HRHL# CHAPTER 185

As Veratia stepped into the common room, the dozen or so Slytherin students rose in unison, their movements eerily synchronized.

A glint of amusement flickered in Veratia’s eyes. She spared the Slytherins a fleeting glance before continuing toward the dormitory, unbothered.

“Hold it, Grindelwald,” called the girl at the forefront.

It was Sylvia Melville, a seventh-year Slytherin.

“Yes? Is there something you need?” Veratia asked, her voice soft and delicate.

She reached back to gather her hair, deliberately striking the pose of a naïve, bookish scholar.

“You know full well,” Sylvia said sternly, “that Slytherins are not permitted to dine at other houses’ tables. You’ve been far too cozy with Gryffindor, Grindelwald.”

“I wasn’t aware of such a rule,” Veratia replied, pursing her lips and speaking softly.

Sylvia and the others, observing Veratia’s demeanor, grew increasingly convinced that this “Grindelwald” had no connection to that Grindelwald from the European continent. They had even sent letters home, and after thorough inquiries, confirmed that the Grindelwald family had no descendant named “Veratia”—in fact, the Grindelwald line had died out.

“Then we’ll have to teach you the rule, Grindelwald,” Sylvia huffed. “Remember this: you’re bringing shame to Slytherin. You even fraternize with Gryffindor’s Mudbloods… Do you have any pride as a pure-blood?”

“Oh,” Veratia said simply, tilting her head to look at Sylvia. “Is there anything else?”

“You’re getting arrogant, Grindelwald!” Byron Miller barked.

Veratia smiled faintly and turned to him. “Arrogant? I don’t think so. I simply believe I should have the freedom to choose my friends. Don’t you agree?”

“You’re a Slytherin,” Sylvia snapped, stepping in front of Byron. “You don’t need me to remind you of that. Every word and action of yours represents Slytherin House. I won’t have you mingling with those Mudbloods!”

“It’s my freedom,” Veratia said timidly, clutching the book in her arms and taking a step back.

Diane Carter, a girl from their year, stepped forward and snatched the book from Veratia’s grasp.

“A History of Industrial Technology?” Diane frowned, flipping through the pages before tossing it aside with a look of disgust. “You’re reading Muggle books? You’re not just fallen, Grindelwald—you’re pathetic.”

“That’s none of your concern, miss,” Veratia said, lowering her gaze.

“Oh, but it is my concern now,” Diane retorted, drawing her wand and pointing it at Veratia. “You need to be taught a lesson. Not only are you cozying up to Mudbloods, but you’re reading their books. Your very existence is a disgrace to Slytherin.”

“Sectumsempra!” Diane incanted.

The curse struck Veratia but rebounded, hitting Diane instead.

Diane’s mouth gaped, her voice garbled as she wailed, “You filthy—! What did you do to me?!”

Seeing Diane’s spell backfire, Sylvia sneered. “You need to work on your charms, Diane. You can’t even handle a transfer student…”

With a gesture, she signaled the others to step in.

“Is this what you call pure-blood honor?” Veratia’s voice was soft but cutting. “Tell me, Sylvia Melville, is this the quality you think Slytherin should embody? Don’t you find it… pathetic?”

Sylvia looked up, meeting Veratia’s scornful gaze.

“What’s that look?” Sylvia spat, enraged. “How dare you look at me like that?”

“My apologies, Miss Melville,” Veratia interrupted, her tone calm. “It’s not just you I’m looking at. I’m looking at all of you—and frankly, you’re all as worthless as garbage.”

Her words ignited Byron’s fury. He unleashed a purple curse.

“Is that all?” A flash of light shimmered before Veratia, deflecting Byron’s spell. She raised her hand, pointing at him. “Avada Kedavra!”

A jet of dark green light shot out, striking the ground beside Byron with terrifying speed.

At the sound of the Unforgivable Curse, someone slipped out of the room, no doubt to fetch Professor Severus Snape.

The conflict had escalated beyond control. A professor was needed to intervene.

Byron felt a chill race up his spine.

Who the hell is this girl?

All they wanted was to teach her a lesson. And she responded with the Killing Curse?

And where was her wand? She hadn’t even drawn one!

Before he could process further, someone beside him raised their wand.

“Damn it, Titus!” Byron snarled. “What are you doing? Stop pointing that wand at me!”

But Titus didn’t hesitate. He fired a red curse.

Byron dove to the side, narrowly avoiding the spell.

It wasn’t just Byron. Sylvia and the others noticed their companions turning on them, casting curses in a frenzy of betrayal. No amount of shouting could stop them—they were like puppets, utterly unresponsive.

Veratia, meanwhile, had settled into a chair in the common room, watching the Slytherins tear into each other with an air of detached amusement.

Beside her stood Miss Farley, her face etched with worry, clearly struggling to speak.

“Miss Grindelwald,” Farley said nervously, “using an Unforgivable Curse in school… that’s a one-way ticket to Azkaban.”

Veratia maintained her poised, ladylike posture, hands folded neatly in her lap. She smiled at Farley’s words. “It wasn’t the Imperius Curse, Miss Farley. You’re worrying too much.”

“Then… what’s happening to them?” Farley asked, still incredulous.

