"Might I have a word, Professor... in my office."

  The sun hung low behind a blanket of thick grey clouds, casting the castle grounds in a soft, dull light. Shadows stretched long over the stone walls, and the air carried the crisp dampness of a late afternoon threatening rain.

  Maverick had just appeared above Hogwarts and was descending toward the tower that housed his office when he suddenly paused mid-flight, catching a faint sound in his ear.

  A glowing construct shimmered into view before him, wings outstretched majestically. As far as he knew, there was only one person in the world whose Patronus took the form of a phoenix.

  And from the sound of it, it seemed a bit urgent, so he got curious as well and changed course toward the spiraling tower of the Headmaster's office.

  He hadn't been back since the closing feast of the previous term, nor had he contacted Dumbledore or McGonagall. Normally, the staff returned a day or two before the students to go over lesson plans and discuss the general direction for the year ahead. It wasn't mandatory, but more of an unspoken rule—something all staff knew, or at least should know.

  Surely I'm not about to get a proper lecture? Maverick mused, half amused. Wouldn't that be something—his first telling-off as an employee... in either of his lives.

  A quiet chuckle escaped him. When he arrived outside the window, he saw the old man already inside, making a few odd gestures with his wand. Then, as if the wall itself had come alive, it split cleanly down the middle and parted with silent grace, creating a space just wide enough to let him through.

  It didn't seem like Transfiguration, but rather a built-in feature of the castle—woven into the wards for convenience, and likely something only the Headmaster could command.

  His boots touched down gently on the stone floor as he stepped through, and he saw it wasn't just Dumbledore inside—McGonagall, Flitwick, and Snape were present as well.

  "I feel like a bad employee now," Maverick joked with a faint smile, making his way around the desk before settling into the seat beside McGonagall.

  "How was your summer, Professor?"

  "It was good, Professor Caesar," McGonagall said with a small smile. "And yours? I take it things went well on your end?"

  "Fantastic," Maverick replied, settling comfortably into his chair as he glanced around the room.

  "That's good to hear, Professor Caesar," Dumbledore chimed in, his eyes twinkling in that familiar way. "We were just going over a few last-minute details for the year—before the students arrive."

  Glancing across the four of them, he went on,

  "Earlier this morning, a delegation from the Ministry of Magic paid us a visit to discuss school security. As you are no doubt aware, a dangerous criminal is still at large... and the Minister fears he may attempt to breach the grounds in pursuit of the students."

  Without pause, he continued, "As such, Dementors will be stationed around the outer perimeter of the castle... namely at the gates and along the boundaries where the wards taper off."

  "I ask for your cooperation in this matter," he said, letting his gaze rest briefly on each of them in turn. "More importantly, caution the students not to provoke the creatures under any circumstances."

  "While the Minister assures me they are fully under control and pose no threat to the children…" Dumbledore paused, his expression growing more serious, "…I would still prefer our students be properly warned to keep well away from them. In other words... No testing limits, no attempts to interact—" his eyes twinkled faintly as they settled on McGonagall, "especially from those with a reputation for curiosity and courage."

  Maverick held back a chuckle. That last bit was definitely aimed at McGonagall, as her house did have the biggest troublemakers, after all.

  The meeting continued, mostly to brief the professors about the Dementors and to share a few details Dumbledore couldn't openly mention during the upcoming opening feast. That, and the matter of the new Defence Against the Dark Arts professor, were the main points of discussion.

  The fact that the new Defence Against the Dark Arts professor was a werewolf couldn't be kept from everyone—certainly not from those present in the room. So Dumbledore took the time to explain everything in advance: why he had chosen the man for the position, the precautions he'd taken, and the safety measures that would be in place should anything go wrong.

  Basically, it came down to the simple fact that capable candidates were hard to come by, and although Lupin had his condition, he was at least competent where it counted.

  A few remarks were made—mostly by Snape, and judging from his expression, he wasn't pleased in the slightest. Still, he acquiesced in the end, albeit reluctantly.

  Flitwick seemed more neutral, if a little curious, and McGonagall said nothing at all—likely because she already knew everything, or perhaps she was the one who had chosen to hire Lupin in the first place.

  Maverick kept his thoughts to himself on both matters, simply nodding along and following the discussion in silence. Within the hour, the meeting wrapped up, and the professors returned to their offices to prepare for the evening feast.

