In the days that followed Harry's decision to expand, the Defense Against the Dark Arts study group more than doubled in size.
Like Harry, both Cedric and Hermione also took on roles as "assistant instructors" at the gradually organized meetings, each was responsible for guiding and teaching specific groups of students based on skill level and year.
This wasn't a particularly difficult task for either of them, given their natural aptitude and strong magical foundations.
Watching the steadily growing ranks of students practicing defensive magic with increasing confidence and competence, Harry felt a surge of pride welling up inside his chest.
However, success brought its own complications and demands. Harry had been exceptionally, almost exhaustingly busy lately, not only planning and conducting the group's regular activities which now required careful scheduling and coordination between multiple 'instructors' but also maintaining his intensive training schedule and preparing for upcoming Quidditch matches.
As for Quidditch, he certainly wasn't about to give up the sport he loved, despite the time pressures. Flying was one of the few activities that allowed him to completely clear his mind, to focus on nothing but speed and wind and the snitch glinting just ahead.
This month he had already completed a hard-fought match against Slytherin, winning decisively despite Malfoy's various attempts at distraction and the Slytherin team's aggressive tactics.
Incidentally, because Wood had graduated the last year and moved on to pursue a professional Quidditch career with Puddlemere United, Angelina Johnson had been selected as this year's Gryffindor Quidditch team captain.
Although most students and team members had assumed Harry would take over the captain's position given his exceptional abilities as a Seeker and his growing reputation as a leader, it had to be admitted that despite his continued passionate love for the sport, he was nowhere near as single-mindedly fanatical about Quidditch as Wood had been.
Wood had lived and breathed Quidditch.
Moreover, Harry had to acknowledge honestly that he simply might not have the time and constant energy necessary to properly arrange and oversee the team's training sessions, not with the Defense study group demanding so much of his attention and ever-present other responsibilities.
Therefore, handing the captain's responsibilities to Angelina, who was both skilled and organized, had been a good choice.
Besides these positive developments, there was another increasingly worrying matter that cast a shadow over their success—Umbridge had begun paying uncomfortably close attention to them again.
Although that detestable woman in her garish pink outfits hadn't yet directly interfered with their actual meetings or attempted to shut them down, Harry had heard that Umbridge was secretly collecting a list of students who regularly attended the gatherings.
For a moment, turning this unsettling information over in his mind late at night when sleep wouldn't come, Harry couldn't quite figure out what exactly she was trying to accomplish with such meticulous record-keeping.
Fortunately, Flick remained willing to act as their "security" at every meeting, standing guard in the corridor outside their practice space.
Time flowed forward, as it always did, carrying them through November's chill and into winter's depths. In what felt like the blink of an eye, December arrived with its Scottish severity.
Hogwarts was now covered in a thick layer of snow. The castle's towers were crowned with peaked caps of pure white that glittered in the weak winter sunlight. The courtyard trees stood like crystal sculptures, their bare branches adorned with hundreds of glistening icicles that caught the light and threw rainbow prisms across the snow.
Deep winter had truly arrived in the Highlands.
Students throughout the school had been forced to thicken their robes once again, adding multiple layers and warming charms just to venture between classes without freezing.
Adrian also found himself wrapping up warmly, currently wearing a soft, beautifully knitted wool scarf in shades of blue and silver that Luna had given him as a birthday present during their last meeting.
On this afternoon, when the pale winter sun had finally deigned to show its face through the continuously gray clouds, Adrian came down to the Black Lake for a walk, seeking both fresh air and space to think.
The winter sunlight refracted beautifully off the frozen lake surface. The snow crunched satisfyingly beneath his boots.
In the distance, a small group of students were engaged in an enthusiastic snowball fight. Their laughter and shouted challenges occasionally drifted across the cold air, carried on the light breeze.
However, despite the peaceful scene surrounding him, Adrian's thoughts had already wandered far away from snowball fights and winter beauty.
The arrival of December meant that this year was nearly over.
He still remembered that last year, Dumbledore had stated with grave certainty that Voldemort would return to life this year.
Moreover, the captured Death Eater that Umbridge had brought to the Forbidden Forest had confirmed this fact.
But what exactly was he plotting in the shadows?
More importantly and more troublingly: why had he taken absolutely no significant public action even until now?
The only logical possibility that Adrian could construct was that Voldemort's strength hadn't yet fully recovered from whatever dark ritual had restored him.
