Her name was Alura Glass.
An Archivist of the Ministry's Department of Ancestral Magic — a title older than most laws, and rarer than any Auror.
She wore no wand on her hip.
She didn't need one.
The Meeting – Behind the Great Hall
They met in the old greenhouse, closed for renovation.
It was McGonagall's suggestion.
"She asked for privacy," she told Harry, tone unreadable. "And for soil."
Harry stepped inside. The door shut behind him.
Alura Glass was kneeling beside a pot of ash-covered roses. Her fingers trailed the soil as if reading it.
She didn't look up.
"The mark has changed since your trial."
Harry said nothing.
"The last time it surfaced… the bearer bled stone from his skin.The time before that — she walked into the void beneath the lake and never returned."
She stood now. Her eyes were almost silver.
"And you? You dream in the tongue of the Forgotten. That alone should've buried you."
He finally found his voice.
"Then why am I still here?"
Alura studied him.
"Because the castle hasn't rejected you. Yet."
The Test
She stepped forward.
"Your mark responds to presence. Let's test that."
She drew a small orb from her robes. It shimmered — then split into three lights, circling Harry like moths.
His skin burned. The mark flickered green.
The lights drew closer.
One passed through his chest.
He felt — everything. The cold of the corridor. The weight of the door. The presence of the voice.
He gasped. Dropped to his knees.
And saw her again. Selene.
This time she wasn't smiling.
She was screaming.
"Close it! Close the door—!"
Then the orb shattered.
Alura calmly lowered her hand.
"You're further than I thought."
The Question
As he caught his breath, Harry finally asked:
"Why me?"
She shook her head.
"Wrong question."
"Then what is the right one?"
Alura met his eyes.
"Ask yourself this — what will you become when the door opens and no one can stop you?"
She turned.
"And when you know the answer — don't tell me. Tell the stone."
She walked away.
End Scene – A Shadow Watching
From the upper floors, Snape watched the greenhouse window as Alura left.
In his hand, he held a book. Faded, cracked.
Its title had been burned off long ago.
But inside, scribbled in the margin in familiar handwriting:
"The Heir always dreams first. But the Fall begins when he wakes the name."