“Just a Confundus Charm,” Veratia said lightly. “A more advanced application of it. If you study the Confundus Charm in greater depth, you might come across this level of mastery.”

“Oh… oh,” Farley nodded, dazed, like a startled goose.

A Confundus Charm?

In her mind, she was screaming like a frantic marmot, though she kept her outward composure serene.

Merlin’s beard, a Confundus Charm…

A mass Confundus Charm, cast in an instant…

You’re not a Grindelwald—you must be Grindelwald’s older sister! Farley thought, silently roasting Veratia.

And, in a way, she wasn’t entirely wrong.

“But that Killing Curse earlier…” Farley pressed, still uneasy.

“Oh, that was just a variation of Lumos,” Veratia said casually. She reached for Farley’s wand and pointed it at the ceiling. “Lumos!”

A standard orb of light shot from the wand’s tip, illuminating the ceiling.

“See, like this…” Veratia continued. “If you picture green in your mind, it becomes…”

As she spoke, a ghostly green light emanated from Farley’s wand.

“There,” Veratia said softly. “Doesn’t that look like the curse? Now, pair it with the incantation… Avada Kedavra!”

Farley let out a squeak of dismay.

My dear sister…

You’re using my wand!

If the professors used Prior Incantato and traced this wand, how was she supposed to explain herself?

“Oh, sorry, Professor, I just slipped and cast that spell. It wasn’t intentional…”

Would they believe her?

“Try Prior Incantato,” Veratia suggested. A shimmer of Protego flashed around her, and from somewhere, a Stupefy struck the caster of another spell.

Farley hesitantly took her wand, trembling as she cast the spell.

She exhaled in relief.

It was indeed Lumos.

“Merlin, you’re a genius,” Farley said, genuinely awestruck.

Veratia chuckled softly. “Just a bit of hard work, Miss Farley. Nothing worth praising.”

She glanced up. The chaos had subsided, leaving a dozen students battered and bruised. Some sported boils, others had gaping mouths, and a few were covered in pustules—grotesque and pitiful.

“It seems we’re done here,” Veratia said with a smile, strolling over to Sylvia, who was panting heavily.

“I believe you mentioned something about teaching me a lesson?” Veratia asked, her tone gentle. “It seems our lesson went rather well, but I’m not tired yet… Shall we continue today’s curriculum?”

Sylvia shook her head frantically, terrified of this monstrous transfer student.

Seriously, sister…

You’re this powerful, so why were you playing the innocent little flower earlier?

Sylvia finally understood. This Grindelwald girl was playing the pig to eat the tiger—pretending to be a delicate damsel to lure them into her trap.

“You’re a Melville, aren’t you?” Veratia said softly. “That surname… Do you know why your family still clings to its prestige, its so-called pure-blood pride?”

Sylvia shook her head rapidly.

“Your great-grandfather—or rather, your grandfather’s grandfather, Glantis Melville,” Veratia began, her smile gleaming with mischief. “It was 1859, a stormy, snowy night. Your great-grandfather was destitute, but he had a pretty face. Do you know how he restored your family’s glory?”

Sylvia’s mind raced to a horrifying possibility, but she shook her head, refusing to believe it.

“Oh, he seduced a wealthy Muggle dowager—some duchess, I believe—becoming her ‘kept man.’ But that wasn’t enough. He shamelessly courted her daughter as well, and that’s how your great-grandfather, Randall Melville, came to be.”

Veratia’s eyes sparkled with glee as she unraveled the Melville family’s dirty laundry.

It was one of her few hobbies—collecting juicy gossip. This particular tidbit about the Melvilles had come from her aunt.

The court, after all, was a hotbed of scandal, especially when it involved a duchess’s household.

Veratia had heard it as idle amusement back then, never imagining it would prove useful now.

“Impossible! Absolutely impossible!” Sylvia was on the verge of breaking down. “My great-grandfather would never…”

“Oh, really?” Veratia said lightly. “Why don’t you ask his portrait when you get home? I’m sure he’d love to regale you with tales of his youthful exploits, Miss Melville… or should I say, Miss Mudblood?”

Ignoring Sylvia’s collapse, Veratia turned to the next target.

“Byron Miller, yes?” Veratia said with a radiant smile. “Oh, I do recall… your great-grandfather, Marcus Miller, wasn’t it?”

Byron swallowed hard, Veratia’s smile as menacing as a devil’s grin.

“S-So… did my great-grandfather also marry a Muggle dowager?” he stammered.

“Oh, no,” Veratia said with mock regret. “If only it were that tame. He was entangled with a prominent Muggle figure… as his ‘paramour.’”

Byron felt the world crumble beneath him. He leapt to his feet, shouting, “Impossible! Utterly impossible! You’re making this up to trick us! Merlin, you wicked Grindelwald…”

Veratia smiled. “I’m merely stating facts. If you doubt me, go home and ask your ancestors’ portraits. Surely, as a pure-blood family, you have those, don’t you?”

Byron fell silent, choked by her words.

“And you, Titus Mitcham…”

Veratia proceeded to dismantle each student’s lineage, exposing their ancestors’ scandals with precision and equality.

Every family had its skeletons. Even the Malfoys had an ancestor who once proposed to a Muggle queen.

T/N: If you find any typos or incorrect names, please leave a comment. Thanks, and enjoy reading!