Of course, this long period of relative quiet was undeniably a good thing. Because Adrian felt that even his current self still couldn't realistically defeat Voldemort at full strength in a direct confrontation.
Although, he had to acknowledge, he had never truly crossed wands with such a legendarily powerful opponent in actual combat, so perhaps he was underestimating himself.
Or perhaps he was being optimistic.
Thinking along these troubling lines, Adrian narrowed his eyes slightly against the bright snow-glare, his expression becoming distant and contemplative.
In truth, if he was being completely honest with himself, his hard power in practical combat magic hadn't improved meaningfully for quite some time now. The Tree of Wisdom showed no new signs of growth either.
Although he had recently succeeded in cultivating and developing some interesting plants with various potentially useful functions—the exploding pumpkins, Wika's restorative fruits, several aggressive defensive species.
Along with successfully nurturing the entire Treant population to the point where they represented a genuine military force, and had even achieved some modest but encouraging results in experimental wandmaking using Treant wood.
But when it came down to the fundamental question, the core issue that mattered most: none of this really helped significantly with the ultimate challenge of defeating Voldemort in single combat.
These were support abilities, auxiliary powers. Useful, certainly. But not decisive.
He seemed to have reached a frustrating plateau of his power.
If he had to honestly assess his current hard power relative to known benchmarks... perhaps half a Dumbledore? Sixty percent? It was difficult to quantify such things precisely when magic didn't reduce neatly to numbers.
To be completely honest with himself, Adrian wasn't entirely clear about Dumbledore's true full strength—he had never witnessed the old headmaster genuinely go all out in actual combat.
As for himself... well, Adrian knew his escape abilities were certainly outstanding, perhaps world-class. That much he could state with confidence.
With the various carefully prepared teleportation items constantly at his disposal—the portal key permanently on his person, several doses of teleportation powder in reinforced vials, emergency portkeys sewn into his robes—if he genuinely wanted to flee any situation, there was almost no one in the world who could prevent or stop his departure.
Hogwarts's various ancient and powerful anti-teleportation wards and restrictions, formidable as they were to normal wizards, were practically nonexistent obstacles to him.
Whether it was his custom-made portal key or the refined teleportation powder he'd perfected, both could accomplish instant escape easily, bypassing the castle's protections.
Just then, interrupting his contemplations about power and mortality and inadequacy, a familiar, dreamy voice sounded quite close beside him. "Good afternoon, Professor Westeros. You look like you have something rather serious troubling you."
Adrian turned around with surprise to see Luna and Ginny standing together just a few paces away, both bundled against the cold. He'd been so lost in thought he hadn't heard them approach across the snow.
Luna still had fresh snow clinging to the top of her pale blonde hair, creating a crown of white crystals that sparkled in the sunlight. Ginny was wrapped in a thick, warm scarf with an embroidered lion pattern, clearly her mother's handiwork and her cheeks were flushed bright red from the biting cold wind.
They had clearly just been among the group of students engaged in that enthusiastic snowball fight he'd observed from a distance.
"Just some trivial philosophical thoughts," Adrian said with a smile, reaching out gently to brush the accumulated snow from Luna's hair before it could melt and soak through.
Luna didn't object to Adrian's warm paternal gesture. She stood perfectly still, allowing him to carefully remove the snow, then stared intently at his face for a long, searching moment with those silvery eyes.
Then, apparently satisfied with whatever she'd observed in his expression, she produced the latest issue of The Quibbler from somewhere within her robes.
"For you, Professor," she said seriously, extending the magazine with both hands. "Father always says that reading a good magazine can help one relax and refocus the mind. Clears away the Wrackspurts that cloud thinking."
Adrian accepted the magazine with appreciation, raising his eyebrows in slight surprise at her preparedness. "Do you always carry spare copies of the magazine with you everywhere? Even to snowball fights?"
"As a truly loyal fan and the editor's daughter, it's absolutely necessary," Luna said with perfect seriousness, as if this explained everything.
Adrian casually flipped open the magazine to a random page, curious what journalistic gems awaited.
The first headline his eyes landed on read: "Flying Pig Spotted in Remote Scottish Highlands, Local Muggles Claim to Have Witnessed Actual Winged Bacon Soaring Over Ben Nevis."