  "Professor Caesar, thank you for agreeing to join us so promptly after your arrival," Dumbledore said once the others had left. "I hear you took the boy… traveling?"

  "I did. Him and Granger, actually. Just a bit of cross-exposure practice," Maverick replied. He could tell the old man had more on his mind, so he remained behind, and sure enough, the old man wanted to ask about Potter.

  "That's good. I would very much like to see the boy's progress."

  "Not much yet. But he should be ahead of the others in his year. The kid's a natural when it comes to dueling, Headmaster. He and Granger. Granger's even better, to be honest."

  Dumbledore smiled gently. "Then would you consider making it official? Taking them as your disciples?"

  Maverick raised a brow, then shook his head. "Not yet. Maybe after they graduate."

  "I see," Dumbledore said simply, letting the matter drop. After a pause, he changed topic again. "What are your thoughts on Sirius Black?"

  "Sirius black?" Maverick wasn't expecting to be asked so directly. He paused, weighing whether to share his plan—and the fact that he had already found the fugitive.

  Best to keep things to myself for now, he thought, and maybe tell the old man later, perhaps before handing Pettigrew over to the Ministry.

  After carefully choosing his words, he said, "I've read a bit about the case. Honestly, quite a few things don't sit right with me." He glanced at the Headmaster and, with a thoughtful expression, spoke his mind.

  "Everything about his life before that day paints the picture of a very different man than the monster they claim he became. I don't believe he was the perfect spy. And then there's the trial... or rather, the complete lack of one."

  "It seems you've read more than just a bit, Professor," Dumbledore remarked with a twinkle.

  Maverick waved it off. "Spare me. I only paid attention because Potter was involved."

  Dumbledore chuckled, and he didn't seem the least bit worried about the so-called "dangerous" criminal, whom he had emphasized moments ago in the meeting.

  Maverick was sure the old man knew about the inconsistencies too—but why he hadn't pressed the Ministry or investigated further was unclear. Maybe he had, and Maverick just didn't know.

  "Very well, Professor. I shall see you at the feast," Dumbledore said, signaling the end of the matter.

  With that, Maverick gave a nod and took his leave. In just a few hours, the quiet halls of the castle would fill with noise and laughter—marking the start of a brand new school year.

  ---

  Two hours later.

  The Great Hall was now fully prepared to welcome the new school year, with floating candles casting a warm glow from above and the banners of the four houses hanging proudly overhead, gently swaying in a breeze that wasn't really there.

  Some of the professors—Flitwick, Sprout, Sinistra, Trelawney, and Pomfrey—were already seated at the high table, dressed in formal robes for the occasion. The Headmaster and the others were still making last-minute preparations or on their way, while Professor McGonagall was likely out to meet the students arriving from Hogsmeade Station.

  Meanwhile, today Maverick wore a sleek black robe trimmed with faint crimson lines, layered over a crisp white shirt neatly tucked into black trousers and polished boots.

  After sorting out a few things in his office and freshening up the old-fashioned way, he made his way toward the Great Hall as well. And just as he reached the entrance, he spotted Hagrid approaching from the opposite direction.

  He raised an eyebrow. The man's familiar umbrella was present as always, but it wasn't what drew his attention. The half-giant was dressed far more formally than usual, and his wild beard had actually been combed. Something was definitely going on.

  "How do I look, Professor?" Hagrid asked proudly, puffing out his chest with a grin.

  "Uh... very... gentlemanly," Maverick told him half honestly. He did look the part—at least compared to how he usually carried himself.

  And in the next moment, he saw the large man's eyes welling up with tears.

  Did I say something wrong? Maverick wondered, a twitch forming at the corner of his eye.

  Should I have said handsome?

  "Mr... Hagrid—"

  The gatekeeper quickly switched the umbrella in his hand to the other side and pulled out a worn handkerchief from his coat pocket, dabbing at his eyes.

  "It's wonderful... I've been waiting for this day for so long." His voice cracked a little. The more he spoke, the more Maverick found himself confused—until a memory clicked into place.

  Right. Wasn't Hagrid supposed to be appointed as the Care of Magical Creatures professor this year? But that only happened after certain events... and those events hadn't happened. So how?

  "I'm sorry, Hagrid," Maverick said, stepping closer. "I wasn't around the school this summer, so I've no idea what you're talking about. Mind filling me in?"

