls never truly slept. The hum of conversation, clinking glasses, and the occasional burst of laughter filled the space as she pushed open the door.

Estella's appearance drew a few glances, as it always did. Her flaming red hair, untamed and vibrant, fell in loose waves past her shoulders. Her bright green eyes, sharp and unwavering, scanned the room. She had her mother's coloring, but the bone structure—the strong jawline and subtle arch of her brows—was all her father's.

She slid onto a stool at the bar and casually leaned forward.

"A drink, please," she said smoothly.

The bartender—used to not asking too many questions—nodded and poured her a whiskey on the rocks without a word. Estella gave a faint smile, lifting the glass to her lips just as she noticed a familiar presence at the edge of the crowd.

Damon Salvatore.

Leaning against a wall with his signature smirk, glass of bourbon in hand, and mischief written all over his face.

Estella's lips twitched. This could be fun.

Sure enough, Damon sauntered over, dark eyes gleaming with amusement.

"Well, well," he drawled, his gaze roaming over her casually. "We meet again, beautiful redhead."

Estella turned to face him, her expression unreadable.

"Do I know you?" she asked innocently, cocking her head ever so slightly.

Damon faltered for a split second. He had been so sure his compulsion from the last time they'd met had worked. He masked the flicker of uncertainty behind a charming grin.

"I'm Damon," he said smoothly, sliding onto the stool beside her. "And you are?"

Estella took another sip of her drink before replying.

"Estella."

Damon's eyes narrowed just slightly. He contracted and relaxed his irises—classic compulsion technique. "Full name?"

Estella met his gaze evenly, allowing a flicker of amusement to reach her eyes as she leaned in slightly.

"Estella Morgan."

He tried again, his voice dropping an octave, all velvet and persuasion.

"Estella... come back to my place. Let's have some fun."

She paused, smiled faintly—and said, "Sure."

Damon's smirk widened. He thought she was falling right into his trap.

What he didn't realize was this:
She hadn't fallen for his trap.
He'd just walked straight into hers.

●・○・●・○・●

Damon led the way, confident and smug, as if he'd already won.
Estella followed casually, her steps light, unbothered, her expression unreadable. She looked around the streets of Mystic Falls with the detached curiosity of someone who could destroy everything around her with a flick of her wand but chose not to.

Epeion stirred around her waist, sensing the shift in the atmosphere. Her wand rested comfortably in the inner pocket of her jacket.

Damon opened the door to the Salvatore boarding house with a flourish. "Ladies first," he said.

Estella smirked as she stepped inside. You have no idea, vampire.

Damon stepped closer to Estella, a glint of charm and arrogance in his eyes. His voice dropped into a low, persuasive tone, his irises subtly contracting and relaxing—trying to compel her again.

"Now," he whispered, "we'll kiss."

For a beat, Estella said nothing.

Then—she burst out laughing. A rich, sharp laugh that echoed through the Salvatore boarding house, bouncing off the grand old walls like a bell of mockery.

Damon froze, confused. He had never been laughed at like that before. Not when he was trying to compel someone. Not when he was sure it should have worked.

Estella wiped a tear from the corner of her eye, then smirked, one brow raised.
"You can be so daft for a vampire," she said, her voice amused. "Honestly, you thought that would work? You can't compel me."

Before Damon could react, Estella flicked her wand in a small, sharp motion—silent, but precise.

Protego.

A shimmering force exploded from her palm and sent Damon flying backward, crashing into the wall with a heavy thud. He landed on the hardwood floor with a groan, dazed.

"What the hell?" Damon muttered, trying to pull himself up. His eyes widened as he stared at her, shaken for the first time in a long while. "You're a witch. But—I can compel witches. Why couldn't I compel you?"

Estella tilted her head, lips curling into a knowing smile.

Then, she began to speak—not in English, but in a language that made the air itself feel colder, heavier.

A strange, chilling hissing sound filled the room. It slithered between syllables, echoing like water over glass.

Damon stiffened.

Parseltongue.

"Epeion," she hissed, "wrap yourself around him. Don't bite. Just scare him."

As she whispered the command, she flicked her wand again, this time lifting the Notice-Me-Not charm from her serpent.

And suddenly—he saw it.

A massive, black-green serpent slithered into view from behind her, its scales shimmering with an unnatural gleam. Easily ten feet long, it moved with silent grace, eyes glowing faintly gold, tongue flickering as it advanced toward Damon.

Damon paled. He had faced vampires, werewolves, witches, and even hybrids—but he had never encountered anything like this.

The snake coiled around him before he could blink, pinning his arms to his sides. Its thick body squeezed with just enough force to cut off any resistance—but not enough to kill.

If he had still been human, his ribs would've cracked.

"Wh-What the hell is that thing?" he gasped.

Estella stepped closer, her eyes now cold and shining with power. She looked down at him, composed, dangerous.

"You thought I fell into your trap," she said quietly. "But, Damon... you fell into mine."

He opened his mouth, but no sound came out—his voice caught in his throat. The pressure of the serpent was overwhelming. His pride was screaming, but his fear was louder.

Estella tilted her head, studying him like one might observe a mouse in a cage.

"That's Epeion," she said calmly. "The most poisonous magical serpent in existence. Even an Original vampire would die from a single bite. There's no cure. Well... unless I want there to be."

Damon's eyes went wide in sheer panic.
He struggled against the coils—but they only tightened.
He was trapped, completely at her mercy.

"You see," Estella continued, "I haven't even used much magic today, and you've already pissed your pants. Literally."

Damon looked down—and groaned in horror.
She was right.

Estella crouched beside him, expression almost playful now. "So here's the deal: I'll release you... if you agree to become my personal pet."
She paused. "You'll do everything I tell you to. No complaints. No questions. Nod if you agree."

Damon gritted his teeth. Pride was a bitter pill to swallow. But fear had a way of cutting through ego like a blade.

He gave a small, reluctant nod. "Fine," he muttered. "I'll do it. Just... please release me."

Estella smiled—satisfied.

Turning to her serpent, she hissed in Parseltongue,
"Come back, darling. He's learned his lesson."

The coils around Damon slowly loosened as Epeion slithered back to Estella, curling protectively around her waist once again.

"Yesss... Mistressss..." the serpent hissed affectionately.

With a flick of her wand, Estella reapplied the Notice-Me-Not charm, rendering the snake invisible once more.

Without so much as a backward glance, she strolled toward the exit of the boarding house, her boots clicking confidently against the wooden floor.

She paused at the door just long enough to throw over her shoulder:

"Thanks for the wonderful tour to your house... pet."

Then she was gone—leaving Damon Salvatore lying on the floor, pants damp, pride shattered, and reality forever changed.

Chapter Text

╰┈➤ WHILE ESTELLA WAS BUSY PLAYING WITH DAMON, HERMIONE AND DRACO arrived at Mystic Falls High School. Technically, given their age, they should have been enrolling in college. However, Hermione's uncle had advised them to start with high school instead, reasoning that the sciences here would not be easy to grasp without a solid foundation.

After completing the registration process, the principal personally escorted them to their classrooms.

Their first class of the day was History, taught by Alaric Saltzman.

"Good morning, everyone," the principal began, stepping into the room with Hermione and Draco just behind him. The chatter died down as curious eyes turned toward the newcomers. "Today, we have two new students joining us. Please welcome Hermione Granger and Draco Walker." With that, he gave them a polite nod and quietly slipped out of the room.

Professor Alaric Saltzman smiled warmly, folding his arms as he regarded the pair. "Welcome to Mystic Falls High. Why don't you both introduce yourselves?" he suggested in his calm, encouraging tone.

Hermione took a small step forward, offering a polite smile to the class. "Hello, I'm Hermione," she said clearly, her British accent drawing a murmur of interest from a few students in the back.

Draco, in contrast, simply nodded, his cool expression and self-assured posture earning a mix of intrigued glances—some cautious, others impressed.

As the two found seats near the middle of the classroom, the quiet buzz of whispers started up again. Some students leaned closer to each other, whispering their first impressions, while others simply stared, curious to see what role the newcomers would play in their daily lives.

Alaric allowed the chatter for a moment before clearing his throat and bringing the class back to order. "All right, let's continue where we left off yesterday..."

●・○・●・○・●

After class ended, Tyler walked over to Hermione and Draco, a small group of friends trailing behind him.

"Hi, Cousin," Tyler said with a casual grin. "These are my friends—Caroline Forbes, Matt Donovan, and Bonnie Bennett. Elena Gilbert and Stefan Salvatore were supposed to come too, but they ditched today. You guys must've met at the masquerade ball."

Draco gave a curt nod, his posture straight and elegant. Caroline, all smiles, stepped forward first.

"Nice to meet you both properly," she said warmly, extending her hand.

Hermione smiled politely and shook her hand, then Bonnie followed suit. But the moment Bonnie's palm touched Hermione's, her eyes glazed over. A vision flashed before her eyes: a snarling werewolf under the full moon, a wand sparking with light, and a jagged scar carved into skin—the hateful word MUDBLOOD.

Bonnie gasped and instinctively pulled her hand back, as did Hermione, whose breath caught in her throat. For a tense second, their eyes locked in unspoken recognition.

Tyler frowned. "Bonnie? You okay?"

"I—I'm fine," Bonnie said quickly, forcing a small smile. "Just a little dizzy. Nothing to worry about."

To avoid suspicion, she reached for Draco's hand next. The instant their skin touched, another vision rushed through her mind: a snake-faced man with no nose and blood-red eyes; a feather floating eerily in midair; and a pale woman with curly black hair, smiling with cruel amusement.

Bonnie sucked in a sharp breath and let go at once. Draco stiffened but his expression remained carefully neutral. Hermione, however, glanced at him knowingly. They both understood now—Bonnie wasn't just any witch. She was a nature witch.

Bonnie straightened, trying to mask her shock. She had grown up hearing stories from her grandmother, who had taught her that there were two kinds of witches: those who drew upon the Earth's energy—nature witches like herself—and those whose power came from within, the so-called "core witches and wizards." They were rare, immensely powerful, and their magic did not require the same constant pull from nature.

Her grandmother had also warned her of the Statute of Secrecy—the ancient law that kept the two worlds apart. That law flashed in Bonnie's mind now as she looked between Draco and Hermione. She gave them the smallest, almost imperceptible nod of understanding.

Hermione's lips parted slightly, as though to speak, but Bonnie subtly shook her head and murmured softly so only they could hear, "Don't worry. Your secret is safe with me."

Draco's gray eyes narrowed, assessing her, then he gave a curt nod in return.

Caroline, oblivious to the tension, looped her arm through Bonnie's. "So! Now that everyone knows each other, how about we head to the Grill later?"

Hermione forced a polite smile, though her mind was still racing. Bonnie Bennett was far more than she seemed.

●・○・●・○・●

Before they could even leave the school grounds, Bonnie's phone buzzed. She glanced at the screen, her face draining of color.

"It's Stefan," she murmured, stepping aside to answer. A short exchange followed, and when she ended the call, her hands were trembling.

"What is it?" Caroline asked immediately, worry etched across her face.

"Elena's been kidnapped," Bonnie said grimly. "We don't know by who, but Stefan says time is running out."

Jeremy, who had been hovering nearby, froze. "What? Elena—kidnapped? No. We have to find her!" His voice cracked, a mixture of fear and anger.

Bonnie placed a steadying hand on his arm. "We will. But we'll need to do a locator spell on her. It's the fastest way."

Draco, who had been silently watching the group's panic, finally spoke, his tone clipped. "A locator spell of that magnitude will drain you completely. You might not be able to stand afterward."

Bonnie lifted her chin, determination sparking in her eyes. "I don't care. Elena's my friend."

Hermione stepped forward then, her voice firm and measured. "Then let us help. But before we do, there's something you should know." She glanced at Draco, who gave a barely perceptible nod. "When magic of different origins is involved, trust is everything. We'll need a blood oath—something binding. Otherwise, it could backfire."

"A blood oath?" Matt echoed, wide-eyed. "That sounds... dangerous."

"It's not," Hermione said gently. "Not if it's done willingly. It just means none of us can betray what happens in this room—or turn on each other."

Jeremy immediately extended his hand. "Then let's do it. I'd die before I let anything happen to Elena."

Caroline hesitated only a second before stepping forward as well. "Fine. I'm in."

Bonnie nodded. "So am I."

Matt shifted uncomfortably, rubbing the back of his neck. "I don't know... I mean, I'll do anything for Elena, you know that. But Tyler's already suspicious after the masquerade. If all of us vanish at once, he'll ask questions. He'll follow. And the last thing we need is him stumbling into... this." His eyes flicked meaningfully toward Draco's wand.

Draco arched a brow, clearly unimpressed, but didn't interrupt.

Hermione tilted her head, considering. "He has a point. Too many people involved could put the oath at risk. Someone needs to provide cover."

Matt let out a sigh of relief. "Then I'll do it. I'll stay behind and come up with an excuse for Tyler—say you all went to the Grill early or something. He trusts me enough not to push."

Caroline frowned. "Matt, are you sure? Elena's your friend too. You should be part of this."

"I know," Matt said quietly, his voice thick with guilt. "But protecting her doesn't always mean running into danger. Sometimes it means making sure no one else does. If my being here keeps Tyler or anyone else off your trail, then I'm helping."

Jeremy gave him a quick nod of respect. "Thanks, man. We'll bring her back."

Matt forced a small, strained smile. "You'd better."

●・○・●・○・●

They found an empty classroom, the echo of their footsteps loud in the silence. Draco shut the door firmly and flicked his wand, murmuring, Colloportus. The lock clicked into place. A second wave of his wand sealed the room with a muffling charm, ensuring no one could overhear.

"Now," Draco said coolly, pulling a small silver dagger from his robes. "This will only hurt for a moment."

They each pricked their palms, letting a drop of blood fall into a shallow bowl that Hermione conjured with a flick of her wand. As their blood mingled, Hermione whispered an incantation under her breath, the liquid glowing faintly gold before sinking into nothingness. A subtle warmth spread across each of them, the bond sealed.

"It is done," Hermione said softly. "Now we're bound by trust."

Bonnie stepped forward, pulling a folded map from her bag. She spread it out on the nearest desk, her hands slightly shaking. "Alright. Let's find Elena."

Bonnie carefully spread the map across the desk, setting a few small jars of herbs, crystals, and candles around it. Her hands trembled slightly, but her expression was firm. Hermione and Draco stepped closer, each resting a steadying hand on her shoulders. A faint hum of energy pulsed where they touched, their core magic flowing into her like a steady current.

Jeremy stood at Bonnie's side, his fists clenching and unclenching in nervous anticipation.
"What do you need me to do?" he asked, his voice tight.

Bonnie hesitated, glancing at him with something between worry and determination. "I'll need your blood. You're her brother—the connection runs strongest through family."

Jeremy didn't flinch. "Then take it. Whatever it takes."

Draco let out a quiet, disdainful breath. "Blood magic. Dangerous. Reckless."

Bonnie's gaze snapped to him, her dark eyes unyielding. "Powerful. And it works. Do you want to find her or not?"

Before Draco could retort, Hermione intervened, her tone calm but firm. "Enough. We don't have time for arguments." With a flick of her wand, a gleaming silver athame appeared in her hand. "Here. This will be cleaner than anything else."

Jeremy accepted the blade without hesitation. He drew it across the pad of his finger, squeezing until several drops of blood spattered onto the map. The instant they struck the parchment, the herbs around it began to sizzle, smoke curling upward like serpents.

Bonnie pressed both palms flat against the desk and began to chant, her voice low and rhythmic, vibrating with power:

"Phasmatos tribum, nas ex veras, Sequita sanguinem, Ementas asten, migan ega petous."

The candle beside her flared violently, its flame bending inward as though sucked into a whirlpool of magic.

Hermione lifted her wand, her voice sharp and steady. "Protego Stabilitas." A shimmer of protective magic encircled Bonnie, shielding her from the spell's backlash.

Draco's eyes narrowed with concentration. He muttered a Latin incantation under his breath, wrapping the map in a silver glow. The ashes from the burned herbs swirled together, spiraling inward until they were drawn into Jeremy's blood.

The blood slithered across the parchment as though alive, twisting into winding lines before settling into a single, dark-red blotch near the edge of town.

Bonnie gasped, sagging slightly under the weight of the spell. Sweat trickled down her temple as she whispered hoarsely, "There. That's where she is. Somewhere near the old country estate... but I can't pinpoint the exact building."

Hermione studied the map, lips pressed thin. "It's enough. We can take it from here."

Caroline stepped forward, frowning. "Take it from here? What does that mean?"

Draco straightened, slipping his wand back into his sleeve. "It means you're going to have to trust us."

Hermione extended her hand to Caroline and Jeremy. "Hold onto us. Quickly."

Jeremy didn't hesitate. "If this gets us to Elena, I don't care how." He gripped Hermione's arm tightly.

Bonnie and Caroline exchanged a nervous glance. Caroline bit her lip, then reluctantly looped her hand through Hermione's. Bonnie, still shaky from the spell, placed her hand on Draco's arm.

"Close your eyes," Hermione advised gently. "It will feel... unpleasant."

Draco smirked faintly. "That's an understatement."

