CHAPTER 46

Adrian pulled aside the tapestry concealed behind the children's bookshelf and raised his wand. "Lumos."

A soft beam of white light burst from the tip of his wand, casting a glow into the narrow passage ahead. He paused, listening intently—no movement. To be safe, he activated the discreet shielding enchantment sewn into his enchanted Ravenclaw-standard traveling cloak, a gift from Professor Flitwick before the Christmas break. Then, crouching low, Adrian slipped through the opening behind the tapestry into the hidden tunnel.

The four walls of the corridor were lined with vivid, timeworn murals—clearly preserved with a powerful stasis charm. Despite the age, they still glowed with enchantment, depicting magical scenes in rich hues. The floor beneath his feet was a carefully laid mosaic of enchanted tiles, the path marked by a zigzag of ruby-colored porcelain pieces about two feet wide. At the far end, the plaster on the stone wall showed signs of damage—fractures and adhesion marks where a portion had collapsed in the past. The surface of the murals remained polished and nearly glass-like, catching the glow from his wand and reflecting it back eerily.

As he passed one mural, Adrian noticed a depiction of a medieval wizard brewing a potion of vivid crimson—clearly alchemical in nature. The thick red liquid bubbled in an oddly shaped cauldron with runes of Mercury and Saturn etched around it. A pang of unease stirred in him, but he hadn't time to linger. Gripping his wand tightly, he moved forward with careful, hushed steps, navigating the slight inclines and bends of the tunnel, all the while alert for danger.

He hadn't gone far when a sudden gust of cold air met him near the top of a weather-warped wooden hatch. The wind, sharp and wintry, caught him off guard and made him flinch. Squinting upward, he saw a shaft of sunlight pouring through a cracked skylight in what appeared to be a small, cluttered storage room.

Adrian climbed up and emerged into the light. After the dimness of the tunnel, the afternoon sun pouring through the broken glass above forced him to shield his eyes. He blinked against the brilliance until they adjusted.

Pushing open the weathered door, he stepped outside. Before him lay a neglected garden, thick with snow drifts clinging to the uneven ground. Beyond it stretched a bleak, wind-blasted landscape. Wooden and daub cottages—likely magical farmsteads—stood scattered across the snow-covered fields like lost relics.

He turned around. Not far from the clearing stood a stately manor, its high walls mostly intact despite age. The sun reflected brilliantly off patches of snow on the slate roof of the old stone house, and behind it, mist-shrouded mountains pierced the clouds like jagged sentinels—a picturesque but haunting sight.

Adrian checked the time on the magical timepiece sewn into the inside of his cloak. Based on Emily's sleeping habits—something he had keenly observed over the past few days—she'd likely be waking in a few minutes. He needed to return swiftly.

As he re-entered the house through the concealed path, he passed the second-floor bathroom and heard the gentle slosh of water. Aunt Josephine, as he guessed, was in the middle of her shower. Perfect. A plan began to take shape in his mind.

He carefully restored the tapestry behind the bookcase and made his way back to the bedroom door. The portrait on it, showing the little red-dressed girl clutching a toad, had returned. She gave Adrian a quick glance before vanishing from her painted scene with a knowing smirk.

Adrian stepped inside. Fortunately, Emily was still asleep, her small form curled up under the patchwork quilt. Moving with the same care he'd used when retrieving a rare book from the Restricted Section, he tiptoed over and climbed into bed beside her. He gently lifted the quilt, slid beneath it, and settled in beside his sister, eyes closed, forcing himself to rest.

He had spent the previous evening entertaining Emily with tales of Hippogriff grooming techniques and Niffler mischief in front of Aunt Josephine. Their aunt had then shared curious anecdotes about her past work in the Department for the Regulation and Control of Magical Creatures, especially involving the handling of Erklings in the Black Forest. Adrian had paid close attention—both to her words and to the rhythm of her routines.

Later that night, once Emily was again tucked in, Adrian cast "Somnus Serenus", a lesser-known charm he had found in The Encyclopedia of Soothing Spells, originally created by a sleep-deprived wizard in the 14th century who believed his insomnia was causing his hair loss—though Healer Thistleworth insisted it was more likely the other way around. The charm, at least, solved half the issue.

He kissed Emily on the forehead before rising. Then he waited, concealed just outside the bathroom—not out of any improper motive, but because he needed to "borrow" Aunt Josephine's wand. Outside of Hogwarts or adult supervision, underage magic was still regulated by the Decree for the Reasonable Restriction of Underage Sorcery. But as with Harry being allowed to cast Lumos under his covers or Hermione practicing spells at home with her parents' blessing, some leeway existed. Unfortunately, Adrian's next mission wouldn't afford that leeway. And he knew full well that the spells he'd need would likely be offensive, maybe even dangerous.

Once he had stealthily retrieved the wand from where Aunt Josephine kept it by the washbasin, Adrian returned to the farmhouse's upper room. Using the Aura of Learning—a magical technique he'd unlocked through the Xueba System—he attempted to detect Albert's location. The spell was beyond standard first-year capacity, meant for older students studying magical surveillance and detection. It required deep familiarity with the subject, an attuned magical mirror, and potion-enhanced smoke for visualization—none of which were available.

Still, through sheer focus and the academic boost granted by the Xueba halo, Adrian managed to pinpoint a vague but useful reading of Albert's presence. It wasn't precise, but it was enough.

