At the start of the new term, as students settled into their routines and classes resumed their familiar rhythms, Hogwarts became bustling and lively once again with the energy of hundreds of young witches and wizards.
The castle's corridors echoed with footsteps and laughter. The Great Hall was filled three times daily with lively conversations. Owls swooped through windows delivering mail and packages. Ghosts drifted through walls on their eternal patrols. The whole magnificent castle seemed to wake from summer's silent dormancy and pulse with life.
Beneath all this surface activity and apparent normalcy flowed an atmosphere of peace and tranquility—at least on the surface.
Perhaps it was because most of the escaped Death Eaters had been successfully captured and returned to Azkaban through the Order's diligent work. Or perhaps the Ministry of Magic had intervened with some kind of media pressure or censorship, applying political influence to quiet the rumors.
Either way, for whatever combination of reasons, the wild conspiracy theories and alarming speculation about Voldemort's return that had filled the Daily Prophet's pages throughout late summer suddenly, mysteriously disappeared almost overnight.
The newspaper returned to its usual content—Quidditch scores, society gossip, minor magical accidents, political maneuvering within the Ministry.
It was as if the entire terrifying summer had been jointly forgotten or deliberately suppressed.
Adrian had expected Voldemort to stir up even greater turmoil during this period, to make increasingly bold moves and public attacks that would force acknowledgment of his return.
Yet strangely, surprisingly... nothing happened.
It was almost more unsettling than open conflict would have been.
Dumbledore also began spending particularly long periods stationed permanently at the school rather than traveling for his various political and organizational commitments as he'd done in previous years.
Most surprisingly, Cornelius Fudge himself had been seen at Hogwarts multiple times already this term—Adrian had encountered him once personally in the main courtyard, conversing warmly with Dumbledore with broad smiles and friendly gestures, as if their previous serious disagreements and conflicts over Voldemort's return had simply vanished into nothing.
Just as Dumbledore had predicted and claimed, there had apparently only been a "small misunderstanding" between them that seemed to be now completely resolved.
Adrian speculated cynically that this sudden peace was perhaps primarily because Voldemort hadn't yet truly shown himself publicly in any undeniable way.
Although the Death Eaters had definitely caused some significant disturbances over the summer—the attack at Privet Drive, the Azkaban breakout, various incidents the Order had dealt with, no civilian witnesses had actually seen Voldemort himself with their own eyes.
For Fudge, this ambiguous situation was undoubtedly excellent news, politically speaking.
Because it meant his position as Minister of Magic remained secure and unchallenged. He didn't have to acknowledge a crisis he was unprepared to handle. He could maintain the comfortable status quo.
As long as Voldemort stayed hidden and theoretical, Fudge could pretend everything was fine.
September 9th, Saturday
More than a full week had passed since the start of term.
For Adrian personally, this term wasn't intensely different from the last one in terms of his daily responsibilities and schedule.
He continued teaching Care of Magical Creatures as usual, leading students out to the grounds to interact with various magical beasts. The classes proceeded smoothly, students were engaged, and no one had been seriously injured yet—always a positive sign in his particular subject area.
The only thing worth his particular attention and concern this term was the new presence of Dolores Umbridge and her increasingly problematic influence on the school.
From various sources and reports he'd heard, primarily from students who cornered him after classes to complain, but also from staff room gossip and his own observations—Umbridge's Defense Against the Dark Arts classes weren't being well-received at all.
This was entirely understandable and completely predictable given her approach.
Hermione had specifically sought Adrian out after one particularly frustrating lesson to describe in detail what Umbridge's teaching actually consisted of.
According to Hermione's passionate, indignant complaints—in Umbridge's classes there were absolutely no incantations practiced, no wands raised, no flashes of light from successful spell-casting, no dueling practice, no creature demonstrations.
Nothing practical whatsoever.
Only Umbridge's sickeningly sweet, high-pitched voice reading directly from the Ministry-approved textbook in a droning monotone that put half the class to sleep. Pure theory with no practical application of any kind.
According to Hermione's agitated complaints, even Seamus Finnigan, who was notorious for accidentally blowing things up in every class couldn't find an opportunity to make something explode during Umbridge's lessons.
There was simply nothing to explode.
For a practical subject like Defense Against the Dark Arts, this was pedagogical malpractice.
Adrian pondered this concerning situation thoughtfully as he walked into the main courtyard through one of the ground-floor archways.
The courtyard was empty and deserted this afternoon as most students were either in classes, at Quidditch practice, or hiding in the library working on assignments. The usual bustle of activity was absent.