With a sharp crack, the world around them twisted violently. The classroom blurred, spun, and vanished. A crushing pressure wrapped around their bodies, squeezing the air from their lungs. Caroline and Bonnie's stomachs lurched, nausea clawing at their throats, while Jeremy stumbled the moment they landed—falling to his knees and vomiting onto the dirt.

Caroline gagged, pressing a hand to her mouth. "Oh my god. Never again."

Bonnie groaned, swaying unsteadily. "What... what was that?"

Draco brushed imaginary dust from his sleeve, utterly unbothered. "Apparition. The fastest way to travel. You'll get used to it—or you won't."

Hermione knelt beside Jeremy, offering him a clean handkerchief. "I warned you. It's disorienting at first. But look—" she gestured ahead, her voice sharpening.

Through the misty evening air, the outline of a grand but crumbling estate loomed in the distance, its windows dark and foreboding. A sense of dread seemed to seep from the very stones.

"That's it," Bonnie whispered, her voice trembling. "That's where Elena is."

Chapter Text

╰┈➤ AFTER REACHING THE ESTATE, HERMIONE drew a strand of Jeremy's hair and placed it gently across her wand. With a whispered incantation, the hair glowed faintly, spinning like a needle before fixing on the west wing.

"There," Hermione said, voice steady. "She's in there."

Bonnie quickly sent Stefan the location. "He's on his way."

The group moved forward, pushing through the large iron doors of the mansion. The air was thick with the smell of old blood and decay, heavy as it pressed against their skin.

Inside, the hall stretched grand and eerie in the dim light. There, in the center of the room, stood the vampire.

Tall and impeccably dressed in a tailored black suit, he looked more like a ruler than a killer. With a swift and precise motion, he drove a wooden stake into the chest of a young vampire boy, his body crumbling into dust with a single exhalation. Without a flicker of hesitation, the vampire turned to dispatch another girl who attempted to flee, staking her cleanly in the heart.

Elena was in the corner, her terrified gaze locked on the scene unfolding before her.

Hermione's breath hitched. For a moment, she was stunned—captivated by the vampire's presence. His features were sharp, dignified, and impossibly handsome. The elegance in his every move seemed like something from another era. Merlin's beard, he's...

But then, her thoughts snapped back to reality. The sight of Elena's fear jolted her, and with a determined shout, she raised her wand.

"Depulso!"

The force of her spell sent the vampire flying across the room, slamming him into the wall with a resounding crack. Plaster fell from the ceiling, dust swirling in the air.

"Draco!" Hermione called out, not taking her eyes off the vampire. "Take them and get Elena out of here! Now!"

Draco hesitated for a moment, his gaze flicking between Hermione and the others. "Are you insane? You can't take him on alone!"

"I don't have a choice," Hermione snapped, voice sharp. "Go. Before more show up."

After a long, tense moment, Draco growled under his breath. "You're impossible." But he moved quickly, grabbing Elena's arm and ushering Bonnie, Caroline, and Jeremy toward the door.

The vampire slowly pushed himself to his feet, dusting off his suit with unnerving calm. There was no hint of anger, just a quiet, unsettling awareness in his gaze.

With lightning speed, he darted toward Hermione, his movements so fast that they were almost a blur. Hermione raised her wand, but he stopped just inches from her, as if caught by an invisible force.

For a moment, his face softened, as though caught between confusion and something far deeper. His lips parted, and his voice was thick with something—recognition? Longing?—when he whispered, "Amara...?"

Hermione froze, her pulse stuttering. "What?" she demanded, wand steady though her chest wasn't. "My name is Hermione Granger."

His expression flickered, the storm of emotions crossing his face almost too fast to track. He blinked, as if pulling himself back from some distant memory. Slowly, his demeanor shifted back into that cool, composed mask of aristocracy.

He took a deep breath, steadying himself. "Forgive me," he said, his voice measured and smooth, "I must have... been mistaken."

Mistaken. The word lingered like smoke, but his eyes told another story—recognition, grief, something older than time.

The vampire gave her a long, almost too-intense glance. "My name is Elijah. Elijah Mikaelson."

Hermione tightened her grip on her wand. "And why should that matter to me?"

Elijah's lips curved faintly, but there was no humor in it. "You have no idea, Miss Granger, how rarely I am taken aback. And yet—tonight, fate seems intent on reminding me."

Before she could answer, he stepped back, smoothing his coat, every movement deliberate, controlled.

"We'll meet again," he said softly, as though it were both promise and threat. "And perhaps then, you'll understand why I... faltered."

With that, he turned and vanished into the night, leaving Hermione standing alone in the silence, her breath unsteady, her thoughts in chaos.

●・○・●・○・●

Hermione had never felt more confused in her life. Her thoughts were a storm, swirling endlessly around the dark-eyed vampire who had whispered that strange name—Amara.

Almost without realizing it, she disapparated from the decrepit estate. She landed just outside her manor with a faint pop. The air was cool and still, and only then did she notice how tightly she had been gripping her wand. She exhaled shakily, trying to calm her racing heart.

Why did he look like he was about to break? Why did his voice sound... so familiar?

Pushing the thoughts down, she stepped inside.

Inside, the chatter of Draco, Estella, and Ron washed over her, but their voices felt distant, muffled—as though she were underwater. She offered clipped replies, feigned weariness, and slipped quickly into her room.

Only when the door clicked shut did she finally let her mask slip.

She sat heavily on the edge of her bed, heart still thrumming. "Amara," she whispered into the quiet, tasting the name like a secret. It didn't belong to her. And yet—it did.

She buried her face in her hands. Why had he looked at her that way? As if centuries of grief had collapsed into a single moment? As if seeing her had broken him?

Her thoughts spun until sleep pulled her under—dreams waiting, sharp and merciless.

Draco was already there, lounging in one of the armchairs with an expression that was equal parts irritation and relief. He looked up the moment she entered.

"I thought you'd take longer," he said, his tone casual, but his eyes betrayed his concern.

Hermione shrugged, trying and failing to mask the weight on her mind. "Something... unusual happened."

Draco arched a brow. "With that vampire?"

"Yes," she admitted, sinking into the chair opposite him. "He called me Amara. Then—apologised. As if he had mistaken me for someone else. But the way he said it..." She trailed off, shaking her head. "I don't know what to make of it."

Before Draco could reply, Estella strolled into the room, her face alight with amusement. "Well, at least your vampire encounter sounds more intriguing than mine. Damon nearly fainted when I introduced him to Epeion." She smirked. "A snake the size of a carriage does wonders for scaring arrogant men."

Draco pinched the bridge of his nose. "Merlin help me, you'll get us all exposed one day."

Just then, Ron came into the room, throwing his arms up dramatically. "Seriously? You lot were off having adventure quests without me? Again?" He flopped onto the couch with an exaggerated sigh. "Do you know how boring it is sitting here while you're out fighting vampires and—" he gestured at Estella "—unleashing your pet dragonsnakes or whatever?"

Estella laughed, the sound bright and unbothered. "Don't pout, Ronald. Someone had to keep the sofa warm."

Draco groaned, running a hand through his hair. "I'm surrounded by lunatics."

Hermione, still distracted, barely heard them. She muttered something about needing rest and slipped quietly toward her room, her mind still haunted by Elijah's broken whisper.

Amara...

●・○・●・○・●

Hermione closed the door to her room with a quiet click. She leaned against it for a moment, pressing her forehead to the wood. Her chest rose and fell unevenly, the storm of questions in her mind refusing to quiet.

She crossed the room and sat heavily on the edge of her bed, staring at her hands. They were steady now, but only minutes ago she had felt her pulse racing, her magic sparking restlessly beneath her skin.

"Amara..." she whispered the name aloud, testing it on her tongue. It felt strange—foreign, yet oddly familiar, as though it belonged to her and yet... didn't.

Hermione buried her face in her hands. Why did he look at me that way? Like I was the answer to a question he's been asking for centuries. Why did it hurt me to see him almost... break?

Her mind replayed the moment: Elijah's usually composed face faltering, his dark eyes glassy, his voice trembling as he spoke her name—not Hermione, but Amara. For the briefest second, she had seen grief etched into his features, grief so raw it made her chest ache.

She shook her head, pushing the thought away. "I'm Hermione Granger," she muttered firmly, as if reminding herself of who she was would banish the confusion clawing at her heart. "Just Hermione."

Yet when she closed her eyes, the image of Elijah's haunted expression refused to fade. It lingered, heavy and unyielding, as if some invisible thread had been tied between them the moment their eyes met.

For the first time in years, Hermione—logical, practical Hermione—was unsettled not by danger, but by the weight of a name she had never known.

Who was Amara?

●・○・●・○・●

Elijah walked into the night, his footsteps soundless on the damp earth. To any onlooker, he appeared the same as ever—composed, regal, untouchable. Yet beneath the mask, his chest felt hollow, his composure fraying thread by thread.

Her face lingered in his mind. Her eyes—fierce yet gentle. The way her voice had cracked when she said her name. Hermione. A stranger. And yet... not.

When she looked at him, it had been like staring into a memory come alive. A memory he had buried centuries ago, locked away so deep he thought it could never rise again.

He clenched his jaw, but his hands betrayed him, curling into fists.

No. It cannot be.

And yet, when he whispered her name—no, not her name, but the one that had escaped his lips unbidden—it had been as if the earth itself had shifted beneath him. The sound of it had felt both like a wound and a prayer.

For a man who had lived a thousand years, nothing surprised him anymore. He had seen empires rise and fall, lovers born and lost, brothers betray and destroy. But tonight—tonight had shaken him.

He stopped beneath the trees, tilting his head back toward the indifferent sky. His eyes burned, though no tears fell.

"Why her?" he murmured into the silence. The question held no answer, only the echo of centuries-old grief.

With slow, deliberate care, Elijah straightened his coat and schooled his expression back into calm. His siblings would never see him falter. The world would never see him undone.

But as he disappeared into the shadows, one truth pressed against his heart like a blade:

For the first time in centuries, he was afraid.

●・○・●・○・●

That night, Hermione drifted into sleep, her mind still tangled with Elijah's broken whisper.

At first, her dreams were a blur of colors and sounds—shifting, shapeless. But then they sharpened.

She was standing in a grand courtyard bathed in moonlight. The air smelled of jasmine and smoke, and the walls of the estate around her were unfamiliar, ancient, older than anything she had ever seen. A woman's laughter echoed faintly, warm and melodic. Hermione turned—only it wasn't her laughter.

A reflection in the fountain caught her eye. Her breath caught in her throat.

The woman in the water was her... and yet not. The hair was darker, the gown of deep wine-red silk flowed like liquid, and a golden necklace glimmered at her throat. Her eyes—Hermione's eyes—were softer, touched with a maturity and sadness she didn't understand.

Before Hermione could move, the vision shifted.

She was in a candlelit chamber, the air thick with the scent of burning herbs. That same woman sat at a table, quill in hand, writing by firelight. A man entered, tall and poised, his presence commanding yet gentle. His voice was low, steady—familiar. Though Hermione couldn't make out the words, the way he said the woman's name made her heart ache.

Amara.

The sound reverberated through the chamber like a vow.

The scene changed again—this time violent. Flames roared. Screams filled the air. The woman—Amara—was running, her gown torn, blood staining the silk. She stumbled, turning desperately, calling out to someone. A hand reached for hers—strong, desperate—but then darkness swallowed everything whole.

Hermione woke with a sharp gasp, her heart racing, sweat dampening her brow. She sat upright in bed, clutching the sheets to steady herself.

Her mind whirled. "What was that?" she whispered into the silence.

But no answer came. Only the faint echo of a name she didn't know... yet somehow felt carved into her very soul.

Amara.

Chapter Text

╰┈➤ ESTELLA HAD JUST woken up when the doorbell rang, jarring the quiet of the early morning. Still groggy and clearly irritated, she frowned, annoyed at whoever thought it was a good idea to disturb them at such an hour.

Dragging herself to the door, she opened it—and paused in surprise.

Standing on her doorstep was a strikingly handsome man, dressed in an impeccably tailored suit. Estella blinked, half amused. Who wears a full suit this early in the morning? she wondered.

"Good morning," the man said smoothly. "I'm Elijah Mikaelson. I am in dire need your help."

Her expression hardened in an instant, suspicion replacing surprise. "You're a vampire," she said flatly, her tone cold and sharp. "Give me one good reason why I shouldn't slam this door in your face."

Elijah didn't flinch. His gaze held hers, calm and steady, his tone respectful but edged with quiet authority. "I mean you no harm. If it will ease your mind, you may bind me to your wards. Should I pose any threat, they will expel me at once."

Estella froze, narrowing her eyes. How does he know about the wards? The thought sent a ripple of unease through her. Very few outside her circle even knew such protections existed.

The silence between them stretched, heavy with unspoken tension. Finally, after a long pause, she exhaled sharply and stepped aside, though her hand never left the edge of the door.

"Fine," she muttered. "Come in. But try anything—anything at all—and you'll regret it."

Elijah inclined his head politely, a faint smile ghosting his lips. "I would expect nothing less."

●・○・●・○・●

Estella leaned back against the armrest of the sofa, watching Elijah settle gracefully into one of the chairs. She tapped her fingers against her chin, debating whether to trudge up the stairs and rouse the others.

The thought made her groan. Too much effort.

A mischievous smile tugged at her lips instead. With a flick of her wand, scarlet envelopes formed midair, each sealed with her flourish. "Why waste my energy walking," she murmured, "when magic can scream for me?"

A moment later, three howlers zipped up the staircase.

The manor shook with the sound of furious, bellowing voices shouting their names.

Within minutes, Hermione, Ron, and Draco stumbled into the sitting room, hair sticking out in all directions, eyes still bleary with sleep. Their mismatched pajamas only added to the ridiculousness of the sight.

Estella burst out laughing, clutching her stomach. "Oh, Merlin's beard—you all look like you've been dragged out of bed by a troll!"

Hermione glared at her, yanking her robe tighter. "ESTELLA CELESTE POTTER, WHAT ON EARTH POSSESSED YOU TO SEND US HOWLERS AT DAWN?"

Estella wiped at her eyes, still snickering. "Too lazy to knock. Besides, it worked."

Draco ran a hand through his already messy blond hair, his scowl deepening. "This is absurd. I'm not living in a house where my eardrums are assaulted before breakfast."

Ron, meanwhile, was pale as parchment. He clutched at his chest like the memory alone had scarred him. "Merlin's pants, I thought it was Mum! I swear, I almost fainted."

That sent Estella into another fit of laughter. Hermione rolled her eyes, muttering about immaturity, while Draco sank into an armchair with a groan, clearly done with all of them.

Through it all, Elijah remained silent, his posture elegant, one hand resting on the armrest of his chair. But his lips quirked ever so slightly, amusement flickering in his dark eyes as he observed the chaos.

"Your household," he said finally, voice smooth as silk, "is... delightfully unconventional."

Estella grinned proudly. "Oh, you've seen nothing yet."

Estella was still chuckling when Hermione crossed her arms. "Honestly, Estella, there are simpler ways to wake people. A polite knock on the door, for instance!"

"A knock?" Estella gasped in mock horror. "Where's the drama in that?"

Ron slumped onto the sofa with a dramatic sigh. "I'll be hearing Mum's voice in my nightmares for weeks. Thanks for that."

Draco pinched the bridge of his nose. "This entire house is a madhouse. First thing in the morning, and I'm already regretting life choices."

Elijah, ever composed, allowed the corner of his mouth to lift at the spectacle before him. He observed quietly as if trying to piece together the peculiar family dynamic. Finally, he said, "I must confess... this is the first time I've been greeted by such theatrics."

Estella winked at him. "We like to keep life interesting."

Hermione, still trying to tame her hair, shot Estella a final glare before turning to Elijah. "You didn't come here at dawn just to witness our household chaos. What is it you really want, Mr. Mikaelson?"

At once, the atmosphere shifted. The humor lingered, but curiosity—and a ripple of unease—threaded through the room. Elijah's expression sobered, the glimmer of amusement fading into gravity.

He straightened in his chair, voice steady and deliberate. "I came because I require your help. What I am about to ask of you is not trivial—and it may place you in danger."

The laughter stilled. Even Estella, mid-smirk, sat up straighter.

●・○・●・○・●

Elijah straightened in his chair, his usual composure returning in full. His voice was calm, yet heavy with meaning. "I seek your help in curse breaking... specifically, the curse of the Sun and the Moon."

Ron, who had been slouched back in the sofa, perked up in confusion. "The Sun and the Moon curse? Right... and whose curse are we talking about here?"

Elijah's dark eyes flickered with something unreadable before he replied. "My brother's. Niklaus Mikaelson."

The name alone carried weight, though none of them fully understood why. Elijah paused, clearly debating how much to share, until Estella leaned forward, her tone sharp but curious. "Go on."

Elijah's jaw tightened. "Over a thousand years ago, our mother turned us into what we are—vampires. But Niklaus... Niklaus was different. He was born of my mother's affair with the leader of a werewolf pack. When she realized what he was, she sought to suppress it. She used the blood of a doppelgänger, Tatia, to seal away his werewolf side. That is the curse I speak of."

The room fell silent, the weight of his words pressing down on them. The thought of someone's very nature being shackled, trapped for centuries, was chilling.

Draco muttered under his breath, "That's... monstrous."

Estella frowned, her voice softer. "To bind part of someone like that—it's cruel. No wonder you're here."

