The Truth in Blood
The marble grandeur of Gringotts loomed above as Orca, Draco, Hermione, and Ron stepped inside. Its pristine walls gleamed like pearls, but the air within was heavy with tension. Goblins darted about with sharp eyes and quick hands, their movements mechanical yet deliberate. Hermione shifted uncomfortably, and Ron frowned as the goblins glared at them. Orca, oblivious to the group’s unease, studied the glittering chandeliers with detached interest.
Ron muttered under his breath, “Still mad about the dragon, are they?”
Hermione shot him a warning glance, but it was too late. A goblin nearest to them sneered, its thin lips curling in disdain. “Wrecking our bank leaves a lasting impression,” it hissed, returning to its work without another word.
Orca tilted her head, her expression almost amused. “Looks like some people in this society hate something other than Draco,” she said, her tone casual but cutting.
Draco rolled his eyes, visibly unimpressed. “Oh, brilliant observation, ocean girl. Just let me handle this.” He stepped forward, addressing one of the goblins at the counter. “We’re here for an ancestry test.”
The goblin, tall and wiry with a crooked nose, peered at Draco with a mixture of disdain and curiosity. Without replying, he turned to his colleague at the next station. They whispered in low voices, occasionally casting side glances at the group. After a moment, one of them hurried off through a side door, leaving the remaining goblin to stand silently.
As the awkward silence stretched, Orca decided she’d had enough. She leaned against the counter, flashing the goblin an enigmatic smile. “Hi. I’m Orca,” she said conversationally. “I’m from the ocean. Your bank is very... pretty.”
The goblin blinked, utterly dumbfounded by her cheerful bluntness. “Pretty?” he echoed, his tone teetering between offense and bewilderment. “Gringotts is the most secure and revered establishment in the wizarding world!”
“Oh.” Orca’s voice was mild as if she hadn’t noticed the goblin’s indignation. “Well, it’s prettier than I expected.”
The goblin’s mouth opened and closed, as though grappling with the impossibility of continuing the conversation. Before he could retort, the other goblin returned, carrying a small vial of silver liquid and a sharp needle.
“We’re ready,” he said curtly.
Draco and the others stepped back to give Orca space. She extended her arm without hesitation as the goblin pricked her finger, collecting three drops of blood into the vial. The liquid shimmered, swirling in iridescent hues before settling into a soft glow.
The goblin poured the mixture onto a flat silver plate inscribed with ancient runes. The blood spread, forming delicate lines that slowly resolved into a family tree.
Everyone leaned in as the tree began to grow.
“Mother: Iphigenia Carrow,” Hermione read aloud, her brow furrowing. “A pure-blood family... known for their allegiance to Voldemort.” She hesitated, glancing at Orca.
Orca’s expression remained unreadable. “And the other side?”
The goblins exchanged a glance before the tree began to shift again. Branches extended, weaving together letters that formed a name.
“Father: Anthony Edward Stark,” the goblin announced.
The room fell silent. Hermione’s sharp intake of breath broke the stillness.
“Tony Stark?” she repeated, her voice rising. “As in the Tony Stark? The billionaire American industrialist? Owner of Stark Industries?”
Ron blinked in confusion. “Who?”
Hermione ignored him, her focus entirely on Orca. “Your father is one of the most famous Muggles alive!”
Orca shrugged, unimpressed. “So?”
Hermione gaped. “So, he’s one of the wealthiest and most influential people in the Muggle world!”
Orca’s expression didn’t change. “What would I need with money? All you land dwellers are too concerned about possessions.”
The goblins exchanged wary glances, clearly eager for the group to leave. “The test is complete,” one of them said brusquely. “You have your answers.”
By the time they exited Gringotts, the sun had set, casting Diagon Alley in a soft, golden glow. Orca turned to Draco, her expression casual. “I’m going back to my beach.”
Draco stared at her, horrified. “You’re what?”
“I sleep on the sand,” she said simply, as if it were the most natural thing in the world.
Draco’s eyes widened. “Are you mad? Sleeping on sand in the middle of nowhere? No. Absolutely not. You’re staying at my beach house.”
Orca raised an eyebrow. “Why?”
“Because you clearly don’t understand basic human comfort!” Draco snapped.
Ron, still suspicious of Draco, stepped forward. “If you ever need to get away from him, send me a letter.”
Hermione rolled her eyes and interrupted before another argument could erupt. “Good luck finding your father, Orca,” she said kindly.
With that, the group parted ways.
---
Draco’s beach vacation house was enormous, a sprawling structure of white stone and glass that gleamed under the moonlight. Orca gazed at it with mild disinterest. “The beach still looks more comfortable,” she said.
Draco sighed, exasperated. “You haven’t even tried a bed. Come on.”
He led her to a guest room, opening the door to reveal a plush bed piled with soft blankets. Orca hesitated, then sat down experimentally. Her eyes widened as she sank into the mattress.
“This is...” Her voice trailed off as her eyelids fluttered shut. Within seconds, she was fast asleep, her breathing steady.
Draco lingered for a moment, watching her with an uncharacteristically soft expression. He sighed, a faint blush creeping up his cheeks, before leaving the room quietly.