  "Oh... right!" Hagrid's expression brightened into his usual innocent grin. "Well, Headmaster Dumbledore… don't know how he did it, but he somehow found new evidence, somethin' solid. Brought forward the real culprit or somethin' from that Chamber of Secrets business fifty years ago. Even got Myrtle's testimony… yer know… the ghost girl?"

  Maverick nodded slowly, listening.

  "Anyway, with all that, the Ministry lifted my ban... the one they slapped on me for bein' the 'alleged killer of Myrtle'. So now I'm cleared! Free to use my wand proper." Hagrid beamed with pride.

  Maverick glanced at the large pink umbrella in Hagrid's hand. "Isn't your wand always hidden in there?"

  "Shhh, shhh!" Hagrid hissed, holding up a hand quickly and glancing around. Then he grinned again. "Yer right, Professor. But now I don't have to hide it anymore, see? It's just... part of my style now." He raised his bushy eyebrows up and down in exaggerated fashion, clearly pleased with himself.

  "Right," Maverick said slowly, dragging out the word as he eyed the big man. It seemed Dumbledore had pulled a few strings, and somehow, things had conveniently fallen into place. Maverick had no idea what sort of evidence the old man had even managed to dig up—other than Myrtle's testimony, maybe.

  Not that he cared all that much. Honestly, he didn't even want to know. He glanced back at Hagrid, who was still grinning stupidly at him with that same goofy smile, and said, "Well, I'm happy for you, Mr. Hagrid. And I take it you've been given a new position?"

  "That's right!" Hagrid puffed out his chest even more. "Yer lookin' at the new Care of Magical Creatures professor! Professor Kettleburn's retired... bless him... and the Headmaster asked me to step in. We're real colleagues now, eh?"

  Maverick returned a grin of his own, genuinely pleased for the man. "Congratulations. I look forward to working with you, Mr. Hagrid... uh no, it should be Professor Hagrid now, right? I've no doubt you'll make an excellent teacher."

  Hagrid looked absolutely over the moon. His cheeks flushed a deep shade of red that, to Maverick, looked… frankly weird af on a man that size.

  With a cheery wave, Hagrid said, "Right then! I'll be off to pick up the little ones. See you in a bit, Professor!"

  Maverick nodded, smiling as he stepped aside to let the half-giant pass. Hagrid then lumbered off, practically bouncing like an oversized kid on Christmas morning.

  Shaking his head amusedly, Maverick then strolled off toward the professors' table.

  —————————

  The start-of-term feast was just minutes away, and the Great Hall hummed with quiet anticipation. Floating candles glowed softly overhead, their warm light dancing across the polished golden plates set neatly on the long house tables. Everything was in place, and all that remained was for the students to arrive and bring the hall back to life.

  At the high table, Maverick settled in among his colleagues, exchanging light conversation as the rest of the staff gradually filled their seats. Before long, Headmaster Dumbledore arrived too, though from the corner of his eye, Maverick noticed that the usual twinkle in the old man's eyes was strangely missing tonight.

  Dumbledore did not take his seat right away, but instead walked straight over to Pomfrey and leaned in to whisper something to her. Whatever he said must not have been anything good, as Maverick saw her expression change at once before she stood up and left the hall without a word.

  Only then did Dumbledore take his place at the center of the table still clad in a thoughtful expression, eyes fixed ahead in quiet contemplation.

  Seems the news of the Dementors going rogue has reached the school, Maverick thought as he glanced inquisitively at the Headmaster.

  The tale has been illicitly lifted; should you spot it on Amazon, report the violation.

  The old man did not hide anything from him and first let out a tired sigh before saying softly, "I have received word that there were complications aboard the Hogwarts Express. The Ministry conducted an inspection mid-journey, employing Dementors, and, regrettably, a few students suffered mental injuries."

  So, Dumbledore wasn't aware that a raid was happening?

  Maverick had assumed the Headmaster was in the loop about the inspection, but it seemed he wasn't. And Fudge—the fat moron—really wasn't taking the old wizard seriously at all.

  "Is it bad?"

  "A night or two in the hospital wing," Dumbledore nodded regretfully.

  "Did the Minister not inform you in advance of such an arrangement?"

  The old wizard narrowed his eyes before shaking his head. "Had I known, I would never have agreed… or at least arranged for personnel to be on board."

  Maverick didn't press any further and simply shook his head. "Your patience with Fudge is simply remarkable, Headmaster."