Hermione, who had been listening intently, finally spoke, her tone thoughtful but firm. "If such magic was used, then it must have left traces. Curses that deep don't simply vanish—they echo. We'll help, Elijah. But I'll need to go through the library, see if there's anything about Tatia or that spell."

Elijah inclined his head slightly, his expression unreadable but his eyes faintly warmer. "Your willingness honors me. I do not ask this lightly... and I do not forget those who stand beside me."

Ron glanced between them, still uneasy. "Brilliant. Just another day in the madhouse—helping ancient vampires break curses."

Estella smirked. "You'll live, Weasley. Hopefully."

●・○・●・○・●

Estella, Elijah, Draco, Ron, and Hermione had been buried in the library for nearly two hours, the only sounds the rustle of parchment and the occasional scrape of a chair across the floor. The scent of old leather and ink clung heavily to the air, making the silence feel even denser.

At last, Hermione's sharp intake of breath broke it. "Found it."

Hermione continued, her tone growing more somber with each word. "The doppelgänger must be drained of all her blood to break the seal. But—" she swallowed, forcing herself to read the rest—"that same blood is needed afterwards to create hybrids. Vampire-werewolf hybrids."

Ron's brow furrowed deeply. He leaned back in his chair with a low whistle. "I see what your mother did there," he muttered. "Locked away his werewolf side to stop him from becoming... well, that. Stronger than either species alone."

Across the room, Elijah exhaled slowly, the mask of composure slipping. He lowered himself onto the couch, his broad shoulders heavy with centuries of unspoken burdens. His hands steepled together, and though his expression remained calm, the tension in his jaw betrayed him.

Estella's eyes lingered on him, sharp and assessing. She noticed how carefully he measured his silence, how tightly he reined in the storm inside. "And your brother," she said softly, breaking the stillness, "would stop at nothing to see it broken... would he?"

For a moment, Elijah said nothing. His gaze dropped to the floor, as though he couldn't bring himself to meet their eyes. When he finally spoke, his voice was quiet, almost reverent. "Niklaus always gets what he wants. And if he succeeds..." His gaze lifted, hard and unyielding now. "None of us will be safe."

Estella leaned back, folding her arms, her expression unreadable. "I don't think it's that simple."

Elijah's dark eyes snapped toward her, curious.

She went on, her tone calm but firm. "Imagine having half of who you are—your very nature—bound and suppressed for a thousand years. I can understand why he'd be desperate to break free. Desperation can make anyone reckless. Maybe he isn't just power-hungry. Maybe he's... desperate to feel whole."

Draco frowned, skeptical. "You're defending him? The man who'd kill without hesitation to break this curse?"

Estella shrugged lightly, though her gaze didn't leave Elijah. "I'm saying I can understand the desperation. That doesn't mean I agree with his methods."

For the first time since they'd entered the library, Elijah's eyes softened—not with agreement, but with something far more dangerous: recognition.

Elijah's voice broke the silence, steady but heavy with centuries of memory. "Elena is the doppelgänger. That is why I took her. Niklaus believes she is the key to breaking the curse. He promised me that if I helped, he would reunite our family." 

His expression faltered for a moment, then hardened again. "But promises from my brother are not easily trusted. Over five hundred years ago, Katerina Petrova learned of the curse. She manipulated a vampire, took his blood, and ended her own life—turning before Niklaus could use her. Since then, he has chased every doppelgänger across the centuries."

Hermione's lips parted in shock. "Katherine... she did all of that just to escape him?"

Elijah inclined his head, voice calm. "Survival was her greatest talent."

Ron groaned, raking a hand through his hair. "So Elena's next in line? That's just bloody fantastic."

Draco gave Elijah a sharp look. "And yet you're the one who took her. Doesn't exactly scream trustworthy."

Elijah met his gaze, unflinching. "I took her to protect her from Niklaus's enemies. If he is to succeed, the ritual must be completed under very specific conditions. And not everyone wants him to succeed."

The silence in the room stretched, tension thickening as Estella's gaze turned inward. She could feel it—the echo of Klaus's desperation. The need to be whole, to have control over his fate, to not be bound by anything or anyone. She recognized it in herself. The hunger for power, for certainty. For freedom.

Finally, she spoke, her voice smooth and calculating. "Perfect," she murmured, her smirk wide and full of purpose. "Bring Niklaus to me."

Everyone turned to her, confusion flickering in their eyes.

"What are you talking about?" Hermione asked, her voice filled with doubt.

Estella leaned back in her chair, her fingers tapping rhythmically on the armrest. "I know exactly what he wants. I've seen it before—Klaus is no different than anyone else who has been trapped, forced to live in a cage of their own making. He doesn't want to break the curse because he craves power. He wants to be whole. Free. Untethered."

Her eyes flicked toward Elijah, catching the slight tension in his posture. "And I can help him do that," she added, her voice quiet but laced with certainty. "I can help him break the curse, but not for his benefit. For ours."

Ron raised an eyebrow, clearly skeptical. "So, you're just going to give him what he wants? What's the catch?"

Estella's smile widened, but there was a darkness in her eyes that hadn't been there before. "The catch is that Niklaus won't see it coming. We'll give him just enough to make him think we're allies, but I'll control the strings. I've dealt with people like him before—people who think they can break free from their chains, but in reality, they're just as bound as anyone else."

Elijah stared at her, his expression unreadable. "You think you can manage him?"

Estella met his gaze unflinchingly, the weight of centuries of self-reliance in her words. "I don't think. I know."

There was a long pause as everyone absorbed the weight of her words. Elijah looked at Estella carefully, as though weighing the sincerity in her tone. Then, slowly, he nodded.

"If you're certain this will work," he said, "then I'll help. But I'll warn you now—Niklaus won't be easily manipulated. He's no fool."

Estella's smile softened, a hint of something almost... empathetic in her eyes. "Neither am I."

Chapter Text

╰┈➤ AFTER YESTERDAY'S DISCUSSION, ELIJAH had decided to arrange a meeting with Klaus on Wednesday—two days from now.

Hermione, however, had pushed all of that aside. Today was special. She was on a trip with her uncle Richard, and it felt just like old times. The two of them wandered from street to street, tasting every kind of food they could get their hands on, laughing over shared jokes, and playing silly games that only the two of them seemed to understand.

It was simple. It was warm. It was exactly what Hermione had missed.

As they sat on a bench overlooking the square, Hermione bit into a flaky pastry and turned to him with a grin. "You know, you're my favourite uncle. Do you realize that?"

Richard gave an exaggerated roll of his eyes, fighting back a smile. "I'm your only uncle, Hermione. Not exactly a tough competition."

She giggled. "Still counts. You win by default."

He reached over and tapped the tip of her nose, his tone teasing but fond. "Well, then, I suppose I'll take the title. Uncle of the Year—every year."

"Every year until I find another one," Hermione teased back, her eyes sparkling.

Richard gasped in mock offense. "Another one? Betrayal! And here I thought I was irreplaceable."

"You are," Hermione said softly, her smile gentler now. "Completely irreplaceable."

For a moment, their laughter faded into a comfortable silence. Richard slung an arm around her shoulders and pulled her close. "Well, that's good to hear. Because you, Hermione Granger, will always be my favourite niece."

She snorted. "I'm your only niece."

"Exactly," Richard said with a smirk. "Best niece in the world."

Hermione leaned against him, her heart lighter than it had been in weeks. It felt like nothing could touch them, like this day would last forever.

But deep down, some part of her knew better. Moments like these—perfect, golden, untouchable—never lasted.

●・○・●・○・●

As the golden afternoon faded into twilight, Richard and Hermione made their way toward the car, still laughing faintly about their earlier banter.

But the moment shattered when three men staggered toward them, the stench of alcohol heavy on their breath.

The tallest one sneered, his eyes roaming Hermione with a vulgar hunger. "What a pretty little thing. Bet you'd be good in bed."

Hermione's stomach twisted with disgust. Her fingers twitched toward her wand, aching to hex him into oblivion—but she hesitated. Her uncle was here. She didn't want Richard to look at her differently, to see her as some sort of freak.

Taking a steadying breath, she grabbed Richard's arm. "Uncle, let's just go."

But Richard had already squared his shoulders, his protective instincts flaring. His jaw clenched as he glared at the men. "Say another word to her," he growled, "and you'll regret it."

The man sneered. "Big words, old man."

Before Hermione could stop him, one of the thugs lunged forward and drove his fist into Richard's face.

Richard barely flinched. Fueled by anger, he swung his leg out in a sharp kick, sending the man sprawling across the pavement.

But the victory lasted only seconds. Another attacker slipped in from the side, steel glinting under the dim light, and plunged a knife deep into Richard's stomach.

"UNCLE!" Hermione's scream tore from her throat, raw and panicked. She caught him as he staggered, her hands instantly slick with blood.

Rage exploded inside her. Without thinking, she whipped out her wand, her voice breaking on the spell. "BOMBARDA!"

The world shook. The three men didn't stand a chance—the explosion tore them apart, their bodies scattering into pieces.

Hermione froze. The smell of blood was overwhelming. Her chest heaved as her vision blurred, and then—suddenly—her eyes glowed gold. Her whole body trembled violently as the realization sank in.

She had triggered the werewolf curse.

A slow, mocking clap echoed from behind.

"Well, well," Mason Lockwood drawled as he stepped into view, Katherine Petrova gliding at his side with her ever-familiar smirk. "This wasn't the plan... but what a delightful surprise."

Hermione's head whipped toward them, her breathing sharp, ragged. "You..." Her voice cracked with fury. "You compelled them. You used them to trigger my uncle's curse!"

Katherine arched a brow, her smile cruel. "Smart girl."

Hermione's grief twisted into fury. "PROTEGO!" she roared—not caring anymore who was watching—as Mason flew backwards, crashing into a pile of trash bins with a strangled groan.

But before she could even blink, Katherine blurred forward. With inhuman speed and a sickening crunch, she plunged her hand into Richard's chest. "Oops. Guess Uncle didn't make the cut."

Hermione's world stopped.

"NO!" she screamed, her voice breaking into sobs as Katherine ripped her uncle's heart free and let his body collapse like a broken doll.

Something inside Hermione shattered. Her sobs tore through the night as she dropped to her knees beside him, her hands frantically trying to cover the gaping wound. "No, no, no, please! Stay with me! You can't leave me!"

Her tears spilled freely, blinding her as she whispered desperately. "Please, Uncle... you promised me you'd always be there. Please don't go."

Her grief twisted into raw power. "Petrificus Totalus!" she screamed, her magic lashing out. Both Mason and Katherine froze in mid-step, their bodies locking stiff.

With trembling hands, Hermione conjured enchanted ropes that slithered around them, binding them tight. She dragged their stiff forms with brute fury, shoving them into the backseat of her car without a word.

And then, silence.

Hermione crumpled back to the ground, pulling Richard's lifeless body onto her lap. She cradled his head against her chest, rocking back and forth as her tears drenched his shirt.

"I need you," she whispered brokenly, her voice hoarse with sobs. "Who's going to tease me now? Who's going to give me piggyback rides? You were supposed to stay. You were supposed to be here..."

Memories crashed over her—the piggyback rides when she was little, his laughter echoing louder than anyone's at family dinners, the way he always snuck her chocolates when her mother said no. He had been her anchor, her safe place, her favorite uncle.

And now his chest was still.

Hermione pressed her forehead against his, her golden eyes glowing brighter with every sob. "I should've protected you. I should've stopped them. This is my fault." Her voice cracked, hoarse with grief. "You were my only uncle and my anchor. And now... I have no one."

The night air was thick with silence, broken only by her desperate cries. Somewhere in the shadows, unseen, a presence lingered—but Hermione was too lost in her grief to notice.

She cradled Richard's body closer, as though she could shield him from the world even now. "I love you, Uncle Richard," she whispered through her tears. "And I swear... I'll make them pay for this."

●・○・●・○・●

Hermione fumbled for her phone with trembling hands, tears still blurring her vision. She pressed the call button and, choking on her sobs, whispered, "E–Estella... Es–stel–la..."

On the other end, Estella's voice sharpened with immediate concern. "Hermione? What's wrong? Where are you?"

Hermione swallowed hard, her voice breaking between cries. "N–near Mystic Falls Grill... please... hurry."

The line went dead as her strength gave out, the phone slipping from her hand to the pavement.

Not even two minutes had passed before Estella, Ron, Draco, and Elijah appeared at her side, their expressions morphing into horror at the sight before them—Hermione on the ground, cradling Richard's lifeless body, her face streaked with tears, her golden eyes still glowing faintly in the night.

Estella rushed forward first, falling to her knees beside her. "Hermione—Merlin, what happened?" she whispered, trying to wrap her arms around her without crushing her against Richard.

Ron froze in place, his freckled face pale as chalk, his voice breaking. "Bloody hell..." He couldn't tear his eyes away from Richard's still chest.

Draco, though silent, clenched his fists, his sharp eyes flicking between the corpse, the blood, and Hermione's broken form. For once, the usual smirk was gone, replaced by something grim—fear, perhaps, or the weight of understanding.

And Elijah... he stood a step behind the others, his composed mask threatening to fracture. His eyes lingered on Hermione, the faint golden hue in them, and for a flicker of a moment, an old memory threatened to surface. He forced it down, speaking softly, "She's triggered it."

Hermione buried her face in Estella's shoulder, her voice ragged with grief. "They killed him... Katherine—Mason—they killed him!"

The group exchanged uneasy glances, but none dared interrupt her mourning.

Estella kept her arm around Hermione as she knelt beside Richard's body. Her sharp eyes flicked between the two—Richard's still face and Hermione's tear-streaked one. The similarity struck her like a revelation. The same bone structure, the same eyes when grief shadowed them.

Her breath caught. "Hermione... he wasn't just your uncle through some adoption in the family, was he? He was your blood. Your real uncle."

Hermione froze, her sobs faltering. She looked down at Richard, then back at Estella, confusion and realization warring in her gaze. "Mum... Mum always told me she was adopted. That she wasn't really a Lockwood. But if Richard's my uncle—" Her voice cracked, trembling as the truth crashed over her. "She wasn't adopted. She was a Lockwood all along."

Ron blinked, stunned. "Bloody hell... that makes you—"

"A Lockwood by blood," Draco finished grimly, his expression unreadable.

Estella gave a small, sad nod, squeezing Hermione's trembling hand with quiet strength.
"It explains everything," she said softly, her voice steady despite the storm around them. 

"Your eyes turning gold... the deaths you caused—it wasn't random, Hermione. The curse was always in your veins, waiting. It was in your BLOODLINE. Your mother must have known. She kept the truth hidden to protect you."

Hermione's breath hitched, her grief mixing with confusion. "All this time... she told me she was adopted. That she wasn't really a Lockwood." Her voice cracked, breaking on the words. "But she wasn't, was she? She lied to keep me safe."

Estella's gaze softened, though there was no avoiding the truth. "She was a Lockwood by blood. Which means Richard wasn't just your uncle in name, Hermione—he was truly your family. And losing him... it was enough to awaken what you are."

Elijah's voice, low and grave, cut through the silence. "And with his death, your truth awakened. What you are can no longer be denied."

Hermione buried her face against Richard's shirt, her grief shuddering through her body, but beneath it all—something else stirred. A primal power, raw and wild, born of the Lockwood blood that was hers by right.

●・○・●・○・●

Hermione's sobs quieted, but the silence that followed was far more terrifying. Her tear-stained face hardened, and her golden eyes glowed faintly in the dim light. Rage burned through her grief like wildfire.

"Klaus needs a werewolf and a vampire to break the curse," she said, her voice steady but laced with venom. "Mason Lockwood. Katherine Petrova. They wanted to make me suffer—fine. We'll use them instead."

Ron nodded without hesitation, his jaw tight. "I'm with you, Hermione. After what they did, they deserve worse than death."

Draco's expression was cold, calculating. "Agreed. Better to keep them alive. They'll be more useful that way."

Estella stepped closer, her hand briefly brushing Hermione's shoulder in silent support. "We'll lock them in the enchanted cell beneath your mansion. They won't escape—not with the wards I'll layer over yours."

Hermione's lips curled into something between a grimace and a smirk. "Good. Let them rot there until we decide their fate."

Elijah inclined his head, his voice quiet but resolute. "Then it is settled. Mason and Katerina will live—for now. Bound, guarded, and powerless to harm anyone again."

Together, they lifted the unconscious bodies of Mason and Katherine into the car. When they reached the mansion, Estella wove fresh layers of protection into the already formidable wards. The enchanted cell shimmered faintly as the two prisoners were dragged inside, bound with ropes that glowed faintly with runes.

Hermione stood before the iron bars, her eyes burning with determination. "You took the only family I had left. And now..." her voice dropped, cold and final, "...you'll help me end this curse."

The cell door slammed shut with a reverberating thud. Mason stirred faintly, Katherine still unconscious, but neither could break the bindings. The group exchanged a look of grim unity—whatever came next, they would face it together.

Chapter Text

╰┈➤ THE MOURNFUL TOLL OF THE CHURCH BELLS echoed through the cold morning air, each chime a cruel reminder of the day's purpose. Hermione stood unmoving, her heart heavy with a grief too vast to name. Faces blurred around her—her aunt Carol, lost to uncontrollable sobs; her cousin Tyler, clutching her as though he might vanish too.

