After a brief but emotionally intensive two-day stay at the Number 12 Grimmauld Place, Adrian's small group finally returned to the mundane surroundings of Privet Drive.
The transition from the magical gloom of the ancestral home to the aggressively ordinary suburban landscape was quite surreal, like stepping from a Gothic novel into a sitcom.
Sirius's primary objective during their stay had been largely accomplished with surprising success. His relationship with Harry had transformed from awkward uncertainty to something approaching familial warmth.
Harry had also more or less accepted the fact that he had a godfather.
As soon as Adrian returned to his residence, he immediately handed Slytherin's locket to the Tree of Wisdom for purification.
As Voldemort's soul fragment was absorbed by the Tree of Wisdom, the tree's growth progress had already passed the halfway mark. As for extracting the soul's power, that would still take some time.
August 18th arrived promising a beautiful late summer day.
The morning sun streamed through the kitchen windows of their Privet Drive shop, casting geometric patterns of light across the breakfast table where Adrian sat with his cup of coffee.
At precisely eight o'clock, the Daily Prophet's delivery service was punctual, Adrian's owl swooped through the open window. The bird carried two identical copies of the morning edition in its talons.
The owl landed on the back of an empty chair, extending one leg with the dignity of a postal worker who took his job seriously.
After Adrian relieved him of his burden and offered the customary owl treat, the bird departed through the same window, already focused on his next delivery.
"Oh dear, I completely forgot to cancel my subscription," Hermione said with regret as she accepted one of the newspapers from Adrian. Her practical nature was clearly bothered by the unnecessary expense and waste. "We really don't need two copies of the same paper. What a silly mistake on my part."
Adrian, who was currently occupied with spreading a generous layer of orange jam across a piece of golden toast, simply shrugged with nonchalance.
"Don't worry about it," He said, taking the remaining copy with his free hand. "Consider it insurance against missing important news—sometimes different copies have different print errors or late additions."
As he unfolded the Daily Prophet, Adrian immediately noticed that today's edition seemed particularly large, with significantly more pages than the typical daily issue. The paper felt heavier in his hands, and the thickness meant that several major stories had broken simultaneously.
The headlines jumped out at him with a kind of bold typography:
"NIGHTTIME GATHERING IN KNOCKTURN ALLEY: SUSPECTED DEATH EATER REMNANTS"
"QUIDDITCH WORLD CUP TICKET FRAUD: HUNDREDS OF FANS DECEIVED"
"HOGWARTS TO HOST TRIWIZARD TOURNAMENT AFTER TWO-CENTURY HIATUS"
Each headline was manufactured to grab attention and sell newspapers, but Adrian's eye could see that these weren't merely sensationalized stories designed to boost circulation.
Recognizing the significance of what lay before him, Adrian immediately set down his toast as the marmalade could wait and began reading with attention.
The first story about the nighttime gathering in Knockturn Alley was particularly troubling. According to the detailed report, a passing wizard had observed suspicious activity in the notorious dark magic district and had promptly reported it to the proper authorities. The Ministry of Magic had taken the report seriously enough to dispatch a team of senior Aurors for intensive patrol coverage of the area.
The article noted that while the Ministry typically maintained a hands-off policy regarding Knockturn Alley's various shady enterprises, treating it as a necessary evil that was easier to monitor when contained, the potential involvement of Death Eater remnants had forced them to take direct action.
'Why would Death Eaters risk exposure by holding gatherings at a time like this?' Adrian thought. If the intelligence was accurate, such meetings could only mean they were preparing for some major operation, most likely connected to efforts to restore their fallen master to power.
The second major story concerned the Quidditch World Cup, which was scheduled to take place in just a few days. The article detailed how the Department of Magical Games and Sports had been forced to issue an emergency recall of certain tickets after discovering a widespread fraud scheme that had deceived hundreds of eager fans.
