A streak of scarlet flame tore across the sky, a phoenix with gleaming golden feathers unfurling its wings, its tail feathers tracing an elegant arc through the air.
The chaotic crowd gathered outside Gringotts fell silent the moment they spotted the phoenix, every pair of eyes locked on the shimmering, radiant figure soaring above.
But the hush didn't fully restore order. Whispers and murmurs rippled through the crowd, refusing to die down completely.
Wizards spilling out of Knockturn Alley wore expressions of regret, their eyes glinting with a mix of reluctance and greed.
Those thoughts, however, quickly evaporated. These wizards, who thrived in the gray fringes of the magical world, almost simultaneously tucked their wands into their robe pockets—for the greatest wizard of the century had appeared in the phoenix's fiery glow.
Albus Dumbledore, clad in a deep blue robe, his silver hair and beard neatly groomed, stood tall. The phoenix perched on his shoulder, its gold-and-crimson wings folded, its burning tail casting his silhouette against Gringotts' bronze doors.
At the same time, a group of Aurors escorted a prominent figure hurrying toward the scene.
It was Cornelius Fudge, the Minister for Magic. Adam had often seen him in the Daily Prophet, waxing eloquent with confidence. But now, the Minister was out of breath, his robes creased and dusted with Floo powder residue—a far cry from his polished newspaper persona.
The moment Fudge spotted Dumbledore, his furrowed brow relaxed. He rushed to Dumbledore's side in three quick strides, leaning in to speak urgently in a hushed tone.
Adam, standing amid the noisy crowd, glanced at them briefly before looking away.
He climbed onto an oak chair by the roadside, his shoes scraping lightly against its surface.
This spot, at the corner by Florean Fortescue's Ice Cream Parlour, was perfect. From here, the entire street unfolded like a parchment map in his view, letting him catch any unusual body language in the crowd.
"What are you looking for?"
Sherry tugged at Adam's sleeve, noticing him absentmindedly rubbing a glass orb in his pocket—a secondhand Sneakoscope he'd picked up in Knockturn Alley not long ago.
"Basic criminal psychology," Adam replied softly, his eyes scanning a man nearby who was struggling with a post office owl. "Seventy-three percent of culprits in serious incidents return to the scene within forty-eight hours, chasing the adrenaline rush."
Soon, his gaze landed on a figure leaning in the shadowy corner of a wall.
The man's face was pale, his black robes crumpled like discarded parchment, torn jaggedly at the back. His floor-length robe was six inches too short, revealing a bandaged calf stained with dark red blood.
Adam's spine stiffened—not because of the injured Severus Snape, but because the Sneakoscope in his hand was trembling.
Fifteen feet away, a sharp, hawk-like gaze locked onto him almost as soon as he'd spoken.
A man with slightly curly blond hair was also watching the street corner, the faint outline of a wand visible beneath his well-tailored suit. It was Rufus Scrimgeour, Head of the Auror Office.
When their eyes met on Snape's swaying figure, Scrimgeour's brows furrowed instantly, his expression as stern as the granite cliffs of Godric's Hollow.
"Don't just stand there!" Scrimgeour pushed through the crowd, striding toward Adam. The wind from his raised hand nearly lifted the hood of Adam's cloak.
"It's dangerous…" His words cut off abruptly.
The boy he'd meant to grab by the collar slipped down the chair like a mischievous Niffler, pointing toward the alley's entrance.
"Great to see you, Mr. Scrimgeour, but if you don't hurry, that guy might get away."
Scrimgeour's wand was already in his hand, his eyes flicking to the familiar boy.
"Last time I saw you, you were directing Aurors from the back of a dragon. You're not planning to…"
"You don't think I'm about to chase him myself, do you? Sorry, I'm a bit young for that kind of responsibility."
Adam shrugged, casually taking an ice cream from a stunned Sherry beside him.
The cool sweetness of blueberry burst across his tongue, making his eyes light up.
"Aren't you going? It's pretty safe here, with all the Ministry Aurors around."
Adam licked the melting ice cream, glancing up at the Auror Office Head.
"But you'd better hurry. Tonks' Disguise Charm might've passed her N.E.W.T., but this is clearly her first stealth mission as an Auror."
He tilted his chin toward a figure in a tweed skirt—an "old witch" who froze, her Daily Prophet shaking loudly, revealing half her face slathered in garish rouge. It was Tonks, her wild, explosive hair unmistakable.