But Hermione... Hermione felt nothing. She was hollow, her tears locked away behind walls she didn't know how to shatter. Her eyes fixed on the coffin as though sheer willpower could keep it closed forever. She hadn't wept, not once. She couldn't.

When the final prayer ended, she turned and walked away, leaving the murmurs and condolences behind. Her feet carried her, half-conscious, to the lake. The water mirrored the bleak sky above as she sank onto a jagged rock, staring at the ripples while a storm raged inside her chest.

And then—like the storm itself—Elijah came.

He approached with careful steps, as though afraid a wrong move would break her completely. "Hermione," he said gently, his voice softer than the wind. "Are you alright?"

The question cut through the silence, and for a moment she could only breathe, heavy and uneven. Then, her voice broke. "I don't know what to do. I don't know how to keep going without him."

The words tore her open. A sob ripped from her throat, raw and desperate, and before she could stop herself, she stumbled into Elijah's arms.

He caught her instantly, wrapping her in a fierce embrace, holding her like he could absorb her pain through sheer strength. Her body shook against him as sobs poured out, grief erupting after hours of silence.

"You don't have to be strong right now," he murmured, his own voice fraying. "You don't have to do this alone. I'm here. Always."

She clung to him tighter, her cries muffled against his chest, as though hiding from the world in the steady rhythm of his heartbeat. Elijah's arms tightened, his lips brushing her hair in a vow unspoken but deeply felt: I will not let you face this pain alone.

And for the first time since Richard's death, Hermione allowed herself to break. Elijah held her closer, unaware that in comforting her grief, he was stepping into a bond that would alter both their destinies forever. Neither of them knew it yet, but this bond was older than sorrow, older than blood itself. It was fate—etched into their veins, carved into the thread of their bloodlines, waiting to be revealed.

●・○・●・○・●

Hermione's breath hitched as she pulled back slightly from Elijah, their foreheads still resting together. The air between them was thick with something unspoken—something that had been growing in the silence of their shared grief. Her eyes fluttered open, searching his face for something, anything to ground her.

Elijah's hands still held her gently, one resting on her waist, the other cupping her cheek, thumb brushing the tear streaks on her skin. His gaze softened, and for a moment, he seemed to forget the storm that had raged around them, his presence the calm she needed more than anything.

"Don't hide from it, Hermione," he whispered, his voice barely audible over the wind that stirred the trees behind them. "You don't have to carry it alone. Let me help you. I won't leave you."

His words wrapped around her like a lifeline, but they also stirred something deeper—a longing, a need. She stared into his eyes, her chest tightening with the weight of it. She had felt this before, a connection that defied explanation. But now, in the aftermath of loss, it was too much. Too raw.

Before she could pull away, before she could find the words to explain the whirlwind inside her, she moved closer. She didn't think. She didn't ask herself why. She just leaned into him, pressing her lips against his.

Elijah froze at first, his breath sharp against her lips, a silent question in his gaze. But as if a spark had ignited between them, he responded. Slowly. Tentatively at first, as though unsure of what they were both doing, but then with a softness that made her knees weak. His lips moved against hers, gentle and warm, as if he was trying to give her the peace she so desperately needed.

The kiss wasn't hurried. It wasn't desperate. It was tender—full of something deeper than just grief. In that fleeting moment, Hermione felt it: a quiet kind of comfort that settled somewhere deep within her chest, washing over the ache of her heart like a balm.

She sighed into the kiss, the knot in her stomach loosening as the weight of the last few hours, days, weeks seemed to lift, just a little. It was as if the world around them had stopped moving, leaving only the two of them in the center of it. Only him, holding her with such careful devotion that it made her heart ache in a new way.

When they finally pulled away, their breaths mingling in the cool air, Hermione's hands moved to his shoulders, her fingers trembling slightly. Her forehead leaned against his, the steady rhythm of his heartbeat grounding her.

"Always and forever," Elijah whispered, his voice thick with something unsaid, a promise written in the words he spoke. "I'll be here. I won't let you go through this alone."

Her eyes closed at the weight of his words, a rush of emotions overwhelming her. But before she could reply, her mind was flooded with images—fragments of memories that weren't her own. Faces she didn't recognize. Places she'd never seen.

The pain hit her like a physical blow, sharp and sudden, as if something inside her was coming to life—and it hurt. She gasped, clutching her head, desperate for it to stop, but it only intensified.

Elijah's voice broke through her panic, urgent and filled with fear. "Hermione!" He reached for her, but she staggered back, her hands shaking uncontrollably. "What's happening? Stay with me, please—"

But the words were drowned out by the storm that raged in her mind. The world around her blurred, and with one last strangled gasp, she felt herself slipping. The darkness took her.

Her body went limp, and Elijah's arms were there to catch her, holding her tightly as she collapsed against him.

"No, no, no," he whispered, his voice laced with desperation. "Stay with me, Hermione. Please."

For the first time in centuries, Elijah Mikaelson, who had weathered wars, death, betrayal, and heartbreak, felt utterly powerless. His hands trembled as he cradled Hermione's fragile body against him, his heart pounding in his chest.

"Stay with me, Hermione," he pleaded, his voice raw with desperation, but the words felt hollow. Her breath was shallow, her pulse faint beneath his fingertips.

The bond they had shared in that fleeting moment—those tender words, the promise of forever—now felt like a distant echo, slipping through his grasp like sand through his fingers. All that remained was the stillness of the lake, the distant murmurs of the world that seemed so far away, and the weight of her unconscious form in his arms.

Elijah's usual calm composure shattered as panic rose within him. He wasn't used to being vulnerable. He wasn't used to feeling helpless. But with Hermione like this, unconscious and slipping from his grasp, the powerlessness was suffocating.

His eyes scanned the surroundings, searching for any sign that might help him bring her back—magic, a healer, anything. But there was nothing. He was alone with her, the stillness around them a cruel reminder of his inability to protect her.

As he carefully lifted her into his arms, cradling her against his chest, Elijah couldn't shake the feeling that something far more than just grief was at play here. She was connected to something much older than either of them, something that had awoken inside her in that brief, fragile moment of their kiss. And whatever it was, it had claimed her in that instant.

A part of him—something deep within—knew this was no ordinary fainting spell. This was a connection that stretched far beyond their present lives, a bond tied to something ancient and unexplainable.

But what was it?

For the first time in centuries, Elijah was no longer in control. And that terrified him.

●・○・●・○・●

Darkness swallowed Hermione whole.

But instead of falling into emptiness, she found herself standing in a strange, unfamiliar place. The air was heavy with the scent of fire and old stone. She looked down—her hands were not her own, her hair was no longer its usual wild brown but long, black, and perfectly tamed. The dress that clung to her was foreign, rich, and regal.

Confused, she stumbled toward a cracked mirror leaning against the wall. The reflection staring back was her own face—yet not hers.

That woman was Amara.

700 YEARS AGO — KINGDOM OF THORNHAVEN
King Deric Thornwood ruled Thornhaven, a small kingdom in Eastern Europe. He was much like King Uther Pendragon of Camelot—unyielding, ambitious, and merciless in his hatred of witches.

His first wife, Queen Rose Thornwood, had been gentle and kind. A witch by blood, yes, but one who had only ever used her gift to heal—to save lives, and once, even to pull the king himself back from death's door.

But gratitude was not in King Deric's nature. When her secret could no longer be hidden, he raised his voice in the Great Hall, thundering, "No witch will sit on my throne. No sorcery will taint my kingdom!"

And with a single ruthless command, he ordered the knights to execute her.

Amara, only fifteen at the time, had thrown herself at his feet, tears streaming down her face. "Father, please! She saved you! She is no enemy—she is our mother!"

Beside her, Arcturus—eighteen and already bearing the strength of a man—stood tall, his voice echoing with fury. "If you do this, you damn your own blood! You damn us!"

But King Deric did not waver. His face was carved of stone, his heart colder still. The execution was carried out. Queen Rose's screams echoed through the courtyard until they were silenced forever.

It wasn't long before Deric remarried. His new queen was Diem Seraphina Thornwood, a foreign princess from the East—an elegant beauty with eyes sharp as obsidian. To the kingdom, she was a jewel; to Amara and Arcturus, she was poison.

Diem ruled the palace with an iron fist, her eyes always gleaming with cold ambition. Amara could feel the weight of her gaze, a constant reminder that she was unwanted. And her cruelty was not just in her silence. She would smile in public, then whisper poison into the ears of the court, making sure every act of kindness was seen as weakness.

It was in the evenings, when the air grew cooler, that Diem's cruelty manifested most. Amara remembered a night in particular when the queen had caught her in the garden.

"Your mother was weak, child," Diem had said, her voice like honey, "and so are you. Magic isn't a gift—it's a curse."

Amara had wanted to scream, but instead, she only stood there, powerless. Diem had turned, leaving her with those words hanging in the air like a shadow.

One moonless night, when the weight of grief and hatred grew unbearable, Amara turned to her brother. "We cannot stay here, Arcturus. Not while she sits on our mother's throne. Not while Father pretends her blood never ran through our veins."

Arcturus gritted his teeth, his fists clenching. "Then we leave. We take our lives into our own hands. Better the wild woods than these cursed walls."

And so, under the veil of darkness, the Thornwood heirs fled the palace. They slipped beyond the gates, the torches of the guards flickering far behind them, and vanished into the dense, whispering woods—carrying nothing but their names, their grief, and the spark of defiance that would one day ignite into legend.

LIFE IN THE WOODS
The forest of Thornhaven was no place for children—let alone the forsaken heirs of a kingdom. Its branches clawed at their skin, its roots tripped their weary feet, and its nights were filled with the cries of wolves that prowled just beyond sight.

Amara huddled close to her brother by the fire they managed to build from twigs and flint, her eyes wide with fear.

"Arcturus," she whispered, her voice trembling, "what if Father sends knights after us? What if they find us?"

Arcturus stared into the flames, his jaw tight. "Let them come," he muttered. "I will never bow to him again. If he calls himself a king while spilling the blood of his own wife, then he is no father of mine."

Amara's throat tightened. She wanted to believe him, to be strong, but every shadow seemed to stretch with danger. Her stomach growled from hunger, and tears threatened to fall.

Days turned into weeks. They scavenged berries, hunted rabbits with makeshift traps, and built a shelter of branches and mud. Hunger gnawed at them constantly. Winter winds pierced through their fragile walls, forcing them to cling to one another at night.

One evening, as the sun bled red across the horizon, Amara stumbled upon a small pool hidden deep in the woods. The water shimmered unnaturally, glowing faintly beneath the moonlight. Drawn to it, she reached out—and as her fingers skimmed the surface, a strange warmth surged through her veins.

She gasped, pulling back her hand, but the air around her shifted. The pool rippled, forming faint shapes—whispers of a woman's face.

Her mother's face. "Amara..." The voice was soft, like wind through leaves.

Amara staggered back. "Mother? No—this is a dream. You're gone."

But the vision only smiled, her eyes kind, though lined with sorrow. "Gone from the world of men, but not from you. My blood is yours, child. My gift is yours. Do not fear it—embrace it. One day, it will be all that stands between you and the darkness."

Tears spilled down Amara's cheeks as she fell to her knees. "I don't want it! Magic killed you. Father killed you because of it!"

The vision flickered, her voice fading. "Then promise me you will live... live long enough to choose your own destiny. Not his."

And just like that, the pool went still, the glow fading into ordinary water.

When Amara stumbled back to the fire, Arcturus noticed her trembling hands. "What happened?" he asked sharply.

Amara shook her head, her lips trembling. "I think... I think I carry Mother's gift. And I don't know if it will save us... or destroy us."

Arcturus took her hands in his, gripping them tightly. "Then we will decide. Together. Whatever curse or gift you carry, it is ours now. Not Father's. Not his witch-killing throne."

That night, under the canopy of stars, the Thornwood siblings swore an oath—one that would bind them not to a king or crown, but to each other.

And deep within Amara's blood, the first sparks of power stirred awake.

Chapter Text

╰┈➤ THE DAYS AFTER AMARA'S encounter with the pool were different. Subtle at first. The fire burned longer when she fed it, the wind seemed to bend to her cries when she was afraid, and the forest animals kept a strange distance. Arcturus noticed it all, though she tried to hide it.

One night, as frost rimmed their shelter and their breath hung heavy in the air, Arcturus returned with something wrapped in rough cloth. His eyes burned with determination.

"Amara," he said, kneeling by the fire. "I've found something."

She frowned, brushing the dirt from her hands. "Another rabbit?"

He shook his head and pulled back the cloth. Inside lay a set of worn, leather-bound books, the edges cracked, but the sigils on their covers gleamed faintly even in the dark.

Her breath caught. "Those... those are—"

"Mother's grimoires," Arcturus finished for her, his voice low and reverent. "I found them hidden beneath the cellar stones when I last slipped back into the castle. She must have hidden them for us."

Amara reached for the nearest book, her fingers trembling as she traced the faded golden lettering. She could almost smell the faint perfume her mother used to wear clinging to the pages. "Why didn't you tell me sooner?"

"I needed to be sure," Arcturus admitted. "Sure I could carry them without Father's men finding out. Sure that they were real." His gaze softened, though his jaw was still hard with anger. "If what you saw at the pool is true, then Mother's gift didn't die with her. It lives in you. Maybe in me too."

Amara looked up sharply. "In you?"

Arcturus held out his hand over the fire. For a long moment, nothing happened. Then—like sparks catching dry kindling—thin veins of light flickered along his fingers, glowing faintly blue. The fire bent toward him as though drawn by some unseen force.

Amara's eyes widened. "You... you have it too."

He gave a short, grim nod. "I don't know how to control it yet, but it's there. I feel it. Burning inside me, waiting to be unleashed." He placed the grimoire gently in her lap. "We're not helpless anymore, Amara. We have her blood. Her power. If we learn, if we master this—Father will never be able to touch us again."

Tears stung her eyes, but this time they weren't only from grief. They were from something deeper, fiercer—hope.

She pressed the book to her chest. "Then we'll learn. For her. For us."

Arcturus extended his hand, and she clasped it tightly. In the silence of the woods, with only the crackling fire as witness, the Thornwood siblings swore a second oath—this one to magic itself.

And far away, in the depths of Thornhaven Castle, the winds howled against its towers. As if the land itself knew that the forsaken heirs had awakened a legacy that could one day unmake a king.

●・○・●・○・●

The forest of Thornhaven had hardened them, but it had not broken them. Arcturus made certain of that.

He had become more than just Amara's brother—he was her shield, her anchor in a world that had cast them aside. Every day, he shouldered the burden of survival, foraging, hunting, and keeping the fire alive, while making sure his sister ate before he did. When the frost bit at their skin, he wrapped her in his cloak and endured the cold himself.

"Arcturus," Amara whispered one night, curled beneath their fragile shelter of branches, "do you ever wonder what would've happened if we had stayed? If we had just obeyed Father?"

His gaze, sharp and unyielding, fixed on the fire. "Obedience to a tyrant is no life worth living," he said quietly. "He killed Mother, Amara. Do you think he would spare us if we bent our knees? No." His voice softened as he looked at her, brushing a stray lock of black hair from her face. "I swore I'd protect you. You're all I have left now. And I'll bear the weight of this life, yours and mine, if it means keeping you safe."

Amara's chest ached, her throat tight with unshed tears. She leaned into him, comforted by the steady rhythm of his heartbeat. For a moment, she allowed herself to believe they could endure this exile.

That night, under a canopy of stars, the Thornwood siblings swore their oath—not to crown or kingdom, but to one another. And as Amara opened the grimoire, the first sparks of her true power stirred, hidden deep in her blood.

●・○・●・○・●

One day, hunger drove Arcturus and Amara deeper into the forest than ever before. Arcturus carried his crude bow, eyes sharp, while Amara clutched her dagger, nerves fraying with every step.

"Stay close," Arcturus whispered, his voice steady, though his jaw was tight. "We'll catch something. Tonight, you won't go hungry."

But before the words could comfort her, the silence broke—boots trampling leaves, the clatter of armor. From the shadows emerged their father's knights, a dozen strong, blades gleaming in the fading light.

"Well, well," one of them jeered, his voice cruel. "The king's lost heirs. You thought you could vanish into the woods?"

Arcturus stepped in front of his sister, shoulders squared. "We will not go back."

The knight sneered. "Then you will die here."

Swords were raised. The siblings fought desperately, but their makeshift weapons were laughable against steel. Arcturus swung his bow like a staff, knocking one knight down, while Amara ducked and slashed wildly, fear burning in her chest. Still, the ring of knights closed in.

Steel clashed through the forest, drowning Amara's ragged breaths. Arcturus fought like a cornered wolf, his crude bow wielded as a blade, each strike buying only moments as the ring of armored boots closed tighter around them.

"Arcturus—" Amara gasped, parrying clumsily with her dagger, "we can't—"

"Don't use your magic!" he snapped, voice raw as he blocked a blow that nearly split his shoulder. "Not unless you must."

But death was already upon them.

Then the night ripped open.

Two shadows blurred past her vision—too fast, too silent to follow. A knight screamed as his throat was torn out in a spray of red. Another collapsed, heart wrenched from his chest before his blade could fall. The forest floor darkened with blood, the moss drinking deep until it shone black.

