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HRHL# Chapter 108: The Fairies’ Compensation
🕑 Added 2025-02-28 14:32:29 +0000 UTC"I assume Mr. Malfoy has taught you this, Draco," Professor Snape said in his usual sinister tone. "When it comes to Dark artifacts—especially those with a mind of their own—you must stay far away."
"What's more, you've now caused quite a mess... I believe that anyone who has come into contact with that notebook has, to some extent, been marked with Dark Magic..."
"No, Professor," Draco immediately denied. "I confirmed it after returning to the dormitory. Aside from me and Sleepy Joe from second year, no one else has been marked."
"From the way you speak, one might think you consider being branded with a Dark Mark an honor," Snape said coldly. "The ignorance of the fearless... But then again, those who haven't experienced it could hardly understand the terror of this mark."
"Severus," Narcissa suddenly spoke. "Do you have any way to help Draco get rid of this mark?"
Snape wrinkled his nose in distaste, raising his hand delicately as though he were handling something filthy. He took Draco’s wrist between his fingers, inspecting it as if the boy hadn't bathed in months.
After a moment, he drawled lazily, "I don't have any particularly good solutions. The best I can do is concoct some potions to temporarily suppress the mark and prevent it from forging a deeper connection with him."
Lucius and Narcissa exchanged a look and sighed in unison.
After Snape left, Narcissa remained silent for a long time. Finally, she lifted her head and asked hesitantly, "Lucius... should we ask Headmaster Dumbledore to take a look?"
"Dumbledore... Dumbledore..." Lucius murmured the name, then quickly shook his head. "No, absolutely not. If he finds out, even as a school governor, I may not be able to keep Draco in Hogwarts..."
"Then who else should we turn to?"
Narcissa gazed at Draco, her eyes filled with sorrow. Tears slipped from her lashes.
"My poor little dragon..."
After a long pause, she suddenly thought of someone.
Someone Draco had just mentioned.
"What if... we invite that Mr. Potter to the manor as a guest?"
Inviting Harry Potter?
Lucius was momentarily stunned. He glanced at his anxious wife, opened his mouth slightly, but said nothing.
He desperately wanted to tell his wife that Draco was still young and naive—how could she believe what he said?!
However, Lucius, still rational, wisely chose silence. After all, on the surface, he was the head of the household, but at times, he had to... well, respect Narcissa’s decisions.
Yet at this moment, Narcissa had no time to consider anything else. As a mother who deeply loved her son, how could she sit idly by while the Dark Mark tainted their child?
Right now, she was grasping at straws, not bothering with logic—her only thought was to get Harry Potter here first and worry about everything else later.
After all, that Mr. Potter had been able to detect the Dark Mark on Draco’s arm, which meant he might have a way to deal with it. In Narcissa’s eyes, even if there was only a slight possibility, she wouldn’t let it slip away.
Draco’s eyes brightened. It seemed that Mother truly loved him—see, she believed what he said!
“Cissy.” Lucius took a deep breath.
He had wanted to dissuade his wife from this idea, but upon seeing the sorrow in her eyes, he swallowed his words.
“I will write an invitation letter immediately, personally!”
The atmosphere in Malfoy Manor was heavy, and things weren’t much better at Hogwarts.
The moment Snape received the news, he went straight to Dumbledore.
Now, he was sitting in the Headmaster’s office.
In truth, Lucius had confided in Snape without expecting him to inform Dumbledore—even though Snape was both the Head of Slytherin House and Hogwarts’ Potions Master.
The reason was simple: to all Death Eaters, Snape was a staunch supporter of the Dark Lord, utterly incapable of betrayal.
Consequently, Lucius never imagined Snape would relay this information to Dumbledore.
As for that Lily Potter? Ha... Lucius knew that Snape had once loved her to the point of madness, but he never believed that a mere woman could shake Snape’s loyalty to the Dark Lord.
That was why he had chosen to seek Snape’s help without hesitation.
“Oh, Severus.” Dumbledore yawned, dressed in star-and-moon-embroidered pajamas, his matching magical nightcap still on his head. “It’s quite late. I imagine you must have something important to say; otherwise, you wouldn’t disturb an old man’s sleep.”
In other words—this had better be worth it.
“The Dark Mark has appeared at Hogwarts. A student has had the mark branded onto their arm.” Snape’s expression remained impassive as he spoke concisely.
For a brief moment, Dumbledore looked visibly stunned.
“The Dark Mark?”
He pondered for a moment before shaking his head. “I don’t recall Professor Quirrell ever giving a student detention in private. What exactly happened? And who are these students?”
