After satisfying Adrian's curiosity, Dumbledore gently waved the Elder Wand. He withdrew the remarkable phoenix flames with a simple gesture, causing them to dissipate gracefully into nothing.
The Quidditch pitch returned almost immediately to its previous tranquil state. Only the melted circle of grass and the lingering warmth in the air testified to what had just occurred.
"There's really no need to rush yourself, Adrian," Dumbledore said kindly, as Fawkes settled onto his shoulder with a soft flutter of wings. Fawkes also seemed to chirp softly in agreement. "You're still remarkably young by any reasonable standard, with ample time to explore magic's mysteries at your own pace."
"I know," Adrian nodded, acknowledging the truth of those words. "But no matter what, time never truly feels like enough. There's always more to learn, more to achieve. And circumstances don't wait for us to be ready."
The unspoken thought was: Voldemort wouldn't wait for Adrian to reach his full potential.
"Interestingly enough," Dumbledore pondered aloud with a philosophical air,, "the older one gets, the more time one paradoxically seems to have. Or perhaps it's that urgency fades, replaced by patience. When you're young, every day feels precious and fleeting. When you're old, you realize how much of life is simply... continuation. Quite paradoxical, really."
Adrian watched the last few wisps of golden-red sparks dissipate into the cold air and unable to contain his curiosity, couldn't help but ask, "Is the Fire-Making Charm your particular specialty, then, Professor Dumbledore?"
Dumbledore shook his head gently.
"Then is it Transfiguration?" Adrian pressed, knowing of Dumbledore's legendary status in that field. "You were considered one of the finest Transfiguration experts of your generation."
"Stop prying so persistently, Adrian," Dumbledore said, his eyes twinkled with amusement. He winked playfully. "Leave an old man some secrets and mysteries."
Only then did Adrian realize his potential presumptuousness in pressing such questions and laughed awkwardly, feeling somewhat embarrassed. "My apologies, Professor. Professional curiosity got the better of me."
Still... despite the deflection, Adrian's mind continued working on the puzzle. Dumbledore's greatest magical skill, his true specialty...
It couldn't possibly be Dark Magic.
At that moment, interrupting his speculation, a black figure appeared in the distance, moving across the grounds toward them.
As the figure drew steadily closer, Adrian recognized the distinctive black robes and pale face of Snape.
"I must remind you both," Snape said in his distinctive expressionless tone as he reached them, "that the commotion you created just moments ago was visible throughout the entire castle."
He surveyed the surrounding area with attention, immediately noticing that significant patches of snow had melted completely, exposing the grass beneath in a large circular pattern. Combined with what he had personally witnessed from his dungeon classroom window, he could roughly guess what had happened here.
"It's already over, Severus," Dumbledore said mildly, unperturbed by the implied criticism. Fawkes ruffled his feathers lightly on his shoulder, preening casually.
Adrian smoothly withdrew his wand and tucked it back into his robes, then nodded slightly to Dumbledore with genuine gratitude. "Thank you sincerely for your guidance and demonstration, Professor Dumbledore. I've learned a great deal. I think I should be returning to the castle now."
With that polite notice, he turned and began walking steadily toward the castle's walls.
Only after Adrian's figure had disappeared completely into the swirling white snowflakes, becoming just a dark shape that eventually vanished into the winter scenery, did Snape turn his full attention back to Dumbledore.
He asked again in confusion, "What exactly were you doing out here? That level of magical fluctuation...."
"Nothing to worry yourself about, Severus," Dumbledore smiled lightly, waving one hand dismissively.
Then his expression shifted, growing more serious and graver. His voice dropped lower. "By the way, speaking of concerns, has there been any news or activity from Voldemort lately?"
Snape's expression became expressionless. Without speaking, he silently rolled up his left sleeve, exposing his forearm to the air.
On his skin, the Dark Mark lay visible and dormant. The skull and serpent tattoo showed absolutely no signs of activity.
Dumbledore stared intently at the mark.