In mere heartbeats, the clearing was littered with corpses. The knights—hunters moments ago—now lay strewn like slaughtered game.

Amara froze, chest heaving, her dagger slipping from her trembling fingers.

From the carnage, two men emerged.

One stood calm and deliberate, brushing blood from his sleeve as though it were nothing more than dust. His dark eyes held a quiet authority that made the air feel heavier.

The other grinned, lips still stained crimson, golden hair catching what little light filtered through the trees. His presence burned wild and dangerous—half predator, half storm.

Arcturus's voice shook despite the defiance in his stance. "What... what are you?"

The blond one smirked, voice low and mocking. "Not your enemies, little prince—unless you want us to be."

The darker-haired man stepped forward with a courtly inclination of his head, his tone smooth as velvet. "You should be careful wandering these woods. Predators lurk in every shadow." His eyes lingered on Amara, sharp, appraising. "And not all wear armor."

Her throat tightened. "Who... who are you?" she whispered.

The blond bared his fangs in the firelight. "Niklaus Mikaelson."

The other inclined his head again, deliberate and measured. "And I am Elijah. Remember our names, Lady Thornwood. For tonight, fate has entwined them with yours."

The words hung heavy in the clearing, almost ceremonial against the stench of blood. Around them, the knights lay broken, their lifeless eyes staring at the stars as though even in death they could not look away from what had slain them.

Amara clung to Arcturus's arm, her heart hammering. These were no men—they were something far older, far hungrier. Strangers who had appeared like death itself, cloaked not in armor but in shadows and blood.

Arcturus raised his chin, shielding his sister with his body. "You saved us. But why?"

The blond one—Niklaus—laughed, low and dangerous. "Saved you? Hm, I wouldn't put it quite like that. I was merely hungry." His eyes flicked to Amara, sharp and predatory. "Though I admit... I didn't expect to stumble upon royalty in the woods."

Amara stiffened, her hand clutching her brother's sleeve. "We are no royalty. Not anymore."

The darker-haired man—Elijah—stepped closer, brushing a fleck of blood from his cuff with almost surgical precision. His gaze lingered on Amara with something calmer, softer than his brother's hunger. "You may deny your crown, but it clings to you nonetheless. The way you carry yourselves, the courage you showed in the face of death—it is not so easily shed."

Arcturus frowned. "Courage? We were moments from slaughter."

"Yet you stood," Elijah replied, his voice steady. His gaze lingered on Amara, as though he saw something in her others had missed. "You fought for each other. That is rarer than you think."

Amara's breath caught. No one—not her father, not her stepmother, not even the courtiers who once bowed to her—had ever spoken to her like that. Not with admiration. Not with... understanding.

Niklaus rolled his eyes. "Brother, spare them your poetry. They'll be dead in a week if we leave them out here. Frail little things, playing house in the forest."

Arcturus bristled, stepping forward. "We've survived five months already without your help. We don't need—"

Elijah raised a hand, silencing him with a calm gesture. "And yet, you would have perished tonight had we not intervened." His gaze returned to Amara, softer now. "Allow us to stay. The woods are dangerous. The king will not stop hunting you. If you wish to live, accept our presence."

Amara glanced at her brother. Arcturus's jaw was tight, distrust written all over his face. "We don't even know what you are."

Niklaus grinned, flashing his fangs in the firelight. "Monsters, some would say."

Elijah's expression didn't waver, though his tone grew heavier. "We are... vampires. And though my brother finds delight in his brutality, I assure you, we mean you no harm. Not tonight. Not if you allow us to remain."

The fire crackled between them. Amara's pulse quickened, fear and something else twisting inside her. She studied Elijah—the way his words carried weight, the way his eyes lingered on her as though she were more than a frightened child in the woods.

Arcturus exhaled slowly, his voice iron. "If you betray us, I will find a way to kill you. Monster or not."

Niklaus smirked. "I rather like him."

But Elijah's gaze never left Amara. He bowed his head slightly, a gesture more courtly than predatory. "You have my word, Lady Thornwood. While I draw breath, no harm shall come to you."

Amara felt a warmth stir in her chest, unfamiliar yet steadying. For the first time since her mother's death, she did not feel entirely alone.

And so, that night, under the watch of the fire, the Thornwood siblings shared their camp with the Mikaelson brothers. Neither knew it then, but it was the beginning of a bond that would alter the course of their fates forever.

●・○・●・○・●

That night, while the Mikaelson brothers busied themselves with sharpening blades and setting traps, the Thornwood siblings lay side by side on the cool grass, staring up at the endless sprawl of stars above.

"What do you think about being reborn?" Amara asked suddenly, her voice soft, as though she feared the night might swallow her words.

Arcturus tilted his head, considering. "I believe... we'd be reborn into another time, another place. Maybe even another world."

Amara's eyes lit with wonder. She rolled onto her side, grinning. "Then what do you think your name would be? After your rebirth?"

Her brother chuckled, the sound warm and low. "How would I possibly know that?"

Amara pouted playfully, nudging him with her elbow. "Oh, come on. Just imagine one you'd like. For example—" she sat up proudly, her eyes gleaming, "—I'd like to be called Hermione. Doesn't it sound strong and clever?"

Arcturus smirked, amused by her enthusiasm. After a thoughtful pause, he murmured, "Maybe... Regulus. It has a certain weight to it, don't you think?"

Amara nodded eagerly, before throwing her arms around him. For a fleeting moment, the world seemed kinder—just stars, laughter, and the promise of another life.

A short distance away, Elijah lowered the dagger he had been polishing, his sharp gaze drawn to the quiet scene. There was a tenderness between the siblings that reminded him of his own family, long before bloodshed and betrayals had turned them bitter. His eyes lingered on Amara—her resilience, her spark of hope in the midst of despair.

He allowed himself the faintest smile before turning back to his blade. Yet somewhere deep within, an unfamiliar warmth stirred—quiet, dangerous, and impossible to ignore.

Chapter Text

╰┈➤ DAYS PASSED, AND the bond between the Mikaelson brothers and the Thornwood siblings deepened. Nights around the fire turned into shared laughter, whispered stories, and moments of silence that carried their own weight. By unspoken agreement, they had become something like a family—fragile, yet bound together.

One crisp morning, Klaus and Arcturus left for a hunting trip, their voices fading into the trees until only the chirping of birds remained. Elijah lingered behind with Amara. The air was cool, the sky clear, and for once, danger felt far away.

Amara knelt in the grass, her slender fingers brushing over a fallen leaf. With a small wave of her hand, it floated upward, spinning lazily before others joined it, swirling together like a tiny constellation caught in a playful breeze. She whispered softly, and the leaves began to sparkle as though touched by starlight.

Elijah stood a few paces away, utterly still, his gaze fixed upon her. He had witnessed centuries of blood, violence, and cruelty—but this girl, with her quiet wonder, seemed to bend the world itself into something gentler.

The silence lingered between them, but it wasn't awkward—it was thick with the weight of everything unspoken. The leaves Amara had enchanted slowly drifted back down, settling into the grass as the magic ebbed away. She let out a quiet sigh, brushing her hands against her skirt as though to ground herself.

"You know," she said, tilting her head at him with a mischievous glint, "you really are terrible at hiding the way you look at me."

Elijah's lips curved into the faintest smile. "Perhaps. But only because you deserve to be looked at. There's... a light in you, Amara, even in the shadows of these woods."

Her heart fluttered, though she tried to mask it with a playful scoff. "Careful with words like that, Elijah Mikaelson. If Klaus or my brother heard you, they'd both try to lock me away just to keep me safe."

"Then let them try," Elijah replied evenly, his eyes never leaving hers. "I would still find a way to be here. To see you."

Amara's laughter was soft, nervous. She tucked a strand of dark hair behind her ear and looked down, suddenly shy. "You make me feel... things I don't understand."

Elijah reached out, gently lifting her chin so her gaze met his again. His voice was low, steady, but laced with an honesty that made her chest tighten. "Then let us understand them together. Slowly. Carefully. I would never rush you."

For a long moment, they simply sat there, the world around them hushed as though the forest itself held its breath. Then Amara smiled—small, genuine, vulnerable. "You truly don't mind if they get overprotective?"

"No," Elijah said softly, brushing his thumb across her hand before letting it fall back to his side. "Because what I feel for you is worth far more than their disapproval."

Amara's breath caught, and she looked away, her cheeks warming. But she didn't move her hand from where his had touched it, as though she could still feel the weight of his promise lingering there.

And for the first time since her world had shattered, she felt the faint spark of something she had thought lost forever—hope.

●・○・●・○・●

Elijah's words hung in the air, a promise unshaken by fear or consequence. Amara's heart raced in her chest, louder than the crackling of the fire or the song of the birds overhead. She swallowed hard, her gaze darting between his eyes, the soft curve of his mouth, and back again.

"Elijah..." she whispered, almost as if speaking his name might break the spell surrounding them.

He leaned closer, slowly, giving her every chance to pull away. His movements were deliberate, restrained, as though each breath he took was a battle against the centuries of control he had always prided himself upon.

But Amara didn't pull away. Her lips parted in the smallest of smiles—nervous, but certain. "You're impossible," she murmured.

"Perhaps," Elijah replied, his voice a hushed caress. "But only with you."

The space between them vanished. His lips brushed hers with a tenderness that stole the air from her lungs, soft and searching, as if he was memorizing the very taste of her. Amara gasped against him, her fingers curling into the fabric of his coat, grounding herself in the warmth of his presence.

For Elijah, the world faded—the centuries of burdens, of promises, of endless restraint—all of it melted away until there was only this girl with starlight in her veins, kissing him as though they had always been meant to find each other.

When at last they parted, their foreheads rested together, breaths mingling, eyes locked.

Amara's voice trembled, though her smile remained. "Klaus and Arcturus are going to kill us when they find out."

Elijah chuckled softly, his thumb brushing her cheek. "Then let them try. I've faced worse monsters than brothers with protective tempers."

And Amara laughed—bright and unguarded—before leaning into him once more, as though, for this fleeting moment, she had found safety in the arms of eternity itself.

●・○・●・○・●

After a while, Klaus and Arcturus returned from the hunt, a rabbit dangling from Klaus's hand. But as soon as their eyes fell on Amara and Elijah sitting together by the fire, something felt... off.

Arcturus narrowed his eyes, noticing the faint flush on his sister's cheeks. "Why are both of your cheeks red, Amara?" he asked, suspicion lacing his voice.

Amara blinked rapidly, tucking a stray lock of hair behind her ear. "Just... feeling hot," she said quickly, though the cool morning air betrayed her words.

Klaus raised a brow, his expression unreadable, though his tone was calm—almost too calm. "Hot, in this weather?" His gaze slid deliberately from Amara to Elijah. "Tell me, is there something going on between you two?"

Amara's eyes widened. "W-What? No! Of course not!" she stammered, fiddling with the hem of her sleeve.

Elijah met Klaus's stare head-on, voice smooth but laced with warning. "Brother, must you always assume the worst? We were simply speaking."

Arcturus folded his arms, stepping closer, his eyes narrowing. "Speaking doesn't usually leave someone looking like they've been caught stealing honey."

Klaus let out a low chuckle, though there was nothing warm in it. He dropped the rabbit by the fire, his smirk sharp. "Let me make myself clear, Elijah. If your... interests were to cause her harm—whether through intent or accident—I'd rip the heart from your chest and paint these woods with your blood."

Arcturus's voice cut in, quiet but steel-strong. "And so would I." His dark gaze bore into Elijah, unflinching. "She's my sister. My only family left. I don't care what kind of monster you are—you touch her wrong, and I'll find a way to end you."

Klaus's lips twitched into a savage grin. "See, brother? At least the boy understands."

Amara shot both of them a furious look. "Enough! I'm not a child you need to guard like a trinket. If I choose to speak with Elijah, that's my decision—not yours."

But Klaus only leaned back with a mocking bow, fangs glinting. "As you wish, little sister. Just know that both your brother and I will be watching. Always."

Elijah's jaw tightened, but his gaze softened when it returned to Amara. "Then let them watch," he murmured, the words low enough that only she could hear.

●・○・●・○・●

That night, beneath the silver wash of moonlight, Amara sat alone near the dying fire, her fingers tracing patterns in the air. Leaves rose gently at her command, spinning and glimmering as if sprinkled with starlight. She smiled faintly, whispering under her breath as she coaxed the magic into shapes—flowers, stars, fleeting birds of light that fluttered before fading.

She was so absorbed she didn't sense the presence hidden beyond the tree line.

From the shadows, a pair of eyes gleamed, watching with predatory intent. A cloaked figure stood perfectly still, breath shallow, gaze fixed on the girl who wove sparks from the air as though the night itself obeyed her.

Amara, unaware, whispered to herself with childlike wonder, "Mother... is this truly your gift?"

A twig snapped.

She froze, every muscle tensing. "Who's there?" she called, her voice steadier than she felt. The magic faltered, leaves tumbling lifelessly to the ground.

For a long moment, silence answered. Only the whisper of wind in the branches.

Then, the faintest rustle—too deliberate to be the forest.

"Elijah?" she tried, her voice dropping softer, hopeful.

No reply.

The unseen figure melted deeper into the shadows, vanishing as if swallowed by the trees. But the feeling lingered—the certainty that someone had been there, watching.

Amara hugged her arms around herself, forcing her breath to steady. The fire crackled faintly behind her, but its warmth suddenly felt too small, too far away.

And in the distance, unseen, a low voice whispered into the night, "The witch still lives... through the girl. How delightful!"

Chapter Text

╰┈➤ AMARA HAD BEEN ANXIOUS ever since she saw that cloaked figure in the woods. Elijah had noticed the way her gaze lingered on the shadows, the way her shoulders stiffened at the slightest sound. When he asked her about it, she only shrugged, forcing a small smile.

"It was nothing," she whispered. "Just the forest playing tricks."

But she was not wrong.

The very next day, while Arcturus and Klaus were away hunting, the forest grew strangely silent. The wind stilled. Even the birds seemed to vanish. Amara was gathering herbs near the fire while Elijah kept watch, every sense sharpened.

Then—suddenly—a blur of movement tore through the trees. A cloaked figure emerged, rushing straight toward them with unnatural speed.

"Stay behind me!" Elijah commanded, stepping in front of Amara in an instant, his hand reaching for the dagger at his side. His entire body was poised for battle, his eyes blazing with deadly intent.

But before he could strike, the figure lifted a hand. A surge of crackling magic exploded outward, faster than either of them could react.

Elijah's body jerked violently as the spell struck him. His dagger clattered to the ground, and he collapsed to one knee, teeth clenched against the unseen force holding him down.

"Elijah!" Amara cried, reaching for him—only for the same invisible energy to slam into her. Pain lanced through her chest, stealing the breath from her lungs, and darkness swept over her vision.

Her scream died in her throat as her body went limp.

The last thing Elijah saw before the world blurred was Amara crumpling beside him, her face pale, her eyes closing as the cloaked figure loomed over them.

And then—silence.

●・○・●・○・●

When Amara's eyes fluttered open, the world swam into focus—blurry at first, then sharp enough to make her stomach twist. She was no longer in the safety of the camp. The cold bite of iron pressed against her wrists, her arms bound tightly behind her as she sat tied to a rough wooden pole. A heavy ache spread through her limbs, her mouth dry, her heart pounding in dread.

Before her, a figure stepped into the dim light of the torchlit chamber. Amara's breath hitched.

Her stepmother.

The woman's lips curled into a cruel smirk, her eyes glinting with wicked satisfaction as she studied the girl like a prize finally caught.

Amara's first instinct was to summon her magic—she whispered the words under her breath, her fingers twitching against the cuffs. But nothing happened. No warmth, no spark. Just a hollow emptiness where her power should have been.

Panic surged in her chest. "No..." she whispered, shaking her head, trying again, harder this time. Still nothing.

Her stepmother tilted her head mockingly, as though savoring the moment. "Don't bother, dear child." She stepped closer, her voice smooth and venomous. "The cuffs are forged with runes older than your bloodline. They restrain your magic completely. With them on, you are nothing but a frightened girl tied to a post."

Amara glared up at her, forcing strength into her voice even as fear clawed at her throat. "Why are you doing this? What do you want from me?"

The smirk deepened, cruel and triumphant. "What I've always wanted, Amara—your gift. The magic your mother tried so hard to keep hidden. It belongs to me now."

Her stepmother crouched low, so close that Amara could feel the cold brush of her breath. "And when I'm finished with you, the kingdom will see the true power I wield... not your pathetic mother's, not yours. Mine."

Amara jerked against the ropes, her wrists burning, her voice shaking with defiance. "You'll never take it from me."

But her stepmother only laughed—a low, dark sound that echoed through the chamber like a death knell.

Amara's frantic gaze darted around the chamber, heart plummeting when she spotted the others sprawled on the cold stone floor. Elijah, Klaus, and Arcturus lay unconscious, their bodies unmoving, breaths shallow.

Her chest constricted. "No... no, no!" She twisted against the ropes until they cut into her skin. "Wake up! Please, wake up!"

Her desperate cry echoed off the walls, trembling with fear and fury.