"Gotta say, her disguise is awful. An old witch from Knockturn Alley holding a newspaper to hide her face? She'd blend in better with a string of dead men's fingernails."
Scrimgeour's mouth twitched, his expression a mix of exasperation and amusement as he gave Adam a long look.
"Kid, you've got the makings of an Auror. That bit about criminals returning to the scene is spot-on, but never put yourself in danger."
His face quickly hardened again as he turned to Tonks, barking, "Write a two-inch-thick report when you're back!"
Tonks: "???"
Scrimgeour stormed off toward Snape, his no-nonsense demeanor earning a nod from Adam, who hopped back onto the chair, munching his blueberry ice cream and watching the scene unfold.
In the distance, Snape instinctively stepped back as Scrimgeour approached. The two began talking, their expressions grim.
Adam took the chance to study Snape's leg injury. It wasn't caused by a spell—it looked like a bite from some creature.
If he wasn't mistaken, it resembled a dragon bite, though it could be something else. An adult dragon's bite would've severed the leg entirely unless the dragon was severely weakened.
Adam knew these wounds well. He'd seen them plenty of times on Norberta, the hot-tempered dragon who often brawled with the other dragon in Newt's case. Norberta wasn't fond of Newt tending her wounds, so Adam usually stepped in to apply the salve, collecting dragon scales and blood for his alchemy projects along the way.
As he pondered what kind of dragon might've left those marks, Sherry tugged his sleeve, signaling someone approaching.
Adam looked down to see Tonks' resentful face glaring at him, her teeth practically grinding.
"You little brat! To think I wrote to Professor Dumbledore, worried about you…"
Adam coughed lightly, glancing at the scene before hopping off the chair and swiftly changing the subject.
"Look, I said that for your own good. Didn't you notice? Those wizards from Knockturn Alley were steering clear of you, and plenty had their hands on their wands."
"If a fight had broken out, you, an exposed Auror, would've been hit by spells from a dozen directions."
Tonks raised an eyebrow, her voice icy. "So you're not denying you did that on purpose?"
"Cough, well, I saved you this time, didn't I? No need for a big dinner—just buy me a couple of ice creams, and we're square."
Adam said this with a straight face, subtly taking Sherry's hand while eyeing the nearest escape route.
"You…"
Tonks' forehead veins pulsed as her disguised brown hair flickered back to fiery red, teetering on the edge of blackening, while Sherry watched in astonishment.
The three sat on a carved iron bench outside Florean Fortescue's ice cream stall, the seat still warm from the afternoon sun.
Sherry licked a double-scoop cone, the vanilla and strawberry flavors mingling with the magical sweetness unique to the wizarding world. It was delightful.
"So, you're starting Hogwarts in September too, like this little troublemaker?"
Tonks' hair shimmered bubblegum pink, her silver hoop earrings jangling as she turned to Adam with a scowl.
"Tch, can't you eat less? Stuffing your face with that much ice cream—you're not afraid of a stomachache?"
Unlike their double-scoop cones, Adam had somehow conjured a silver goblet piled high with seventeen vibrant ice cream scoops.
"If you've got time to worry about that, maybe think about how you're going to fudge that report instead," Adam said without looking up, digging into his ice cream mountain.
"It's your fault I'm in this mess!"
Tonks' bubblegum hair flickered red again, but after a moment of gritted teeth, she lowered her fist and turned to Sherry.
"Don't let this guy fool you. Not a single word he says is trustworthy."
Sherry, holding her cone, just smiled without responding.
"You saying that hurts my feelings, but I'm not one to hold grudges. I remember everyone who's helped me," Adam said, his spoon gliding over the intricate engravings on his goblet. He looked at Tonks with a serious expression.
"I promise, sometime in the future, I won't let you die—or anyone you care about."
"You?"
Tonks opened her mouth to retort, but her eyes caught sight of Ministry officials exiting Gringotts. She scarfed down the last of her cone and hurried over.
Soon after, Newt, carrying a suitcase, and Dumbledore approached.
Adam's eyes went straight to Dumbledore. Those blue eyes behind half-moon glasses were as wise and kind as ever, with no trace of magical pressure.
"Professor…"
"Adam…"
They spoke at the same time. Dumbledore's gaze flickered, as if he'd guessed something. He raised a hand to stop Adam, his voice calm and gentle.
"It seems you have many questions for me, but first, we need to address a small problem…"
He paused, glancing at the young witch beside Adam.
"And it concerns Miss Sherry as well."