Ludo Bagman, the department head, had issued a public statement promising a thorough investigation into the security loopholes that had allowed such widespread counterfeiting to occur. The scandal had apparently shaken confidence in the Ministry's ability to organize major magical events, and there were calls for increased errors and accountability.
This news made Adrian immediately reach for the three tickets he had stored in his desk drawer—one each for Harry, Hermione, and himself.
His fingers traced the elegant magical watermarks and security enchantments embedded in the parchment, searching for any sign that they might be among the recalled forgeries.
Fortunately, after careful examination, the tickets appeared to be completely legitimate. The magical signatures were strong and clear, the security features were intact and properly responsive to his touch.
The truth was that wizards' enthusiasm for Quidditch far exceeded anything Adrian had initially imagined when he had first entered this world.
World Cup tickets were genuinely difficult to obtain through normal channels, with most being distributed through a complex lottery system that favored long-time supporters and Ministry connections.
Of course, such challenges weren't insurmountable obstacles for someone with Adrian's resources and connections. As he had learned early in his magical education, the power of Galleons was indeed infinite when properly applied.
The final major story concerned the revival of the Triwizard Tournament, and Adrian found this news particularly intriguing for several reasons.
Frankly, the timing of the announcement seemed rather suspicious—there was little time remaining before the new school term began, hardly enough for proper preparation and organization of such a complex international event.
What made the situation even more puzzling was that as a Hogwarts professor, Adrian had received no advance notice of this decision.
In his experience, educational institutions typically informed their faculty well in advance of major changes to the curriculum or special events that would impact their teaching schedules. The fact that this tournament's revival appeared to be a hastily made decision showed political pressures or hidden agendas that weren't immediately obvious.
"Triwizard Tournament?" Hermione's voice carried curiosity. She looked up from her own copy of the Daily Prophet. "Professor Westeros, what exactly is that? I don't recall reading about it in any of my textbooks."
Harry, who had been quietly consuming his breakfast while listening to their conversation, immediately leaned forward with interest. His eyes focused on Adrian with expectant attention.
"The Triwizard Tournament is a very ancient magical competition with a rather dark history," Adrian explained, setting down his newspaper.
"It involves three of Europe's most prestigious magical schools—Hogwarts, Durmstrang Institute, and Beauxbatons Academy of Magic. Each school traditionally selects one champion to represent them in a series of dangerous magical challenges designed to test not only their magical abilities but their courage, intelligence, and resourcefulness."
As Adrian spoke, Harry's mind immediately conjured an image of Cedric Diggory—the handsome, talented Hufflepuff student who seemed to excel at everything he attempted.
If they were discussing Hogwarts' most outstanding student, Cedric would certainly be the obvious choice. He possessed not only exceptional magical ability but also the kind of natural leadership qualities and moral character that made him genuinely popular among students from all houses.
But even as Harry acknowledged Cedric's qualifications, he couldn't shake a weird sense of unease that settled over him.
Adrian continued his explanation, his voice taking on a more somber tone. "However, it's crucial to understand that this isn't merely a friendly academic competition between schools. The Triwizard Tournament has historically been extremely dangerous and many champions have died during the various challenges over the centuries. The mortality rate became so shocking that the tournament was officially discontinued nearly two hundred years ago due to the unacceptable number of deaths."
Hermione's eyes widened with shock and concern. Her mind immediately began calculating the implications of what Adrian was telling them.
"Then why are they choosing to revive it now?" She asked, her voice tinging with a mixture of confusion and worry. "If it was discontinued because people were dying, what's changed that would make it safe enough to attempt again?"
Adrian shrugged, a gesture that showed both his own puzzlement and his skepticism about the official explanations being offered.
According to the Daily Prophet's report, Barty Crouch, who heads the Department of International Magical Cooperation, claims the tournament's revival is intended to promote cooperation and understanding within the European wizarding community. Strengthening international magical relations, fostering goodwill between young witches and wizards, creating opportunities for cultural exchange, these all were very noble-sounding objectives.