The weather was somewhat gloomy and oppressive. Heavy gray clouds pressed low over the castle's towers, hanging so close it seemed you could reach up and touch them from the Astronomy Tower.
The air was filled with that distinctive thick dampness and atmospheric pressure characteristic of pre-rain weather—that heavy, expectant feeling when a storm is gathering but hasn't yet broken.
The sky looked ready to open up and pour at any moment, unleashing a proper Scottish rainstorm.
Adrian had just reached the center of the courtyard when Ray appeared from somewhere beyond the horizon. It folded its enormous wings with grace and landed beside Adrian.
The landing still stirred up a considerable gust of wind that whipped Adrian's robes around and scattered a few loose leaves that had been piled in the corner.
Worth noting and somewhat surprising was that perched on the Thunderbird's broad back stood an elegant golden-red figure that Adrian immediately recognized.
It was Fawkes, Dumbledore's phoenix.
The two magical creatures seemed to always be together lately, Adrian had noticed. He'd spotted them several times over the past week flying together or resting in the same areas.
Ray made a deep, rumbling sound in its throat and called out excitedly to Adrian in greeting.
"Oh, same to you. It's been quite a while since we properly spent time together," Adrian responded warmly, stepping forward without hesitation to stroke Ray's lowered head affectionately.
The Thunderbird's feathers were smooth and sleek under his hand, crackling faintly with residual electrical energy that made his fingers tingle pleasantly.
Since the summer holidays had begun back in June, Adrian had been deliberately letting Ray roam freely near Hogwarts and the surrounding wilderness rather than keeping it confined or constantly supervised.
This arrangement of relative freedom suited Ray's nature best as Thunderbirds needed space, needed weather, needed the open sky.
Fawkes was still in its post-rebirth juvenile form, very small in size. But despite its youth, its feathers had already fully grown in and developed that characteristic golden-red color.
The young phoenix chirped once in its high, clear voice greeting Adrian.
"You two are getting along well," Adrian observed with genuine pleasure, happy to see Ray have company.
As soon as the words left Adrian's mouth, Fawkes let out an especially cheerful, melodious trill. The phoenix leaped lightly from Ray's back with a flutter of small wings and landed with perfect balance on the shoulder of an old man who had quietly appeared.
"Good afternoon, Adrian," Dumbledore greeted him warmly, reaching up to gently stroke Fawkes's soft feathers.
"Good afternoon, Professor Dumbledore," Adrian responded, turning to face the headmaster and nodding in polite acknowledgment.
Dumbledore glanced at Fawkes on his shoulder, and his tone was slightly helpless.
"I came specifically looking for this little fellow, actually," he explained, gesturing toward the phoenix. "Fawkes disappeared early this morning and wouldn't respond to any of my calls or summons, which is quite unusual. I was beginning to worry something had happened."
Fawkes chirped twice in response.
Though Adrian didn't speak Phoenixish or understand their vocalizations literally, he could make a guess about their meaning based on context and tone.
"I believe Fawkes thinks you don't particularly need its company or assistance at the moment," Adrian translated with amusement. "So, it decided to go do its own thing and spend time with more interesting company. Ray is probably more fun than sitting in your office all day."
"Fawkes has clearly reached its rebellious adolescent age," Dumbledore observed with a smile. "Though I suppose phoenixes don't technically have adolescence in the traditional sense, given the whole cycle of rebirth. Still, the attitude is distinctly teenage."
"I simply wanted it to heat up my tea with phoenix flame this morning," He continued in an aggrieved tone. "You know, when properly heated with phoenix fire rather than ordinary flame, tea always carries a special warmth and flavor."
Adrian didn't know about this particular use of phoenix abilities but he was fairly certain that Fawkes's flames were meant for considerably more important purposes than heating tea.
"By the way," Adrian said, suddenly remembering something he'd been meaning to ask, "how are the Order of the Phoenix's various activities and operations going these days? You didn't actually manage to catch all the escaped Death Eaters, did you? And Voldemort—though I suppose there's still no definite news of his location or activities?"
Dumbledore's expression, which had been relatively light and pleasant during their conversation about Fawkes, became noticeably more serious and concerned. His bright eyes dimmed slightly with worry.
"We've done our absolute utmost with available resources and personnel," Dumbledore said, his voice deepening. "The Order has been working tirelessly, following every lead. But Tom... he's more adept at hiding and concealment than he's ever been before."
He sighed softly.
"We've successfully located and destroyed several secret locations he might have potentially used for his resurrection ritual or as hideouts. But we've frustratingly been arriving just a step behind."
Dumbledore's jaw tightened with visible frustration.
"As for the Death Eaters who escaped Azkaban..." He continued, "Bellatrix Lestrange is still at large."