Snape’s voice was calm: “One is a second-year, Joseph Rourke. As for the other... the parents have requested confidentiality.”
“Thank you, Severus.” Dumbledore caught the underlying meaning in Snape’s words.
Among all of Slytherin House, only one person could compel Snape to keep silent—the head of the Malfoy family, Lucius.
“Can you tell me what happened?” Dumbledore seemed slightly relieved—so long as it wasn’t Harry, the problem was manageable.
Besides, the Rourke and Malfoy families were Death Eaters; they probably wouldn’t be overly concerned about this matter.
As for incidents within Slytherin House, Dumbledore wasn’t fully informed—he was not omniscient, nor was he as all-knowing as people imagined.
Snape, uncharacteristically swift and to the point, recounted everything he had learned from Malfoy Manor.
Dumbledore unhurriedly opened a drawer and took out a jar.
The jar was filled with cockroaches, wriggling and crawling over each other.
Snape’s eyelid twitched almost imperceptibly upon seeing the jar.
“Would you like some cockroach clusters, Severus?” Dumbledore picked up a cockroach.
The insect’s long antennae twitched as its six legs flailed wildly, struggling to escape Dumbledore’s fingers.
Snape’s expression was one of extreme distaste, as if Dumbledore were holding not a candy, but James Potter himself.
“If you ate less sugar, perhaps your overworked Potions Master wouldn’t have to waste time brewing Tooth-Fortifying Elixirs—you already have enough dunderheads to deal with.”
“My apologies, Severus.”
Dumbledore sighed regretfully at the rejection, then popped the cockroach into his mouth, chewing with evident satisfaction.
“Life is already too bitter; we need sweets to remind us of its fleeting joys.”
“Besides, the funds for Tooth-Fortifying Elixirs come from the Board of Governors, don’t they?”
Snape sneered. “Perhaps we should focus on the notebook, Headmaster.”
“Oh, speaking of the notebook... I knew its original owner.” Dumbledore screwed the lid back onto the jar and placed it in the cabinet. “Cassandra Malfoy, wasn’t it? When I first entered Hogwarts, she would have been a seventh-year... though I heard she never finished her sixth year before running off to study Divination under Cassandra Trelawney—yes, Sybill’s great-grandmother. Later, for some unknown reason, the then-head of the Malfoy family, Septimus Malfoy, disowned her publicly. After that... there was no more news of her.”
“Is that so?” Snape sneered. “The Malfoys certainly value family, don’t they?”
“That’s not the important part, Severus.” Dumbledore’s half-moon spectacles glinted in the moonlight. “From what I know, this notebook is an extremely advanced Dark magic artifact. If I’m not mistaken, the woman posing as ‘Merope’ should actually be a young Voldemort.”
“Although…” Dumbledore frowned slightly. “Merope... that name sounds familiar. Where have I heard it before?”
Snape did not interrupt Dumbledore’s contemplation; he simply sat quietly.
After a long moment, Dumbledore still couldn’t recall where he had heard the name ‘Merope.’ He set the thought aside and continued, “If I’m not mistaken, Voldemort likely used some sinister Dark magic to split his soul, placing a fragment into that notebook.”
“That’s probably not the most pressing issue, Headmaster.” Snape’s signature sarcasm returned. “If I’m not mistaken, we might soon have two Voldemorts—two.”
“Yes, and one was already troublesome enough.” Dumbledore sighed. “Once the term begins, I think you should thoroughly investigate Slytherin House to prevent further incidents.”
“I will,” Snape said, lifting his gaze. “And I suggest, Headmaster, that you take your eyes off the honey jar before they glaze over from all the sugar.”
After Snape left the office, Phineas Black’s smug voice echoed from the portrait wall.
“If I were you, Albus, I wouldn’t worry about this so-called Voldemort.”
Dumbledore ignored him—after all, the Black family, with their ‘Always Pure’ motto, hardly had anything constructive to add.
Phineas merely smirked and leaned back in his portrait, secretly looking forward to Harry Potter giving Voldemort a taste of some ancient magical shock.
However, just a few steps away from the office, Snape turned back.
“Something else, Severus?” Dumbledore asked.
“I must remind you, Headmaster,” Snape drawled. “That particular parent does not know I came to your office.”
“Rest assured, Severus.” Dumbledore smiled. “After all, he is a Hogwarts Board member—I am more than willing to grant him that courtesy.”
--
Early the next morning, Harry got out of bed.
