The morning progressed toward departure time with the momentum that the last day of term always built—slow at first, then suddenly urgent, as though the castle itself had somewhere to be.
Adrian made his way down to the Entrance Hall, where students were gathering with their trunks and owls and the accumulated possessions of a school year, preparing to board the Thestral-drawn carriages that would carry them down to Hogsmeade station.
The noise was considerable and cheerful, filled by the occasional crash of a badly balanced trunk and the raised voices of friends locating each other across the crowd.
He had stood in this hall many times over the course of the year. It looked different now, not because anything in it had changed, but because he had.
He exchanged waves and nods with students as they spotted him through the crowd. It settled in his chest in a way he hadn't fully anticipated when he'd first accepted the teaching position. He had come to Hogwarts with specific purposes, specific goals. He had not expected to find community alongside them.
Hagrid was impossible to miss in any crowd, and the Entrance Hall was no exception. He emerged from the chaos like a boulder surfacing from a stream, his eyes were noticeably bright when he reached Adrian.
"Professor Westeros," he rumbled, lowering his voice to what he probably thought was a discreet volume. "Wanted ter say goodbye properly. Yeh did somethin' amazin' this year, yeh did. Saved Harry, saved all of us really. Hogwarts is lucky ter have yeh."
"Thank you, Hagrid," Adrian said sincerely. "And thank you for everything you contributed to lessons this year. Your knowledge of creatures is something no textbook can replicate."
Hagrid looked tremendously pleased by this, which was the intended effect and also genuinely true.
He produced a roughly wrapped package from somewhere in the depths of his enormous coat and held it out with an expression that suggested he was slightly uncertain of its reception.
Inside was a wooden carving of a Kneazle.
"Hagrid, this is extraordinary," Adrian said, turning it over in his hands. He meant it.
"Used ter do a bit o' carvin'," Hagrid said, with a slightly deflecting modesty looking not quite sure how to receive the compliment directly. "Thought yeh might like it, seein' as yeh taught about Kneazles an' all."
They talked for a few more minutes about his upcoming Romania trip, about the dragon reserves and what he hoped to see there, before a commotion near the door pulled Hagrid away to assist with a trunk that appeared to be attempting to walk down the front steps on its own.
Adrian watched him go with a feeling of warmth.
Professor Sprout found him next, appearing at his elbow with her arms full of small clay pots, each containing a plant in a different stage of life.
"For the plantation," she said, transferring three of the pots to him. "Cuttings from some of my rarer specimens. A Starbloom Creeper, a Whispering Sage, and something I've been cultivating for six years that doesn't have a proper name yet. They'll thrive in a pocket dimension—the soil conditions tend to be more controlled. These might prove useful for further study."
She was gone before he could fully respond, already redirecting a group of second-years who were heading toward the carriages in the wrong order.
Professor Flitwick arrived next, levitating a neat stack of books alongside him.
"Advanced texts on defensive magic," he explained. "I noticed your interest in the theoretical underpinnings after this year's events. The third volume in particular covers some principles that I think will speak to your situation—there's a chapter on the intersection of natural magic and learned enchantment that I found quite relevant when I read it with you in mind."
He set the books alongside the potted plants and gave Adrian a firm handshake, and then a second one because the first hadn't felt complete, and then departed.
Snape came last, and quietly, appearing when the crowd had thinned enough that the gesture couldn't be easily witnessed. He held out a single vial of deep purple potion without greeting.
"Dreamless Sleep," he said. "Properly brewed, not the commercial formulation, which is imprecise and produces unpleasant residual effects. After what you've been through, insomnia is the likely outcome. Use it if needed." He paused. "Don't use it excessively."
"Thank you, Severus," Adrian said.
Snape gave a single nod and left.
Adrian stood holding the vial for a moment, surrounded by carved Kneazles and potted plants and stacked books, and thought about how little he had expected this.
Adrian accepted these gifts with genuine gratitude, surprised by the thoughtfulness his colleagues had shown. For all the stereotype of Hogwarts teachers being too focused on their subjects to notice personal matters, they had clearly been paying attention to him throughout the year.
The scarlet engine pulled away from Hogsmeade station at eleven o'clock, its whistle cutting through the clear summer air, carrying several hundred students and exhausted teachers who served as escorts.
Adrian stood on the platform for a moment after it had gone, watching the smoke disperse against the blue sky.
The castle fell into sudden, profound quiet—that particular quality of silence that comes when a building meant to house hundreds is suddenly occupied by only a handful.
He spent the afternoon completing his packing, a task that turned out to be less about sorting objects and more about sitting with the year as he moved through what it had left behind.
By evening, the office was nearly bare.
As evening approached, he received a note via house-elf delivery, requesting his presence in the headmaster's office.
Dumbledore's office was exactly as always with the whirring silver instruments, the sleeping portraits, Fawkes was dozing on his perch. Dumbledore himself sat behind his desk with a pot of tea and an open tin of lemon drops, looking more relaxed than Adrian had seen him in months.
