Anduin was beginning to realize the severe tactical error he had made. What he had intended as a fleeting, mildly cruel joke to disrupt the tension of their compartment had morphed into a full-blown, self-sustaining romantic conspiracy in Vivian Greengrass's mind.
Throughout the remainder of the journey, she didn't just question him about Charles Weasley; she subjected Anduin to an intense, persistent cross-examination about the 'subtext,' the 'timing,' and the 'true feelings' of the Gryffindor boy.
"He's clearly terrified of rejection, isn't he? That's why he ran off," she mused, adjusting her collar with a self-conscious flick of her hand. "You're supposed to be his friend, Anduin. Don't you see how badly you're messing up his courage? You keep saying it was a joke, but a message that makes him bolt like that? That's not a joke, that's a crisis of nerves you're encouraging!"
Anduin pinched the bridge of his nose, the contrast between the existential threat of the Travers family and this absurd, imagined schoolyard romance becoming maddeningly clear.
"Vivian, I am telling you—and please, believe this with the same certainty you believe in gravity—I was joking. Charles does not have feelings for you. He has a complicated, very dark family tragedy he is dealing with, and he ran out because he saw his brother." He sighed. "The idea that I'm his messenger giving him 'crazy ideas' is honestly more absurd than anything on the syllabus."
Vivian gave him a look of profound skepticism, leaning in conspiratorially. "Oh, you are definitely lying now. Don't think I don't understand the psychology here. A boy won't confess directly, so he sends his most secretive, morally ambiguous friend to plant the seed of the idea. That way, he gets a reading on my reaction without risking his heart!
She continued, "And why would he 'turn and run' the very moment he saw me if he wasn't completely flustered? You can keep your denial, but the evidence is overwhelming, Anduin. Just tell him he needs to speak for himself. He doesn't need a Slytherin intermediary to handle his emotional burdens."
Anduin threw his hands up in mock surrender, realizing the truth was simply too dull for her imagination to accept. He opted for silence, letting her weave her intricate web of fantasy as the train finally began its slow, grinding descent into Hogsmeade Station.
The chaos of disembarking began. The students, now veterans, no longer needed the first-years' ritual ferry crossing across the Black Lake. Instead, they walked along a familiar winding path toward the staging area where the carriages awaited.
As they approached the parking lot, Vivian, still muttering about Charles's romantic timidity, spotted the Gryffindor boy walking near the edge of the crowd. She shot him a severe, meaningful look—a gaze that spoke of misunderstood intentions and demanding honesty.
Charles, who had been focused on his feet, was visibly startled, his eyes wide with confusion. He genuinely wondered what egregious, unseen offense he had committed against the young woman.
"What is wrong with you? Why are you staring blankly? Get in the carriage," Vivian snapped at Anduin, annoyed that his attention had drifted at such a crucial, imagined moment.
Anduin wasn't staring blankly; he was staring at the carriages. Or rather, what was pulling them.
Standing patiently in the crisp twilight, harnessed to the ornate, heavy carriages, were the creatures he knew only in theory: sleek, black, skeletal, yet powerfully muscled Thestrals. They were lean, winged Pegasi with reptilian faces and huge, pale, featureless eyes.
Ever since he had witnessed Evan Rosier's brutal, final moments during the Christmas raid, Anduin had been able to perceive these magical creatures. Each time he saw one now—and he had occasionally glimpsed them on the periphery of the Forbidden Forest near Hagrid's cabin—he couldn't help but pause, a knot of solemnity tightening in his chest.
They were creatures visible only to those who had witnessed death and understood its finality. They were a constant, visual badge of the violence he had endured and perpetrated.
He momentarily let his guard down, wanting only to get closer, to observe the sheer, silent power of the herd that Hagrid had explained housed a colony in the Forbidden Forest. He recalled Hagrid's gentle, grave explanation of their nature: they were loyal, gentle creatures, but their presence marked the seer as a person irrevocably touched by mortality.
He forcefully suppressed his curiosity, shaking off the dark connection, and followed Vivian to the waiting carriages. The weight of the summer, the death of his mentor's family, and the new pact for vengeance made his ability to see the Thestrals less a novelty and more a cold, hard symbol of his future path.
The Great Hall, as always, was a dazzling spectacle of reunion and magic. Anduin found his place at the Slytherin table, but his attention was immediately drawn to the high table, where the Sorting Ceremony was in full swing.
He felt the constant, quiet scrutiny of the Sorting Hat—a scrutiny that always seemed focused on him, forcing him to look back at the shabby, ancient headwear, a silent acknowledgment of the deeper complexity of his being.
The feasting began soon after the last nervous first-year was sorted. Dumbledore, as promised, gave his annual, still-brief, but this year, much graver speech.
"We begin this new year with a profound sadness," Dumbledore announced, his voice carrying the deep rumble of genuine loss.
"We are deeply saddened to inform you all that Professor Orville Robb, who taught Defense Against the Dark Arts with such devotion last year, passed away peacefully at the close of the previous term. It is truly remarkable that he was able to dedicate so much of his advanced years to our students. He will be missed."
Anduin felt a pang of surprise, though he realized it was inevitable. The old professor had been constantly trembling, seeming on the verge of collapsing at any moment. Anduin had mentally celebrated the professor's endurance at the end of the last term, never truly expecting his good luck to run out so soon.
