They went up a grand marble staircase, its steps covered in rich carpet. Every few paces along the stone walls, blazing torches burned in their brackets, and the ceiling above was painted with all sorts of intricate patterns...
At every fork in the corridor, Hod the House-elf would pause, make a polite inviting gesture, and only then continue on ahead to lead the way.
His steps were so light that his bare feet made no sound at all on the carpet. Jon now understood why earlier, when he had appeared at his and Fawkes's side, neither boy nor bird had noticed a thing.
They passed through another dim but lavishly decorated corridor. Pale-faced statues on the walls stared at them without blinking, while the oil paintings occasionally let out faint whispers.
At last, Hod stopped in front of a heavy wooden door leading into the next room.
"The Madam. is waiting for you inside, Mr. Hart," he said quietly.
Jon nodded, took a moment to steady his breathing, then turned the brass handle...
The room inside was smaller than Jon had expected. It looked like a study.
A roaring fire in the marble fireplace lit up the whole space. Every wall except the one with the fireplace was lined with books. In the very center of the room stood a desk...
On the desk, closest to the door, sat a golden elk-head sculpture, its sharp antlers aimed directly at the entrance.
Behind the sculpture, a noblewoman seated at the desk took off her glasses, then rose to her feet—
"Mr. Hart, is it?" Mrs. Diana Greengrass said gently.
Two years ago, on the train to Hogwarts, that fake Alastor Moody had mentioned that Astoria looked very much like her mother.
Now Jon saw the Death Eater hadn't been lying. Mrs. Greengrass and her daughter looked as if they'd been cast from the same mold... the same golden curls, though Mrs. Greengrass wore hers swept up, leaving only a small fringe at the front.
Compared with Astoria, she carried the weight of more years, and every movement was filled with calm elegance. Jon doubted that even in another twenty years, Astoria would be able to move with the same effortless composure as her mother.
"Yes, Madam." Jon hurried forward, stopped before her, and bowed respectfully. "It's an honor to meet you."
The noblewoman extended her right hand to him with a faint smile.
Jon dropped to one knee in a formal half-kneel, took her right hand in both of his, and lowered his head to brush a light, symbolic kiss across her knuckles.
"Sit," she said softly, pointing to the chair opposite her.
"Thank you," Jon replied at once, straightening his back and sitting upright on the chair.
"No need to be so stiff." Mrs. Greengrass laughed behind her hand and gave him a small shake of the head. "Just act as if you were in your own home."
"Alright... Madam..." Jon nodded, a little embarrassed, and tried to make his movements look a bit more relaxed.
...
"Do you mind if I smoke?" Mrs. Greengrass asked.
"Not at all... please, go ahead," Jon said, shaking his head.
"Thank you." As she spoke, she had already opened the cigarette case beside her, and her long, pale fingers took one out.
She leaned back lazily in her chair, exhaling smoke in soft clouds as her eyes stayed fixed on Jon, calmly taking his measure from head to toe.
That only made Jon feel more uncomfortable... If he kept meeting her gaze, it felt impolite, so he fixed his eyes on the golden stag head instead, pretending to be very interested in it.
A few minutes later—
Mrs. Greengrass pressed the cigarette butt gently into the ashtray and breathed out the last puff of smoke.
"Forgive me. I always like to have a cigarette while I'm thinking," she explained calmly. "Of course, I avoid doing so around my two daughters, so they don't pick up the habit."
Then why not avoid me as well? I'm still a kid, and younger than both of them... Jon grumbled inwardly.
"You smoke very elegantly," he said instead, forcing a polite smile.
"Thank you... When Hod told me the visitor was Jon Hart and not Christopher Patrick, I wasn't surprised," Mrs. Greengrass went on. "Because I had a faint suspicion that the two identities were actually one and the same person..."
Seeing the astonishment on Jon's face, Mrs. Greengrass lifted her hand in a small dismissive wave.
"My simple little daughter is not someone who can hide a secret, though she's done as well as she possibly could. But as her mother, it's easy for me to spot the tiniest flaw in her expression... Of course, Mr. Hart, you can rest assured—I haven't told anyone. Not even Daphne knows."
"Then I'm truly grateful, Madam." Jon lowered his head slightly and pressed his lips together, forcing himself to sound grateful.
"While I was smoking just now, I was watching you in secret," Mrs. Greengrass went on.
You weren't exactly subtle about it... Jon kept complaining to himself in silence.
For some reason, in Mrs. Greengrass's presence he felt a constant, heavy pressure—as if she were radiating an overwhelming aura. From the very beginning, the initiative in their conversation had been firmly in her hands.
It was, to put it mildly, an extremely uncomfortable feeling.
"I've heard quite a few stories of your exploits... For a sixteen-year-old boy, it would be difficult to find someone more accomplished than you," Mrs. Greengrass said, her tone not carrying much emotion. "So I can perfectly understand why Astoria has secretly cared for you all these years..."
"You flatter me, Madam..." Jon said quickly, denying it.
"But precisely because of that..." Mrs. Greengrass paused, as if choosing her words.
Jon raised his head. He knew they were getting to the real point.
"If you are fond of Daphne, I won't stand in the way of anything between you," Mrs. Greengrass said, her voice growing stronger as her tone shifted. Her expression turned solemn. "To be frank, I don't care much for things like bloodline or family background, and the Greengrass family traditions don't place much weight on them either..."
"But Astoria... her situation is different. That's why I hope she can leave you." Diana Greengrass shook her head lightly at Jon. "I know my daughter—she would think the same way. Because all of this would be for your own good."
Jon's expression didn't change. He was already choosing his reply...