CHAPTER 44

Suppressing his concerns about Albert, Adrian followed Mr. Irving Blackwood's lead, returning to their respective rooms with the rest of the family. Perhaps only little Emily could truly sleep soundly that night. The Blackwood household was tense, and in the dead of night, Adrian, who lay awake beneath the quilt in his room, caught the faint murmur of voices coming from the living room. His keen senses, honed through both Ravenclaw training and his own innate vigilance, immediately sharpened. Slipping silently from his bed, he crept down the stairs and concealed himself behind the thick stone pillar at the edge of the living room archway, hidden by shadow and instinct.

It wasn't until then that his father, Owen Blackwood, and Mr. Kingsley Shacklebolt began their true discussion. They had refrained from any significant conversation earlier, waiting until the others had settled.

"Owen, you understand the Ministry's Secrecy Regulations," Kingsley said quietly, rubbing his hands and pinching the bridge of his nose, his voice lined with regret. "I cannot divulge the full details of Albert's assignment. But please trust me—we are actively searching for him. He is not abandoned."

Owen's brow was deeply furrowed. He crossed his arms and exhaled heavily before shifting his approach. "Kingsley, I'm not asking for classified information. But try to see this from a father's eyes. The way you've spoken tonight—it makes it clear Albert is involved in something extremely perilous. I'm not asking what the mission is. Just… can you give me some idea of what might happen to him? What kind of danger he's in? I'm asking not as a former colleague—but as a father."

Kingsley hesitated. A long silence passed between the two men before he finally reached into his robe and withdrew a worn, dark-leather-bound book. "Owen… this was one of Albert's favorite books before he left for the assignment. I can't give you specifics, but maybe this will help you understand where his head was. Read it."

Owen accepted the book with a puzzled expression. The title—Winds of the Eastern Veil—was obscure, and its archaic prose seemed more myth than reality. "This… this is the one Adrian gave you, isn't it?" Owen asked after a beat. "He must have read it too."

He flipped through the pages, eyes scanning the lines, noting strange symbols and references to magical ruins in Bengal, to cursed artifacts, to rituals long thought lost. The narrative was dense, cryptic—certainly not something a typical first-year would study. But Adrian, with his photographic memory, his uncanny comprehension of magical theory, and his maturity beyond his years, had likely devoured the book. Owen couldn't deny it: in many ways, Adrian had already surpassed many of his peers—including, dare he admit it, some of Albert's own classmates from his time at Hogwarts.

As Owen sat, staring at the page with growing unease, Kingsley leaned forward slightly, voice lowered. "What are your plans for tomorrow?"

Owen glanced up. "Plans? Honestly, I've barely thought past tonight." His tone was clipped, distracted. The book, the implications, Albert's silence—it all churned in his mind.

"I'll be frank, Owen," Kingsley said, glancing toward the darkened windows. "We've got teams on the ground in India, but there's no trace of Albert so far. And if the group he encountered—those rogue Tantric warlocks operating out of Kolkata—can't locate him… they might come here. They'll come looking for what he left behind. For you. For Adrian. Maybe even Emily."

Owen's jaw clenched, but Kingsley continued, "Yes, the Ministry will post Aurors, but we're spread thin. You've seen the state of the department—barely enough new blood. Only three trainees passed this year. One of them couldn't even cast a proper Shield Charm during the final evaluation. If it comes down to a home incursion… well, you understand the risk."

Kingsley's bluntness had always been one of his defining traits, and Owen appreciated it—especially now.

Owen straightened and made a decision aloud. "Emily can go to Josephine's for now. Adrian may return to Hogwarts early—he'll be safest at the castle. Morgan Le Fay… she can continue her work at St Mungo's. As for Daisy—she's an adult, a capable Healer. Ron and I will manage matters at the Ministry directly." He raised a hand, cutting off Kingsley's expected protest. "Wait—hear me out."

"I understand the logic behind hiding. But if we clear out, they'll know we've been warned. That we're preparing. That kind of signal will push them to take more desperate action. They'll cast their net wider, get more aggressive, and Albert's chances of being retrieved safely will only plummet."

His tone sharpened as he added, "Besides, if they do dare enter this house, I want to meet them. And I will make them talk. You know my proficiency in Lenon's Binding Hex and dark defense tactics. If they show up on my turf, I won't waste the opportunity."

Kingsley studied him, then gave a resigned nod. "If you're set on it, I'll get the Floo connection to the Ministry opened. Temporarily. In case reinforcements are needed. But this is a stopgap, Owen. Not a fortress."

"I understand. And thank you," Owen said, rising with him.

Kingsley clasped Owen's hand. "You're doing what you believe is right. Just make sure you're still standing to see Albert come home."

