Harry, drained from days of mental strain, collapsed into a corner of the Shrieking Shack and fell into a deep sleep. Argus, though not as exhausted, felt his eyelids grow heavy watching his friend. Rubbing his eyes, he glanced at the Time-Turner around his neck—less than three hours until he could slip back to the original timeline.
"Fawkes, stick around until morning," he said to the phoenix perched nearby. "I'll need your help first thing."
Fawkes, who had served Dumbledore for years, tilted his head knowingly. He sensed the gravity of Argus's request, especially since Dumbledore wouldn't have parted with a tail feather lightly.
A night's rest revived them both. Argus checked the Time-Turner again—plenty of time left. He patted Fawkes's fiery head. "You've been on watch all night? Thanks for the hard work."
The phoenix trilled, flapping away as if unaccustomed to the affection. The noise roused Harry.
"Argus? Why are we up so early?" Harry yawned, sitting up. "Heading back to Hogwarts?"
"Not yet," Argus replied. "I need to go first and sort things out. Then I'll fetch you. Remember, to everyone else, you're still missing. Don't show your face until the timeline's fixed, or we'll both be in hot water."
Harry nodded, still groggy. Argus borrowed the Invisibility Cloak for good measure. "Fawkes, keep an eye on him. No wandering off to the Room of Requirement or anywhere else."
With that, Argus slipped out toward the castle under the cloak's perfect shroud—one of the Deathly Hallows, far superior to the demiguise-hair versions that shimmered faintly under scrutiny. This one rendered him utterly invisible, silent as a ghost unless someone brushed against him.
The castle buzzed with gossip about Harry's disappearance and the stolen Time-Turner. Percy had let the secret slip in his panic; even a minor mishap with the device could unravel time itself. Argus tuned it out, weaving through professors and students unnoticed. He smirked inwardly—such a treasure wasted on Harry, who barely appreciated its nuances.
No need to swap cloaks now; Dumbledore would spot the difference in a heartbeat. Plenty of chances later to "borrow" it properly.
Spotting his past self stirring toward the Room of Requirement, Argus headed to the first-floor girls' bathroom. Since the Chamber of Secrets' discovery, the place was deserted, save for Moaning Myrtle's eternal lament.
"Waaah... No one ever visits. I could vanish into this toilet and nobody would care..."
The ghost plunged into a stall with a splash. Argus sidestepped her ethereal form, suppressing a sigh. Poor kid—bullied to death by the basilisk, doomed to haunt these pipes forever.
He waited, ears straining. Footsteps echoed—his own from the unaltered timeline. The Time-Turner hummed; time to go. He stepped out, shed the cloak, and merged back seamlessly. The illusory duplicate faded, mission accomplished.
Cloaked once more, Argus returned to the Shrieking Shack. Fawkes grasped them both in a blaze of fire, Apparating straight to the Headmaster's office.
They materialized amid a swirl of light. Dumbledore's eyes widened in shock, locking onto Harry beside Argus. He shot to his feet, a rare tremor in his voice.
"Argus... Harry!" The old wizard's calm facade cracked, his hands shaking as he approached. For him, mere minutes had passed since reports of Harry's vanishing—eternity in worry.
Argus clapped Harry on the back. "Mission complete, Headmaster."
Harry stared at the floor, shamefaced. Dumbledore had braced for catastrophe: rallying the Wizengamot, every top wizard in the International Confederation. They'd even storm Nurmengard if needed. Yet here they were, safe.
"You've outdone yourself this time," Dumbledore said, gripping Argus's shoulder. His relief was palpable, laced with regret for his earlier rash decisions. "If not for you... well, let's not dwell. Sigh."
"Fawkes pulled his weight too," Argus said, eyeing the phoenix settling into his perch. Envy flickered—loyal beasts like that were one in a million. How had the Dumbledores snagged one?
Dumbledore beckoned Fawkes closer. "Ah, that explains your midnight jaunt. The feather I lent you?"
"Feather and tears both," Argus admitted with a wry smile. "They came in handy."
Dumbledore chuckled, the tension easing. But Argus's mind raced ahead. This success was leverage—time to press for more favors, more resources. The old man owed him big, and Argus intended to collect.
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