CHAPTER 42

Adrian Blackwood cleared his throat with a deliberately exaggerated cough, subtly announcing his presence: "Were you talking about Nicolas Flamel?"

But clearly, the group didn't welcome the interruption.

Hermione's face contorted with frustration the moment someone else dared speak that name aloud. Ron froze, his expression blank as he blinked in surprise at Adrian, who had seemingly appeared out of nowhere beneath the towering Christmas tree in the Great Hall. Harry opened his mouth, instinctively about to ask Adrian something—as he often did when in doubt—but stopped himself, uncertain, caught between loyalty to his friends and trust in Adrian. Hermione, however, reacted first.

"Mr. Blackwood, it's unethical to eavesdrop," said Miss Masterstone coldly, eyeing Adrian from beneath her knitted brow, her tone mimicking the sternness of Professor McGonagall at her strictest.

Harry shifted uncomfortably at Hermione's reaction. The information about Nicolas Flamel had been a well-guarded secret between the trio—he, Ron, and Hermione—and Harry wasn't sure if he was supposed to share it, especially without the agreement of the others. He wasn't even sure how much Adrian already knew.

"I wasn't eavesdropping," Adrian replied smoothly, his tone laced with a hint of annoyance. "You were standing right next to me discussing it rather loudly. I was just helping Penelope Clearwater decorate the Christmas tree—our Head Girl can be a bit of a perfectionist when it comes to tinsel placement. Anyway," he continued, brushing a bit of fake snow off his sleeve, "I only meant to say that I know who Nicolas Flamel is. But since you seem intent on excluding me, I'll simply wish you all a Happy Christmas."

With a shrug, Adrian turned his back to the trio and began walking toward the Ravenclaw common room, leaving the golden lights of the decorated tree behind him.

Hermione turned to Ron, wide-eyed. "How could he know about Nicolas Flamel? We've been researching for weeks!"

Ron scowled. "Told you not to provoke him. He's not like us, Hermione. Adrian's hand-of-Neptune quill came from that advanced trivia contest in Diagon Alley, remember? He's probably known about Flamel from the start."

Harry frowned, annoyed at himself. He had wanted to talk to Adrian about it weeks ago. But Hermione, ever competitive, had dismissed the idea. She had seen Adrian as more of a rival than a potential ally.

"I'm going to apologize to Blackwood," Hermione said quietly, biting her lower lip. Before Ron or Harry could react, she turned and marched off in the direction Adrian had gone.

Harry and Ron exchanged a look, then chased after her—only to be stopped at the entrance to the Ravenclaw Tower, where the eagle-shaped knocker posed its customary riddle.

As always, the enchanted knocker spared no mercy for outsiders. Despite Hermione's intelligence, the riddles were not about textbook answers—they tested wit, philosophy, and intuition. While Luna Lovegood had once correctly answered whether "the phoenix or the flame came first," Hermione faltered, overanalyzing every possibility and missing the intended simplicity.

"Maybe we'll catch him at breakfast tomorrow," Harry said with a trace of hope.

Hermione sighed, frustrated. "I'll check the library. He always reads before the holidays."

But the next morning, when the three friends arrived in the Great Hall, Adrian wasn't there. He was still upstairs, packing his trunk. Moments later, in the Ravenclaw boys' dormitory, Adrian was carefully folding the last of his winter robes, occasionally glancing at Edward's side of the room. A few of Edward's treats—Honeydukes' snacks and dubious Hogsmeade pastries—were laid out temptingly. Adrian had asked a couple of older students to pick them up for him as train snacks. He planned to eat them on the Hogwarts Express and arrive home with just enough room in his stomach for dinner—not because the meals at home were necessarily better than Hogwarts, but because he knew his mother would be thrilled to see him eat heartily.

When the Hogwarts Express finally arrived at King's Cross Station, Adrian had spent much of the journey in the train's bathroom—not for the same reasons as Amos Diggory's infamous constipation, but because one of Edward's sandwich candies, which promised a "delicious bang in every bite," had lived up to its slogan far too literally. The thing had exploded—not in his mouth, but rather in his stomach, long past its expiration date.

By evening, Adrian, still recovering from his impromptu digestive disaster, spotted a familiar figure on the platform—his elder brother Albert Blackwood, looking unusually distracted. Adrian had to call out to him twice before Albert snapped out of his reverie and smiled, ruffling his brother's hair in greeting.

"Father had to stay back at the Ministry—emergency Floo call from Magical Law Enforcement," Albert explained as he hurried toward the platform. "So he asked me to come instead." Before Adrian could respond, Albert swept him up in a bear hug.