Well, it was a very standard Ministry response, like the kind of statement that sounds important and meaningful while actually meaning nothing at all.
Just as Adrian was about to delve deeper into his analysis of the morning's news, the fireplace in the corner of their living room suddenly erupted with a series of unusual sounds—crackling, popping, and what sounded like mechanical grinding.
The familiar green flames that typically characterized Floo Network travel flickered erratically, showing that something was interfering with the magical connection.
"Someone's attempting to use our fireplace," Adrian warned, rising from his chair. "And they're about to discover that our connection to the Floo Network is... somewhat compromised."
The next second, green light flashed through the fireplace opening like magical lightning, and the emerald flames suddenly shot up with explosive force.
A human figure was tersely expelled from the fireplace, flying through the air with considerable velocity before landing with a heavy thud on the living room carpet.
The arrival was absolutely ungraceful with a tangle of limbs, burnt robes, and what appeared to be a considerable amount of soot and ash from the improperly regulated Floo connection.
"Very sorry about that, Fred... or perhaps you're George?" Adrian said as he approached the groaning figure struggling to extract himself from the carpet fibers. His tone had genuine apology mixed with mild amusement.
"I should have mentioned that the fireplace connection here isn't quite properly calibrated. It might be a bit rough."
"I'm Fred," Fred managed to gasp as he pushed himself up onto his hands and knees, his red hair was now generously decorated with fireplace ash. His freckled face was smudged with soot, and his robes would clearly require professional cleaning to restore them to their original condition.
Before Fred could fully regain his footing and attempt to brush the dust and debris from his clothing, the fireplace made another series of ominous sounds, more grinding, more crackling, and what might have been the magical equal of mechanical protesting.
This time, the arrival was accompanied by a series of colorful exclamations that would have made Mrs. Weasley reach for her bar of soap, followed by another flash of green light that temporarily filled the room with emerald radiance.
George came flying out of the fireplace with even less control than his twin, his trajectory taking him directly into Fred, who had just managed to achieve an unsteady standing position.
The two brothers collided with considerable force and immediately became a tangled mass of arms, legs, and wrinkled robes as they rolled across the carpet in a display that was more like a slapstick comedy.
"Hmm, so that would make you George," Adrian observed with interest, as if he were taking notes on a particularly fascinating experiment. "I notice your landing technique was slightly less controlled than your brother's though to be fair, you did have the additional challenge of Fred serving as an unexpected obstacle."
"You're crushing my nose!" Fred's voice was muffled by his brother's elbow, which seemed to have found its way across his face during their tumble.
"Well, that's still considerably better than you stepping on my face with your enormous feet," George retorted, trying to extract his leg from where it had become entangled with Fred's arm. "When did your shoes get so heavy?"
The twins struggled to separate themselves and achieve individual vertical positions, their movements were hampered by robes that had become twisted around both of them like a spontaneous straightjacket.
Adrian watched their efforts with patient amusement like watching kittens trying to escape from a paper bag.
"Was there something specific you needed?" Adrian inquired once the brothers had finally managed to untangle themselves and achieve relatively dignified standing positions.
The twins immediately straightened their postures and attempted to present themselves as serious, responsible young adults rather than the comic disaster they had just demonstrated themselves to be.
"It's like this, Professor," Fred began, his voice taking on a respectful tone. "We're planning to attend the Quidditch World Cup in just a few days, and Dad asked us to come by and extend an invitation to see if you'd like to accompany our family to the match."
"Don't worry about tickets or any of the arrangements," George added quickly from his position beside his twin. "Dad has connections at the Ministry that allow him to obtain extra tickets when needed. He's confident he can arrange proper seating for everyone."
"That's very thoughtful of your father," Adrian replied with genuine appreciation for Arthur Weasley's generosity. "But as it happens, we're already planning to attend the World Cup. We've purchased our own tickets in advance."
