As the doors boomed shut, echoing through the stunned Great Hall, all eyes began to drift — from where Umbridge had been — to the one man who hadn't moved at all during the chaos.
Albus Dumbledore sat as if carved from marble.
Hands folded.
Eyes twinkling — but not quite as brightly as usual.
There was a beat.
A long, uncomfortable pause.
Then, finally, he rose.
Slowly. Gracefully.
His long, deep-blue robes shimmered with celestial patterns, catching the light like stars trapped in velvet.
"An... unexpected development," he said smoothly, his voice as calm as ever. "But it seems… justified."
He gave a small nod to Hadrian — polite, but guarded.
"I admit, I was unaware of Madam Umbridge's possession of such… archaic tools. If the Sorting Hat itself has spoken, then the matter is beyond question."
Some of the students looked surprised.
Others relieved.
But to the perceptive — like Professor McGonagall or Snape — there was a glint of calculation behind Dumbledore's otherwise tranquil facade.
He continued, still addressing the hall:
"Let it be known that Hogwarts does not condone the use of forbidden magical instruments — especially those designed to harm children. We are, and have always been, a sanctuary."
He turned toward Hadrian again — eyes narrowing just slightly, ever so politely — and added:
"Though I must confess… it has been centuries since anyone besides myself exercised this level of authority over the school. It is curious."
A quiet challenge — veiled in courtesy.
But Hadrian would hear it for what it was: a test of power. A reminder. Dumbledore was already trying to measure him, to understand what this new presence meant to his carefully cultivated chessboard.
"Still," Dumbledore said, his voice softening into that familiar grandfatherly tone, "you have defended the values upon which this school was founded. And for that, I thank you."
He smiled.
But it was the smile of a politician, not a friend.
And Hadrian would know it.
A heavy silence settled like fog over the Great Hall. Students and staff sat stiffly, still digesting the storm that had just passed. The flickering torches along the walls cast long shadows, making the great chamber feel more like a courtroom than a school.
Dumbledore stepped forward, the clack of his polished shoes echoing across the stone.
His expression was composed — carefully so. "If I may," he said, voice carrying just enough weight to silence the soft murmurs returning to the hall. He turned his gaze to the stranger — the man cloaked in legend, who now stood in the center of Hogwarts as if he had never left.
Dumbledore:
"Your arrival is... unannounced, and, I daresay, unexpected. One cannot help but wonder — why now? What purpose brings you back to this school after centuries of absence? Is it concern… or something else?"
There was no hostility in his tone. No overt suspicion.
But beneath the calm lay a flicker of challenge — a need to regain control.
Before Hadrian could speak, a cold wind swept across the hall.
From the side walls, the Bloody Baron emerged, his silver-streaked form casting an eerie pallor in the torchlight. Behind him drifted Nearly Headless Nick, the Fat Friar, and the Grey Lady, all silent, all watching.
The Baron's hollow voice broke the tension:
Bloody Baron:
"The castle called him."
Gasps rose from the students.
Baron (cont'd):
"The wards... the stones... even the old enchantments whispered unease. We have seen how this school has been handled in recent years — the darkness that crept through these halls, and how poorly it was faced."
He turned to Hadrian.
"Four times the castle was in danger. Four times, the students — children — were left to bear the burden."
The other ghosts nodded solemnly. Whispers began to ripple through the student tables. Eyes darted toward Harry, some wide with realization, others guilt.
Fat Friar (softly):
"A troll in the dungeons... a basilisk roaming free... Dementors let loose... and a tournament of blood."
Even the teachers exchanged tense looks. Some averted their eyes from Dumbledore.
Grey Lady:
"And now the castle, in desperation, brought him back."
Dumbledore held his ground, raising his hands slightly.
Dumbledore (measured):
"We must remember — these were tragic events, yes, but not all were within my control. The world outside these walls grows darker by the day. No headmaster can prevent every misfortune—"
Sorting Hat (interrupting):
"But a headmaster can act upon warnings from the castle itself."
The room fell still again.
Sorting Hat:
"The wards told you of the Chamber's opening. You dismissed it. The presence of cursed objects in the castle — you knew. You sensed the alterations to the Triwizard Cup's enchantments. And yet you remained silent."
The Sorting Hat shifted slightly on its stool, as though sitting straighter.
"This school has always had a heartbeat of its own. You stopped listening to it, Albus."
Murmurs broke out — now louder, growing into a wave of unease.
Several students turned to look at Harry, who stared down at the table, fists clenched in memory.
Some teachers — McGonagall, Flitwick — looked pale.
Hadrian (quiet but firm):
"The school was not meant to be a battlefield for children. It was meant to be a sanctuary of learning, a haven of peace."
He turned slightly, addressing the hall as much as Dumbledore.
"A place where no child, magical or not, would be used as a pawn in someone else's game."
Dumbledore's jaw tightened, barely perceptible.
But Hadrian saw it.
The mask was slipping.