With a viable procedure mapped out, the next two weeks became a blur of focused, relentless work. The Room of Requirement became their entire world. Hermione, drawing on her nearphotographic memory, perfected the complex runic array, a delicate, branching pattern designed to be a gentle but irresistible lure for the curse. Daphne, using her family's extensive alchemical archives, focused on the containment vessel—a small, flat disc of obsidian, polished and treated with silver nitrate and powdered moonstone to make it magically porous yet stable.
Ariana, meanwhile, took on the most critical and dangerous task: the development of the magical anesthetic. It was a potion of immense subtlety. It couldn't just suppress magic; that would be a poison. It had to persuade the magical core to enter a state of temporary, voluntary dormancy. She used a base of distilled water from a magically silent spring, added the powdered seed of the Sopophorous bean for its sleep-inducing properties, and infused it with the essence of moonlight, captured using an arcane Flamel technique, to promote a state of restful recession. The final ingredient was a single drop of her own blood, a catalyst to attune the potion to a human magical signature.
After numerous small-scale tests on magical plants, they had a prototype. The plan was no longer theoretical. It was ready.
But Ariana knew that a plan of this magnitude could not be executed by three schoolgirls alone, no matter how brilliant. The final phase—the actual extraction and sealing of the curse—required a level of power and control that even she, in her depleted state, could not guarantee. This was not a task for an apprentice; it was a task for a master.
"It is time," she announced one evening, placing the final, perfected diagram of the runic conduit on the table. "We have done all we can. Now, we must bring in the establishment."
She requested another meeting with Professor Dumbledore, this time with Professors McGonagall and Snape also in attendance. She insisted it take place within the secure confines of the Room of Requirement. The three professors entered the vast, secret space, their expressions a mixture of awe and bewilderment.
With Hermione and Daphne at her side, Ariana presented their findings. It was not a student's report; it was a professional, peer-reviewed presentation. Hermione laid out the historical and runic theory. Daphne explained the lineage and genetic components. And Ariana, with clinical precision, detailed the nature of the curse as a magical parasite, the concept of magical anesthesia, and the full, step-by-step procedure for its extraction and containment.
The three professors listened in stunned, profound silence. Snape, the Potions Master, was the first to speak, his voice a low, incredulous hiss as he examined Ariana's potion formula. "This… this is unheard of. A potion designed to induce core dormancy without causing systemic shock… The theory is revolutionary. It is also incredibly dangerous."
"The risks have been calculated and mitigated, Professor," Ariana replied calmly.
"To use a runic siphon to extract a soul-fragment-like curse… the potential for psychic backlash is enormous," McGonagall murmured, her face pale.
"Which is why the final stage cannot be performed by us," Ariana said, turning her gaze to the Headmaster. "Professor, the procedure requires a wizard of immense power, control, and experience to manage the energy transfer and perform the final, absolute seal. My own magical reserves are still… suboptimal for a procedure of this delicacy. I have developed the surgical plan. I am asking you to be the surgeon."
Dumbledore looked from the detailed charts to the faces of the three young witches before him. He saw a project of such brilliance, such collaborative genius, that it humbled him. They had achieved in a matter of months what the magical world had failed to do in centuries. They had looked at an incurable problem and, by refusing to accept the established magical dogma, had engineered a solution.
A slow, proud smile spread across his face. "It would be my greatest honour," he said, his voice full of a deep, profound respect.
The date was set. The procedure would take place at Greengrass Manor, within the safety of its ancient family wards. Lord and Lady Greengrass, their faces a mask of nervous hope, gave their consent.
On a quiet Saturday morning, the team assembled in a large, sunlit room in the manor. Astoria lay on a comfortable bed, looking small and frightened but also incredibly brave. Her parents and sister stood by, their hands clasped tightly. Dumbledore, McGonagall, and Snape were present, their usual roles as teachers shed, replaced by those of a medical team. Ariana and Hermione stood beside them, acting as primary consultants.
The process began. Hermione, her hand steady, carefully painted the intricate runic array onto Astoria's skin with a special silver-infused ink, the lines leading from a point on her back near the base of the neck, down her arm, to the palm of her hand.
Ariana then administered the potion, the magical anesthetic. She helped Astoria drink the small, shimmering vial, her voice a calm, reassuring murmur. "It will feel like falling asleep in a warm, quiet place," she explained.
They watched as Astoria's magical aura, visible only to Dumbledore and Ariana's enhanced senses, slowly began to recede, pulling back from the surface of her skin and consolidating into a dense, sleeping star in the center of her being.
"The core is dormant," Ariana announced quietly. "Professor, the window is open."
Snape, with a surprising gentleness, placed the small obsidian disc into Astoria's open palm, directly over the terminus of the runic array.
Now it was Dumbledore's turn. He stood over the sleeping girl, his eyes closed for a moment in deep concentration. He then raised the Elder Wand, its tip pointed at the base of Astoria's neck where the curse was most strongly anchored.
He did not use an incantation. He began to channel his own immense, pure magic, not as a blast, but as a gentle, irresistible current. He created a pressure differential, a magical vacuum along the runic path.
For a moment, nothing happened. Then, a thin, writhing thread of pure darkness, like a strand of living black smoke, was pulled from Astoria's skin. It latched onto the glowing runic lines, a parasite seeking a new host. It flowed, slow and reluctant, down the path Hermione had drawn, a dark river following its new channel. The air grew cold, and a faint, despairing whisper seemed to fill the room as the ancient curse fought against its eviction.
Dumbledore's brow was beaded with sweat, the sheer effort of controlling the dark energy immense. "Almost there… Severus, prepare the seal!"
The last of the dark thread was pulled from Astoria's body and flowed into the obsidian disc in her palm. The disc pulsed once, a wave of black energy making it glow like a malevolent coal.
"Now!" Dumbledore commanded.
Snape's wand was a blur. He performed a complex, multi-layered sealing charm, his incantations a rapid, sibilant hiss. A cage of silver light erupted around the disc, shrinking and tightening until it was branded onto its surface as a permanent, unbreakable matrix of containment runes.
The cold in the room vanished. The oppressive whispering ceased. It was done.
Dumbledore staggered back, leaning on McGonagall for support, the effort having taxed even him. Astoria slept on, her breathing deep and even, her face, for the first time, completely free of the shadow of weariness that had always haunted it.
Ariana stepped forward and placed a hand on Astoria's forehead. She could feel it. The flaw in her magical core was still there, the genetic predisposition. But the parasite, the curse itself, was gone. Her magic was her own again.
Later, after the anesthetic had worn off, Astoria awoke. She sat up, her eyes wide with a wonder she had never known. She could feel her own magic, pure and untainted, singing in her veins. She raised a hand and conjured a small, perfect, shimmering butterfly that fluttered around her head.
It was the first piece of magic she had ever performed that didn't feel like wading through mud.
Ariana stood in the doorway, watching the joyous, tearful reunion of the Greengrass family. Astoria, her face alight with a pure, unadulterated joy, caught her eye.
Ariana gave her a small, warm smile. "The curse is gone, Astoria," she said. "Your magic is your own now." She paused. "Are you excited for Hogwarts next year?"
The younger girl's answering grin was blinding. For the first time, her future was not a countdown to a monstrous transformation, but an open, magical road full of possibility. And it was a future she owed entirely to the quiet, brilliant girl who had refused to believe in the word 'incurable'.