  "I shall have a word with him," Dumbledore said, picking up on what Maverick was implying. "This matter will not go unaccounted for."

  The old man looked as calm as ever, but Maverick could tell he was royally pissed this time.

  ---

  Time passed, minute by minute, and soon the Great Hall filled with the low murmur of voices as students from second to seventh year gathered at their house tables.

  But unlike the usual start-of-term excitement, there wasn't much laughter echoing off the stone walls. Instead, nearly every conversation circled back to the same thing... what had happened on the Hogwarts Express and what everyone had gone through.

  A few students sat quietly, looking pale and withdrawn, clearly still shaken or worried about the friends who had been taken straight to the hospital wing.

  The rest were more talkative, eagerly recounting what they had seen, with no shortage of dramatic embellishments. A few even claimed to have seen the Dementors up close, describing them with wide eyes and voices that grew more theatrical with every retelling.

  One in particular—Weasley, of course—was loudly retelling how his best mate had heroically repelled a Dementor with a majestic lion Patronus, saving the entire train in the process.

  Some students were impressed. Others weren't buying it.

  At the Slytherin table, a certain blond boy cast a long look toward the Gryffindor side, his gaze landing on Harry with a complicated expression. While their relationship hadn't quite sunken to the level of "arch-enemies" in this universe, there was still an unspoken rivalry between them.

  And at the moment, Draco Malfoy was cursing under his breath. Potter had outdone him again. Top of the class, star of the school Quidditch team—and now this?

  When the Dementors boarded the train, Draco didn't dare move an inch. And now, he had to sit there and listen to everyone talk about how Potter had actually fought one off.

  Of course, he didn't believe every word of the redhead's story, but even Draco had heard from others that a blinding flash of light had erupted from the carriage where Potter and his gang had been sitting. That part, at least, seemed to be true.

  At the high table, the professors sat with unusually grim expressions, and not one of them looked particularly pleased. They had only just learned what had happened, as Dumbledore had been uncharacteristically quiet, speaking only briefly—and only to Maverick.

  Even so, a shared thought seemed to hang in the air between them: what in Merlin's name had the Ministry been thinking? Sending Dementors to patrol a train full of children?

  Fortunately, someone among them had been on board, and although this particular individual's appointment hadn't been formally announced yet, he was still a professor. And judging by the chatter among the students, the new professor, Remus Lupin, had played a major role in protecting everyone and driving the creatures away.

  As for Potter's supposed feat—casting a corporeal Patronus in third year?—none of the staff were inclined to believe it.

  Of course, had they known the boy had been, and still was, personally mentored by an Archmage for over a year, they might have thought differently. But Maverick hadn't told anyone, and neither had Dumbledore. Even the Gryffindor trio had kept it to themselves, just as Maverick had instructed.

  Meanwhile, Maverick's gaze landed on a particular wizard who had just taken a seat at the staff table. The man was dressed in a tattered robe patched at nearly every seam, the sort of clothing that hinted more at survival than style. He looked exhausted, like someone who had only just managed to escape a storm—figuratively or otherwise.

  Though his face was still youthful, streaks of white threaded through his brown hair, suggesting he'd lived through more than his years should allow.

  This man was none other than the very professor the staff table had been praising for his prompt yet expected actions during the Hogwarts Express incident—Remus Lupin.

  And just as the man sat down, Maverick's magical sense caught a sudden flicker of intense malice—but it wasn't aimed at him. He turned his head and saw that it came from none other than Snape, directed squarely at the newcomer.

  The Potions Master was glaring at the newly arrived professor with such hatred, it was almost comical. His silver fork bent in his hand with a sharp ting, and his face twisted into something between a sneer and a snarl—like he had just laid eyes on a personal nemesis.

  Good lord. Just how much had Lupin and his gang bullied the old bat to make him hold onto this much hatred? Maverick thought, shaking his head with a hint of amusement.

  "Right then," as if on cue, Dumbledore—who had been unusually quiet up to this point—finally spoke, his voice calm and clear as he introduced the wizard to the rest of the professors and staff. And whether by coincidence or on purpose, Maverick noticed that Dumbledore didn't look at Snape once during the announcement.

  Amid the buzz of student chatter and whispered stories, and the quiet conversations happening at the staff table, the tall oak doors of the Great Hall opened once more, and Hagrid stepped inside, leading this year's line of wide-eyed first-years.