"I intend to be," Owen replied solemnly, escorting Kingsley to the door as the last traces of night gave way to uncertain morning.

Adrian hurried back to his room, slipped under the covers, and buried himself beneath the quilt. His heart still beat with the tension of what he had overheard downstairs. But it wasn't long before Owen Blackwood knocked on the door. Hearing the soft knock, Adrian rubbed his eyes and feigned a drowsy half-conscious state, as though he'd only just woken.

Owen entered without waiting for a reply. He sat on the edge of his younger son's bed with a practiced familiarity, reaching for the quilt. It was cold to the touch—no body warmth. But he didn't comment on it. Instead, his voice was low and direct. "Sorry, Adrian. I know it's late, but I need to borrow a bit of your time. I've something important to ask you."

Adrian, sharp as ever, sat up immediately, brushing his fringe aside. Snowflakes drifted beyond the windowpane, and the amber firelight cast flickering shadows across the walls. It was quiet—an eerie calm that clung to the house like frost. The warmth inside the room felt like a fragile shield holding back the oncoming storm.

"You're wondering about the book," Adrian said, eyes focused. "It's all right. I'll explain everything I know."

Owen gave a small nod, watching his son with quiet attentiveness. Adrian spoke softly, choosing his words with care. "Dad… have you ever heard of the Indian moon god?"

Owen furrowed his brow. "Only vaguely. Go on."

"In Indian mythology, the moon god is known as Chandra, which means 'bright' or 'dazzling' in Sanskrit," Adrian began, his voice steady. "In the book Albert left behind, Chandra is described as a male deity with four arms—one bearing a silver sceptre, another holding amrita, the nectar of immortality. The third arm carries a lotus, and the fourth is raised in a defensive blessing. He rides a chariot drawn by ten jasmine-white horses or antelopes, symbolic of both speed and transcendence."

He paused, watching Owen's face. "The text links Chandra's celestial influence with a lost magical artefact that can alter fate—possibly a derivative or cousin of the Time-Turner, but older, primordial, and unrestricted by temporal laws."

Owen blinked. "What exactly are you implying?"

Adrian's voice dropped into something barely above a whisper, his words deliberate. "You know how obsessed our world is with immortality. But who, above all, has chased it with the most desperation in recent memory?"

At that moment, Owen noticed something on Adrian's hand—faint, almost imperceptible—like a shadow of a sigil that shimmered and faded: the remains of a detection charm or perhaps a defensive rune. His heart thudded.

"You mean… Him? The one who must not be named?" Owen said, almost in disbelief, memories of the First and Second Wizarding Wars crashing back—bloodshed, darkness, the constant shadow of fear.

Adrian shrugged. "Maybe it's not him. Could be one of his Death Eaters, or someone following in his footsteps. But we have to prepare for the worst. This book Albert left wasn't just literature. It's a warning. So, what's your plan for us?"

Seeing the seriousness in his son's gaze, Owen slowly laid out his intended arrangements. But as soon as he finished, Adrian's response was immediate and firm.

"No. I can't go back to Hogwarts," Adrian said quietly, yet resolutely. "Even if it is the safest place."

Owen blinked, clearly taken aback. "Adrian, I know you're capable, Merlin knows you've proved it again and again—but you're still only twelve. You need to stay at Hogwarts. It's where you'll be protected. You're not going to Abergavenny, and that's final."

Adrian didn't flinch. His tone was measured, but insistent. "Dad, think about Emily. She's only eight. You really believe she'll be fine staying at Aunt Josephine's by herself? She'll feel abandoned. She might act brave, but she'll be frightened and hurt. You know how close she is to me. If I stay, I can watch over her. That would ease Aunt Josephine's burden too."

He leaned forward, his voice intensifying. "I'm not saying I'm invincible, but I've passed Ravenclaw's physical and magical assessments. My Charms work is stronger than half the upper-years. If something happens, I'll at least be able to stall or protect Emily long enough for help to arrive."

Owen studied his son closely. Despite the youthful face, Adrian's logic, poise, and unshakable conviction reminded him more of a seasoned wizard than a second-year student. He ran a hand down his face, exhaled, and finally gave a small nod.

"All right," he said slowly. "But no recklessness, Adrian. You stay put, and you protect your sister. Don't go running into danger chasing ghosts or glory. Understood?"

Adrian nodded firmly. "Understood, Father."

Owen stood, the weight of decision heavy in his posture. "Good. Then get some sleep. Take care of little bear."

As the door clicked shut, Adrian sank back into his pillow, eyes still open. Snow fell heavier outside now, but inside, the fire flickered on—casting light against the growing darkness.