Dark Wings Over Hogwarts

A crisp autumn breeze swept through the countryside as Zane Falconer stood at the edge of Hogsmeade. The distant silhouette of Hogwarts Castle rose against the early evening sky, its towering spires casting long shadows over the Forbidden Forest. Despite the years, nothing about the castle had changed—only he had.

Dumbledore's letter had been brief and precise. "Your arrival is expected. Come directly to my office." No flourish, no unnecessary pleasantries. The old man knew better than to waste time on theatrics with him.

Zane adjusted his black coat and began the familiar climb up the path. As the castle drew closer, memories surfaced—some easier to ignore than others.

The whispers that followed him from his first day.

The fights he couldn't avoid.

And the lessons he never forgot.

But that was the past. This visit wasn't about reliving old ghosts. It was about something new.

The great oak doors of Hogwarts groaned open beneath his touch, and the echo of his footsteps filled the entrance hall. Portraits stirred in their frames, some casting curious glances while others simply ignored him. Students were nowhere to be seen—no doubt occupied with dinner in the Great Hall.

Zane passed through the familiar corridors, his mind sharpening as he took in the details. Some things were the same—the faint hum of enchantments woven into the castle's walls—but there were differences. Stronger wards. Tighter security. The world was shifting, and Hogwarts was preparing.

A quiet cough drew his attention as he rounded a corner.

"Falconer."

Zane's lips twitched at the familiar clipped tone. "Professor McGonagall."

The Deputy Headmistress stood tall, her emerald robes as immaculate as ever. Age had not softened her, but there was an edge of curiosity in her sharp gaze as she looked him over.

"I was told to expect you," she said, her voice cool. "But I must admit, I was surprised when Albus mentioned your name. I assumed you had left the magical world behind after your graduation."

Zane shrugged. "It has a habit of pulling you back."

McGonagall's eyes narrowed slightly. "And what exactly has pulled you back?"

He met her gaze without flinching. "Dumbledore seems to think I have something to offer. I'm here to see if he's right."

For a moment, silence stretched between them. Then, with a small nod, McGonagall turned on her heel. "Follow me. The Headmaster is waiting."

They walked through the castle in silence, though Zane could feel her watching him. McGonagall had always been difficult to read, but he sensed the unspoken questions beneath her composed exterior.

Finally, she spoke. "Slytherin," she mused quietly. "I always wondered why the Sorting Hat put you there."

Zane gave a faint smile. "I didn't question it. It made me stronger."

Her expression softened—barely. "Strength isn't everything, Mr. Falconer."

He didn't answer. He had learned the hard way that in some worlds, strength was the only thing that mattered.

As they reached the stone gargoyle guarding Dumbledore's office, McGonagall gave a curt nod. "He's expecting you." With that, she turned and left without another word.

Zane tilted his head. "Lemon drops."

The gargoyle shifted aside, revealing the spiral staircase. Zane ascended, the familiar creak beneath his boots stirring old memories.

When he entered the office, Dumbledore was already seated behind his great oak desk, the ever-present twinkle in his eyes softened by something closer to calculation. The scent of parchment and lemon tea hung in the air.

"Mr. Falconer," Dumbledore said warmly. "It's good to see you again."

Zane stepped forward, sliding his hands into his coat pockets. "I'm here. What now?"

Dumbledore gestured to a seat opposite him. "Please, sit. We have much to discuss."

Zane lowered himself into the chair, his posture relaxed but alert.

"I'll be direct," Dumbledore said, steepling his fingers. "I would like you to teach a new course—Combat Magic. The world beyond these walls grows darker, and our students must be prepared. Your… particular skill set makes you uniquely qualified."

"You're asking me to teach them how to fight," Zane said quietly.

"In essence, yes," Dumbledore agreed. "But more than that—to survive. There are things Aurors cannot teach. Things only someone who has walked the edges of both worlds can impart."

Zane leaned back. "And what makes you think I'll fit in here?"

The old man's gaze sharpened. "Because you care more than you admit. And perhaps—deep down—you understand that this castle once offered you a future beyond the shadows. It still can."

The words hung heavy between them. For a long moment, Zane said nothing, weighing possibilities.

Finally, he asked, "And my methods?"

"I trust your discretion," Dumbledore said simply. "You will have full autonomy within your classroom. So long as your lessons remain focused on defense, not destruction."

A dry chuckle escaped Zane's lips. "I make no promises, Headmaster."

Dumbledore's smile was faint. "I expect nothing less."

Silence stretched once more before Zane spoke again. "One condition."

"Name it."

"I come and go as I please," Zane said. "If I'm needed elsewhere… I will leave."

Dumbledore studied him for a long moment before nodding. "Agreed."

Zane stood, extending a hand. "Then I'll see you at the start of term."

Dumbledore took his hand in a firm grasp. "Welcome back, Professor Falconer."

As Zane turned to leave, the old man's voice called softly after him.

"And Zane… whatever path led you here, know that you are not as alone as you think."

Zane paused briefly at the door but didn't respond. With a smooth motion, he stepped into the corridor, his thoughts already shifting to the months ahead.

He hadn't planned to return to Hogwarts. But perhaps, this castle still had something left to teach him.