The first sign that something had arrived was not the knock.
It was the way Hogwarts reacted.
Wayne noticed it while standing near the window, watching the morning mist thin over the grounds. Magic shifted, subtle and precise, like a system recognising a priority request. Doors down the corridor opened more smoothly. The air itself seemed to straighten, as if preparing to receive something that belonged.
Amber noticed none of this.
She was sitting on the edge of the bed, tying her shoes, humming softly, already planning how to spend the morning. "If this place has a library," she said, "I want to see it. If it has more than one, I want to see all of them."
"Some areas aren't meant for casual access." Wayne replied.
She smiled. "Perfectly good with me"
A soft pop sounded behind them.
Tibbles appeared, holding a parchment almost as large as he was. His ears twitched with barely contained excitement.
"Deliveries have arrived," he announced. "Marked urgent. Marked careful. Marked do not bend under any circumstances."
Wayne turned. "Already."
"Yes," Tibbles said proudly. "The delivery person was… cooperative."
Amber blinked. "That sounds ominous."
"It means they're important," Wayne said.
Tibbles gestured. "If you would follow me."
They walked.
Not through the usual corridors this time, but deeper, into parts of Hogwarts that felt less travelled. The walls here were older somehow, darker stone, the kind that had learned patience over centuries. Portraits glanced at them without comment. A suit of armour shifted its stance as they passed.
Amber leaned closer to Wayne. "Do you know where we're going."
"Yes."
"Of course you do."
They stopped before a wide, empty room with high ceilings and enchanted lighting that adjusted the moment they entered. Long tables stood in the centre, already covered.
Crates. Chests. Wrapped parcels. Boxes sealed with wax and rune-thread.
Amber stopped short. "Oh."
Tibbles beamed. "Everything arrived safely. First priority. No delays."
Wayne stepped forward slowly.
This was not how he remembered buying things.
The first crate bore the discreet crest of Tomes & Scrolls. Inside lay a rare transfiguration volume, its spine marked with marginal runes only visible under certain light. Wayne lifted it carefully, thumb brushing the edge of the cover.
"McGonagall," he said quietly.
Amber watched. "You wrote her."
"Yes."
He moved on.
A narrow, temperature-stabilised case held potion ingredients sealed in stasis. Rare roots, preserved leaves, a vial that refused to be labelled.
"Snape," Wayne murmured.
Amber hesitated. "Is he… nice."
Wayne smiled faintly. "No. He's precise."
Next came a small but beautifully crafted wooden box. Inside lay charm-enhancing polish, tools so fine they almost disappeared when not looked at directly.
"Flitwick," Wayne said.
Amber tilted her head. "He seems friendly."
"He is," Wayne replied. "And dangerous when underestimated."
A low hum drew their attention to the far end of the table.
There, set apart from the rest, rested a stone basin wrapped in protective cloth, runes glowing faintly along its rim.
Amber felt it before she understood it. "That one's… different."
Wayne nodded. "That's for Dumbledore."
He uncovered it fully.
The Pensieve was older than most of the castle. Its surface rippled gently, responding to proximity, to thought, to memory not yet offered. Wayne did not touch it.
Amber swallowed. "What does it do."
"It holds memories," Wayne said. "Not stories. Not impressions. The real thing."
She stared at it. "Why would you—"
"For later," he said gently.
Tibbles cleared his throat. "Letters were included. Personally written. Each attached correctly."
Wayne exhaled slowly. "Good."
Amber walked the length of the table again, taking it all in. "You did all this before we even arrived."
"Yes."
"And you're just… leaving it here."
Wayne looked at her. "Gifts aren't meant to linger."
She studied him for a moment, then nodded. "Okay. I trust you."
Behind the scenes, Hogwarts was already at work.
House-elves moved with careful precision, cataloguing without opening, lifting without jostling. A few paused, glancing at Wayne with something like curiosity before continuing on.
Word travelled quietly.
By midday, Professor Sprout had been informed that something living would be delivered to her greenhouse. Professor Flitwick had been told to expect a small package requiring patience. Professor McGonagall had received a note marked personal.
None of them opened anything yet.
They waited.
Wayne and Amber left the room together, the door sealing itself behind them.
As they walked back toward the main corridors, Amber finally spoke. "You didn't watch them react."
"I don't need to," Wayne replied.
"Doesn't it matter."
"It will," he said. "Later."
They passed a group of students whispering excitedly about deliveries being carried through side halls. Someone mentioned rare items. Someone else mentioned Gringotts seals.
Wayne did not slow.
From the shadows of a distant corridor, Dumbledore watched.
He had not been told yet.
That, too, was intentional.
In his office, instruments had begun to spin without command. A silver thread trembled where it had not moved in years. The castle, never subtle when it mattered, was drawing attention upward.
Dumbledore frowned, then smiled.
"So," he murmured to the empty room. "It begins."
Back in their rooms, Amber dropped onto the chair near the fire. "I feel like I just watched the setup to something very expensive."
Wayne chuckled softly. "You did."
"And you still haven't told me what happens next."
He sat across from her, expression calm. "Next, we let Hogwarts talk."
She raised an eyebrow. "And if it asks questions."
Wayne leaned back. "Then we listen."
Outside, owls took flight from the towers, messages carried on wings toward professors who would soon understand that something had changed.
The gifts had arrived.
The consequences would follow.