"She's written her own legendary chapter in the history of magic, a deeply respected and trusted elder. It's a pity that, even now, I've never had the chance to speak with her, not even a few short words."
Dumbledore's gentle voice drifted from nearby. He sat behind his desk, lightly holding a teacup, the steam from the tea fogging his half-moon glasses. The old man looked at Adam with a warm smile in his eyes.
"She's just a mean old witch who likes pinching kids…"
Adam muttered under his breath, head lowered.
Suddenly, he felt a dangerous gaze from the portrait behind him. He whipped around, but the frame was already empty.
"Sorry, Adam, forgive an old man whose hearing isn't what it used to be. What did you just say?" Dumbledore asked.
"Nothing…" Adam sat across from the desk, raising his wand to stop the sugar cubes from leaping into his teacup.
He took a sip and grimaced—the sweetness was practically syrup.
Meeting Dumbledore's curious gaze, he responded softly, "Alright, I was just curious. Professor McGonagall said something similar before the Sorting Ceremony."
"It's from a passage in a certain notebook. If you're interested, you can check the bookshelf. But that's not what we're here to discuss," Dumbledore said, observing Adam's expression. With a light tap on the desk, a glass of chilled watermelon juice appeared in front of Adam.
"Does this have to do with the explosion I saw on the Hogwarts Express?" Adam asked, hesitating after a moment of thought.
"Sharp as ever. You must have seen that dragon flame shooting into the sky on the train. That was the ruckus caused by a clash between dark wizards and Aurors… oh, and Newt and his friends, of course," Dumbledore said, sliding a letter across the desk.
Adam recognized Newt's handwriting instantly, the parchment edged with a tiny Niffler stamp—Newt's usual letter seal.
The letter detailed how, after leaving King's Cross, Newt spotted a frail Bowtruckle on a Muggle street in London. Following its trail, he and the Aurors stumbled upon a smugglers' camp. The moment the dark wizards noticed them, they raised their wands without a word.
"Cedric wasn't wrong, then…" Adam said, carefully reading every line on the parchment while mulling it over. He then relayed what Cedric had told him earlier that day.
"In a way, this is deeply tied to you. The dark wizards Newt encountered might very well be the same group from two months ago," Dumbledore said, gazing out the window with a thoughtful, distant look.
"Those dark wizards still haven't been caught?" Adam frowned.
"The Ministry's only had a few Aurors keep an eye on the situation. They haven't issued any orders to crack down on the smugglers," Dumbledore replied with a nod, his tone tinged with frustration.
"Are these smugglers backed by pure-blood families?" Adam asked.
"It seems our Minister of Magic thinks a few interviews in The Daily Prophet are more important than actual results," Dumbledore said wryly.
Adam recalled his time detained at the Ministry, when Dumbledore's proposals in the meeting were overshadowed by the swift, effective influence of gold Galleons sprinkled by someone like Shirley in the shadows.
"Sounds like Tonks mentioned quite a bit in her letter to you. I thought she was just worried about you," Dumbledore said, removing his glasses and rubbing his temples with a hint of exasperation.
"No, she was just worried. She only mentioned a few things at the end. The rest is my guess," Adam said calmly, glancing at the large mirror in the room. After a brief pause, he continued, "So, Professor, are you telling me—"
"Not to go after the heirs of those pure-blood families?" Dumbledore finished for him, a helpless smile spreading across his face, tacitly confirming it.
"I can assure you, no one will bother you. Those children were strictly warned by their elders before coming to Hogwarts not to cross you," Dumbledore added.
Adam frowned instinctively. "Am I that scary? To those pure-blood families, I'm just a kid."
"Not many can tame a dragon with ease. There was once a Dragon Whisperer who, single-handedly, led all the black dragons of the Hebrides Islands to raze a certain family's castle to the ground…" Dumbledore said warmly, taking a sip of his tea. "And I mean razed—in one night, that castle was reduced to a few foundation stones."
"But I'm not… wait, those articles in the paper—did you write them?" Adam turned to the old man, his tone curious but his gaze certain.
