Harry had initially intended to return the Marauder's Map to Fred and George. However, both twins immediately shook their heads in perfect unison, their identical expressions of mock horror so exaggerated that several nearby students paused their conversations to watch the dramatic show.
Fred stepped forward, one hand pressed dramatically to his chest while the other gestured openly toward the ceiling.
"My dear, beloved Harry," He declared in a mock voice like that of Lockhart, "we have reached a profound philosophical revelation—true adventurers never need maps! To rely on such convenient magical aids would be an insult to our spirit as explorers of the unknown!"
He paused for effect, his eyes twinkling with mischief as he continued. "What we pursue, you see, is the pure thrill of excitement and the delicious uncertainty of unknown surprises.
To depend on a map for our adventures? Why, that would be no different from following a grandmother's recipe to bake a simple sponge cake—where's the artistry in that? Where's the creativity? Where's the glorious possibility of magnificent failure?"
George, who had been nodding along with Fred's performance, suddenly couldn't resist adding his own commentary. He patted Fred's shoulder with exaggerated sympathy and muttered in a whisper that was clearly intended to be overheard,
"That's certainly not what you were saying just a few weeks ago when you spent hours studying that map to plan our raid on Filch's office."
Fred's composure cracked instantly, and he immediately delivered a sharp elbow to George's ribs, his voice dropping to an urgent hiss. "Hey there, dear brother, would you kindly keep your unnecessarily accurate observations to yourself?"
Despite their argument, both twins turned back to Harry with warmth in their expressions, speaking in perfect synchronization as though they had rehearsed the moment.
"Regardless of our philosophical differences, we're leaving the map permanently in your capable hands, Harry. Trust us when we say it will prove to be absolutely irreplaceable at the most crucial and unexpected moments."
"Thank you both," Harry replied with sincere gratitude, carefully folding the precious Marauder's Map and tucking it into the inner pocket of his school robes.
While he certainly appreciated the practical applications the map would undoubtedly provide, Harry was far more intrigued by the sophisticated magical technology that had been used in its creation.
Perhaps during his upcoming free periods, or during the long summer holidays that stretched ahead, he could dedicate serious time to studying the map's construction in detail.
April 23rd, Saturday
The Hogwarts Quidditch pitch had been transformed into a sea of noise, color, and excitement. Every single seat in the stands was occupied by cheering students, faculty members, and even some visiting parents.
Banners in house colors fluttered in the spring breeze, while the air itself seemed to vibrate with anticipation.
Today was the finale of months of intense competition—the Quidditch final of the school year, with Gryffindor facing off against Hufflepuff in what had already proven to be an unexpectedly challenging season for both teams.
The match had been raging for over two hours now, and both teams had reached what could only be described as the final, desperate stages of competition.
Players on both sides showed clear signs of exhaustion—their movements slightly less crisp than at the match's beginning, their formations occasionally wavering as fatigue set in.
High above the main action of the game, Harry and Cedric were engaged in their own private battle of skill, determination, and flying ability as they pursued the elusive Golden Snitch that would determine the match's ultimate outcome.
Both Seekers rode identical Firebolt broomsticks which meant that victory would come down to pure skill, tactical thinking, and perhaps a crucial moment of luck.
The two young wizards had been locked in an aerial dance of competition, neither able to gain a decisive advantage over the other. They intertwined through the goal posts, executed barrel rolls that made the crowd gasp in appreciation, and dove toward the ground in heart-stopping displays of courage that had several professors reaching instinctively for their wands.
The two Seekers flew almost neck and neck now, the howling spring wind whipping past their ears, making it impossible to hear anything beyond their own thundering heartbeats and the distant roar of the crowd far below.
Harry's eyes were nearly closed to slits against the stinging wind, every bitof his concentration was focused with intensity on the flickering golden light that danced tantalizingly just ahead of his outstretched fingers.
"Ladies and gentlemen, it looks like our two teams' Seekers are putting on quite the spectacular aerial display!" Lee Jordan's magically amplified commentary resounded across the entire stadium.
"The current score stands at 180 to 170, with Gryffindor maintaining a precarious lead, but if Diggory manages to catch that Snitch... well, let's just say nobody wearing red and gold wants to see that particular outcome!"
As a proud Gryffindor himself, Lee Jordan's commentary had never pretended to be entirely impartial, and his obvious bias colored every observation with personal emotion and house loyalty.