Dumbledore continued, his voice brightening slightly, suggesting a measure of reassurance. "But with change comes new strength. I am delighted to introduce our new professor for Defense Against the Dark Arts, a man whose reputation as a master of both practical and applied magic precedes him: Mr. Edgar Burns."
As Edgar Burns rose, the Hall hummed with interest. Anduin's eyes narrowed in recognition. This was Edgar Burns, a founder and prominent member of the Order of the Phoenix! He was one of the individuals Lily often spoke of with the highest regard—a master in the highly complex, intertwined fields of Spellcraft and Ancient Runes.
Dumbledore's strategic hand was obvious: bringing Burns to Hogwarts was a calculated move to bolster the school's security and infuse practical combat expertise into the curriculum following the Order's recent devastating losses.
Edgar Burns, a man with a thick, well-groomed, but intimidating beard and a solid, capable build, scanned the Hall. His eyes, sharp and intelligent, met Anduin's across the expanse of the Great Hall. Burns nodded almost imperceptibly, a knowing acknowledgment of the young wizard he had heard so much about from Lily. Anduin returned the slight nod, a private moment of connection.
The next day, Anduin completed his first Defense Against the Dark Arts class with Professor Burns. The experience was transformative. Burns's teaching was light-years ahead of the frail Professor Robb. His lectures were seasoned with practical combat anecdotes, his explanations of spell theory were crystal clear, and he possessed a dry wit that kept the classroom engaged.
The lively atmosphere suggested the students immediately adored their new, competent professor.
As the class concluded, Professor Burns gestured for Anduin to stay behind.
Burns, standing at his desk, his posture radiating quiet authority, regarded Anduin. Despite his powerful, masculine appearance, his tone was gentle and focused. "Anduin," he began.
"Before I arrived, Lily was very insistent that I make contact with you. She spoke at great length about your exceptional talent and interest in runes and advanced spellcraft. Is that accurate, or is she simply being the proud former mentor?"
Anduin stood taller, speaking with genuine humility and excitement. "Professor, that is a generous compliment, which I suspect is largely due to Lily's high opinion of me. But yes, I am deeply interested in the fusion of magic and runes. In fact, I have recently been attempting to develop a new, complex rune matrix for a defensive purpose—an idea that combines Transfiguration principles with pure Runescript—but the progress has been frustratingly slow."
"A new matrix? Defensive, you say?" Burns's interest was instantly piqued. Dumbledore had been explicit that Voldemort's influence necessitated extra vigilance, which included ensuring the brightest students were safe and armed with skills. Burns, himself a specialist in the intricate logic of runes, knew the difficulty of innovation in that field.
Burns had accepted the professorship knowing he was Dumbledore's anchor at the school, meant to be present only until a stable, long-term solution could be found—he had little intention of enduring the full curse that haunted the post.
Lily's plea to mentor Anduin had been a major factor in his decision. She had stressed that Anduin needed guidance not just in theory, but in the application of cutting-edge, innovative magic to solve real-world problems.
"Anduin," Burns said, leaning slightly on his desk, his voice dropping to a focused, almost conspiratorial tone. "Lily was not exaggerating. I may be teaching Defense, but my passion and my decade of study lie squarely with applied Runology and Enchantment. My skill level, as you put it, is certainly not 'average,' and I can guarantee I won't disappoint you. Bring your experimental designs. We need innovation right now. The Dark Lord is not fighting with textbook curses; we cannot defend ourselves with textbook runes."
He gave a slight, encouraging smile. "Come find me when you have time, and we'll dissect this 'new matrix' of yours. How about we begin tonight? Say, after supper? I want to see the complexity you're attempting to manage."
Anduin's heart leaped. This was more than simple tutoring; this was the offer of high-level, private mentorship in the very field he needed to master to fulfill his goals. Lily had truly looked out for him. "Professor Burns, that would be an extraordinary privilege. I readily agree. Thank you."
The dark cloud of the funeral and the cold pact with Charles momentarily lifted, replaced by a surge of intellectual excitement. He had never expected such a profound, pleasant surprise to kick off the new academic year—a fast-track to power, sanctioned by the Order itself.
That evening, having rushed through the Great Hall feast, Anduin made his way with impatient energy to the Defense Against the Dark Arts office on the third floor. He knocked sharply on the door, his mind already running through the complex geometric faults in his prototype Defensive Rune Array.
The door opened to reveal Professor Burns, who smiled warmly, though a fork was still clutched in his hand. "Ah, Anduin! You are incredibly punctual, which is a rare trait in a student, even a motivated one," he said. "My apologies, I was enjoying a few quiet moments to finish my supper. Do come in, you might have to wait just a moment."
"I truly apologize, Professor Burns," Anduin said, stepping into the room. "I was so focused on the opportunity to discuss the runes that I completely lost track of time. It's difficult to find someone who understands the complexity of the theoretical side."
Burns waved his apology away with a careless gesture, leading Anduin further into the office. The room was not what Anduin expected of a DADA Professor. It was clean, orderly, and lacked the typical clutter of dark artifacts.
Instead, the walls were lined with meticulously organized shelves filled with leather-bound tomes on ancient languages and geometrical structures.
A large, heavy oak desk dominated the room, and on it sat a tray holding a half-eaten meal—a simple chicken dish and a glass of water—alongside a stack of parchment covered in tiny, complex Runic equations and geometric diagrams.