The long, winding ascent up the black marble staircase from the Chamber of Secrets felt infinitely lighter than the descent. The crushing weight of the unknown had been replaced by the quiet, professional hum of a completed mission.
As the vanguard breached the surface of the second-floor lavatory, stepping past the tarnished copper tap, the sheer mundanity of Moaning Myrtle's bathroom was a stark, jarring contrast to the cavern of bones below.
Amelia Bones didn't pause for dramatic effect. She snapped out orders the moment her boots hit the damp tiles.
"Kingsley," Amelia commanded, her voice cutting through the echoing drip of the faucets. "Coordinate the evacuation of the injured. Take our casualty directly to the Hospital Wing. Ensure Madam Pomfrey stabilizes the blunt-force trauma before initiating transport to St. Mungo's. Also, You can recall the Aurors stationed at school perimeter. No point in keeping them in the dark."
"Understood, Madam Bones," Kingsley rumbled, his deep voice soothing. He moved swiftly, directing two members to carefully levitate the unconscious Hit Wizard who had taken the brunt of the Basilisk's tail.
"The rest of the primary containment team," Amelia continued, addressing her remaining subordinates, "maintain a secure perimeter on this corridor. I want a localized Intruder Detection Spells placed on this specific doorway until the harvest teams arrive in the morning. No one enters or leaves without my direct authorization."
"Yes, Ma'am."
Amelia turned her sharp, monocled gaze back to the Headmaster. "Albus. I suggest we conduct the debrief in a more secure, and considerably less fragrant, location."
Dumbledore nodded solemnly, his blue eyes tired but resolute. "My office, Amelia."
The procession reformed, significantly smaller now, and moved silently through the quiet, darkened corridors of the castle. The tension had ebbed, but a profound exhaustion had settled over the group.
They reached the stone gargoyle, ascended the spiral staircase, and entered the warm, inviting sanctuary of the Headmaster's office. The silver instruments continued their rhythmic, indifferent puffing. Fawkes the Phoenix, having returned from his spectacular, blinding assault, was perched contentedly on his golden stand, preening a slightly singed tail feather.
Dumbledore waved a hand gracefully toward the mismatched chairs and plush sofas scattered around the room. "Please, make yourselves comfortable."
He didn't wait for them to settle before clapping his hands twice.
CRACK.
A Hogwarts house-elf appeared instantly, bowing so low its nose scraped the rug.
"Tea, if you please, Mipsy," Dumbledore requested gently. "And a generous assortment of biscuits and sandwiches. We have had a rather demanding evening."
The elf vanished, returning seconds later levitating a massive, laden silver tray. The aroma of Earl Grey, warm scones, and roasted meats filled the office, providing a much-needed anchor to reality.
They all sank into the chairs with varying degrees of weary relief. Dumbledore took his place behind his desk, pouring a cup of tea.
"A job well done," Dumbledore said softly, raising his teacup toward the Head of the DMLE. "Thank you, Amelia. For your swift response, and the absolute professionalism of your team. You prevented a tragedy within these walls tonight."
Amelia Bones accepted a cup from the floating tray, her expression softening marginally as she looked at the old man.
She had never been one to blindly follow Albus Dumbledore, nor had she ever truly hated him. As a person, she saw his flaws—his tendency to hoard secrets, his frustrating penchant for playing games with people's lives for the 'Greater Good'. Yet, she also recognized the profound, unyielding goodness at his core. That inherent morality had earned her grudging, permanent respect.
It was a complex relationship. She had lost a devastating amount of blood relatives—brothers, sisters-in-law, cousins—during the First Wizarding War, primarily because they had been loyal members of Dumbledore's Order of the Phoenix. She was acutely aware of the cost of his leadership.
Yet, looking at him now, weary and relieved, she could not bring herself to blame him for the fact that she was left with only her niece, Susan, as family. He had fought the darkness, just as she did every day at the Ministry.
"It was a team effort, Albus," Amelia replied simply, her voice losing its harsh edge. "Truly."
She turned her attention to the remaining members of her team standing near the door, ensuring the perimeter was secure.
"Good work, everyone," Amelia announced, her tone shifting to one of fierce, protective pride. "You executed a textbook Class XXXXX containment protocol flawlessly. We engaged a mythical apex predator with zero fatalities, and only a single, non-critical casualty. That is a monumental bonus for the Department."
