The morning light filtering through the Tree of Wisdom's canopy had a quality that Adrian had come to associate with peace. Whether that peace came from the light itself or from his connection to Eldra, he couldn't quite say anymore.
The distinction between his own perceptions and hers had become increasingly permeable over the summer months, like two streams that have been flowing alongside each other long enough that their waters have begun to mix.
He stood beneath the massive branches with one hand resting against the trunk's rough bark, not gripping it but simply present against it.
The slow pulse of awareness that flowed through the Tree's vast root system moved through him at the same time.
It was early, barely past dawn but he had been awake for an hour already, walking the plantation's grounds in the silence that belongs to that hour, checking on the creatures and plants that called this pocket dimension home.
Sleep had become an increasingly optional part of his routine over the summer, not uncomfortably so, simply one of the many changes he was still cataloging and adjusting to. His body seemed to require less of it than it once had, as though some of Eldra's deep patience had seeped into his physiology along with everything else.
The silver leaves that had appeared after his battle with Voldemort still scattered through the canopy, mingling with the green in patterns that seemed simultaneously random and intentional, the way constellations do.
They caught the morning light differently than the ordinary leaves—not absorbing it but reflecting it with a metallic sheen, so that when the wind moved through the branches the entire tree seemed to shimmer faintly, as though it were thinking.
Adrian had spent considerable time over the summer trying to understand what these silver leaves represented beyond the obvious.
Through careful attention and his deepening bond with Eldra, he had come to understand that they functioned as focal points for the Tree's awareness—places where its consciousness gathered and concentrated, through which it perceived the world with particular clarity.
When he looked at them now, he didn't see decoration. He saw something closer to eyes.
"You're watching me again," he said aloud, though speaking wasn't strictly necessary for communication with Eldra.
He had learned over the summer that language was useful for precision but that their bond functioned on something less structured than words, more like weather than grammar, carrying feeling and intention the way the air carries warmth.
The consciousness that answered him was warm and vast and distinctly amused.
It came through the bond not as words but as a kind of inner weather change, the way a room feels different when someone you trust enters it.
Eldra was always watching in some general sense, always aware of everything within her domain, but Adrian had learned to distinguish between the passive background quality of that awareness and the focused attention she turned toward him specifically in moments like this one.
This morning's attention was deliberate.
Through their connection, the reason for that attention was obvious without needing to be stated: his departure.
After spending nearly the entire summer at the plantation, Adrian would be returning to Hogwarts today to begin his second year of teaching.
He had been here so constantly over these months that his presence had become something Eldra organized herself around, and the approaching distance, even a temporary one carried a quality she hadn't yet learned to be comfortable with.
"I'll be back every week," Adrian assured her, speaking the words and projecting the intention behind them simultaneously. "The arrangement Dumbledore and I worked out gives me considerably more flexibility than last year. And you know I can feel you even from Hogwarts. The distance isn't the same thing it used to be."
This was true in ways he was still discovering.
Over the summer he had experimented carefully with the limits of their connection, pushing at it gently the way you test ice before trusting your full weight to it.
What he'd found was that physical distance diminished the bond without severing it. From Hogwarts he could sense the general state of the plantation: the health of the plants, the movements of the creatures, the slow deep rhythms of Eldra's awareness.
It wasn't the same as being physically present—the detail and immediacy were diminished by distance but it was far more than he'd been capable of before the merger.
Eldra responded with a complex mixture of acknowledgment and concern that took Adrian a moment to parse.
She understood that Adrian needed to be at Hogwarts for his teaching responsibilities, but there was an emotional dimension to the response that surprised him.
Eldra had grown attached to having him present, had come to value the experiences and perspectives he brought back from the wider world.
"I'll tell you everything that happens," Adrian promised, recognizing that this was what she needed to hear. "Every interesting lesson, every unusual creature we study, every significant event. You'll experience it through me, just like you have been. Nothing really changes except the physical distance."
He smiled and pressed his palm briefly more firmly against the bark before turning to continue his morning inspection.
The seven greenhouses stretched along the eastern edge of the plantation, their crystal walls were catching the early light and scattering it into soft prismatic patterns across the paths between them.
Adrian walked through each in turn like a doctor making rounds with attention.
The Chomping Cabbages in Greenhouse Three had finally returned to something approaching their normal dimensions after the battle-induced growth surge of the spring, though they retained a heightened aggression.
He made a note to warn Dobby to care for them in his absence. They weren't dangerous, precisely, but they had opinions, and their opinions were unfortunately expressed physically.
