After confirming that Harry was truly unharmed, and had no other injuries seemed immediately life-threatening, Adrian breathed a slight sigh of relief.
Although Harry claimed to feel fine, seemed energetic and alert despite his ordeal, and showed no obvious signs of distress or magical corruption, his newly regrown arm inevitably had some lingering discomfort and functional impairment that would take time to resolve.
It was, after all, brand new tissue that had never experienced years of use and development, never built up the muscle memory and neural pathways that made movement automatic and unconscious.
Harry couldn't even cast a simple Lumos charm at the moment, Adrian had noted during his earlier private examination.
It was like trying to write with a hand you'd never used before—possible in theory, but requiring practice and retraining to achieve anything approaching natural movement.
The human body didn't possess the same inherently powerful vitality as centaurs did. Harry would need a long period of recovery—perhaps several weeks, or possibly several months of gradual improvement and practice. By Adrian's best estimation, drawing on what he'd observed with Ronan and what he understood of human magical development, it wouldn't exceed a year at most before Harry regained full functionality.
Probably much less, actually, given Harry's remarkable resilience and determination. But it would require patience.
The nursing and ongoing care duties, the tedious daily monitoring and therapeutic exercises, were handed over to Madam Pomfrey.
As Adrian finally left the hospital wing, pulling the door closed behind him with a soft click, he immediately noticed a large crowd of students gathered just outside in the corridor.
They gathered in a tight knot near the entrance, some standing on tiptoe to see over taller classmates, others craning their necks at awkward angles, all of them whispering to each other in hushed, excited voices that created a constant background buzz like disturbed bees.
They were clearly trying to peer through the doorway and the narrow windows into the hospital wing's walls, hoping to glimpse what was happening inside, to catch some fragment of news or gossip about Harry Potter's condition.
News traveled fast at Hogwarts, especially dramatic news involving the Boy Who Lived.
Hermione and several of the Weasley children were prominently visible among the concerned crowd, standing closer to the door than most. Hermione's hair was somewhat disheveled, as if she'd dressed and run here without grooming, and her eyes were red-rimmed—possibly from crying, possibly from lack of sleep, or quite likely both.
Ron stood beside her, his face pale looking with worry, dark circles under his eyes showed he hadn't slept at all last night. Ginny hovered nearby, chewing her lower lip anxiously, her hands twisted together in front of her.
Fred and George were there too, for once without their usual jolly expressions. They stood shoulder to shoulder, their arms crossed identically, their faces unusually serious and grim. Even they seemed shaken by what had happened.
There were even a few senior students wearing Slytherin robes visible in the crowd, lurking toward the back with neutral expressions—undoubtedly not present with good intentions or genuine concern for Harry's wellbeing.
More likely they were here to gather information for their families, to assess whether the Potter boy was truly as injured as rumors suggested, or simply to enjoy any suffering he might be experiencing. Adrian recognized Parkinson and a few others who consistently made trouble.
The constant whispers and conversations ceased abruptly the moment Adrian appeared in the doorway as if someone had cast a Silencing Charm.
The entire crowd fell into immediate, expectant silence, and all eyes spun toward him with intensity. Dozens of faces turned in harmony, expressions ranging from desperate hope to morbid curiosity to interest.
Hermione immediately rushed forward, pushing through the other students without regard for courtesy, nearly tripping over her own feet in her rush. Her words tumbled out incoherently, tripping over each other in her urgency and distress.
"Professor! How is Harry? How is he? They said he was... they said..." Her voice cracked on the last words.
"Don't worry, Miss Granger," Adrian said calmly, holding up one hand in a soothing gesture and shrugging with casual reassurance. "Harry Potter is perfectly fine, in fact. He's already awake and talking normally. But if you want to visit him right now..."
He paused, glancing back at the hospital wing's firmly closed door with a slight grimace. "I very much doubt Madam Pomfrey would agree to allow visitors quite yet."
Hermione let out a shuddering, relieved breath that seemed to deflate her entire body. Her shoulders sagged as the tension that had been keeping her rigid suddenly released.
Behind her, Ron and Ginny exchanged a grateful, almost tearful look, their faces transforming from pale worry to relief in an instant.
After Professor McGonagall had taken them and the other students to the Great Hall last night for safety, herding them away from the maze like frightened sheep, they had known absolutely nothing more about what had happened.
No information had been coming despite their desperate questions and demands. They had stayed in the crowded, anxious hall for several hours before the professors had simply told them to return to their common rooms and await further instructions.
So, they had only learned of Harry's serious injury this morning when the Daily Prophet arrived, the front page screaming about the disaster at Hogwarts, mentioning Harry Potter specifically as having been "grievously wounded" by Death Eaters.
The article had been light on details but heavy on dramatic speculation, and it had sent panic through the entire school.
"All right, everyone," Adrian clapped his hands together sharply, the sound echoing down the corridor and drawing attention.