What surprised Adrian Blackwood was that the system had suddenly released an urgent mission to search for Moonstones, with no prior prompt or buildup, immediately after he had completed his focused divination. This abrupt trigger left Adrian with a growing suspicion: the Xueba System, while usually meticulous and dependable, sometimes displayed erratic behavior. It felt vaguely sentient yet frustratingly cryptic—this time, it hadn't even included a proper explanation of the rewards. It was almost as though it had made the decision while in a distracted daze, which only added to Adrian's unease.

There was no time to dwell on that thought. He stepped out of the enchanted farmhouse once more, retrieving his broom—Neptune, a sleek, high-speed model modified with Ravenclaw blue and silver tail strips and equipped with a silent-glide charm—from his system storage. Swinging his leg over it, Adrian launched into the air and accelerated, cutting swiftly through the night.

Above, the last wisps of moonlight faded as the sky darkened. The scent of rain grew denser in the air, heavy with ozone and damp soil.

And then, the storm broke.

A torrential downpour battered the sky, streaked with jagged bolts of lightning accompanied by deafening claps of thunder that rumbled through the clouds and cracked over the distant hills like a stampede of giants. The moon vanished completely behind swirling thunderheads. Bitter gusts of northern wind clawed at Adrian's robes, while icy sleet pelted him from the side. Some of the descending raindrops, twisted by the cold midwinter air, crystallized into sleet or soft snowflakes and fell mixed with the deluge.

The storm lashed at him, but Adrian flew on. His wand-hand clenched tight, his free hand steering Neptune with practiced ease. Fortunately, thanks to the physical conditioning he'd undertaken since the summer—enhanced by the Room of Requirement's training environment—he was far stronger and more resilient than most students his age. His traveling cloak, enchanted with a constant-temperature charm Professor Flitwick had subtly reinforced before term break, insulated him from the worst of the cold. Without it, flying in such weather would have been impossible.

The occasional flash of lightning illuminated the land below. The contours of the village behind him blurred into dark splotches, while the snow-covered rooftops of distant barns and mills appeared briefly like smudged chalk drawings before vanishing again. Adrian streaked away from the village into the open wilderness.

Soon, far ahead through the mist and driving rain, he spotted his destination. A massive, jutting silhouette loomed in the distance—a great stone formation that pierced the horizon like the spine of a buried titan. Lightning flickered behind it, and for a moment, its stark outline was burned against the sky.

As Adrian approached, he could feel the buzz of powerful protective enchantments—a sophisticated Muggle-Repelling Charm woven tightly around the mountain, concealing it from non-magical eyes. Circling the rocky formation from above, Adrian mapped its structure in his mind, then descended cautiously.

His boots touched down lightly, but instead of solid stone, he was met with a strangely yielding sensation underfoot, like pressing into magically dense fog or wool. The mountain wasn't a natural peak after all—it was a massive stone tower carved seamlessly from the surrounding rock. Its proportions were unnaturally uniform, a deliberate magical construction, blending ancient natural stone with enchantment and architectural spellwork. In the vast wilderness, it stood like a lone sentinel, grim and immovable, as though watching the land from some higher purpose.

Several narrow ledges spiraled the exterior, offering meager footholds. But what drew Adrian's attention was a vaulted archway—an entrance approximately twenty feet tall and ten feet wide, hewn into the face of the rock. Thick granite columns flanked the door, and deep runes were etched into the lintel—some ancient dialect of runic magic he vaguely recognized from Magical Hieroglyphs and Logograms.

The sloping stone before the entryway directed the floodwaters away—clearly enchanted to remain dry regardless of the weather. From this, Adrian deduced the interior was protected from both rainfall and lightning strikes. The entrance appeared solid, its design bearing resemblance to early wizarding fortresses—utilitarian but deeply warded.

A quick glance confirmed he hadn't been detected. He muttered "Impervius" to repel the lingering rain, then activated the stealth enchantment on his traveling cloak, careful to wipe away any clinging water—wet fabric could still shimmer under light and betray his presence.

He didn't rush in. Instead, Adrian paused to examine the gate more closely. Unlike some wizard-born students who disregarded non-magical disciplines, Adrian had learned to appreciate a blend of magical history, Muggle architecture, and ancient construction practices—especially after spending time poring over dusty volumes in the Restricted Section during his nocturnal Room of Requirement sessions.

The stone around the gate bore marks of recent magical damage. Large fragments of shattered cobblestone were strewn about, as though a massive stone had once sealed the entrance and had recently been blasted apart by force magic—perhaps Reducto or a reinforced Bombarda Maxima. Judging by the clean breaks and scatter pattern, it had been destroyed by someone who knew what they were doing.

Despite its weight, the massive stone door was enchanted with a classic wizarding architectural charm—responsive to intent, able to swing easily under magical influence or manual push, but always returning to a sealed position unless anchored by a counter-spell. Adrian recognized the spell's aura from Professor Binns' dry lecture on pre-Ministry fortress enchantments.

Holding his wand horizontally, Adrian placed the tip gently against the surface of the door and brought the hilt close to his ear. It was an old Auror trick he'd read about in Tactical Listening: Magical Espionage Methods, useful for detecting sounds on the other side.

He waited. Nothing. No rustle of cloth, no scrape of feet, no murmur of spells.

After several tense minutes, confident no one waited in ambush, Adrian gave the door a firm push. It creaked open just wide enough for him to slip through, and he stepped silently into the stone tower's shadowed depths.