"Adrian," Dumbledore greeted him warmly. "Please, sit. Tea?"
"Thank you," Adrian said, accepting a cup and settling into the comfortable chair he'd occupied several times this year.
They sipped tea in comfortable silence for a moment before Dumbledore spoke.
"A remarkable year," he said thoughtfully. "Perhaps one of the most remarkable in Hogwarts' long history. Certainly, the most remarkable of my tenure as headmaster."
"That's saying something," Adrian replied, "given some of the years you've overseen."
Dumbledore smiled. "Indeed. But few years have seen the permanent defeat of a Dark Lord within their span. Few have witnessed a teacher single handedly defeating the most powerful and cruel dark wizard of the era. Few years have changed so much, so quickly."
He set down his teacup and studied Adrian with those penetrating blue eyes.
"Which brings me to the question I suspect you've been avoiding all week," Dumbledore continued gently. "Will you return next year, Adrian? Will you continue teaching at Hogwarts?"
Adrian had known this conversation was coming. Had been preparing for it, turning the question over in his mind during quiet moments throughout the past weeks. And yet, sitting here now with Dumbledore's attention focused on him, he found he still didn't have a complete answer.
"I don't know," he admitted honestly. "Part of me wants to return very much. I've found meaning in teaching that I didn't expect to find. I've come to care about these students, this community. The work matters to me in ways that surprised me."
"But?" Dumbledore said, gently, as though he already knew there was one.
"But I'm not the same person who accepted this position." Adrian looked for the right words and found them slowly.
"My reasons for coming were specific. I came for Harry, to watch over him and be close enough to act if Voldemort moved against him. I came to help locate the Horcruxes. I came to be useful in a particular crisis." He paused. "That crisis is resolved. Harry will be a sixth-year with a clear future ahead of him. The original reasons don't exist in the same form anymore."
Dumbledore nodded, listening.
"And there is Ariana," Adrian continued. "She is recovering remarkably but she is relearning herself after years of absence. Rebuilding her understanding of who she is and what she wants. I want to be present for that. Not away for most of the year, returning at intervals. I want to be her brother in something more than name during this particular time."
"These are honest reasons," Dumbledore said. "And I appreciate the honesty." He was quiet for a moment, turning something over in his own thoughts.
Then he asked, "What does the Tree want?"
Adrian blinked. "I'm sorry?"
"You and the Tree of Wisdom are merged—your consciousness and hers intertwined. Does she have preferences about this? Does she have a feeling about how you should spend your time?"
It was a question Adrian had not thought to ask directly, and he felt a slight embarrassment at the oversight. He sat with it for a moment, reaching in to his.
"Eldra's full consciousness is largely absorbed into mine now," He said slowly. "She communicates in instinct and inclination more than language. But when I ask—" He paused, genuinely attending to it. "She feels that returning is right. Not from logic. From something more like recognition. As though this is where a thread leads."
"She is wise indeed," Dumbledore said with a smile. "Though I suppose that's self-evident from the name."
Despite the weight of the conversation, Adrian found himself smiling too.
"Let me ask you something different," Dumbledore said, leaning forward slightly. "What do you want, Adrian? Not what your responsibilities seem to require. Not what you think would be the correct answer. What would bring you genuine satisfaction, if you had complete freedom to choose?"
The question opened something. Adrian was quiet for a moment, long enough that the fire shifted and a sleeping portrait murmured and resettled, and he let the quiet be what it needed to be.
"I want to teach," he said at last, and the truth of it was simple and clear once said aloud.
"I want to watch students grow and learn, to help them discover their own capabilities and confidence. I want to be part of this Hogwarts, this place that is my second home."
"Then perhaps," Dumbledore suggested gently, "the question is not whether to return, but how to return in a way that honors all your commitments and desires.
Would you consider a modified position? Perhaps teaching only part of the year, or sharing responsibilities with another professor like perhaps Hagrid, or arranging your schedule to allow for regular extended visits to your family and plantation?"
Adrian had not considered these possibilities. His thinking had been binary—either return fully or don't return at all. But Dumbledore's opened a third path, one that might accommodate the complexity of his situation.
"What would that look like practically?" he asked.
"That," Dumbledore said with evident satisfaction at having planted this seed, "would be for us to determine together. But I am quite flexible, Adrian. This school has survived for a thousand years by adapting to circumstances rather than rigidly maintaining tradition for its own sake. If you wish to teach, we can find a way to make it work that doesn't require you to sacrifice your other priorities."
They spent the next hour discussing possibilities—a position that involved teaching during term but with extended breaks for family visits, perhaps sharing some classes with Hagrid to reduce the overall workload, arranging his schedule to avoid back-to-back days so he could visit the plantation regularly via his portal.
By the end of the conversation, a rough framework had emerged that felt manageable rather than overwhelming.
"Think about it over the summer," Dumbledore said as their meeting drew to a close. "No pressure, no rush. But know that Hogwarts would be fortunate to have you back in whatever capacity works for you and your circumstances."
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