Whenever she was with Jon, Astoria felt the weight lift from her shoulders.
She took in the Headmaster's Office again, the broad, beautiful circle of it, the shelves and tables strewn with curious contraptions that always seemed on the verge of whirring to life.
The walls were crowded with portraits of former Heads, men and women both, each snug in a gilt frame and snoring softly. Whether they were truly asleep or only pretending was anyone's guess. On the left, a narrow, long-legged table held an assortment of odd silver instruments whose purposes were anyone's guess.
Jon had just finished tying a freshly written recruitment letter to a school owl's leg. He carried it to the open window and let it go. The owl swept out into the afternoon light.
"I'm guessing you haven't had lunch," he said, turning back to her, voice mild.
"Of course not. Should we go down to the Great Hall together?" Astoria brightened, then checked herself quickly. "On second thought… maybe not."
"If it's only hunger, we don't need the Hall just yet," Jon said evenly.
He crossed to the long-legged table and lifted a small silver statue shaped like a house-elf. A light tap.
In the next instant, platters and dishes began to appear in neat stacks on the far side of the table—roast beef, sausages, carrot soup, the sort of thing the Great Hall would have offered at noon, along with a few delicate puddings Astoria had never seen served downstairs.
"If you're hungry, we'll make do here," Jon said, gesturing her to sit.
"Wow." Astoria blinked, delighted. "It's that simple?"
"Headmaster," he said with a small shrug. "A few privileges."
He took the chair at the end and reached for a baked potato.
Twenty minutes later, they were full, and every scrap on the table had vanished as if it had never been.
"Here," Jon said, passing her a glass of pumpkin juice. As he did, his gaze slid to a portrait on the wall, where an elderly Head had stirred.
"Professor Marchbanks of the W.E.A. and her people will be leaving after lunch," the old Head reported in a thin, reedy voice. "O.W.L.s and N.E.W.T.s are done."
"Please let Professor McGonagall know and have her see the examiners off," Jon replied, calm as ever. "They've worked hard."
"Right away." The portrait emptied as the old Head slipped out of frame.
Astoria glanced up, suddenly ill at ease. "I… did I interrupt your work, Jon?"
"It's fine." He spread his hands, smiling. "I can spare the time."
"I'm sorry," she said softly.
He stood, drew on the robe draped over the back of his chair, and looked out through the high windows. After a moment's quiet, he spoke.
"Actually, there is something I needed to speak with you about."
"Oh?" Astoria lifted her head, surprised.
"It's about your mother."
"Her memory?" she asked, tentative.
"Yes."
The room went still at once. Astoria Greengrass's face tightened; Jon Hart's expression set, grave. Even the portraits hushed. The usual soft snores thinned to nothing. The Headmaster's Office held its breath.
"Your mother's past was a tragic one," Jon said, his voice low. "She grew up in a family steeped in a curse and carried a cruel fate from childhood. Your grandparents may have been accomplished wizards, but they were hardly fit parents."
"Then… Aunt Alice…" Astoria's voice trembled. "Do you mean… she…"
"For the cursed line," Jon said, exhaling, "the Greengrass family has long had a fixed… procedure. Your grandparents first thought your mother was the carrier. Only when she received her Hogwarts letter did they realize they were wrong."
"So it was them," Astoria whispered, color draining from her face. "They 'processed' Aunt Alice?"
Jon slipped an arm around her and nodded once. "It was too brutal to show you, which is why I didn't let that part play in front of you. But it is your family's history. You have a right to know it, especially as you come of age."
"Thank you." Tears streamed unchecked. She folded into him, voice breaking. "I'm sorry, Jon… I've lost it…"
"When she was a girl, your mother didn't know the truth," Jon went on gently. "As she grew older, she began to guess. The guilt settled in. She's always felt she took your Aunt Alice's right to live."
"It wasn't her fault," Astoria sobbed.
"No." Jon nodded, sighing. "But that day has been the sorest place in her heart ever since. She turned the guilt for her sister toward you instead. That's why she has been willing to try anything, at any cost, to break your curse."
"You must thank your mother, Astoria. If not for her—if the family had followed its usual custom—then you likely would have been 'processed' when you were very small."
Astoria could only shake, tears spilling, the words coming out ragged. "I'm sorry, Jon. I'm sorry."
"It's all right." He gave a small, wry smile. "Honestly, I've no anger toward your mother. She's been fighting for you."
"What should I do?" Astoria asked, lost.
"In a few days, when term ends and you're back at the manor," Jon said, steady, "stay with her. Comfort her. She is the one in this world who loves you most."
Astoria nodded, grave and sure. "Okay."