  Usually, it would be Professor McGonagall who escorted the freshmen through the school, while Hagrid was in charge of bringing them from the Express across the lake. Maverick guessed she was probably busy dealing with the matter of students affected by the incident.

  In her place, Professor Flitwick stepped forward to handle the Sorting Ceremony. Without wasting a moment, he unrolled the parchment and began calling names. One by one, the nervous first-years approached the stool, the Sorting Hat was placed on their heads, and slowly, they began finding their seats among the four house tables.

  "Callum O'Reilly…"

  "Gryffindor!"

  "Eliza Goode…"

  "Hufflepuff!"

  "Dorothea Inkwell…"

  "Ravenclaw!"

  "Astoria Greengrass…"

  "Slytherin!"

  "Jean Grey…"

  Maverick's eyes landed on the little redhead as she stepped up, her back turned toward the staff table. From what he could tell, she doesn't seem particularly shaken now, by the whole Dementor incident. When he observed her inside the carriage earlier today, at least, she had definitely looked very scared.

  Maybe the awe of the Hogwarts had already swept her up, pushing the whole episode aside beneath the castle's wonder.

  Still, he made a mental note to check on her later—maybe after class tomorrow.

  "Gryffindor!"

  "Oh..." His eyebrows lifted slightly in surprise as he glanced over at the Gryffindor table, where the trio was already on their feet, clapping enthusiastically.

  Did they talk her into it? Maverick wondered. After all, the tricks with the Sorting Hat weren't exactly a secret among older students. Everyone knew that if you wanted it badly enough, you could nudge the hat's decision. Technically, it was just a rumor—but one with enough weight that most students believed it.

  He let the thought go with a small shrug. In the end, it didn't really matter. Whatever works.

  With that, he joined in the clapping as well. When Jean finally took her seat, her gaze drifted toward the staff table—just as Maverick raised his goblet in her direction.

  "Welcome to Hogwarts, Jean," he sent his voice gently into her mind, offering her a warm smile.

  Around the end of the Sorting Ceremony, when only a handful of students remained, Professor McGonagall finally appeared through the side door reserved for staff and quietly took her seat at the table.

  One look at her expression told Maverick she was barely keeping her temper in check. Messing with her precious students was probably the one line you really didn't want to cross.

  "Albus. I don't care what you do, but I expect an answer for this... or you make that baboon of a Minister answer for it."

  Her voice was low and controlled, of course, but not so quiet that it slipped past those with sharp enough senses.

  Dumbledore gave a single nod in response, and although it was a simple gesture, Maverick had never seen the old man that serious before.

  "RAVENCLAW!"

  With the last name called aloud by the Sorting Hat and applause echoing through the hall, Professor Flitwick stepped forward, removed the stool, and carried the old antique away—finally marking the end of the sorting ritual.

  A moment later, Dumbledore rose from his seat and stepped to the center of the high table, his gaze sweeping over the hall like a kindly grandfather.

  Inwardly, he wasn't in the best of moods, but none of that showed on his face. Not when he was standing before his students. With a gentle smile, he raised both hands and pressed them down slightly, signaling the hall to settle.

  "Welcome to another year at Hogwarts! I have a few things to say to you all... and as one of them is rather serious, I think it best to mention it before you become befuddled by our excellent feast."

  Dumbledore cleared his throat and went on,

  "As you will no doubt be aware, following their inspection of the Hogwarts Express, our school is currently playing host to a number of Dementors from Azkaban... who are here on Ministry of Magic, official business."

  —————————

  "Welcome, everyone, to a new year at Hogwarts! I have a few words to share with you... one of them rather important... so I thought it best to say it now, before you're all distracted by the delicious feast before you."

  Dumbledore cleared his throat and went on, "as many of you will already know from the search on the Hogwarts Express, several Dementors have been stationed at the school by the Ministry of Magic to carry out official duties."

  A low murmur spread through the Great Hall as students glanced around at one another—especially those who had seen the Dementors on the train, their faces still carrying a shadow of fear.

  "They are stationed at every entrance to the school grounds. While they remain here, I must make it absolutely clear—no one is to leave the castle without permission."

  The Headmaster's face was set and serious as his gaze swept the room, pausing briefly on the Gryffindor table.