"Pffft—!" Adrian let out a strangled sound, as if someone had cast a well-placed Expulso on his stomach. Ravenclaw's top point-earner for the term suddenly wished he hadn't packed so tightly—if he hadn't emptied himself before departure, the hug might've squeezed more than just air from him.

As they returned to the Blackwood manor, just before stepping through the front doors, Adrian's stomach caught a familiar scent on the breeze—thick, rich, unmistakably sweet.

"Mum made cheesecake!" he exclaimed, eyes lighting up. Influenced by his dormmate Edward's legendary sweet tooth, Adrian had grown to appreciate desserts far more than he used to—especially ones from home.

"Adrian, don't fill up on pudding," Albert warned, nudging his shoulder. "Mum's been prepping the whole day. And for the record, I'm calling dibs on the first slice—I've earned it. I'm on leave after a three-day disaster at Gringotts involving a rogue vault-closing charm."

Sure enough, dinner was a feast. While Hogwarts' Christmas spread was famously magical—with self-carving hams and levitating puddings—the warmth of home, familiarity of flavors, and lack of noisy ghosts made the Blackwood dining table a much cozier experience. Seven family members shared a meal in quiet joy, the kind that only came with being together after long weeks apart.

Adrian was the only one currently attending Hogwarts. His elder sister, Daisy, worked at St. Mungo's Hospital for Magical Maladies and Injuries—not in the reception like their mother, but in the more demanding ward dealing with Cursed Object Afflictions, something their mother, Morgana Lefey Blackwood, took immense pride in.

Ren, the second son, had just finished his internship and joined the Pest Advisory Board in the Department for the Regulation and Control of Magical Creatures. He'd taken a few days off to see Adrian during the break.

Unsurprisingly, the conversation quickly drifted toward Adrian's school life. Though he'd tried to talk about the magical theory lectures by Professor Vector and the Charms challenges Flitwick had given him, his family seemed far more fascinated by the news of his first Quidditch match.

"Flying talent runs in the family," their father, Owen Blackwood, declared proudly, patting his rounded belly. "Back in my Slytherin days, I was a Chaser, fast as a Firebolt—before they were invented, mind you."

"Yes, dear," Morgana added with a fond smile, "you looked very dashing on a broom—though your landings could've used work."

Adrian caught the amused glances exchanged between Daisy and Albert. As usual, their parents were drifting into starry-eyed nostalgia again.

The next few days passed quietly, a rare stretch of peace. Adrian didn't plan much—he had already experienced a chaotic term filled with magical trials, cursed staircases, Quidditch competitions, and Ravenclaw's ancestral secrets. For now, he just wanted to rest. He leafed idly through the family's collection of A Revised History of Magic volumes, reading them more like bedtime stories than academic texts.

But as often happens in magical households—or life in general—peace was always temporary. According to the logic of Murphy's Law, even the most remote odds of trouble eventually found their way.

One morning, Adrian awoke to a thick blanket of snow falling outside. His plan for outdoor wand drills and morning runs was dashed. After a hot shower, he trudged downstairs, yawning, only to discover that the house was silent—save for his younger sister, Emily.

"Did everyone go to work together?" Adrian muttered, pouring himself a steaming mug of hot milk from a self-heating jug their mother enchanted years ago. Though Morgana had clearly left in a hurry, she'd still managed to cook up a delicious breakfast spread for her youngest children.

Emily, wrapped in a scarf two sizes too big, bounced over and tugged on his robe. "Adrian, tell me about the Moonstone again!"

Adrian blinked. "The Moonstone? Since when are you into enchanted gems?"

"It's not just a gem—it's the Moon Gem!" she said dramatically, clearly channeling Edward's flair for the theatrical. "I read that it's a yellow diamond worn by a four-armed Indian moon god. It changes color with the phases of the moon!"

Adrian chuckled but played along. "That version's probably from one of your Muggle mythology books. In magical history, the Moon Gem is actually a translucent crystal—less valuable in texture but far more interesting in magical properties."

He leaned in, stirring the milk with his wand as he spoke. "Wizards believe the Moon Gem's surface glows differently depending on the lunar cycle. During a full moon, it amplifies divination magic—some say it even whispers visions from the moon goddess herself. But it's temperamental. I read about one that exploded during a ritual because the user tried to fake the moon phase with illusions."

Emily gasped, delighted. "That's so much better than fairy tales! Can I see one?"

"Maybe one day," Adrian said with a grin. "But for now, eat your breakfast before the gnomes raid the pantry again."