"If we all stay here clustered outside the hospital wing any longer, blocking the entrance like this, Madam Pomfrey will get very angry indeed and start hexing people. She's already in a bad mood. I suggest you all disperse to your classes or common rooms. Harry will be available for brief visits this afternoon if his condition remains stable. Off you go, now."
He made shooing motions with his hands, encouraging the crowd to break up and move along.
After ensuring the hospital wing entrance was clear and quiet once more, Adrian headed directly for the headmaster's office.
Most students were either in class or still at breakfast, making the castle unusually quiet for mid-morning.
After reciting the password and ascending the spiral staircase, he heard the sound of an argument coming from within the office above.
Adrian instinctively slowed his pace, his footsteps becoming quieter and, and he stopped outside the slightly ajar door at the top of the staircase, remaining just out of sight in the shadows.
"This... this is a disaster, Albus! An absolute unmitigated disaster!"
That was unmistakably Fudge's voice, though somewhat distorted and higher-pitched with panic and suppressed hysteria. The Minister for Magic sounded like a man on the edge of complete breakdown, his usual pompous confidence was replaced by something approaching terror.
"Today's Daily Prophet! Front page headline! Above the fold with a massive photograph! How did they find out so quickly?! How?! We tried so hard to suppress the news, to keep this quiet!"
His voice rose to an almost hysterical pitch.
Then came the distinctive sound of rustling paper, probably Fudge waving a copy of the newspaper.
"Death Eaters who should have been securely imprisoned in Azkaban have somehow escaped en masse and invaded Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry last night during an international competition, attacking students, targeting Harry Potter specifically, and the Triwizard Tournament ending in complete disaster with foreign delegations fleeing the country..."
Fudge's voice grew more strained and desperate with each word, rising in pitch until it was almost a wail.
"Merlin's beard! The public will panic! There'll be runs on Gringotts! My career is over! Over!"
"Cornelius, please calm yourself," Dumbledore's voice responded. "Getting yourself worked into a state won't help anything. This is ultimately your problem to solve as Minister, isn't it?"
Fudge fell into silence for a few seconds, probably too affronted to immediately respond, and Adrian could imagine him sputtering silently.
Then his voice rose even higher, carrying reproach and accusation, looking desperately for someone else to blame for this catastrophe.
"Albus, if you hadn't allowed that terrible woman Rita Skeeter into Hogwarts to write whatever sensationalist nonsense she pleased, how would things have possibly come to this?!"
"I did no such thing as 'allow' Rita Skeeter anywhere," Dumbledore's tone remained calm and reasonable, not rising to Fudge's bait. "The woman has her own methods of information gathering that don't require my permission or cooperation. But let's change the subject to something more productive than mutual recriminations. I want to ask you something important, Cornelius—something you need to answer honestly, for your own sake."
He paused, and Adrian could hear the weight in his words.
"Facing all of this—are you truly prepared for his return? We're running out of time to prepare."
"He? Who?! Who are you talking about?!" Fudge said with forced emphasis, his voice rising to a shout, the denial was obvious and desperate.
"No! Albus, don't speak that name again! Don't even suggest it! There's absolutely no evidence to suggest... This time it's just a problem with the Dementors getting out of control, nothing more! They've always been difficult to manage, everyone knows that! This is a containment failure, not... not..."
He couldn't seem to finish the sentence.
"Besides that person, who else in the entire wizarding world could possibly control or command those evil creatures?" Dumbledore asked reasonably, his voice calm but relentless.
"You could, Albus! You could control them if you wanted to!" Fudge's voice trembled noticeably, shaking with emotion. "And some other powerful wizards could too! We all know Dementors aren't completely obedient creatures, aren't perfectly loyal... As long as someone can offer them sufficient price, sufficient victims to feed on..."
His voice grew more desperate.
"This has absolutely nothing to do with that person! Nothing! You-Know-Who is gone! Dead! Destroyed fourteen years ago! He's not coming back! He can't come back!"
It was a very firm answer, delivered with emphatic certainty—though the declaration didn't match his trembling, panicked tone at all. The words said one thing, but his voice revealed his true feelings.
"Very well, Cornelius. Very well." Dumbledore's tone carried a heavy hint of helplessness and resignation. "It's enough that you know the truth in your heart, even if you won't admit it publicly."
Adrian knocked on the door at the appropriate moment.
The conversation inside stopped immediately.
"Come in," Dumbledore called out after a brief pause, his voice returning to its normal pleasant tone as if the previous heated discussion had never occurred.
Fudge gave Dumbledore one last look then turned toward the door with somewhat unsteady steps, his gait was slightly off-balance as if he'd been drinking, though that was probably just stress and lack of sleep.
As he passed Adrian in the doorway, nearly bumping into him in his haste to leave, Adrian greeted him politely with a slight nod, "Good morning, Minister."