The article was accompanied by what appeared to be a somewhat blurry photograph of something vaguely pig-shaped and possibly airborne, though it could equally have been a distorted cloud formation or a smudge on the camera lens.
Well, he thought with amused resignation, the titles and content remained as bewildering and wonderfully bizarre as ever. The Quibbler never disappointed in its commitment to the improbable.
But strangely enough, despite or perhaps because of its reputation for outlandish stories and conspiracy theories, this type of unconventional magazine seemed particularly popular among wizarding populace.
Ginny smiled beside them and said tactfully, "Actually, this magazine is quite interesting once you get used to the style. At least better than the Daily Prophet in many ways. They're always spouting official Ministry propaganda without any real investigation or critical thought."
She paused, then added with some heat, "A few years ago, they even reported with total confidence that my dad was about to be dismissed from his position at the Ministry of Magic for incompetence. But he's still working there just fine, doing the same job. They never even printed a retraction."
Adrian thought privately that the Daily Prophet wouldn't report such damaging, specific content randomly or without foundation unless someone influential had provided them with conditions too lucrative to refuse.
It seemed Mr. Weasley had accumulated his own share of enemies and rivals within the Ministry's bureaucratic maze. Office politics could be vicious.
But that particular intrigue wasn't the important point right now.
At this moment, Luna sighed softly, her dreamy expression was shifting to something more worried.
"My father seems to be quite troubled about finding compelling content for the next issue lately. He says his creative inspiration has been somewhat exhausted recently, and several faithful readers have written to complain that this current issue's reports weren't exciting or revelatory enough compared to previous standards."
Adrian closed the magazine carefully and asked with sincere concern, genuinely caring about the Lovegoods' wellbeing, "Is Mr. Lovegood encountering some serious editorial difficulties? Financial pressures?"
"Dad is particularly worried about finding the perfect headline story for the next issue," Luna explained, resting her chin thoughtfully on one hand in a gesture that reminded Adrian of a pensive owl.
"He says he hopes to discover and document a magical creature that has never before appeared in mainstream wizarding publications. Something genuinely new that would capture readers' imagination."
"That's not an easy assignment to fulfill," Adrian said honestly, returning the magazine to Luna with a sympathetic expression.
"Genuinely undocumented magical creatures are increasingly rare. Most species have been catalogued by now. I would suggest Mr. Lovegood consider changing his goal to something more achievable—perhaps investigating known creatures with unusual behaviors, or documenting regional variations?"
"If only we could somehow obtain a proper photograph of a Crumple-Horned Snorkack," Luna said wistfully, her expression was becoming distant and yearning. "That would be the journalistic coup of the century. Proof of their existence would vindicate years of Father's research."
"Never appeared in mainstream wizarding publications..." Ginny murmured thoughtfully at this moment.
Then she suddenly had a flash of inspiration, her face was lighting up with excitement. She clapped her hands together enthusiastically.
"Why not have your father write a feature report about the Treants? I've never seen such remarkable magical creatures mentioned anywhere else in any book or article! They'd be perfect!"
Luna's silvery eyes immediately lit up with excitement, brightening like lanterns. She turned and cast an expectant, hopeful gaze directly toward Adrian, silently seeking his approval. "Would that be, okay? It would definitely make a truly wonderful topic that readers would find fascinating."
She knew well that Adrian maintained an extraordinary, almost unique relationship with the Treant population.
Adrian shrugged nonchalantly, seeing no particular harm in the proposal.
"You should discuss it directly with Bart first. As long as Bart agrees to being interviewed and photographed, I have absolutely no objections."
When it came to things that genuinely interested her and mysterious creatures always interested her—Luna had always been someone who acted swiftly and decisively rather than hesitating or overthinking.
After receiving Adrian's confirmation, she immediately reached out and grabbed Ginny's hand, and began to pull her enthusiastically toward the Forbidden Forest. "Wonderful! This is perfect! Ginny, let's go find and ask Bart right now!"
Ginny was pulled along somewhat helplessly; her feet were sliding slightly in the snow as she tried to keep her balance.
She showed a mixture of amusement and worry on her face. "Wait, Luna! Slow down! What if we get completely lost once we're deep in the forest? Those paths all look identical after a while, and it gets dark so early now."
She glanced back toward the castle, calculating distances. "We'd better go find my brothers first—Fred and George are very familiar with the Forbidden Forest from all their ingredient gathering and detention work. They can guide us safely."
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