"He may have discovered me," Snape's voice was tense. "Or at least suspects strongly enough to act cautiously. He's sent direct messages and summons to many other Death Eaters over the past months. But I, personally, have never received any such summons."
"You interpret this as a test of your loyalty?" Dumbledore asked carefully, his tone too was heavy with concern.
"Very likely," Snape replied, pressing his lips together grimly. "The Dark Lord trusts absolutely no one, not even his most devoted servants. He's always testing, always watching, always suspicious..."
Dumbledore sighed softly, deeply, his breath was forming a thick cloud of white mist that hung briefly in the frigid air before being scattered by the wind and dissipating into nothing.
"If there's danger to your life," he said carefully after a long moment of silence, "abandoning this is also a valid option."
Snape froze completely at these unexpected words, his entire body went stiff.
Did this mean he no longer needed to continue spying?
He narrowed his eyes suspiciously, staring with unsettling intensity at Dumbledore's face, searching for hidden meanings or manipulation. But he said nothing, waiting for clarification.
"Things don't always turn out as we plan or hope," Dumbledore continued gently, meeting Snape's gaze steadily. "Circumstances change. If you genuinely don't want to continue like this—"
"This is my choice to make," Snape interrupted Dumbledore sharply, his tone was resolute. "It has always been my choice. I'm not some child who needs permission to bear consequences."
"I respect your decision, Severus," Dumbledore said softly. "And thank you, sincerely, for all you've done over these many years."
"It's a bit late to be saying such things now," Snape said coldly.
He turned abruptly and began walking back toward the castle without another word.
After returning to his warm office and shedding his snow-dampened outer robes, Adrian found himself once again pondering the persistent issue of his developmental jam.
According to Dumbledore's somewhat vague guidance, breaking through this barrier required some kind of special opportunity, some catalyst or transformative moment.
And that opportunity could apparently be absolutely anything—a crisis, an insight, an emotion, an experience. There was no formula, no guaranteed path.
Well, that was hardly the concrete, actionable advice he'd been hoping for.
Who knew when or even if such a pivotal opportunity might arise naturally? It could be tomorrow or twenty years from now.
Still, sitting here anxiously worrying and fretting wouldn't solve anything or accelerate the process.
Adrian gazed thoughtfully at the snowflakes drifting peacefully outside his window, watching their patterns of fall and swirl, and gradually felt his mind calm down. The tension in his shoulders eased.
Magic couldn't be rushed or forced. Rather than anxiously waiting for that elusive, unpredictable prospect while accomplishing nothing else, it was far better to focus productively on the present moment and the work at hand.
Teaching his students well. Nurturing his plants. Continuing his research. Living his life.
He mentally reviewed what tasks needed to be done in the coming days and decided to start simply by brewing himself a comforting cup of hot tea first.
Some problems were best approached after proper tea.
Time passed slowly.
In what felt like the mere blink of an eye, it was suddenly December 24th, one day before Christmas.
With the winter holidays officially beginning and most students departing for home, Hogwarts seemed much quieter than usual.
When Adrian entered the Great Hall that morning for breakfast, he found it already thoroughly filled with the traditional Christmas atmosphere that appeared every year.
The decorations were spectacular as always—twelve enormous Christmas trees lined the walls, decorated with everything from candles to live fairies. Wreaths of holly and mistletoe hung from every available surface. The enchanted ceiling showed gently falling snow.
The air throughout the hall was pleasantly permeated with the warm, nostalgic aromas of gingerbread and cinnamon, creating an atmosphere of comfort and holiday cheer that made everyone smile despite the cold.
Adrian made his way toward the staff table, nodding polite good mornings to various colleagues already seated.
He immediately spotted Umbridge at her usual position, wearing an absolutely eye-searing pink knit hat that complemented, if such a word could be used—her customary pink cardigan. The combination was destructively festive in the worst possible way.
She was leaning somewhat aggressively toward Professor McGonagall, clearly discussing something.
As Adrian approached close enough to hear clearly, he caught the tail end of their conversation.