  "Dementors are not fooled by tricks, nor can they be deceived by disguises... not even invisibility cloaks. They do not distinguish between excuses and legitimate reasons. So I urge you... do not give them any reason to harm you."

  He turned briefly toward the staff table. "Heads of Houses…" — then his gaze swept back across the students — "…and prefects, ensure that no student comes into conflict with the Dementors."

  Percy, seated a few places up the Gryffindor table, puffed out his chest and glanced around with a self-important air.

  Dumbledore paused once more. His expression stayed serious as his gaze slowly swept across the silent hall, giving the students a moment to take in the news.

  "On a happier note," he said, his tone softening just a bit, "I am pleased to welcome two new teachers to our ranks this year."

  The Headmaster then introduced the two new professors with enthusiasm. The former was the "generous substitute for Defense Against the Dark Arts, Professor Lupin," and the latter was "Rubeus Hagrid, who takes on the position of Care of Magical Creatures Professor while fulfilling his duties as the Keeper of Keys and Grounds."

  Lupin stood up, offered a modest smile, and nodded politely around the hall before sitting back down, while Hagrid responded to his introduction with far more enthusiasm.

  The students applauded warmly for both of them, with particularly enthusiastic cheers from the Gryffindor table at the half-giant officially joining the ranks of the professors.

  Dumbledore's speech, as always, was concise and ended there before he turned to Maverick to address the hall.

  Just like in the previous two years, Maverick briefed the students on the arrangements for the inter-school Quidditch tournament, outlining the team selection process and announcing this year's host. He also kept his explanation short and to the point, then handed the stage back to the old Headmaster, who finally declared the start of the great feast.

  In an instant, a variety of delicious-looking food and desserts appeared on every plate, and the goblets brimmed with drinks. The Great Hall buzzed with energy once more, and gradually, the gloomy expressions brought on by the unpleasant experience on the train began to fade—replaced by the cheerful clatter of knives and forks.

  An hour later, once the plates were finally cleared, Dumbledore stood and instructed the prefects to lead the students to their respective common rooms—obviously marking the end of the opening feast for the new school year.

  While the house leaders guided the new students away, Maverick returned to his office, then quietly slipped out the window and vanished into the night beyond the castle walls.

  ---

  The following morning, Maverick sat in the Great Hall having breakfast, holding a copy of that day's Daily Prophet while tuning into the various bits of gossip buzzing among the young witches and wizards.

  Some students clutched newspapers, surrounded by groups animatedly discussing the headlines. It wasn't just the students—at the staff table, every professor had a copy in hand as well.

  Dementors Run Amok on Hogwarts Express: Ministry's Reckless Oversight Leaves Students Injured!

  The headline struck like a punch to the gut for Britain's magical administration, as the article made no effort to hide where the blame lay: the entire operation had been pushed through by Fudge himself.

  At the center of the staff table, Dumbledore set down his copy of the Daily Prophet and turned his head, raising a very pointed eyebrow at the man beside him who was nonchalantly sipping tea and reading the same paper.

  Maverick glanced sideways, lips curling into a faint smile, and placed his paper down as well.

  "The fat moron is going to have a difficult time after this, wouldn't you say, Headmaster?"

  Cough. Cough.

  From Maverick's right, Professor Lupin—who had just taken a gulp of pumpkin juice—nearly spat it out, managing to swallow it down with great effort before breaking into a fit of coughing and clutching his chest.

  "Are you alright, Professor Lupin?" Maverick asked, turning calmly in his direction.

  "I'm—cough—" Lupin took a few sips of water, eyes watering slightly as he regained his breath. "I'm fine, Master Caesar. Just… something caught in my throat."

  Maverick's smile deepened, clearly amused, before he turned back to Dumbledore. Around them, several professors chuckled behind their cups. Maverick had never hidden his disdain for Fudge, and after two years of working alongside him, most of the staff were used to his occasional sharp remark.

  "At the very least, could you refrain from arranging newspaper deliveries to the school in that manner? This is an institution of education, not a gossip pub," Dumbledore said mildly, though his eyes twinkled with pointed awareness.

  He knew perfectly well who was behind all this. After all, this wasn't the first time a swarm of news owls had raided the school.

  "Headmaster, I have absolutely no idea what you're talking about," Maverick replied with a straight face before casually taking another bite of food.