The habit of going to bed early and rising early was an essential discipline for young wizards, ensuring good health and abundant energy.
Stretching lazily, Harry slipped on his shoes and got up to wash up.
Then he went outside and bought a pile of food before returning to his room.
Since there was still a Poppy in his trunk, Harry bought a little extra food. Tom, the innkeeper, was slightly concerned about whether it would go to waste—but Harry reassured him that his appetite had grown recently due to his growth spurt, and he could finish it all.
"Time to eat, Poppy," he said, opening the trunk.
"You seem like a smuggler of magical creatures," Poppy said mysteriously. "So, so—did anyone discover you smuggling a unicorn?"
"No." Harry rolled his eyes. "I should remind you that I’m still an underage wizard. I don't have the ability to take down a unicorn on my own."
"Eh? So what?" Poppy asked.
"So, it was the evil unicorn that kidnapped a poor first-year student," Harry said, reversing the roles with a smirk. He took out a sandwich and stuffed it into Poppy’s mouth just as she was about to speak again.
"Eat your sandwich."
Poppy, with her mouth full, could only swallow her words along with the food.
"What are your plans for today?" she asked curiously after gulping down the bite.
"I need to make a trip to Gringotts later, so you’ll have to stay here a bit longer," Harry said. "Once I finish my business there, I can take you back to my uncle’s house."
"Yay!" Poppy cheered.
She had heard that Harry’s uncle’s house had gardens and lawns in both the front and back—she hadn’t eaten grass in ages, and it sounded like the perfect place for a good chew.
After finishing breakfast, Harry had Poppy return to the trunk.
He then drank another dose of the Ageing Potion, transforming back into his seventeen-year-old self.
However, he didn’t notice the slight gap that had been left open in the trunk.
Only after he left the room did the lid of the trunk slowly close completely.
---
At Gringotts, goblins were still bustling about, attending to their work.
Yesterday’s minor incident had not disrupted the bank’s operations—after all, goblins were quite adept at handling crises.
The moment Harry stepped into Gringotts, several goblins in formal suits hurried over to him.
"Honorable Mr. Potter, this way, please."
Harry nodded and followed them to the VIP lounge.
Before long, both Bodrig and Gringotts’ director, Skard, entered the room.
"Good morning, Mr. Potter," the two greeted him with a bow.
"Good morning," Harry returned the gesture with a slight nod.
"Mr. Potter, here’s the situation," Skard began, stepping forward. "May I take a seat?"
"Of course," Harry nodded.
Skard exhaled lightly in relief and placed a document before Harry.
"After an emergency discussion by Gringotts' board of directors yesterday, we have decided to offer you a generous compensation package to make amends for the losses suffered by both you and Miss Grindelwald, and to express our sincerest apologies."
He paused, glancing at Harry’s face for a reaction before continuing cautiously, "We must acknowledge that this loss was due to our inadequate security measures. Therefore, the board has decided to transfer a seat on the Hogwarts Board of Governors to you as compensation."
Harry was slightly taken aback.
A seat on the Hogwarts Board of Governors?
Funny enough, a hundred years ago, he had actually been quite envious of Cassandra—her father had been on the Hogwarts board.
However, he showed no outward reaction of satisfaction or displeasure. He simply sat there, composed, without expressing any opinion.
Seeing his impassive demeanor, the goblins exchanged glances, feeling a little uneasy.
Unable to discern whether Mr. Potter was satisfied or not, they promptly presented a second offer.
"Additionally, the board is prepared to provide compensation in the form of alchemical materials, including some rare substances such as Ghostly Tears."
Ghostly Tears?
Harry wasn’t sure what use that had. Right now, what he needed most were Angel Feathers and Basilisk Fangs.
Originally, Veratia had stored some Angel Feathers in the vault, but Gellert had taken them when he withdrew alchemical materials—those feathers were crucial for saving Veratia.
Frankly, Harry didn’t care much about the monetary loss, the antiques, or even the other alchemical materials.
But the Angel Feathers—those were absolutely essential.
"Mr. Potter, does this proposal meet your expectations?" Bodrig asked tentatively.
"Gringotts has a long history. I assume you also possess materials from basilisks, correct?" Harry asked casually.
Skard let out a small breath of relief.
"Indeed, we do. However, we currently only have some shed basilisk skins left. If you need—"
"I need basilisk fangs," Harry interjected. "And Angel Feathers."
"My apologies, Mr. Potter," Skard said regretfully. "All basilisk fangs were sold off fifty years ago. As for Angel Feathers… Gringotts does not have any in its collection."
