Nero spent another hour receiving treatment from Madam Pomfrey.
The warm glow of healing spells coursed through his body, easing the lingering aches that stubbornly clung to his muscles.
The matron fussed over him relentlessly, making sure he ate every last bite of the meal she set before him.
At first, Nero ate only because she insisted. But with each bite, he realized just how ravenous he was.
His body had been pushed far beyond its limits, and the simple act of eating filled a void he hadn't even noticed.
By the time he finished, his strength had returned, if only slightly.
With a final, reluctant glance at him, Madam Pomfrey finally gave her approval. "Alright, you may go. But take it easy, Mr. Ravenclaw. I don't want to see you back here too soon."
Descending the stairs, Nero entered the common area where Albus and Aberforth Dumbledore, Ember, Alaric, and Lilith were waiting.
Their eyes snapped toward him the moment he appeared.
He could feel the weight of their concern, pressing down like an invisible force.
Ember was the first to react, stepping forward with her arms crossed.
She was scowling, probably ready to scold him, but the moment their eyes met, her expression softened. "You look better."
Nero offered a small smile. "I feel fine."
Alaric raised an eyebrow, unimpressed. "You nearly got torn apart. You call that fine?"
Lilith let out a sharp breath, her piercing eyes narrowing. "Don't be stubborn, Nero."
He chuckled, rubbing the back of his neck. "Alright. Maybe not completely fine. But I'll recover."
Ember studied him for a moment before sighing. "Good. I'd rather not have to avenge you."
Aberforth, who had been standing slightly apart, let out a low grunt. "Are you a Ravenclaw or a Gryffindor?… Always brushing off things as if they're nothing."
But Albus Dumbledore remained silent. His piercing blue eyes rested solely on Nero.
Then, Nero turned to him.
There was no need to ask. He already knew.
Dumbledore gave a gentle nod. "Yes, Nero. Let us discuss your parents."
His gaze flickered toward Ember, Alaric, and Lilith, as if asking whether Nero wanted privacy for this conversation.
But Nero shook his head. "It's fine. They can hear this."
Dumbledore smiled softly. "As you wish."
The atmosphere grew heavier, thick with an unspoken tension.
"Nero…" Dumbledore began, his voice slow, careful.
"The man who attacked you was indeed very likely your father."
A sharp gasp filled the room.
Ember. Lilith. Alaric. Even Aberforth's face, normally so guarded, darkened.
Dumbledore continued, his voice carrying the weight of certainty and sorrow.
"Your father's name is Jonathan Ravenclaw."
The name hung in the air, suffocating in its significance.
Nero's breath hitched. Ravenclaw?
A storm of thoughts surged in his mind. So he is Grandma Melina's son.
And yet… he still had her killed.
Dumbledore's expression grew distant, lost in old memories.
A soft, bittersweet smile tugged at his lips.
"He was such a pure, gentle, hardworking, and brilliant student."
His voice held fondness, but it was overshadowed by grief.
"I was his Transfiguration professor," Dumbledore murmured. "It's difficult to reconcile the boy I knew with… what he has become."
A long sigh escaped him, his features weary.
"Jonathan was considered a genius during his time at Hogwarts. And I must agree with that assessment. His talent in Charms and Defense Against the Dark Arts was exceptional. He would fall slightly short compared to Tom… and you… but still, he was remarkable."
Despite himself, Nero felt a strange pang in his chest.
He had never known his father. But to hear this?
To compare this description to the mad machine that had attacked him…
It was jarring.
"Jonathan was also a gifted Quidditch player, he would always go play with his friends, in his early years." Dumbledore added, as if reminiscing about a student he had once been proud of.
But then, his face darkened.
"The only shadow that loomed over this bright young man," he said gravely, "was his fascination with Gellert Grindelwald."
A sudden shift in the room.
Aberforth's expression immediately hardened, his eyes narrowing with deep, ancient anger.
Dumbledore continued, his voice tinged with history and regret.
"Jonathan spoke of Gellert as if he were the one true hope of the wizarding world, despite the fact that, by then, he was already imprisoned in Nurmengard."
The weight of that name, Grindelwald, sent chills down Nero's spine.
"He never truly abandoned his beliefs," Dumbledore admitted. "Despite our attempts to dissuade him, despite our efforts to help him see the truth, he held firm."
"He would nod along to our words, pretending to understand. But days later, he would bring up Gellert again, as if the conversation had never even happened."
A heavy silence settled over them.
Dumbledore's expression grew troubled, his hands clasping before him. "Looking back… we should have intervened more decisively."
His voice was tinged with regret.
"But we did not."
And perhaps, that was the greatest mistake.
"The years passed, and to us, Jonathan was a kind student who promised a bright future.
During his seventh year…" Dumbledore continued, "Jonathan and your mother became very close."
His voice softened.
"She was a Ravenclaw as well, a year younger than him."
At the mention of his mother, Nero straightened.
"She was the personification of the sun," Dumbledore said wistfully. "Gentle. Smiling. Kind."
"It was impossible not to be drawn to her warmth. And she too, like you, had an insatiable love for books."
There was a tenderness in his voice now.
Something rare. Something painful.
And then, his voice turned solemn.
"The reason I remember this so clearly, Nero… is because your mother's name was Cassandra Dumbledore."
The room collapsed into silence.
Nero's heart stopped.
Even Ember, Alaric, Lilith.
All of them, stunned.
Dumbledore's gaze met his, his blue eyes filled with deep sadness.
"She was my niece."
Nero's breath caught.
His mind swam.
His mother… was a Dumbledore?
His lips parted, but no words came.
Ember's fingers clenched into fists. Alaric's face was unreadable.
Lilith's eyes were wide, uncertain.
Even Aberforth looked away, his jaw tight.
Dumbledore held his silence.
Giving Nero time to process.
To understand.
To realize that the blood running through his veins carried the legacy of two ancient lines.
Ravenclaw.
Dumbledore.
And the weight of that truth…
Settled in him like the stillness before a storm.
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