She took a sip of her tea, her gaze then shifting to the two youngest people in the room, sitting stiffly on a sofa near Professor McGonagall.
"And you two as well," Amelia said, her monocle glinting as she fixed them with a serious stare. "It is one thing to read about a Basilisk in a textbook. It is entirely another to stand your ground when sixty feet of armored death is thrashing inches from your face."
Harry Potter shifted uncomfortably, staring down at his hands, his face still pale from the sheer adrenaline and terror of the encounter.
Orion sat perfectly still, sipping his tea with the aristocratic composure of a young lord at a garden party.
"You were quite brave, both of you," Amelia commended them genuinely. "Casting combat spells at a beast of that magnitude... not many fully-trained hit wizards manage that. Most adults are simply struck by paralyzing fear."
She leaned forward, her sharp eyes locking onto Orion.
"I specifically noted one spell during the chaotic exchange, Mr. Malfoy," Amelia said, her voice dropping into a tone of intense, professional curiosity. "The Avis charm. A localized flock, directed with aggressive intent to blind the target. That is firmly a N.E.W.T. level, sixth-year spell. Yet, you cast it as casually as a first-year casting a lighting charm."
The silence in the office shifted from exhausted relief to sudden, focused attention. McGonagall and Snape exchanged a swift, complex look, as if just realizing it. Dumbledore peered over his half-moon spectacles.
Orion didn't blink. He set his teacup down on its saucer with a soft clink.
"I have dedicated a significant portion of my free time to practice, Madam Bones," Orion answered smoothly, projecting an aura of modest academic dedication. "And I have been incredibly fortunate to have exceptional mentors guiding my foundational theory."
He gestured respectfully toward the Deputy Headmistress. "Professor McGonagall's lectures on the mechanics of Conjuration versus Transfiguration were... instrumental in refining my visualization techniques."
McGonagall's stern expression softened into a look of undeniable, fierce pride. "Mr. Malfoy possesses a rare analytical mind for magical theory," she affirmed quietly. "He grasps the why of a spell, not just the how."
Professor Flitwick, sitting on a stack of cushions near the fire, let out a sudden, squeaky chuckle.
"You have not seen Orion in a dueling scenario, Amelia," Flitwick chimed in, his eyes bright with enthusiasm. He shot a momentary, withering glare at Dumbledore. "I was profoundly disappointed when I missed it—due to administrative duties, alas—but from what I have heard from my Ravenclaws..."
Flitwick beamed at the Slytherin boy. "Orion created an absolute, theatrical light show during this year's Dueling Club. The control required to maintain independent luminescent orbs while casting offensive and defensive spells is staggering. Quite despite what happened later that day, it was a masterful display of applied Charms."
Amelia Bones stared at the twelve-year-old boy, re-evaluating her initial assessment. She didn't just see a wealthy pureblood heir anymore; she saw raw, terrifying potential wrapped in a polite, calculating facade.
"I see," Amelia murmured, a slow, impressed smile touching her lips. She raised her teacup toward him. "I suppose, Mr. Malfoy, we can see if you ever wish to join the Auror Department after you complete your O.W.L.s and N.E.W.T.s. We are always in need of individuals who can keep their heads in a crisis."
"I am deeply flattered by the offer, Madam Bones," Orion replied, offering a smooth, shallow bow from his seat. "I shall certainly keep the Ministry in mind when considering my future career paths."
I'd rather eat dirt than work in a cubicle, Orion thought dryly, maintaining his polite smile.
The conversation settled back into a comfortable lull, the adrenaline completely draining from the room, replaced by the heavy, soothing comfort of the hot tea and the knowledge that the castle was safe.
Until a cold, silky voice cut through the warmth like a perfectly sharpened blade.
"While the recruitment of my students is a fascinating diversion," Professor Snape drawled, stepping out of the shadows near the bookshelves, his black eyes glinting with a terrifying, predatory hunger.
He looked directly at Amelia Bones, his expression one of absolute, unyielding business.
"I believe," Snape continued, his voice a dangerous, silken purr, "I recalled you mentioning the harvesting of the Basilisk specimen tomorrow morning, Madam Bones?"