A groan broke the silence. Klaus stirred first, his eyelids fluttering before his gaze sharpened. His expression shifted the instant he saw her bound to the pole. "Amara!" His voice cracked with unrestrained rage as he scrambled to his feet, his movements fueled by desperation.

But the moment he lunged toward her, his body slammed against something unseen. An invisible barrier rippled like water under his weight before flinging him back to the ground with a sickening thud.

Klaus snarled, baring his fangs, his fists curling as he threw himself at it again, only to be met with the same unyielding wall. "Witchcraft," he spat, fury flashing in his eyes. "Coward's tricks!"

Amara's throat burned with panic as she struggled harder against her bonds. "Klaus!" Her voice broke, tears stinging her eyes. "Please, you have to get out of here—"

"Quiet," her stepmother's voice cut in sharply, filled with smug delight as she stepped into the torchlight again. "Let them watch, little bird. What better punishment than for your protectors to witness their own helplessness?"

Elijah stirred faintly, groaning as his head lifted. His blurred gaze found Amara immediately, and even in his weakened state, his jaw clenched, eyes darkening with a storm. Arcturus, too, began to wake, confusion flickering into horror as he realized his sister was bound.

Klaus slammed a fist against the barrier once more, his roar rattling the chamber. "You will pay for this!"

But the stepmother only laughed, low and cruel, her gaze sliding back to Amara. "Oh, she will be the one to pay. And you will watch."

Arcturus staggered to his feet, his hands trembling as he raised them toward the pole where his sister was bound. "No... no, I can save her!" His voice cracked, desperation spilling from every word. Sparks of light flickered at his fingertips—but the moment he tried to summon his magic, it sputtered out like smoke in the wind.

His stepmother's cruel laughter rang through the chamber. "Your mother's gift fails you, boy. Just as it failed her."

Amara's wide, terrified eyes found his. "Arcturus! Please—" Her voice broke, and she yanked against the restraints until her wrists bled.

"Don't you dare touch her!" Arcturus roared, his knees buckling as he tried again, chanting spells through gritted teeth. Nothing. His power was gone, smothered by the enchanted cuffs that held his sister captive.

"Stop this madness!" Elijah's voice thundered, his control shattering as he slammed against the invisible barrier, fists pounding until blood smeared across his knuckles. "Do what you will with me—leave her be!"

But the stepmother's smile only widened, cruel and merciless. She raised a hand, and fire bloomed in her palm—bright, hungry, merciless flame. Slowly, deliberately, she lowered it toward Amara.

"No!" Klaus's roar shook the chamber as he hurled himself at the barrier, claws tearing grooves in the stone where he fell. "You witch! You vile—" His words broke into a strangled snarl as the barrier flung him back again.

The fire touched the hem of Amara's dress.

The fire licked at her skin first like tiny sparks, sharp stings that spread across her arms and legs. Within seconds, the warmth turned into searing agony, every nerve in her body screaming as the flames climbed higher. Her lungs fought for air, each breath tasting of smoke and ash, until breathing itself felt like swallowing fire. The heat blistered her flesh, peeling it as though the fire were devouring not just her body, but her very soul.

Her voice broke with shrill, ragged screams that echoed through the chamber, the sound so raw it rattled the stones themselves. Tears streamed down her cheeks, vanishing instantly in the blaze, and her body convulsed against the pole as if some primal instinct still fought to escape. Her vision blurred, not only from the smoke but from the overwhelming pain that consumed everything—every thought, every memory—until she was nothing but fire and torment.

Her scream tore through the chamber—raw, agonized, so loud it seemed to split the very air. The flames licked up her body, consuming silk, flesh, and hope alike. She writhed against the pole, every sob and cry carving itself into the hearts of those who loved her.

For Klaus, Elijah, and Arcturus, the sight was unbearable—her suffering became their own, every scream carving into their hearts, powerless to save the one they cherished.

"Amara!" Arcturus screamed until his throat bled. His legs gave way, and he collapsed to the ground, clawing at the stone as if sheer will could break the spell. Tears poured down his face, blinding him.

Elijah's eyes brimmed red, tears burning tracks down his cheeks as he slammed his fists uselessly again and again. "Please—please, stop this! She is but a child!" His voice cracked, the weight of centuries unable to withstand the sight of her suffering.

Even Klaus—rage incarnate—fell silent at the sight, his roar dissolving into a broken, choked cry. His hands pressed against the barrier, blood smearing the invisible wall as he whispered, voice shaking, "Little sister... forgive me."

The smell of burning filled the chamber. Amara's final scream rattled the stone walls before breaking into silence.

All that remained was smoke, charred wood, and the still form of the girl who had been their light.

And in that moment, each of them—brother, friend, lover—felt something inside them shatter beyond repair.

●・○・●・○・●

FUTURE (NEXT DAY TO FUNERAL)
Hermione jolted awake, her chest rising and falling in ragged breaths. Sweat clung to her forehead, and her heart thundered as though she had been the one burning.

Beside her, Estella—her eyes swollen and cheeks streaked with tears—threw her arms around Hermione, clinging tightly. "You scared me half to death. You've been out for twenty-four hours," she whispered, her voice breaking.

Hermione blinked, her mind still heavy with the memory, the smell of smoke and the sound of screams echoing in her skull. Slowly, her gaze shifted—catching Elijah at the side of her bed. His usually composed figure was disheveled, his dark hair a tangled mess, his eyes red and rimmed with grief. He hadn't moved from that spot; the weight of centuries sat heavy on his shoulders.

Hermione's lips parted, her voice hoarse but steady. "I... remember, Elijah."

Elijah's body went rigid. His gaze locked with hers, something fragile and pained flickering in his eyes.

"What?" Estella asked, her head snapping up between them, confusion and fear lacing her tone.

Hermione swallowed hard, tears stinging her eyes. "I remember the fire. The pain. The cuffs. My stepmother... burning me alive." Her voice cracked, but she forced the words out. "I remember being Amara."

The silence that followed was suffocating. Estella's arms loosened around her in shock, her breath catching. Elijah's jaw trembled, but his eyes never left Hermione's—as if afraid she might vanish before him once more.

"You..." Elijah whispered, his voice breaking, "you truly remember."

Hermione nodded weakly, fresh tears spilling. "I am Amara, Elijah. I've always been."

The words hung in the air like a thunderclap.

Ron, who had been sitting quietly in the corner with reddened eyes, shifted uncomfortably. His voice cracked as he sniffed, "Amara? Who's... Amara?"

Draco, on the other hand, leaned forward, pale but sharp-eyed, his tone both cautious and incredulous. "Are you saying you've been... reincarnated?"

Hermione's gaze flickered between them. Her chest tightened, her throat burning with the weight of truth. "Yes," she whispered, "reborn into this life, but once—I was her. Amara Thornwood. The girl who died in the fire."

Ron's brows knitted together, his freckled face pale. "Bloody hell, Hermione... you're saying you were someone else—before? That all those dreams, all those times you spaced out—they weren't just nightmares?"

Hermione gave the smallest nod, her tears tracing down her cheeks.

Draco's mouth pressed into a thin line, though his grey eyes gleamed with something unreadable. "That explains it," he muttered under his breath. "The magic that doesn't quite make sense. The way you... feel older than you should."

Elijah stepped closer, his voice soft but heavy with centuries of longing. "She isn't just saying it. I knew Amara. I loved her. And now—" His throat caught, and his eyes softened as he looked at Hermione. "—now she stands before me again."

Hermione's words lingered in the silence, the weight of centuries pressing into the room.

Estella tightened her grip around her, trembling. "No... no, that can't be true," she whispered, shaking her head as tears streamed down her cheeks. "You're Hermione—my Hermione. My best friend, my family. Not... not some girl from a story long ago."

Hermione turned to her, her own heart aching at the pain in Estella's eyes. "I'm still me, Estella. I'm still Hermione. But... I was Amara once, too. Those memories—they weren't dreams. They were pieces of a life I lost."

Estella's lip quivered as she searched her friend's face. "So when you screamed in your sleep, when you cried without knowing why..." She shook her head, voice breaking. "It wasn't just nightmares. You were reliving it, weren't you?"

Hermione swallowed hard, her voice barely a whisper. "Yes."

Estella's arms tightened around her as if she could anchor Hermione here, to this moment, to this life. "I don't care who you were before. You're not going anywhere now. Not again. I won't let history take you from me."

Elijah's gaze softened, his voice a quiet echo of her promise. "Nor will I."

●・○・●・○・●

Everyone sat in stunned silence, the air heavy with disbelief. Hermione's fingers twisted in the bedsheets as she looked between Estella and Draco, her voice trembling with unspoken hope.

"Do... do either of you have a photo of Regulus Black?"

Estella blinked at her, then gave a small, tearful nod. "Kreacher has one. He keeps it safe." She raised her voice softly, "Kreacher!"

With a sharp pop, the old house-elf appeared, bowing low. His wide eyes darted immediately to Hermione, then to Estella.

"Mistress Estella calls Kreacher?" he croaked.

"Yes," Estella said gently. "Please... bring us a picture of Regulus Black."

For once, Kreacher did not mutter or resist. His expression softened, and with another pop, he disappeared—returning moments later clutching a worn, gilded frame in his gnarled hands.

Hermione reached out with shaking fingers. The moment her eyes landed on the photograph, her breath hitched violently. The boy in the frame—dark hair falling into storm-grey eyes, sharp yet achingly familiar features—was not just a Black. He was Arcturus. He was her brother.

Tears blurred her vision as she pressed the photo against her chest. "It's him... it's really him..." Her voice cracked, shattering under the weight of centuries. "The same eyes... the same hair... the same face."

Her sobs filled the room. "My brother... he was here all along, and he's already gone. I lost him before I even had the chance to meet him again in this life."

Estella covered her mouth, tears spilling freely as she leaned into Hermione's side. Draco lowered his gaze, unusually solemn, his hands tightening into fists as though mourning silently for the uncle he'd never known.

Across the room, Elijah stood frozen, his jaw clenched, watching Hermione's grief with a pain that mirrored his own.

Hermione's sobs quieted, though her body still trembled beneath the storm of emotions. She clutched the photograph tighter, her tears blotting the edges as if she could somehow hold her brother through the ink and parchment alone.

Elijah's jaw tightened, his usually controlled demeanor fracturing. His chest rose and fell sharply, his eyes dark with something raw—grief, helplessness, and something else he had buried for centuries.

"I cannot watch you break like this," Elijah whispered, his voice hoarse. His hand reached out but stopped just short of touching her, trembling in the air. "Regulus is not dead."

The room froze.

Hermione's head snapped up, her tear-streaked face pale with shock. "W-What?"

Estella blinked, stunned into silence. Draco's brows furrowed, suspicion and confusion flashing across his face. "That's impossible. He died in the cave—the locket—everyone knows the story—"

"No," Elijah cut in firmly, his voice breaking through their disbelief. His gaze locked on Hermione's, unwavering. "Klaus found him. He was taken before death could claim him. Alive—though not without scars. And by tomorrow, he will stand before you."

Hermione's breath hitched, the photo slipping from her trembling fingers onto the sheets. "He's... alive? My brother... Regulus—" Her voice cracked, and she pressed a hand against her mouth, overwhelmed.

Estella gasped, covering her lips with both hands, tears spilling anew. Draco's jaw clenched, shock battling with skepticism. "The Dark Lord himself couldn't find him... and yet you say Klaus did?"

Elijah's eyes flicked toward Draco, his tone iron-steady. "My brother has ways beyond what the wizarding world dares to imagine. Do not doubt him in this."

Hermione couldn't hold back anymore—she broke into fresh sobs, this time with relief and disbelief tangled together. She curled forward, clutching her chest as if her heart couldn't contain the sudden surge of hope.

Elijah finally moved, kneeling by her side, his hand resting gently over hers. "You will see him again, Amara," he said softly, his voice cracking despite his effort to remain strong. "By tomorrow, your brother will be here."

The promise hung in the air, heavier than any vow Elijah had ever spoken.

Hermione's sobs shook her, but through the haze of grief and disbelief, Elijah's words struck like lightning. Alive.

She lifted her gaze to him, her lips trembling. "Elijah... you swear it?"

His dark eyes softened, though his jaw remained taut with the weight of his promise. "On my honor, on my very soul—I swear it."

The room went silent, the weight of his words pressing over all of them.

Hermione's tears stilled, her breath coming in uneven gasps as the impossible suddenly felt within reach. Her hand clutched Elijah's tightly, anchoring herself to the only thing keeping her from shattering apart.

Tomorrow. By tomorrow, she would know if hope was real.

Chapter Text

╰┈➤ ESTELLA'S HEAD THROBBED as though the last twenty-four hours was physically crushing her. First Hermione fainting and reliving some tragic past life, then Elijah confessing truths that no sane person should believe, and now the impossible—Regulus Black, the dead boy who was not so dead after all, returning under the shadow of Klaus Mikaelson.

She pressed her palms to her temples and let out a shaky breath. Too much. It's all too bloody much.

Her gaze flicked toward Hermione's room. The door was firmly shut, and she could hear the low murmur of voices on the other side. Estella rolled her eyes, muttering under her breath, "Merlin's beard, if they're not ripping each other's throats out, they're probably eating each other's faces off."

Draco, sprawled in an armchair with his arms crossed, smirked faintly. "You sound jealous."

"Jealous? Hardly," Estella snapped, though the corner of her mouth twitched despite herself. "I just think it's irresponsible—Hermione running around with vampires, falling in love with one of them, discovering she's some reincarnated witch. It's exhausting just saying it aloud."

Draco leaned forward, his expression more serious now. "Exhausting or not, it's her truth. And if anyone deserves to be happy after everything... it's Granger."

Estella fell quiet at that, her frown softening. She gave a small nod, though her headache remained.

And then—the sharp sound of the doorbell cut through the air. Ding-dong.

The two of them froze. Estella's stomach dropped.

"That'll be him," Draco murmured, standing slowly. "The boy-who-cheated-death."

Estella swallowed hard, whispering almost to herself, "Klaus the monstrous hybrid... and Regulus—the dead who came back alive. Just what kind of world have we stepped into?"

From upstairs, a door creaked open. Hermione's hurried footsteps echoed down the staircase, Elijah's heavier ones following close behind. Her heart raced, and for the first time since her memories returned, she dared to hope.

Estella swung open the door, her smirk widening as her eyes landed on the visitors.
"Well, well," she drawled. "I thought the Original Hybrid would look monstrous, but who knew he'd turn out to be such a cutie pie?"

Klaus arched a brow, his expression darkening, though his nose scrunched slightly in disapproval. "I'm not cute, sweetheart. I'm terrifying." His voice dripped with pride, the accent sharpening the word as though it were a threat.

Estella leaned casually against the doorframe, utterly unfazed. "Mhm, terrifying, sure. At least you have a nose! Trust me, that already puts you leagues ahead of some dark wizards we've dealt with."

Klaus gave her a look that hovered somewhere between irritation and amusement, though his lips twitched as if he were fighting a smirk.

Before he could respond, a low chuckle sounded from behind him. Regulus Black stepped forward, his sharp features softening with rare amusement. "You're definitely Lily's daughter," he said, eyes glinting with recognition. Then, with a smirk of his own, he added, "So... who's the sperm donor?"

Estella's jaw dropped. "Excuse me?!"

Klaus let out a startled bark of laughter, clearly entertained.

Regulus, entirely unbothered, tilted his head. "Well, I need to know who the unlucky bastard was."

"James Potter," Estella answered at last, rolling her eyes but fighting a smile. "And I'll have you know, he was far from unlucky."

Regulus gave a small, approving nod. "Figures. The prat never knew when to quit."

From inside the room, Draco's voice called out, impatient and clipped. "Estella, stop interrogating them and let them in already."

Estella sighed dramatically, throwing a look over her shoulder. "Fine, fine. No need to get your knickers in a twist, Malfoy."

She stepped aside, sweeping her arm with exaggerated flair. "Alright then. Welcome to the madhouse."

Klaus strode in first, his eyes sweeping the place with sharp curiosity, while Regulus followed, still eyeing Estella with that strange mixture of recognition and nostalgia.

●・○・●・○・●

The moment Regulus's eyes landed on Hermione, he froze.

Something deep inside him stirred—older than this life, older than the name he now carried. His chest constricted as memories, not just of his own death, but of hers, came flooding back like a tidal wave. The flames, her screams, the searing agony that had branded itself into his very soul—they weren't just hers. They were his too.

His breath hitched, and before he could stop himself, a loud sob tore from his throat. He pressed a trembling hand against his chest, as if to hold himself together.

Hermione gasped, her tears spilling freely as she whispered, "Regulus..." Her voice was thick with grief and recognition.

"Amara," Regulus breathed, his voice raw. His knees nearly buckled, but he forced himself to stay upright, staring at her as if she might disappear at any moment. "I feel it—I remember all of it. The fire, your screams, the helplessness. It was carved into me even in this life." His words shook, as though each one threatened to break him further.

Klaus, standing off to the side, went rigid. His usual bravado melted away, and for the first time in centuries, he looked utterly undone. His eyes glistened as he stared at Hermione—not with suspicion, but with the weight of a brother seeing his sister again after lifetimes.

His lips parted, the words catching in his throat before he finally whispered, "Amara..."

The sound of her old name from his lips nearly broke Hermione. She clutched at her chest, sobbing openly now. "It's me. I've always been me. Even when I didn't remember—you were always with me. Both of you."