Adrian nodded slowly, processing this information.
This aligned closely with his own private speculation and assessment of the situation. Voldemort was being extremely cautious, playing a long game, not taking risks or making public moves.
"What about the Horcruxes?" Adrian pressed, asking about what he considered the most critical issue at hand.
After all, the Horcruxes were the real key to Voldemort's defeat. Everything else was secondary and somewhat pointless as long as those anchors to life remained intact and hidden.
Dumbledore spread his hands in a gesture of helpless frustration and uncertainty.
"We're still searching, following various theories and possibilities, But I must say, Adrian, I always feel like you're hiding something from me."
"?"
Adrian's face showed what he hoped was appropriate surprise and confusion at this accusation. "Me? Professor Dumbledore, when have I ever deliberately hidden anything important from you?"
"Many times, actually," Dumbledore replied, his tone remaining mild and almost amused rather than accusatory. He listed examples casually. "Like with Tom Riddle's diary that destroyed the basilisk, and Ravenclaw's lost diadem...."
Adrian raised his hand quickly, interrupting Dumbledore and said with as much sincerity as he could project, "Not this time, I assure you truly, Professor Dumbledore. I'm being completely honest right now. Regarding the remaining Horcruxes and their locations, I genuinely don't know more than you do about where they might be."
"Oh, I certainly believe you," Dumbledore's tone carried a note of amusement.
Adrian strongly suspected that Dumbledore had just been deliberately teasing him.
A few icy raindrops suddenly fell on the stone courtyard slabs. Within moments, the rain intensified, becoming fine and dense.
The two men immediately moved quickly to the nearby covered corridor to shelter from the increasingly heavy rain.
Ray made a delighted sound and immediately launched itself back into the sky with powerful wingbeats, vanishing into the distance toward the dark storm clouds.
Adrian fully expected Dumbledore to politely excuse himself and return inside the castle to his warm office, away from the cold rain and damp air.
But instead, he found the headmaster simply standing there in the corridor, showing absolutely no intention of leaving or moving further inside. Dumbledore remained perfectly still, watching the rain fall, as if waiting for something or someone.
"Not going back inside?" Adrian asked, puzzled by this unusual behavior.
The very next second, before Dumbledore could answer, echoing footsteps sounded from the other end of the long corridor, approaching from inside the castle.
Filch's hunched figure appeared first. He was carrying a dim, old-fashioned oil lamp despite the afternoon hour—probably because the corridor was dark with storm clouds blocking most daylight.
His expression was oddly servile and fawning.
Following just behind him, surprisingly, was none other than Cornelius Fudge, looking somewhat out of breath as if he'd been walking quickly or climbing stairs.
"Ah, Albus!" Fudge exclaimed with pleasure when he spotted Dumbledore waiting in the corridor. He quickened his pace forward considerably, his face breaking into a broad, politician's smile. He greeted the headmaster with familiarity.
"How wonderful to find you here! What excellent timing! I hope I'm not interrupting any important conversation or private matters?"
The escorting Filch gave Dumbledore a brief nod, then turned and limped away back down the corridor without waiting to be dismissed. He still had numerous other problems to deal with around the castle.
Specifically, he needed to handle the considerable mess left by two particular red-haired troublemaker—a large box of Dungbombs exploded that had been set off in a third-floor corridor, filling the entire area with absolutely horrific stench.
The Weasley twins, almost certainly. It was always the Weasley twins.
"You didn't give me any advance notice that you were planning to visit today, Cornelius," Dumbledore observed, revealing neither particular pleasure at seeing the Minister nor displeasure at the unannounced arrival.
Fudge rubbed his hands together in a gesture.
"Completely spur of the moment decision, Albus. Just came to check in on how things are progressing. You know, Dolores only recently took over the Defense Against the Dark Arts position here,"
He continued, his tone suggesting this explained everything. "As Minister, I have a responsibility to care about her work situation and welfare. Need to see if she's adapting well to the Hogwarts environment."
"Umbridge is currently in her office, I believe," Dumbledore replied calmly. "As far as I know from speaking with her yesterday, she's seriously considering implementing adjustments to the Defense Against the Dark Arts curriculum materials currently used at Hogwarts."
"Oh, what a dedicated and conscientious worker!" Fudge's round face showed obvious satisfaction at this news, clearly pleased that his appointee was already making changes and exerting influence.
Then he asked with what seemed like concern, "So then, what do you personally think of how Dolores is teaching so far? How are the students responding to her methods?"
Dumbledore was silent for a moment.
Then, rather than answering directly himself, he turned his head to look at Adrian.
Adrian froze: "?"
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