The Venomous Dittany in Greenhouse Five had thrived over the summer beyond his most optimistic projections, putting out three healthy offshoots that he was cultivating carefully, watching for the precise moment of readiness to separate them without shocking the parent plant.
The leaves had the deep blue-green of mature specimens, and the healing properties would be significant once properly processed. He'd already been in communication with a broker who was interested in incorporating plantation-grown Dittany into the treatment protocols.
Greenhouse Seven held the morning's most interesting development.
The Firewood specimens, plants he had modified to burn with magical flames that consumed no part of their own substance had spent the summer muating variations he hadn't designed and hadn't fully anticipated.
Some specimens now produced different colored flames depending on the mineral composition of their soil: copper traces burned green, iron traces burned orange, a particular clay-rich mix produced a flame of deep, steady violet that Adrian found genuinely beautiful.
He crouched beside one of the violet-burning specimens for several minutes, watching the fire move through the plant without touching it, and thought about what the controllable mechanism might be.
Dobby appeared beside him with the small contained pop that still occasionally startled Adrian despite months of anticipating it, carrying a tray with fresh bread still warm from the oven, jam in two varieties, sliced fruit, and a pot of tea whose steam rose in a straight line in the still greenhouse air before curling at the top.
"Master Adrian must eat before traveling," Dobby announced, setting the tray on the workbench along the greenhouse's north wall. "Dobby has been preparing Master's favorite breakfast every morning for a week waiting for Master to actually eat it instead of just taking the tea and saying he will eat later."
"I have been eating," Adrian said, somewhat defensively.
Dobby looked at him.
"The tea counts," Adrian tried.
Dobby continued looking at him with open skepticism.
Adrian sat down on the stool beside the workbench and began eating the breakfast. "You're right. I'm sorry for being difficult about meals. I get distracted and forget."
"Master forgets many human things since becoming more tree-like," Dobby said, which was an astute observation delivered with blunt honesty.
"Dobby reminds Master that even merged wizards must eat and sleep properly."
"Merged wizards," Adrian repeated, tasting the phrase. "Is that what you've been calling me?"
"It is what Master is," Dobby said with confidence. "Master is wizard and Master is tree. Together now. Dobby thinks this is a very good thing."
He paused with a slight hesitation of whether to add something but he did so. "Though sometimes Master seems sad about it."
Adrian ate the bread and thought about this observation seriously, giving it a consideration.
Was he sad about the merger? He examined the question from several angles rather than immediately reaching for an answer.
'Not mostly sad,' he thought.
The transformation had given him capabilities and perspectives he genuinely valued: the capacity to perceive magic in its natural forms more clearly than most wizards ever managed, a connection to the living world that was reciprocal rather than observed from outside it, a depth of patience that had surprised him and may be increased vitality so a higher life span.
Though the last one was not confirmed and would need research. These remaining were already not small things.
But Dobby wasn't entirely wrong either. There were moments when Adrian felt a question about his existence.
"Not sad exactly," Adrian said after a moment. "Just... adjusting. It's a big change, and I'm still figuring out what it means for how I live my life. What I am is not what I was, and figuring out what to do with that takes time "
Dobby nodded, as if this made perfect sense. "Master will figure it out. Master is very clever, even when he forgets to eat."
They sat in silence while Adrian finished his breakfast.
Through the greenhouse's crystal walls, he could see the plantation spreading out in all directions—the tended gardens, the wild sections where magical plants grew according to their own preferences, the distant wilderness where various creatures grazed or hunted or simply existed according to their natures.
This place was his responsibility and his sanctuary, the physical manifestation of work he'd been doing for years before coming to Hogwarts.
Leaving it, even briefly, always felt significant.
"Dobby will take good care of everything while Master is teaching," Dobby assured him, clearly sensing Adrian's moment of reluctance.
"The creatures will be fed and the plants will be watered and Dobby will send messages immediately if anything needs Master's attention. Master must not worry about the plantation while he is at Hogwarts. Master must worry about teaching students properly and not letting bad wizards cause trouble."
The mention of bad wizards brought the wider world back into the greenhouse with them.
The summer had been peaceful here but the wider wizarding world had been anything but peaceful.
The Daily Prophet, which Adrian received by owl delivery even at the plantation, had been full of articles about the ongoing aftermath of Voldemort's defeat and the political tensions that aftermath had created.
Adrian rose from the stool and walked to the greenhouse's entrance, standing at the threshold between the warmth of the glass walls and the open morning air of the plantation, gazing out across the plantation while his mind turned over everything, he knew about the current state of Magical Britain.
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