The twins exchanged one of their trademark looks.
"What a shame," Fred said with a grin. "You could have saved yourself quite a bit of money there. Those World Cup tickets aren't cheap."
"Indeed," Adrian agreed, "You're right, they're certainly not cheap."
Of course, the twins had no way of knowing that their definition of "not cheap" and Adrian's existed in entirely different economic universes.
After successfully delivering their father's invitation, the twins showed no inclination to leave immediately. Instead, they settled themselves comfortably into the living room's furniture and launched into an enthusiastic discussion with Harry and Hermione about the various news items that had dominated the morning's Daily Prophet.
The conversation quickly centered on the revival of the Triwizard Tournament, a topic that seemed to capture the imagination of all three young people.
Fred and George, with their typical disrespect for authority and tradition, were particularly intrigued by the tournament's dangerous reputation and the challenge it would represent for whoever was selected as Hogwarts' champion.
"Can you imagine the kind of challenges they'll plan?" Fred said, his eyes lighting up with enthusiasm. "If they're bringing back a tournament that was banned for being too deadly, they'll have to make it spectacular enough to justify the risk."
"I wonder if they'll allow spectators," George added thoughtfully. "Think of the betting opportunities... though I suppose Mum would have our heads if she caught us taking wagers on students' lives."
Hermione looked distinctly uncomfortable with the twins' casual attitude toward what was clearly a life-threatening situation.
"Shouldn't we be more concerned about the safety of whoever gets selected?"
She asked. "Professor Adrian just told us that people have died in this tournament. That's not something to joke about."
After nearly an hour of discussion about everything from Quidditch statistics to the political impact of international magical cooperation, the twins finally began making noises about returning home.
"We should probably head back before Mum starts wondering where we've gotten to," Fred said, though his tone showed he wasn't particularly concerned about his mother worrying.
"Right then," Adrian said, rising from his chair. "Before you go, I need to step out for a brief errand. Harry, I'm leaving you in charge of the shop while I'm away."
"Yes, Professor," Harry replied automatically.
In all the time they had been operating their supposed shop, not a single customer had ever crossed the threshold.
Adrian's destination was predictable, he needed to personally investigate the reports of Death Eater activity in Knockturn Alley. While the Daily Prophet's reporting was generally reliable for basic facts, Adrian knew that direct observation was always preferable to secondhand accounts, especially when dealing with potentially dangerous magical situations.
He Apparated directly to the Diagon Alley.
Diagon Alley itself was experiencing its typical late-summer bustle, filled with families completing their back-to-school shopping and tourists eager to experience the wonders of magical market.
Adrian recognized several familiar faces among the crowd, Hogwarts students he had taught, their parents browsing for new robes or spell books, and various members of the magical community going about their daily business.
The atmosphere was cheerful and vibrant, with the kind of energy that came from people excited about upcoming events like the Quidditch World Cup and the new school term. Children pressed their noses against shop windows showing the latest magical innovations, while their parents calculated the costs of required textbooks and supplies.
But as Adrian made his way deeper into Knockturn Alley, the crowds gradually thinned and the atmosphere grew more oppressive.
The familiar shadowy figures who typically lurked in doorways and side passages, those dealers in dark artifacts, practitioners of questionable magic, and various other denizens of the magical underworld were nowhere to be seen.
This absence was far more unsettling than their usual presence would have been. When the dark wizards who normally called Knockturn Alley home felt the need to disappear, it showed that whatever was happening was serious enough to make even criminals nervous.
This made Adrian even more convinced of the authenticity of the Daily Prophet's report.
Adrian took a turn around the empty alley, specifically checking Borgin and Burkes. As expected, the shop's door was tightly closed, obviously the shopkeeper also didn't want to do business during this sensitive time.
An hour later, Adrian returned to Diagon Alley, ending his Knockturn Alley expedition—he hadn't encountered anyone except two patrolling Aurors.
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