Regulus moved closer, though he didn't dare touch her, his voice cracking. "We were torn apart once, Amara. Burned alive in our own ways. But not this time. Not again."

Klaus's jaw clenched, a single tear sliding down despite his effort to remain composed. "Not while I draw breath," he vowed softly, more to her than anyone else.

The room was wrapped in silence, broken only by the sound of their unsteady breathing—past lives colliding with the present, grief and love tangled into something neither death nor time could erase.

Ron stood in the corner, his eyes wide and brimming with tears. He had never seen Hermione like this—so broken, yet so whole at the same time. The weight of the reunion, the confessions, the memories spilling between her, Regulus, and Klaus—it all pressed down on him until he couldn't hold it anymore.

He turned to Estella, his voice cracking as he whispered, "I don't... I don't even understand half of this, but—Merlin, Estella, she's my best friend. My sister. And all this time..." His words dissolved into a sob, and he buried his face into her shoulder, clutching at her sleeve like a lifeline. Silent tears streamed down his freckled cheeks as he cried quietly against her.

Estella's own throat tightened. She rested her hand gently on Ron's back, her eyes glistening. "I know," she whispered back, her voice soothing even though her heart was raw. "It's a lot. Too much. But she's still your Hermione, Ron. That hasn't changed. Not even with everything else."

Draco, who had been standing stiffly by the window, finally exhaled a shaky breath. His usually composed expression faltered, his gray eyes clouded with something raw.

"She got her brother back," he murmured, his voice almost bitter, almost envious. "She lost him once and now fate gave her another chance." He swallowed hard, blinking rapidly as if trying to hold himself together. "But mine... my family is gone. Mother, Father, even my aunt. All of them burned away by a war that was never ours to win."

His words carried the sharp edge of grief disguised as anger. Estella lifted her head from where Ron still leaned against her and looked at Draco with quiet sadness.

"You're wrong," she said softly. "You haven't lost everything, Draco. You still have us. You still have me."

Draco's gaze flicked to her, searching, disbelieving. "You say that like it's enough."

Estella's lips curved in a sad smile. "It is. Because when the people you've lost are gone, the only way to honor them is to hold onto the ones still here."

Ron wiped his tears against his sleeve, sniffling. "For once... I actually agree with Malfoy," he muttered, forcing out a shaky laugh. "This is bloody unfair."

Hermione, who had been clutching Regulus's hand like she'd never let go again, turned her head. Her tear-streaked face softened as she looked at all of them—her family, reborn not through blood, but through bonds forged in grief and survival.

"You're wrong too," she whispered hoarsely. "It isn't unfair. It's fate reminding us that even after loss, there can be... something left to live for."

Her words hung in the air, heavy, unspoken truths pressing down on each of them.

●・○・●・○・●

Regulus clutched Hermione's hands as though letting go might mean losing her again. His shoulders shook with sobs he didn't bother to hide. "So... what's your name this time, sister?" His voice broke, a mix of wonder and grief.

Hermione sniffled, her lips trembling into a fragile smile. "Hermione Granger. But, Regulus..." She hesitated, her eyes searching his face desperately. "How did you survive? I thought you were—"

Before Regulus could answer, Klaus's voice cut through the moment, steady and clipped. "That's a story for another time," said Klaus, his tone firm, though his eyes softened as they flicked toward Hermione. "Right now, we have bigger things to deal with."

Regulus blinked, still holding her hands, his chest heaving. "Bigger things?" he asked, his voice hoarse from crying.

Estella stepped forward, wiping her own tears and trying to pull herself together. "Yes, stop the crying party for a moment," she said, though her voice wavered slightly. "We have business to discuss, plans to make. The world didn't pause while we were crying over lost time."

Draco, still holding his wand loosely in his hand, nodded. "She's right. We've got work to do, and we can't waste the day in grief, no matter how deserved it is."

Hermione looked at her brother, her chest still tight with emotion, but she nodded. "You're right," she whispered. "Regulus, we survived. We're here, and that's what matters. But we'll talk about everything—the past, the pain—later."

Regulus squeezed her hands one last time before letting go. "Okay... later," he said softly, his voice still thick with emotion, though determination flickered in his eyes.

Klaus let out a small, amused snort. "Finally. Some sense. Now, let's figure out how to get all of you ready for what comes next."

Estella glanced at Hermione and Regulus. "No more delays. We've got a lot to plan if we want to fix the mess the past left behind."

And for the first time in what felt like an eternity, the room was filled not just with tears, but with resolve—an unspoken promise that, together, they could face whatever darkness awaited them. 

●・○・●・○・●

After an hour, everyone had gathered in the hall, the flickering candlelight casting elongated shadows across the walls. The room hummed with quiet tension, everyone waiting for Estella to speak.

Stepping forward, Estella's voice rang clear and confident. "To break the sun and moon curse, we need the Moonstone," she announced, her eyes glinting with determination. "I managed to retrieve it from the Lockwood Mansion during the Masquerade Ball."

Ron's jaw dropped. "Blimey, Estella! How did you manage to pull that off?"

A mischievous smirk spread across her face. "I'm... sneaky," she said, a playful glint in her eyes. She then turned her gaze to Klaus, her smile widening. "And don't worry, we've arranged a vampire and a werewolf for your... entertainment, Santa-Klaus."

Klaus attempted to mask his smile, though it betrayed him. "Stop with the nicknames, love," he said, his voice low but edged with amusement.

Estella shook her head, her grin unfaltering. "Never, cutie pie."

Klaus groaned in exasperation, while Draco facepalmed so hard it echoed through the hall. "Honestly, you two, can you stop flirting for five seconds and focus on the plan?"

Estella laughed lightly, brushing her dark red hair over her shoulder. "Fine, fine. Let's focus. Here's the situation: this full moon, we'll need to sacrifice Katherine and Mason, along with Elena. But Klaus," she added, her tone sharpening as her gaze locked onto him, "you'll need Elena alive long enough to make more hybrids. And also... to break your curse, you'll have to kill her during the ritual."

Klaus's frown deepened, worry creasing his brow. "And... how exactly do I do that without... well, destroying her?"

Ron stepped forward, adjusting his sleeves nervously. "Draco's working on a potion. It will stop her heart after all her blood is drained. Don't worry—once the potion takes hold, her blood will reform, and she'll come back to life."

Draco crossed his arms, his expression serious. "It's a delicate potion. One mistake, and it won't just fail—it could kill her permanently. Timing, precision, and focus are everything here. We cannot afford errors."

Estella's gaze swept across the room, landing on each of them. "So everyone knows their roles? No mistakes. If this fails, the curse stays... and we risk losing more than just time."

Klaus's eyes softened slightly as they met Estella's. "I understand. Thank you for helping me, love."

Hermione, her mind racing with everything she had experienced, finally spoke, her voice firm despite the weight of the moment. "Then let's not waste another second. The full moon waits for no one, and neither should we."

The hall fell into a tense silence, the enormity of their task pressing down on them. But within that silence was determination, a shared understanding that they would face the coming night together—or not at all.

Chapter Text

╰┈➤ KLAUS FOUND HIMSELF ON ESTELLA more than he cared to admit. Elijah had mentioned, almost offhandedly, that she was the first to volunteer to help him—and the one who convinced everyone else to follow. That alone had earned his gratitude.

But it wasn't just her loyalty. She was attractive, dangerously so. And her personality? Bold, sharp-tongued, utterly unafraid of him. Over the centuries, Klaus had met countless women, but none like her. She called him cute, for Merlin's sake—and instead of bristling, he'd felt something ridiculous. Butterflies.

He was still scowling at the thought when her voice sliced through the air.

"Thinking about me?" Estella smirked, appearing at his side like she'd been there all along.

Klaus startled but quickly masked it, straightening with that familiar arrogance. "What? Why would I be?"

Her grin widened. "Oh, come on. I can read minds, remember?"

Klaus arched a brow, skeptical but amused. "You're joking."

"Nope. Dead serious," Estella teased, her tone dripping with mischief.

Before Klaus could fire back, a dry voice cut across the room.

"No, that's your Dogfather," Ron quipped, passing by without slowing down.

Estella blinked, then burst out laughing. Klaus, meanwhile, looked torn between confusion and irritation.

"Dogfather?" he muttered under his breath.

Estella leaned closer, still grinning. "Long story. I'll tell you sometime—if you're lucky."

And just like that, she sauntered off, leaving Klaus staring after her, equal parts bewildered and enchanted.

"Here you are!" Draco interrupted, striding toward Klaus and Estella with an air of triumph. "The potion is ready."

Estella didn't even turn her head. She waved him off lazily. "Brilliant. Hand it to Elijah—he can test it on animals."

Draco froze, blinking at her like she'd just insulted his entire bloodline. "Elijah? Are you serious?" He jabbed a finger toward the staircase. "Elijah's busy snogging Hermione within an inch of her life, and Regulus is in the corner vomiting because apparently, watching his sister snog a thousand-year-old vampire is traumatic."

Estella finally looked at him, her lips twitching. "That's fair."

Draco pinched the bridge of his nose, muttering under his breath. Then, louder, he shot Klaus a glare. "Honestly, Merlin's beard—you lot are ancient. It's disgusting."

Klaus's expression darkened instantly, his jaw tightening. "Careful, boy," he said in a low, dangerous growl. "I've snapped necks for far less."

Draco smirked faintly, though his wand hand twitched nervously. "Try me, grandpa."

Before Klaus could make good on his threat, a sharp crack of magic split the air. Estella had her wand out, eyes sparkling with mischief.

"Stupefy!"

The spell hit Klaus squarely in the chest, sending him stumbling back into an armchair with a very undignified grunt.

Estella burst out laughing, doubling over as she clutched her sides. "Merlin's knickers, the look on your face! Absolutely priceless!"

Draco's smirk grew into a grin. "Well... that's one way to keep him in check."

Klaus glared at both of them from the armchair, his composure in tatters. "You're both insufferable," he growled, his accent thickening with annoyance.

Estella wiped a tear from her eye, still chuckling. "Oh, don't pout, cutie pie. You'll ruin that terrifying image you work so hard on."

Klaus growled again, but his lips twitched—just barely—like he was fighting a smile.

●・○・●・○・●

The forest was quiet, save for the crunch of leaves under their boots. Estella tugged her cloak tighter, muttering curses under her breath.

"If Elijah weren't a bloody vampire," she grumbled, "Hermione would've been pregnant by now."

Klaus, walking just a step behind, let out a low laugh. "Maybe they're not doing what you think they're doing, love."

Estella shot him a pointed look, smirk tugging at her lips. "Oh, please. You think I don't know exactly what kind of 'fun' they've been having? Besides..." She arched a brow. "You'd love kids, wouldn't you?"

Klaus's amusement dimmed just slightly, his tone clipped but calm. "First, I can't conceive. Second, we're here to hunt—not gossip about children or sex."

Estella huffed dramatically, tossing her hair over her shoulder. "You're boring."

Klaus's lips curved into a slow, dangerous smirk. "Trust me, love—I'd hardly be boring in bed."

Estella burst out laughing, doubling over with her hand on her knee. "Oh, Merlin's beard—that was actually good. Who knew the terrifying Original Hybrid had a sense of humor?"

Klaus tilted his head, eyes glittering with that wolfish intensity. "Stick around, and you might discover I'm full of surprises."

Estella straightened, her grin lingering but her eyes sharp. "Tempting as that is, let's not get distracted. We've got a mission to finish before I start considering what surprises you're hiding."

Klaus chuckled low in his throat, stepping closer until the space between them was dangerously thin. "Careful, sweetheart. I might hold you to that."

Estella smirked back, unbothered. "Good. I'd hate for you to disappoint me."

And with that, she spun on her heel, leading the way deeper into the forest, leaving Klaus trailing behind—half amused, half entranced.

Estella's eyes narrowed as she spotted a deer in the clearing. With a flick of her wand, she muttered, "Petrificus Totalus," and the creature froze mid-step, its eyes wide with terror.

Klaus stepped closer, his gaze scanning their surroundings, before extending a small vial toward her. "The vial?" he asked.

Estella snatched it, nodding. "Got it." She knelt beside the petrified deer and carefully forced the vial down its throat, making sure it went in without spilling a drop.

They both moved back, giving the deer space.

"Silencio!" Estella cast, silencing the clearing. She then released the petrification curse. The deer blinked, shaking its head, and immediately—Estella whispered, almost under her breath, "Sectumsempra."

A thin line of blood appeared along the deer's side, quickly spreading as the curse worked. Klaus's eyes glimmered with controlled intensity as he watched the process.

Estella muttered softly, "Come on... hold together."

For twenty long minutes, they waited, motionless. The forest was silent except for the faint rustle of leaves in the wind. When the deer's body had been drained completely, Estella and Klaus kept watch for another thirty minutes, their patience tested.

Finally, the deer stirred, its legs shaking slightly before it regained full mobility. It looked at them with wide, fearful eyes, as if understanding what had just happened, and bolted into the trees.

Estella threw her hands up in triumph. "We did it!" she exclaimed, laughing breathlessly. Without thinking, she spun around and hugged Klaus tightly.

Klaus held her firmly, a rare, genuine smile crossing his face. "You always make victory look effortless," he said quietly, his voice carrying both admiration and pride.

Estella pulled back slightly, brushing a strand of hair from her face. "Effortless? Merlin, that was terrifying. I almost—"

"Almost what?" Klaus teased, raising an eyebrow.

"Almost lost my nerve," she admitted with a grin. "But, we make a damn good team, don't we?"

Klaus chuckled, his hand brushing hers briefly. "The best."

●・○・●・○・●

The forest was quiet now, the mist settling back into the trees. Their mission was done; the deer had survived, the potion had worked. And yet, the air between them crackled—unspoken words and unspent energy hanging heavy.

Estella wiped a smudge of dirt from her cheek, her wand still in hand. "Well, that was... fun," she said lightly, though her chest still raced from the tension of the hunt.

Klaus watched her, leaning casually against a tree, arms crossed. His usual intimidating presence was softened slightly by the quiet. "Fun? I'd call it efficient."

Estella tilted her head, smirking. "Efficient? Sure. But dangerous, exhausting, and mildly terrifying? That's more accurate."

Klaus stepped closer, the distance between them shrinking. "Dangerous? You make it sound like I'm the one you should be wary of."

Estella arched an eyebrow, matching his step. "Careful, cutie pie. I might start thinking you're trying to flirt with me."

Klaus's lips twitched, almost a smile, though his eyes darkened with interest. "Maybe I am," he said softly, letting the words hang.

Estella felt a thrill at the intensity in his gaze, but she kept her expression light, teasing. "Hmm. Bold. And reckless. Classic Klaus."

He leaned just a fraction closer, his presence magnetic. "And you," he murmured, "are impossibly distracting. Even after I lived for centuries, yet you still manage it."

Estella's smirk faltered for a fraction of a second before she recovered. "Merlin, you think you're smooth, don't you?"

Klaus chuckled low, almost a growl. "Not think, love. Know."

Estella shook her head, laughing softly. "I can't believe I'm saying this, but... you're unbearable."

"Yet," Klaus said, stepping closer so that only inches separated them, "you're still here."

Estella met his gaze, heart racing, but kept her composure. "For now," she said, a playful edge in her voice. "For now."

The forest was silent except for their breathing, the tension between them thick and undeniable. Mission complete—but their story was only just beginning.

●・○・●・○・●

Once they reached home, Estella wasted no time. She called everyone into the grand hall, her tone commanding but triumphant.

"We did it," she announced, her eyes sparkling. "It worked."

Hermione's lips curved into a warm smile. "Congratulations, Estella. You really pulled it off."

Elijah's gaze was steady, focused on the bigger picture. "Next, we need to kidnap the doppelgänger."

Estella smirked, a mischievous glint in her eyes. "Leave that to me. My... pet would handle it for me."

"Pet?" Ron blinked, clearly confused. "Epeion?"

Estella shook her head, laughing softly. "No, much better. Damon Salvatore."

Klaus raised a brow, skeptical. "Damon... is your pet?"

Estella leaned back against a pillar, smirking. "Oh, you have no idea." She launched into the story of their first encounter—the way Damon had begrudgingly obeyed her, how she'd managed to get him to follow her commands, and the thin line of playful chaos he added to every mission.

Klaus listened, his eyes never leaving her face. There was admiration there, and something softer too, a rare vulnerability. By the end of her story, he simply shook his head, a small, fond smile tugging at his lips.

"You're unbelievable," he murmured, voice low, almost reverent. "And... I think I might just be in love with you."

Estella's smirk faltered for the briefest moment before she tilted her head, amusement dancing in her eyes. "Merlin, Klaus. You're easily impressed."

"Not impressed," he corrected, stepping closer. "Captivated. Entranced. And I don't know which one scares me more."

Estella laughed, the sound light but filled with warmth. "Careful, cutie pie. You talk like that, and you might just make me spoil you for the rest of eternity."

Klaus's lips curved into that signature half-smile, dark and dangerous, yet softened for her. "Then I guess I'll just have to risk it."

Hermione and Elijah exchanged glances, while Ron muttered something incomprehensible about wizards, vampires, and chaos, clearly overwhelmed. 