Of course, the points of commentator neutrality were the last thing on anyone's mind now, because the match had clearly reached its most critical and decisive moment.
Harry could hear the humming of Cedric's Firebolt somewhere just behind his left shoulder. The Hufflepuff Seeker was undeniably skilled, and he had already nearly overtaken Harry several times during particularly challenging maneuvers.
But Harry carried with him the bitter memory of their previous encounter, when Cedric had caught the Snitch and delivered a crushing defeat to Gryffindor. The shame and disappointment of that loss still burned in his chest, and he had sworn to himself that he would never allow such a thing to happen again. This time, he would succeed, no matter what.
Suddenly, without any warning at all, the Golden Snitch made a sharp, almost violent dive straight down toward the very edge of the Quidditch pitch.
Harry didn't waste even a fraction of a second hesitating or second-guessing the maneuver. He threw his entire body forward against his broomstick and sent his Firebolt into a nearly vertical dive and caused several screams of alarm to rise from the watching crowd.
He could feel Cedric maintaining position right beside him, their brooms so close that their robes were actually brushing against each other as they plummeted toward what appeared to be certain disaster.
The ground rushed up toward them with terrifying speed.
"Watch out!" Cedric shouted over the deafening rush of air,
Only at that moment did Harry fully realize the true extent of the danger they were both facing. The Golden Snitch was diving straight toward the ground with no apparent intention of changing course, and if he didn't pull up from this dive within the next few seconds, he would crash into the earth with enough force to break every bone in his body.
At the very last possible moment, when the grass was close enough that he could have reached down and touched it, Harry pulled back on his broomstick with every ounce of strength in his arms and shoulders.
His Firebolt responded instantly to his command, pulling out of the dive with a sharp upward curve that brought him parallel to the ground with mere inches to spare. The tail twigs of his broom actually scraped against the wet grass, sending up a small spray of water and earth that spattered across his Quidditch robes.
And in that precise moment of triumph over gravity and disaster, Harry's desperately grasping fingers closed firmly around the struggling Golden Snitch.
Instantly, a thunderous explosion of cheers erupted from the Gryffindor stands.
Gryffindor had won the Quidditch Cup!
Harry, still gripping the Golden Snitch tightly in his right hand while controlling his broom with his left, felt a surge of pure joy and satisfaction that was unlike anything he had ever experienced.
He had originally thought that their final opponent would be Slytherin, given their traditional strength and their bitter rivalry with Gryffindor. However, Hufflepuff's performance throughout the season had shown a remarkable qualitative improvement, with their players showing new levels of skill, coordination, and tactical sophistication that had surprised everyone who followed Hogwarts Quidditch.
Their unexpected victory over Slytherin in the semifinals had guaranteed this final showdown and proved that they deserved their place in the championship match.
Later that afternoon, after the initial wave of celebration had begun to subside and his teammates had finally stopped lifting him onto their shoulders, Harry made his way through the corridors with the intention of sharing the good news with Professor Westeros.
While Adrian had certainly been present at the match—he felt compelled to deliver a personal retelling of the victory.
As Harry turned a corner near the section of the castle where many faculty offices were located, he encountered Cedric Diggory walking toward him from the opposite direction.
Despite having lost the match less than two hours ago, he appeared remarkably composed and dignified.
"Hey there, Harry," Cedric called out with a genuinely warm smile, raising one hand in a friendly greeting. "That was absolutely brilliant flying out there. Congratulations on a truly spectacular match."
"Oh, well... thank you," Harry replied, feeling somewhat awkward and uncertain about how to respond to such gracious behavior from his defeated opponent. "You weren't bad either, honestly. That dive sequence was incredible—I thought for sure you were going to catch it first."
The conversation felt strange and uncomfortable to Harry, not because Cedric was being anything other than perfectly pleasant, but because he simply couldn't understand how anyone could remain so composed and gracious after losing such an important match.
If their positions had been reversed, if Harry had been the one to lose the Quidditch Cup in front of the entire school, he knew that he would have been devastated for several days afterward.
He would have avoided conversations with his opponent, retreated to his dormitory to brood over every mistake he had made, and generally made himself thoroughly miserable with self-blame and regret.
But Cedric always seemed to maintain this admirable grace.
Harry suddenly felt a strange sense of inadequacy, a wordless recognition that Cedric represented a kind of perfection that seemed to exist only in idealized stories and legends.