  Meanwhile, across magical Britain, the wizarding world was waking up to the same front-page headline—and reacting in equally dramatic fashion. In homes, shops, and crowded pubs, witches and wizards of every background were abuzz with disbelief... mostly outrage.

  With very few exceptions, public sentiment leaned heavily toward condemnation. The fact that children had been put in harm's way struck a nerve, and even among those who usually supported the Ministry, the operation was seen as a reckless failure.

  Noble families, in particular, were incensed. Their outrage was personal—after all, it was their heirs who had been put at risk. The justification of capturing a dangerous fugitive meant little in the face of that.

  Even members of Fudge's own faction found themselves uneasy. Discontent simmered, and many were already preparing to descend on the Ministry, demanding an explanation.

  ---

  BAM!

  A pudgy hand slammed down on the large, ornate desk, the sound echoing through the high-ceilinged office like a thunderclap. Papers crumpled beneath the weight of the blow, their headlines barely visible as they bent under the pressure.

  Cornelius Fudge, red-faced and seething, glared across the room with wild eyes. His jowls trembled with rage as he clenched the offending stack of newspapers in his fist.

  "What is the meaning of this?" he barked. "Has that fool Barnabas finally gone senile? Or does he think he has nothing left to lose?"

  Across from him sat the only other person in the room—a squat woman in a sickly pink cardigan, every inch of her radiating smugness. Her short, curly hair framed a toadlike face, and her wide, fake smile never quite reached her cold, calculating eyes.

  Dolores Umbridge folded her hands neatly over her clipboard, entirely unfazed by the Minister's outburst. The scene before her was all too familiar—Cornelius Fudge, red-faced and sputtering, losing his composure yet again.

  "I've already dispatched a team to summon Editor Barnabas for questioning," she said in her usual syrupy tone, though there was a sharpness beneath it. "But, Minister… I don't believe this is merely the Daily Prophet taking liberties with your noble image. I fear we may be looking at something… larger. A coordinated effort, perhaps. A conspiracy."

  "Conspiracy?" Fudge echoed, narrowing his eyes. At the mention of the word, only one name came to his mind, and that was Albus Dumbledore.

  He clenched his jaw. For reasons he could never quite explain, even to himself, Fudge had always believed that Dumbledore was working against him. That behind the old man's calm demeanor and cryptic words lay a quiet campaign to unseat him… to take back control.

  It didn't matter that it had been Dumbledore's own endorsement that helped him rise to power in the first place. Logic meant little when pride and fear were involved. And right now, with scandal flooding the headlines and nobles knocking on his door, paranoia found fertile ground.

  While those uneasy thoughts about the Hogwarts Headmaster churned in his mind, a deeper, even more unsettling worry also began to gnaw at him.

  The Daily Prophet had always stood by his side, echoing his policies without question. So why now? What had changed? What could possibly have driven them to publish something so audacious, so openly undermining his authority and tarnishing his name?

  He wanted answers. He needed answers.

  "No matter what... bring me Barnabas. I'll have a word with him myself."

  Across the desk, Umbridge—his undersecretary and ever-loyal sidekick—nodded with her usual syrupy smile. For someone who had clawed her way up from the very bottom, grovelling to anyone with influence and licking every shoe and backside along the way, there was nothing more satisfying than watching powerful men stumble. It was, quite frankly, euphoric for her.

  Unfortunately for both her and Fudge, the scene they hoped for—and the answers they sought—wouldn't come so easily this time. At least, not yet.

  Even though Cornelius Fudge was the Minister for Magic, he couldn't simply summon people without cause or force truths out of those unwilling to share them.

  Because while he could coerce the common and the naive—force them to do things against their will and even get away with it—things changed when the person in question was someone noteworthy, someone backed by powerful allies. Then, it became a political tug-of-war between equals—a matter of who had the bigger fist.

  ---

  Back at Hogwarts.

  Maverick finished his breakfast and made his way to the first-year alchemy classroom—his first lesson of the day—absently flipping through his schedule for the year as he walked.

  Every Friday and Tuesday, he had two morning classes and two in the afternoon. Mondays, Wednesdays, and Thursdays were lighter—just three classes spread through the day—so his schedule wasn't exactly tight.

  He planned to use the free time during the first term to finish combing through the rest of the books in the Chamber of Secrets.

  There were still shelves in that hidden library he hadn't fully explored, and he made a mental note to return later that afternoon. With that thought, he stepped into the classroom.

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