"Don't you think we should prepare some special activities and organized events for the students staying at school over the holidays?" Umbridge was saying in that sickeningly sweet, high-pitched voice of hers.
Professor McGonagall continued cutting her toast, her face was completely expressionless. "What students staying at school during the holidays need most, Dolores, is peace and quiet. Rest from the term's rigors, Dolores."
From her expression, she clearly didn't seem particularly pleased to be having this conversation with Umbridge at all.
Noticing Adrian's approach out of the corner of her eye, Umbridge immediately shifted her attention away from McGonagall. Her face brightened artificially.
"Good morning, Professor Westeros!" She called out with that pretentious, exaggerated enthusiasm. "I have wonderful news to share with you—excellent news! The Ministry has successfully resolved all that unpleasant trouble with the Treants in the Forbidden Forest."
"Oh, that's nice to hear," Adrian replied casually. He really didn't want to waste words or energy on this conversation and hoped Umbridge wouldn't attempt to engage him further.
He began reaching for the coffee pot.
However, Umbridge didn't fall into merciful silence despite Adrian's obvious coldness and dismissive response. Instead, she deliberately raised her voice even higher to ensure everyone nearby could clearly hear her announcement.
"The Ministry has done absolutely excellent work in this matter!" She announced proudly, as if she'd personally negotiated the peace. "Those potentially dangerous creatures in the Forbidden Forest have now formally agreed to coexist peacefully with the Ministry of Magic!"
Professor McGonagall raised one eyebrow at this bold claim, her lips were pressing into a line of skepticism. She continued focusing determinedly on her breakfast, clearly holding severe reservations about this narrative.
In fact, Umbridge wasn't entirely wrong in the broadest sense—after all, Mr. Amos Diggory was technically also a representative of the Ministry, and he had successfully established positive relations.
Though it had absolutely nothing to do with her personally, and she knew it.
If Umbridge ever actually went to the Forbidden Forest again on her own, Adrian was absolutely certain that Bart would throw her out immediately.
Seeing that no one was responding to her announcement with the enthusiasm or admiration she'd clearly expected, Umbridge fell into an awkward, uncomfortable silence. Her smile became strained.
Her face beneath the ridiculous pink knit hat looked rather pinched and unpleasant. But she seemed to belatedly realize that continuing to talk to herself, filling the silence with her own voice, would only make the situation more embarrassing and highlight her isolation.
Professor McGonagall gave Adrian the faintest look of approval and perhaps gratitude for his cold response, then elegantly dabbed at the corner of her mouth with her napkin.
"If there's nothing else requiring discussion, Dolores," She said crisply, standing up,
"I'll go check the official list of students staying at school over the holidays. And Professor Umbridge, if you would, you might want to seriously reconsider your teaching content and methodology.
Quite a few students have expressed considerable concerns and complaints about your curriculum to their heads of house. The matter is becoming difficult to ignore."
Umbridge's expression began to fluctuate unpredictably at these words.
Honestly, being completely truthful with herself, life at Hogwarts was proving to be nothing like she had initially imagined or been promised.
She had genuinely thought she would wield considerable influence here, would be respected and feared, would transform the school to 'Ministry standards'.
On the contrary, no one cared about her at all.
And when she asked Fudge for greater authority and support, for new educational decrees that would give her real power, he would only deflect with various excuses.
Fudge had initially sent her here with a clear mission—to monitor Dumbledore.
But now that Dumbledore and Fudge's relationship had become harmonious and cooperative, she couldn't find any opportunities to fulfill her original purpose.
Umbridge had always prided herself on being a shrewd woman, politically astute and capable of reading situations accurately.
Since she clearly couldn't gain any advantages or victories here at Hogwarts, couldn't advance her career or increase her influence, perhaps she should seriously consider extricating herself gracefully?
No. She narrowed her small eyes with sudden determination, her jaw turned stiff stubbornly.
This was just a minor temporary setback, nothing more. She could handle setbacks. She'd handled worse in her career.
If she were to give up now, wouldn't all her previous efforts and sacrifices have been completely in vain?
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