Chapter 19: Shifting Currents

POV: Alaric Fawley

The flickering torchlight in the empty corridors of Hogwarts cast long shadows, dancing over the ancient stone walls.

Professor Alaric Fawley, cloaked in his heavy academic robes, paced silently near the entrance to the second-floor girls' bathroom.

His wand was gripped tightly in his hand, ready for the confrontation he was sure would come. The air was heavy with anticipation, the faint murmurs of unseen magic thrumming in the background like an unspoken warning.

Fawley's heart raced, though he kept his face impassive. Tonight was Halloween, the night he'd calculated the basilisk would strike again, just as it had in the timeline he remembered.

His knowledge of the future, though imperfect, had always given him an edge.

He'd stationed himself here, prepared to intercept the monster, save lives, and solidify his reputation as the most competent professor Hogwarts had ever seen.

This was his chance to make a mark, to show that his presence in this altered world was not only warranted but necessary.

But as the minutes stretched into hours, the corridors remained eerily silent. No screams echoed through the halls. No shadowy figure slithered through the pipes. The basilisk, it seemed, was not coming.

Fawley's jaw tightened. He glanced at the enchanted pocket watch he carried, a relic of another life and another time. Midnight had come and gone, yet the castle remained undisturbed.

Something had changed. Something—or someone—had diverted the course of events he had painstakingly prepared for.

He leaned against the cold stone wall, letting out a low sigh. His mind raced through the possibilities. The diary should still be in play, corrupting young Ginevra Weasley. The basilisk's master should be pushing it to act. So why was nothing happening?

The first rays of dawn crept through the narrow windows of his office as Fawley sat at his desk, poring over a collection of his notes.

His parchment was filled with precise calculations, dates, and potential actions he had expected from the diary's influence. Yet none of it aligned with the current reality. He'd been so certain that he'd positioned himself perfectly to act. Was his understanding of this reversed world flawed? Or had someone else intervened?

As he prepared to leave for breakfast, a sharp tapping at his window drew his attention. An owl, sleek and impatient, clutched the latest edition of the Daily Prophet in its talons. He retrieved the newspaper, tossing the owl a treat, and unfolded the front page.

The headline made his breath catch:

"Alya Black Declared Innocent! Ministry Faces Repercussions After Decades-Long Miscarriage of Justice."

Fawley's eyes scanned the article, taking in the details. Alya Black, formerly known as a fugitive and supposed betrayer of her best friends, had been granted a trial.

The evidence against her had been torn apart in court, and she'd walked free. More than that, the Ministry had been ordered to pay reparations for her wrongful imprisonment. With this ruling, Alya had been reinstated as the rightful heir of House Black, her name restored and her position unassailable.

Fawley leaned back in his chair, his mind racing. The implications of this development were staggering. In his original timeline, Alya Black had never received such a trial.

She had died a fugitive, her legacy a tragic footnote in wizarding history. Yet here she was, vindicated, her power and influence intact.

He rubbed his temples. "What in Merlin's name is going on?" he muttered.

The next day passed in a blur. Fawley moved through his classes with a detached air, his mind consumed by questions. During lunch in the Great Hall, he observed the students with a keener eye than usual.

Everything seemed normal on the surface. The Golden Trio laughed with their friends, blissfully unaware of the turmoil beneath the surface. Arcturus Black, ever the enigma, sat apart, his expression inscrutable.

And Ronda Weasley… she seemed restless, her gaze flitting around the room as though searching for something.

Fawley's sharp intellect pieced together fragments of evidence. The diary must have been removed from play. That was the only explanation for the basilisk's absence.

But who had done it? And how? He dismissed the idea of Dumbledore—the old man was too focused on the long game to meddle directly. Could it have been Arcturus?

The boy was cunning, but he lacked the resources to execute such a move without assistance.

And then there was Ronda. Fawley's gaze lingered on her for a moment longer than usual. She seemed… different. More determined, perhaps. He made a mental note to keep an eye on her.

That evening, Fawley retreated to his office, pouring himself a glass of firewhisky. The amber liquid swirled in his glass as he stared out the window, the moon casting a pale glow over the grounds.

He'd always prided himself on his ability to adapt, to stay one step ahead. But this… this was something else entirely.

"The world isn't just reversed," he mused aloud. "It's evolving. Changing."

For years, he'd relied on his knowledge of the future to guide his actions.

It had been his anchor, his edge. But now, that certainty was slipping through his fingers like sand. And yet… perhaps that wasn't a bad thing.

Alya Black's freedom was a victory, regardless of how it had come about. The wizarding world would be stronger for her presence, her influence.

Still, the nagging question remained: who had intervened? And why?

Fawley drained his glass and set it down with a resolute thud. He would find out. He had to. For now, though, he would adapt. The future was no longer a fixed path but a swirling vortex of possibilities. And he would navigate it, as he always had, with intellect and determination.

"Let the game begin," he murmured, a faint smirk playing on his lips as he extinguished the lights and left his office.

Fawley now walks the darkened corridors of Hogwarts, his silhouette blending into the shadows. Though uncertainty loomed, one thing was clear: the tides were shifting, and he intended to ride the waves, no matter where they led.