Dark Wings Over Hogwarts

Zane Falconer moved through the dim corridors of Hogwarts, his mind still turning over the conversation with Dumbledore. Taking on the Combat Magic course was an unexpected twist in his path—but the possibilities intrigued him. The castle's magic hummed softly around him as if recognizing his return after all these years.

He hadn't expected to walk these halls again. The stone walls hadn't changed—but he had. The boy who once studied here was gone, replaced by someone who had seen too much to play by their rules. And now, he was back, not to fit in—but to change the system.

As he approached the dungeons, a familiar presence emerged from the shadows. The slow, deliberate footsteps and the swish of robes gave his identity away long before he spoke.

"Falconer," Severus Snape's silky voice drawled, cutting through the silence. "I see even the most unlikely strays find their way back." His black eyes glinted with curiosity and thinly veiled suspicion.

Zane stopped, a faint smirk tugging at his lips. "Snape. Still haunting the dungeons, I see."

Snape folded his arms, his gaze sharp. "I heard whispers of your return. And now I find they are true." His voice lowered to a cold warning. "Whatever game you're playing, know this—I will find the cracks."

Zane met his gaze without flinching. "And if there's nothing to hide, you'll have nothing to find." He turned slightly, ready to move on, but Snape's next words held him in place.

"Professor McGonagall wishes to see you," Snape said, his tone unreadable. "I suggest you do not keep her waiting."

Zane tilted his head. "Always the messenger, aren't you?" Without waiting for a response, he continued toward McGonagall's office, leaving Snape behind.

---

The transfiguration classroom was as orderly and meticulous as he remembered. Bookshelves lined the walls, filled with heavy tomes, while the scent of polished wood and parchment filled the air. Professor McGonagall stood near her desk, her sharp eyes lifting as he entered.

"Mr. Falconer," she greeted briskly. "I trust your meeting with the Headmaster was productive?"

"It had its moments," Zane replied, stepping closer. "You wanted to see me?"

McGonagall motioned toward a parchment-covered table. "If you are to teach Combat Magic, you'll need to decide on the resources your students require. What textbooks will you recommend?"

Zane leaned against the table, scanning the pile of books. Without hesitation, he shook his head. "No textbooks."

Her brows rose, though her expression remained calm. "No textbooks? That is... unconventional."

"Textbooks teach theory. Combat is about instinct and practice," Zane said. "The world outside these walls won't play by their rules. If they can't survive real danger, the textbooks won't save them. Everything they need to learn, they'll learn in my classroom—not by reading outdated chapters."

McGonagall's lips pressed into a thin line as she considered his words. "And the years?"

"Second through sixth," he answered without pause. "First-years are too green, and seventh-years should already know how to defend themselves—or they're beyond help."

Her expression softened slightly, almost approving. "I will relay your preferences to Madam Pince. What other materials will you require?"

Zane thought for a moment before replying. "An outdoor training ground. Enclosed and private. The castle walls are too... limiting."

For the first time since their meeting began, a glimmer of surprise touched her eyes. "An outdoor class?"

He nodded. "Real conditions. Real experience. You can't teach them how to react inside a classroom."

McGonagall gave a thoughtful hum. "I'll speak with the Headmaster. But, if approved, I expect you to oversee its preparation." She met his gaze squarely. "You understand the responsibility you are taking on, Mr. Falconer. The students' safety—"

"Is my responsibility," Zane finished, his voice calm. "I know the risks, Professor. But you wouldn't be asking if you weren't already sure I could handle it."

A flicker of something unreadable crossed her face—respect, perhaps. For a moment, there was silence. Then, with a small nod, McGonagall extended her hand. "Welcome back to Hogwarts, Zane."

He shook her hand firmly. "Thanks, Professor."

As he turned to leave, her voice softened slightly. "And Zane... try not to cause too much trouble."

A faint chuckle escaped him. "No promises."

---

The cool night air brushed against his face as Zane stepped into the courtyard. The castle stood behind him—a symbol of the past—but the path ahead was his to carve.

He wasn't here to fit into their system.

He was here to change it.