Draco, arms crossed and eyebrow raised, muttered under his breath, "I swear, one of these days, this lot will be the death of me."

Regulus, leaning casually against a nearby wall, smirked and added, "And yet, here we all are, still alive—and thoroughly entertained."

 Estella just grinned, pleased with the effect she always seemed to have on Klaus—and secretly delighted by the chaos she'd unleashed.

Chapter Text

╰┈➤ Estella Potter slipped into the Mystic Grill with effortless confidence. 

Damon Salvatore was already waiting for her, leaning casually against a corner table, his expression a mixture of curiosity and impatience. 

With a subtle flick of her wand, Estella cast a nonverbal silencing charm over them, muting the chatter around the booth just enough to ensure their conversation would remain private.

Damon folded his hands, watching her with that easy mix of curiosity and danger he always wore. "You're sure she won't die?"

Estella met his gaze steadily. "Elena will be fine, but we can't let Bonnie or anyone else interrupt the ritual. They'd interfere the second they suspected anything. So we make it look like Stefan and Elena are away on a trip. That means... yes, we'll have to take Stefan with us."

Damon let out a sharp laugh, part disbelief, part incredulity. "Kidnap Stefan? And how the fucking hell are we supposed to pull that off?"

She smirked, tilting her head. "I'm a witch, Damon. There's always a way. Confounding, illusions, and a bit of strategic misdirection. Simple, elegant, and—most importantly—effective."

He blinked at her. "You make it sound so... easy."

Estella shrugged, her smirk widening. "It's not magic if it's hard." She reached into her bag and pulled out something folded. Damon's eyes widened as she draped it over her shoulders.

"What's that?" he asked, leaning closer, suspicion mixed with awe.

Her lips curved into a knowing grin. "An invisibility cloak. Never seen one of these before, have you?"

Damon shook his head, incredulous. "Nope. Never. And I have to say... that is ridiculously unfair."

She chuckled softly. "Only to the people who need to disappear." She tucked herself in, adjusting the cloak so it covered her fully. "Now, let's move. Stefan won't kidnap himself."

Damon muttered under his breath, a grin tugging at the corner of his mouth. "God, I love working with you... and I hate that I do."

With that, they slipped out of the Grill, the cloak shimmering faintly in the dim light, ready for the next phase of their plan.

●・○・●・○・●

Upon reaching the Salvatore Boarding House, Damon strode inside, his smirk sharp and confident.

"Stefan!" he called out, his voice echoing through the empty halls. "Hello, brother."

From the shadows, Stefan emerged, suspicion etched across his face. "Who else is here?"

Damon spread his hands innocently. "No one."

Stefan's eyes narrowed, scanning the room. "Don't lie, Damon. I can hear heartbeats... breathing. There's someone else here."

With a slow, dramatic movement, Estella stepped from the shadows, removing her invisibility cloak. Her eyes sparkled with mischief. "Surprise, bitch," she said, her smirk daring.

Stefan froze, shock momentarily rooting him in place. Before he could utter a word, Estella's voice dropped to a whisper, precise and commanding:

"Imperio!"

The spell hit instantly, Stefan's expression glazing over as the Imperius curse took hold. His body stiffened, and for a brief, tense moment, the room was filled with a dangerous, almost electric silence.

●・○・●・○・●

Under Estella's command, Stefan moved with supernatural speed, vanishing from the Salvatore Boarding House and reappearing at Elena's doorstep in an instant.

Elena looked up, startled, just as Stefan closed the distance between them. Without hesitation, he pressed his lips to hers in a quick, electrifying kiss.

Pulling back slightly, he gave her a lopsided, hopeful smile. "Will you... go on a trip with me? Just for a day?"

"A trip? Now?" Elena began, hesitation flickering across her face.

Stefan gently placed a hand on her cheek, cutting her off softly. "Think of it as a date. Please."

Her lips curved into a reluctant but tender smile. "Fine," she said, her voice warm, a mixture of amusement and affection.

Stefan's smile widened, a spark of triumph in his eyes. "Great. Let's let the others know, so they don't come hunting us down."

Elena's laughter was light as she leaned in, brushing her lips against his again. "Sure," she whispered, sealing their secret agreement with a quick kiss.

●・○・●・○・●

"A trip?" Caroline asked, raising an eyebrow. "Why can't we come along?"

Elena shook her head, a small smile tugging at her lips. "Because... we're going as a date."

Bonnie chuckled softly, glancing at Caroline. "Fine, we won't disturb you two."

Caroline huffed, crossing her arms but giving a reluctant nod. "Alright, alright... I guess we can stay out of your way."

Stefan turned to Elena, his expression softening. "Ready to go now?"

Elena returned his smile, her eyes sparkling with quiet excitement.

"First, we need to stop by my house to grab the car," Stefan added.

"Sure," Elena replied, her voice light, a playful lilt in it as she followed him.

●・○・●・○・●

Upon reaching Stefan's house, Elena's eyes widened in surprise at the unexpected presence of Estella.

"Hello, Elena," Estella said smoothly, her tone sharp and commanding. "Imperius."

Elena's body went slack, her will bending instantly under the powerful spell.

Estella wasted no time. She ordered Stefan to drive, ensuring Elena sat beside him, smiling and compliant as if nothing were amiss. With a flick of her wrist, she draped the invisibility cloak over herself and Damon, who slipped into the back seat like shadows blending with the night.

The car rolled silently through the empty streets, the faint hum of the engine barely masking the tension that coiled in the air. Every passing streetlight cast fleeting, elongated shadows across the windshield, and every creak or distant bark of a dog made Elena's heart—and Stefan's pulse—race, though they appeared outwardly calm.

Estella's eyes, sharp beneath the cloak, scanned the road, anticipating any interference. "Remember," she murmured to Damon, "if anyone from the Scooby Gang shows up, they must see only what we want them to see."

Damon smirked faintly, his dark eyes glinting in the dim light. "Piece of cake."

The next hour was a test of patience and nerve. Even under the Imperius spell, Elena's subtle movements, the way her fingers twitched occasionally, reminded Stefan that this trip was anything but ordinary. He kept glancing at her, a flicker of worry crossing his features each time a car passed or a shadow moved too quickly on the side of the road.

Finally, the car rolled to a halt in front of the old, secluded estate—the very place where Elijah had once kidnapped Elena. The air was thick with anticipation and danger, the estate looming like a dark promise in the moonlight.

Stefan's jaw tightened. "We're here," he muttered, voice low, glancing nervously at Elena as though to reassure her—or perhaps himself.

Elena's eyes, still under the spell, sparkled with an unnatural cheerfulness, but the tension in the air was palpable. Estella pulled back the invisibility cloak just enough to watch, ever vigilant, as her carefully orchestrated plan prepared to unfold.

●・○・●・○・●

Estella raised her wand, her movements precise and fluid, and placed the Imperius Curse over both Stefan and Elena once more, ensuring that neither of them could resist or break free. The subtle, invisible threads of magic wove tightly around their wills, leaving them obedient and unthinking.

"Go inside," Estella commanded, her voice firm yet calm, carrying the authority of someone who knew exactly what she was doing.

Stefan obeyed instantly, vamp-speeding toward the entrance, Elena following beside him, a dreamy smile on her face that masked the truth of her enchanted state.

Estella and Damon trailed behind, shrouded beneath the invisibility cloak, their movements silent, almost spectral. The faint rustle of fabric was the only evidence of their presence as they stepped through the doorway.

Klaus, leaning casually against a crumbling stone pillar in the dim moonlight, let a slow, approving smirk curl across his lips. His eyes glimmered with dark amusement as he regarded Estella's handiwork.

"You did it, love," he murmured, his voice low and velvety, tinged with pride. "Flawless execution, as always."

Estella allowed herself a brief, satisfied smile under the cloak. "I told you," she said softly, "obedience is an art... and I'm an artist."

Damon, hidden beside her, let out a low chuckle, shaking his head. "She really does have everything under control," he muttered, awe threading his voice.

The three of them—witch, hybrid, and vampire—moved deeper into the estate, their hearts racing with anticipation, the night alive with the tension of the plan unfolding perfectly.

●・○・●・○・●

Estella moved with swift precision, her wand a blur as she confounded Stefan, sending him stumbling into one of the deeper chambers of the estate. She ensured the enchantments were layered so meticulously that, even if Stefan tried, he could not communicate with either Katherine or Mason—each of them trapped in their own separate spheres of magical influence.

Meanwhile, Katherine and Mason remained under her watchful eye, secured and controlled, their movements restricted but unharmed. Estella's gaze flicked toward Elena, who sat quietly, her wrists bound with thick ropes that glimmered faintly under the moonlight. With a whispered incantation, Estella confounded Elena as well, keeping her calm, obedient, and entirely under the spell until the moment of the ritual.

Every detail had been attended to—every possible interference anticipated.

Hermione's voice broke the tense silence, firm and resolute. "We should start now."

Estella glanced at her, a sly smirk tugging at her lips. "Finally," she said, her voice edged with controlled excitement. "Time to set things in motion."

The room was suffused with a heavy, electric anticipation, the shadows of the old estate stretching long as the group prepared to begin—the calm before the storm, each heartbeat echoing the weight of what was to come.

●・○・●・○・●

Estella held the vial firmly, her eyes sharp and unwavering. "Drink it, Elena. Now," she commanded, her voice calm but impossible to defy.

Elena looked at the vial in her hands, her expression serene. "If this is necessary... I trust you," she said softly, tilting the vial to her lips.

Without hesitation, she drank every last drop of the potion Draco had meticulously brewed. "Done," she murmured, setting the empty vial down.

Estella's lips curved into a satisfied smirk. "Good girl," she said, her voice low and controlled. "Stay calm. Obedient. Nothing can sway you now until the ritual begins."

Elena nodded lightly, already under the spell's influence. "I understand," she replied, her tone steady, her body relaxed. The subtle shimmer of magic confirmed her mind was fully aligned with Estella's will.

Hermione glanced at Estella, her expression grave but focused. "Then we begin."

Estella's smirk deepened. "Finally. Time to set everything in motion."

Regulus and Hermione stepped forward together, their wands raised, tracing precise patterns in the air.

Regulus's voice was steady, commanding the energy around them. "Hermione, focus. The moonstone only responds to our combined intent. Let the power flow through us, but control it—any slip could undo everything."

Hermione's eyes glimmered with determination as she replied, "I've got it, Regulus. We've practiced this. The full moon's energy is ours to wield."

The energy of the full moon pulsed through them, channeled into the moonstone, which glimmered with an eerie, silvery light. The ancient magic within the stone shivered, responding to their combined power.

Regulus glanced at Estella, who stood nearby, keeping a watchful eye on Elena. "Estella, she's ready. Make sure she stays under the spell—no interruptions."

Estella nodded sharply. "Don't worry. She's completely confounded. Not a single thought of rebellion will slip through."

Hermione added, her voice low but fierce, "This ends tonight. Every ounce of this power, every bit of focus, we cannot falter."

Regulus's jaw tightened. "Agreed. Let the ritual begin."

The moonstone's glow intensified, casting long shadows across the chamber, as the deadly, ancient magic readied itself for the final act.

Klaus stood at the center, the dark hybrid energy of both vampire and werewolf coursing through him, his eyes alight with predatory focus.

Estella's voice cut through the tense silence, sharp and commanding. "Focus, Klaus. No mistakes. One wrong move and it all collapses."

Klaus's lips curled into a dark smirk, his eyes flicking toward her. "Relax, love. I've been perfecting this for centuries."

The first victim was Mason, the werewolf. Klaus moved swiftly, his hands steady as he grasped Mason's chest.

Mason struggled, growling weakly. "You... won't get away with this..."

Klaus's voice was low, cold, and unflinching. "I already have. Goodbye, Mason."

With a practiced motion, Klaus extracted Mason's heart in one brutal, precise movement. Mason's body crumpled to the ground, lifeless.

Hermione and Regulus exchanged a glance, their hands steady on their wands, ensuring the moonstone's energy remained contained.

Estella whispered softly, almost in awe, "It's done. One down... two to go."

The room was heavy with the scent of death, but the ritual pressed on, relentless and unforgiving.

Klaus's gaze shifted to Katherine, the vampire, his eyes gleaming with ruthless precision.

Estella's voice sliced through the charged air. "Now, Klaus. One careful, decisive strike. Don't hesitate."

Klaus's lips curved into a dark smirk. "Hesitation is a luxury I can't afford."

Katherine struggled, her voice defiant even as fear flickered in her eyes. "You... you won't... survive this... curse..."

Klaus's tone was low, icy, and unwavering. "Survival isn't your concern anymore."

With a swift, practiced motion, he drove the sharpened stake through her heart. The silver tip pierced the ancient magic keeping her alive, and for a brief, final moment, her eyes widened in terror before the darkness claimed her completely.

Regulus murmured under his breath, almost reverently, "It's done. One more left..."

Hermione tightened her grip on her wand, the moonstone pulsing ominously between them. "Elena," she said softly, voice heavy with the weight of what was to come. "Brace yourself. This is the final step."

Estella's smirk was cold but focused. "Let's finish this. No room for mistakes now."

The room trembled with anticipation, every heartbeat echoing the inevitability of the last sacrifice.

Klaus's eyes darkened as he turned toward Elena, his expression predatory yet focused. "This is it," he said softly, his voice a low growl.

Estella leaned in, her wand raised, eyes flashing. "Klaus... every drop counts. Keep it steady. The moonstone demands precision."

Elena, still confounded, blinked slowly, her vacant gaze fixed ahead. "I... I will..." she murmured in a monotone, her voice eerily calm under the spell.

Regulus tightened his grip on his wand, murmuring the incantation alongside Hermione. "Channel the full moon's energy. Let the stone take what it needs—slow, controlled."

Klaus stepped closer, tilting Elena's chin upward with a firm hand. "You will give me everything, and it will be perfect. Do you understand?"

Elena nodded blankly, compliant under Estella's magic. "Yes... I am yours."

He leaned down, teeth sinking into her neck, the warmth of her blood spilling into his mouth. The energy surged through him, the moonstone's light flaring violently with each heartbeat he drew.

Estella's voice rang sharp and commanding. "Keep focus, Klaus! Don't let the energy falter! Channel it all into the moonstone!"

Klaus's hands gripped Elena's shoulders as he continued, the ritual's power crackling around them. "Almost... almost there..." he murmured between bites, his eyes locked on the pulsating moonstone.

Regulus and Hermione's incantations rose in harmony, guiding the siphoning energy, stabilizing the ritual as Elena's life force drained completely into the ancient stone.

Finally, Klaus pulled back, breath ragged, his eyes glinting with triumph. Elena sagged slightly, entirely spent, but alive enough to survive the ritual thanks to the potion and confounding.

Estella exhaled sharply, smirking with satisfaction. "It's done. The moonstone is fully empowered. The spell is complete."

●・○・●・○・●

The moonstone's light pulsed violently, the ritual reaching its most perilous moment. Klaus' eyes darkened, pupils dilating as his body tensed. A low, guttural growl escaped his throat, reverberating through the chamber.

Estella's voice cut through the charged air. "Klaus... control it. Channel the power, don't let it overwhelm you!"

But Klaus was already beyond control. His bones cracked audibly, his muscles tensing painfully as fur began to sprout along his skin. The hybrid energy of his vampire and werewolf lineage collided violently within him.

"Argh...!" Klaus roared, staggering as the transformation wracked him, each movement a battle against agony. His fangs elongated, claws tore through his fingertips, and his eyes glowed a searing gold.

Regulus stepped back, eyes wide, muttering under his breath, "The full moon won't make it easy for him only this time."

Estella's smirk was edged with both amusement and concern. "Painful, isn't it, love? But that's the point." She leaned closer, watching Klaus struggle, her gaze sharp, calculating.

Then all eyes shifted to Hermione. Her wand steady, her expression calm, her hands glowing faintly with moonstone energy. Her chest rose and fell steadily, her body perfectly composed. Her eyes flickered golden for a brief moment, but unlike Klaus, her muscles didn't spasm, no fur sprouted, no claws emerged.

Estella's voice dropped, a hint of awe and disbelief creeping in. "Hermione... you're not... transforming?"

Hermione shook her head slowly, voice soft but tinged with wonder. "I... I don't understand. I can feel it... the surge, the energy... but it won't take me."

Klaus, mid-growl, cast a furious glance toward her, golden eyes blazing. "What... how?!" His voice was strained, each word a rasp of pain. "You have Lockwood blood... this should—this should be impossible!"

Regulus stepped closer, a hint of cautious excitement in his tone. "It's unprecedented... whatever it is, Hermione... it's more than just resistance. She's controlling it—or something else entirely."

Hermione's gaze shifted to Klaus, calm and steady. "I don't know why... but I can endure it. I can hold it."

Estella's smirk returned, sharper than before. "Interesting. Very... interesting." She turned to Klaus, voice low, teasing, yet still commanding. "Finish your transformation, love. But take note... not everyone bends to the moon's curse."

Klaus growled low, the pain of the hybrid change still wracking him, but a dark curiosity ignited in his eyes. Hermione's calm defiance—her immunity—was a puzzle, a challenge, and perhaps... a dangerous new ally.

The chamber fell into tense silence once more, the ritual continuing, but now with an unspoken question hanging heavy: why was Hermione untouched when even Klaus suffered under the full moon?