Dark Wings Over Hogwarts

The sun bled across the horizon, casting long shadows over the Hogwarts grounds as Albus Dumbledore ascended the castle steps. His thoughts lingered on the conversation he'd just had—one that could alter the school's future.

The stone gargoyle shifted aside at his approach. With a quiet hum, the spiral staircase lifted him to his office. Inside, the warm glow of candlelight illuminated the shelves lined with ancient tomes and the delicate, whirring silver instruments. By the window stood Minerva McGonagall, her sharp gaze fixed on the distant treeline of the Forbidden Forest.

"You're late," she said, turning to face him. Her tone was clipped, but the concern beneath it was unmistakable.

Dumbledore smiled faintly as he eased into his chair. "You know how these things are, Minerva. Some conversations cannot be rushed."

McGonagall's lips thinned as she stepped away from the window. "I still don't understand why you're so intent on bringing him back. He walked away from our world seven years ago. What makes you think he'll return?"

"He hasn't lost his sense of duty," Dumbledore replied, his voice light but firm. "Beneath that hardened exterior is a man who still cares. And in times like these, that care may be exactly what Hogwarts needs."

A silence hung between them for a moment before McGonagall shook her head slightly. "I've watched too many promising students fall short when darkness truly comes," she said quietly. "Theory alone cannot save them, Albus. Not when it matters most."

"Precisely," he said softly. "That is why I asked Mr. Falconer to consider joining us."

Her expression softened—just a fraction—but the doubt lingered in her eyes. "And what of the other one?"

"Ah, yes—Professor Quirrell," Dumbledore said, his fingers tapping softly against the polished wood of his desk. "He returns from his travels with much enthusiasm. Whether he has found his courage remains to be seen."

A faint sigh escaped her lips. "Enthusiasm won't shield the children. What they need—what they deserve—is someone who understands what it means to stand in the line of fire."

Before Dumbledore could respond, the door swung open with a sharp creak. Severus Snape entered, his black robes trailing behind him like a shadow stretching across the warm light. His expression, as always, was unreadable—but his eyes held their usual intensity.

"You wanted to see me, Headmaster?" His voice was smooth, polite, and laced with cold curiosity.

"Indeed, Severus," Dumbledore said, leaning back. "I wished to discuss the new additions to our staff."

Snape's lip curled faintly. "I assume you refer to Professor Quirrell. A scholar, no doubt—but hardly someone who could defend himself, let alone his students."

Dumbledore chuckled softly. "He is more than his nervous demeanor, I assure you. Time will tell if he is ready."

Snape took a step closer, his gaze sharpening. "And the other?" His voice held an edge. "The rumors are already spreading. Some say you intend to bring in a combat specialist."

Dumbledore's smile remained, but there was a weight behind it. "Perhaps. I believe our students would benefit from a broader perspective on magical defense."

"And where did you find such a person?" Snape's tone turned colder. "The kind of wizard who teaches combat is not the kind who belongs at Hogwarts."

McGonagall shifted uncomfortably but remained silent.

Dumbledore met Snape's gaze without flinching. "I trust him."

Snape's silence stretched taut between them. Finally, he said, "Trust is a dangerous thing, Headmaster. Especially when it comes to those who make a living in the shadows."

Dumbledore's voice grew softer—but there was steel beneath it. "I am aware of the risks, Severus. But sometimes, the right person for the job is not the easiest to accept. Rest assured—he will not pose a danger to the school."

For a long moment, Snape said nothing. But something in his expression darkened, as though he sensed there was more to this than Dumbledore was admitting.

"I wonder," he murmured, his voice like silk over steel. "Is this about the students—or something else?"

Dumbledore's gaze remained calm, but the twinkle in his eyes dimmed ever so slightly. "We all have our reasons, Severus. But in this case—yes, it is about the students."

A tense silence stretched across the room before Snape gave a reluctant nod. "Very well. But when the inevitable chaos follows, do not expect me to clean up the mess." With that, he turned and swept from the office, the door clicking shut behind him.

McGonagall exhaled softly, shaking her head. "He won't make it easy for your new professor."

"I never expected him to," Dumbledore said quietly. "But I have faith that Mr. Falconer will manage. He always does."

Outside, the castle stood silent beneath the encroaching twilight. But beyond its walls, the world stirred—and the shadows were gathering.

Whether Zane Falconer returned willingly or not, the darkness creeping toward Hogwarts would not wait. And when it came, the question was not if he would fight—but whether he could still bear the cost.