"I merely sent some old records about Dragon Whisperers to the newspaper. After all, those mysterious wizards have been absent from history for far too long…" Dumbledore said, winking at him with a smile. "So now, they all think you're some long-lost heir of a Viking family."
"Alright, fine. I never hold a grudge…" Adam said, finally picking up the watermelon juice and downing it. The cool, sweet taste lifted his spirits. "But only if those pure-blood families don't try anything sneaky behind my back. After all, I let them keep a fortune in Galleons."
"So you're not denying that today's incident was intentional?" Dumbledore called after him, his tone gentle but firm. "Promise me you won't do that again. Poor Minerva was really at her wit's end—I've never seen her say so much at a Sorting Ceremony."
Dumbledore waved lightly. "Goodnight, Adam. I hope you enjoy life at Hogwarts."
"Goodnight, Professor," Adam replied, pushing open the oak door of the Headmaster's office. The brass knocker gave a soft clink behind him.
In the corridor, the flickering wall lamps cast the shadow of the stone gargoyle onto the wall. Adam paused, studying it. Even before entering, he'd noticed this gargoyle was unlike any alchemical creation he'd seen before. Its movements were too lifelike, almost as if it had a mind of its own.
The gargoyle crouched by the wall, its front paws crossed in a lazily elegant pose, its stone eyes half-closed as if dozing. The scales on its back were etched with intricate, hidden runes that glowed faintly purple in the dim light.
As Adam pulled out a jar of glowing paint, ready to add a pair of comical mustaches to the gargoyle, a red-haired head poked out from the end of the corridor. "Hey, you're that new kid who took forever to get Sorted. Out for a night stroll on your first day at Hogwarts?"
"You're out of luck, mate. Filch is just around the next staircase. Oh, you probably don't know him yet—he's a grumpy old Squib who loves punishing rule-breaking students," another near-identical redhead chimed in, offering Adam a friendly warning.
A faint clatter came from the gargoyle beside him, like the sound of a jaw joint shifting. As Adam's paintbrush drew closer, the gargoyle's eyelids twitched almost imperceptibly, its front paws subtly retreating into the shadows as if ready to bolt.
When the two redheads got closer, Adam reluctantly lowered his brush. The gargoyle remained still, as if nothing had happened.
Adam blinked and whispered, "George and Fred?"
"Wow, a first-year already knows your name!" George said, nudging Fred with a grin.
"Didn't know you were that famous," Fred replied, slinging an arm around George's shoulder as they bantered back and forth.
As they continued their playful exchange, a series of loud pops and bangs echoed from downstairs, like fireworks going off, mixed with a few angry shouts.
"That sounds… familiar," George said, turning to Fred. "Did you forget to hide the Filibuster Fireworks we stashed in that empty office?"
Fred froze, staring back. "I thought you grabbed them before we went to the common room."
They stared at each other for a moment before George crouched down, dramatically patting the floor. "We're done for. That was our last batch…"
"It's all Percy's fault. Ever since he got here, he's been watching us like a hawk. No chance to sneak them back to the dorm," Fred grumbled.
Just then, a shiny new box of fireworks appeared in front of them. They looked up, startled, to see Adam's smiling face.
"My improved formula," Adam said. "More colors, steadier sparks, louder bangs… and most importantly, stable. You can bury them in fire or dunk them in water, and they'll still work with a flick of magic. You can even hide them in a book."
George blinked, dumbfounded, and turned to Fred, who looked equally stunned. "Did I hit my head on the Whomping Willow or something? Why does it feel like Merlin himself is standing here with a glowing box of fireworks?"
"Want to find out?" Fred said, pinching George's hand hard enough to make him wince. "How about we take Merlin's gift?"
Fred reached excitedly for the box, but Adam stepped back.
"I'll give you the fireworks, but first, you've got to help me with something," Adam said, a sly smile tugging at his lips. "Do you know where the Slytherin common room is? And, ideally, the password?"
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