Chapter 11. The Conversation in the Headmaster's Office
Having passed the test, Adrian Wesson was invited into the Headmaster's office to sign a few agreements.
By the way, today's office password was "Liquorice Wand".
It was a sweet Adrian found utterly loathsome; he couldn't understand why anyone would like a sweet with an earthy tang.
Still, the office carried a faint, cloying sweetness.
That was probably because the drawer under the desk was stuffed with all sorts of sweets.
Dumbledore asked Adrian to sit before the desk, then brought out a paper document—something like a contract.
"Do you remember your fifth year?" He paused, as if he'd touched on something he shouldn't. "Mm… that was a difficult time; perhaps I shouldn't have brought it up."
Adrian gave an awkward smile.
To tell the truth, not everything turns out as one wishes.
When Voldemort's power was at its height, no one at Hogwarts could remain untouched; Adrian was no exception.
Even though he was very careful not to court trouble, trouble always found its way to him.
During the First Wizarding War, Adrian happened to be in his fifth year.
It was then that certain events shattered the peaceful routine he'd kept for five years.
At Hogwarts in those days, Voldemort's influence had seeped through the whole school, not just one House.
In a sense, the four Houses had achieved an unprecedented unity—those who revered Voldemort on one side, and everyone else on the other.
As a non–pure-blood wizard, Adrian naturally belonged to those who did not revere Voldemort.
At first, Fifth-year Adrian had no intention of getting drawn into the strife, but things were beyond his control. Even though he kept avoiding those fanatical devotees of Voldemort, he ended up being targeted.
After all, as the top of his year, Adrian was a very valuable target.
Thus, under the scheming of Slytherin students, on a certain weekend afternoon, Adrian was cornered by a large group.
The only thing that comforted him was that there wasn't a single Hufflepuff among them.
As it happened, Adrian had just completed the first evolution of his Devil's Snare.
And so that afternoon, along the northern wall of the castle, a whole crowd of students hung there in a dense cluster, like hams left to dry in the wind.
After that, Adrian's life suddenly grew quiet. No more students in black robes shadowed him. Those admirers of Voldemort, as if by agreement, no longer came near Adrian.
Because of this affair, even the Headmaster—run ragged at the time—summoned him to the office for a cup of tea.
"That truly wasn't a pleasant experience," Adrian said while carefully reading the papers on the desk—the Hogwarts letter of appointment. "Where should I sign my name?"
"Bottom left, Adrian."
After the quill spun once between Adrian's fingers, he solemnly signed his name.
When he set down the pen, Adrian felt something he couldn't quite name—as if he'd formed a certain bond with Hogwarts beneath his feet.
He looked up at Dumbledore, who gave him a friendly smile. "Hogwarts welcomes you, Professor Wesson."
…
With business smoothly concluded, Adrian let out a breath.
"Sweets?"
Dumbledore beamed as he slid open the top drawer of the desk, revealing a burst of colourful wrappers.
The selection here seemed even wider than Honeydukes.
Adrian shook his head, declining the old Headmaster's kindness.
Seeing this, Dumbledore said no more, took a piece of chocolate and popped it into his mouth, then waved his right hand.
A spell flashed; a teacup brimming with tea drifted down softly before Adrian, exuding a warm fragrance.
"We've plenty of time to chat," he said, glancing at the clock on the wall.
Adrian was, of course, willing to chat with his future superior.
Dumbledore took a light sip of tea; his blue eyes flickered faintly behind the half-moon spectacles, as though recalling something.
"Adrian, how has your sister been lately?" His tone was gentle, with a touch of concern. "Is she all right?"
At the question, Adrian's hand paused on the teacup; his gaze dimmed slightly. "She's still being treated in a hospital in America. Her condition… is much better than before, but the effects of the Cruciatus Curse aren't so easily undone."
"Much better?"
"Yes. At times she wakes from the coma, but it's as if she can't see anything—she only stares up at the ceiling."
At this, Dumbledore's brow creased ever so slightly; his voice turned consoling. "The traces left by Dark magic are indeed hard to heal completely—especially the Cruciatus Curse, which tortures the victim's body and mind to the utmost."
He then let out a heavy sigh. "But she's alive, and that in itself is a kind of good fortune."
Adrian sighed inwardly as well.
His sister had once been a student at Hogwarts. Painfully, due to certain oversights, on a Hogsmeade visiting day she was caught in the crossfire between Voldemort and the Order of the Phoenix, and was struck by a Cruciatus Curse.
That day happened to be the day before Voldemort fell.
What a cruel twist of fate. That attack had seared itself into Adrian's memory like a shadow that could never be erased.
If he'd reached the scene a little sooner that day, things might have been different. But there are no ifs. From that day on, his sister fell into a long coma and, to this day, is still receiving treatment in a hospital in America.
After graduating, Adrian's wanderings were not only to broaden his horizons, but even more to seek a way to heal his sister.
Dumbledore was silent for a while, gently swirling the tea in his cup.
"I'm very sorry," he said suddenly.
"What?" Adrian looked up at Dumbledore.
"I failed to protect my students," Dumbledore murmured, a hint of self-reproach in his tone. "A Headmaster ought to keep students safe, but war forces too many to pay the price… I truly am sorry…"
Hearing this, Adrian lowered his eyes, his fingertip tracing the rim of the cup. "Your apology should be saved for my sister, Headmaster. I remember what you promised—that you would keep every student safe. But plainly, Headmaster, you failed my sister."
Dumbledore hadn't expected Adrian to be so sharp. His hand holding the cup faltered slightly, but he didn't rebut at once; he only watched the tea within slowly turn.
"Your anger is only natural, Adrian," he said softly, weighted with gravity. "I can't deny it—I did fail many people's trust."
By now Adrian felt his own excess; he knew his accusation had been too blunt and discourteous.
After a moment, he slowly released the cup; his tone also gentled. "I'm sorry, Headmaster. I spoke too harshly… This is only my complaint. You've already done enough."
Dumbledore looked at him and said nothing.
What a wretched conversation, Adrian thought.
He drew a deep breath, steadying himself.
He knew that venting his resentment on the old Headmaster before him would change nothing.
"I will cure her," Adrian said firmly, as if to Dumbledore, and as if to himself. "I will."
Dumbledore was silent for a beat, then said earnestly, "I believe you, Adrian."
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