No matter how hard Harry tried, he could barely identify any significant flaws or weaknesses in Cedric's character, abilities, or behavior. It was as if he had stepped out of a fairy tale about the perfect knight or the ideal hero.
After exchanging a few more polite pleasantries about the match and their respective plans for the remainder of the weekend, Cedric took his leave with another warm smile and headed off toward the Hufflepuff common room, probably to console his teammates and help them process their disappointment.
Harry continued on his original path toward Professor Westeros's office, his mind still partially occupied with thoughts about Cedric's remarkable character and his own perceived shortcomings in comparison.
The corridor grew quieter as he moved away from the main areas where students met, and soon the only sounds were his own footsteps echoing softly against the floors.
As he approached the door that marked the entrance to Adrian's office, Harry became aware of voices in conversation on the other side. The door muffled the words somewhat, but he could still make out the general tone and rhythm of the discussion taking place within.
"Are you really planning to resign, Remus?" The first voice was unmistakably Professor Westeros.
"Ah, yes, I'm afraid so." The second voice belonged to Remus. "Dumbledore also said I don't have much time left..."
Harry was immediately alarmed and pushed open the door without thinking.
"You really should learn to knock first, sir..." Adrian began with obvious displeasure, his eyes flashing with annoyance at the sudden intrusion.
However, when he realized that the unexpected visitor was Harry rather than some inconsiderate student, his expression shifted to one of mild surprise, followed quickly by a welcoming smile. "Well, well. Come on in, Harry. What can we do for you today?"
"I'm terribly sorry—I really didn't mean to eavesdrop on your conversation," Harry said quickly, his hand still gripping the door handle as he stood uncertainly in the doorway. His eyes were wide with worry as he looked at Remus. "But Professor Lupin, what exactly did you mean when you said you 'don't have much time left'? Are you... is something wrong with your health?"
Remus responded with a helpless laugh. "It's nothing quite so dramatic, Harry, though I appreciate your concern. I suppose there's no point in keeping it a secret—I'm sure you've heard the rumors about the curse that supposedly affects Hogwarts' Defense Against the Dark Arts professors."
Harry nodded grimly.
The curse was indeed common rumor throughout the school. According to the widely accepted legend, ever since Voldemort had been refused the position of Defense Against the Dark Arts professor by Professor Dumbledore many years ago, no one had been able to hold the position for longer than a single year.
"Well, it appears that the curse is about to claim another victim," Remus continued with casual tone. "Adrian here suggested I resign quickly before losing my life. It's sound advice, really, and I'd be foolish not to follow it?"
Harry wanted to say that it wasn't such a serious matter. However, as he considered the fates of previous Defense Against the Dark Arts professors, his protests died in his throat before he could voice them.
Well... perhaps running away really was the most sensible course of action available.
Seeing Harry's complex expression, Remus patted Adrian's shoulder. "Don't worry, Harry. Professor Westeros will take over my work and complete the remaining courses this year. This won't affect your studies."
Adrian shrugged—this seemed to have become an annual necessary procedure. He had already taught countless Defense Against the Dark Arts classes for others.
Honestly, the next time he encountered Professor Dumbledore, he was definitely going to have to bring up the subject of a significant salary increase.
No one could exploit his labor.
"Oh, before I forget, Harry," Remus said, deliberately changing the subject to something more positive and forward-looking, "how has your practice with the Patronus Charm been progressing recently?"
Recently, Harry had been learning this advanced spell under Remus's guidance.
"It's been going quite well," Harry replied, reaching into his robes to withdraw his wand. He glanced briefly at Professor Westeros, seeking permission to demonstrate the spell in the space of the office.
Adrian responded with an encouraging smile and a slight nod.
Taking a deep breath to center himself and calling up his most powerful happy memory, Harry raised his wand with steady confidence and spoke the incantation clearly and firmly.
"Expecto Patronum!"
A stream of silvery-white mist erupted from the tip of Harry's wand, swirling and merging in the air above them. The magical energy gradually took on a more defined shape, solidifying into the form of a magnificent stag.
Harry's Patronus paced elegantly around the office, its silver light reflecting on the faces of everyone present.
Adrian raised his eyebrows in surprise—the Patronus Charm wasn't simple magic; it required extensive practice, deep emotional maturity, and access to abundant positive emotions.
Harry's learning was much faster than he had expected.
"Prongs..." Remus murmured.
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