However, Fudge only gave him the briefest of acknowledging nods and hurried away down the spiral staircase without a word. He clearly had absolutely no mood or mental capacity to speak with anyone other than Dumbledore at the moment.
Adrian watched him go with raised eyebrows, then stepped fully into the office and closed the door behind him with a soft click.
"There's absolutely no need to waste so many words on Fudge," Adrian commented casually as he observed the office. He selected a comfortable-looking armchair near Dumbledore's desk and sat down without waiting for invitation.
"He'll most likely stop being Minister for Magic very soon, within months probably. His approval ratings must be in freefall after this disaster."
Dumbledore rose from behind his desk with a slight smile.
"Not necessarily, Adrian," He said thoughtfully. "Don't underestimate Fudge's survival instincts or his political connections. Denial and fear are remarkably powerful forces in society—they often unite people far more effectively than courage and truth do, even if they ultimately lead everyone in completely the wrong direction.
A leader who tells people what they want to hear, who assures them everything will be fine, often holds power longer than one who tells uncomfortable truths."
"Oh, very well," Adrian shrugged, accepting the point.
Perhaps Dumbledore was right as he usually was about political matters, having observed wizarding politics for well over a century. As long as Fudge continued to deny Voldemort's return firmly and publicly, offering the public reassurance and maintaining the status quo, he might indeed survive this crisis through sheer stubborn denial and force of will.
Of course, that also depended on his political abilities and how well he could manage the growing crisis.
From what Adrian knew, having kept his ear to the ground through various contacts, many influential people who wanted Fudge removed from office had already begun quietly taking action.
Since Fudge had managed to remain Minister for Magic for so many years. He must have his own strengths in certain areas.
"He came specifically to ask for your help?" Adrian asked, reaching for the silver coffee pot on Dumbledore's desk without asking permission. He poured himself a cup of the rich, dark brew and added two sugar cubes from the bowl, watching them dissolve as he stirred.
For some reason he'd never quite understood, the sugar cubes in the headmaster's office always tasted distinctly sweeter than those anywhere else in the castle, even though they looked identical.
Dumbledore shook his head slightly, returning to his desk chair with his tea.
"Not exactly asking for help, no. Fudge doesn't trust me anymore, hasn't for some time. He's probably quite worried that I might threaten his position, that I'm secretly planning to become Minister myself or to maneuver someone else into power. How utterly absurd."
He sighed.
"As if I want that particular headache. I turned down the position three times when it was offered to me."
"So why did he come, then?" Adrian asked, taking a sip of his sweetened coffee and savoring the warmth.
"Fudge came primarily to take away Augustus Rookwood's body," Dumbledore explained, his expression becoming more serious.
"For the Ministry, that corpse is currently the only tangible thing they can actually grasp and display. The only proof they have of anything. At least it can be used to prove to the panicked public that they're not completely helpless, that they achieved something.
It might somewhat salvage some small portion of the face they lost after the mass Azkaban breakout became public knowledge."
"Ah, the politics of corpses," Adrian said dryly. "Charming."
He didn't know quite what else to say about that particular piece of grim political theater, but displaying dead bodies to reassure the public wasn't the important matter at hand anyway.
He took another sip of his sweetened coffee and continued asking, his voice becoming more serious, "What should we do next?"
"What do you mean specifically?" Dumbledore looked at him with mild puzzlement.
"Everything," Adrian said unhurriedly, gesturing with his coffee cup. "All of it. Such as Harry Potter's safety and protection—the Death Eaters clearly targeted him specifically, and they'll try again. Or the Horcruxes we need to locate and destroy."
"Regarding the Horcruxes, the Order of the Phoenix is working hard on that front." Dumbledore sighed heavily, setting down his teacup with a soft clink.
Honestly, it wasn't going well—they had searched many places but found nothing at all. Of course, Adrian didn't hold much hope for this either.
"By the way," Adrian suddenly remembered something, "Where did Bagman go?"
Come to think of it more carefully, he hadn't seen any sign of Ludo Bagman since the chaotic events of last night. The man had simply vanished from the grounds at some point.
And Ludo could legitimately be considered the main culprit behind this entire Death Eater invasion of Hogwarts as his careless lending of the Portkey had made everything possible.
"Fudge took him back to the Ministry," Dumbledore said, narrowing his eyes slightly. "There will probably be a formal Wizengamot hearing afterward, once charges are drawn up properly... Ah, and you'll probably need to attend as well, Adrian."
Adrian nodded slowly, considering this information. He thought that Ludo Bagman's fate certainly wouldn't be pleasant, regardless of how the hearing went.
At best, he'd lose his position permanently and face massive fines. At worst, given that his actions had directly enabled an attack on children by escaped Death Eaters, given that Harry Potter had nearly died... well, Azkaban was a real possibility, even for someone with Bagman's former fame as a Quidditch star.
The public would demand someone be held accountable, and Ludo looked like the perfect scapegoat.
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