Adrian had no intention of lingering outside in the heavy, cold rain any longer than necessary.
The Scottish weather in March was notoriously unpredictable and unpleasant, and today's downpour was particularly miserable, the kind of bone-chilling rain that seed to find every gap in one's clothing and made even short outdoor excursions feel like punishnt.
He had only conceived the idea of conducting another magical examination of Malfoy when he'd happened to encounter Draco walking alone and troubled in the third-floor corridor.
Unexpectedly, this impromptu examination had actually uncovered a significant and deeply concerning problem: permanent physiological changes from Voldemort's body-modification ritual that were apparently irreversible.
According to Malfoy's detailed and disturbing account during their rain-soaked conversation, at least five people that he knew of had undergone Voldemort's physical transformation magic in recent months, just as he himself had been forced to endure.
Voldemort was apparently running multiple experints simultaneously, refining his technique.
As for who exactly these other unfortunate souls were, what their nas were, where they lived, whether they were students or adults, that remained unknown for now.
Malfoy claid with fear that he'd never been told their identities, kept deliberately isolated from the other subjects.
Moreover, Malfoy had ntioned with bitterness that the others had apparently voluntarily accepted Voldemort's Dark Mark when offered, all except himself.
He alone had been forced into it, compelled by circumstances entirely beyond his personal control and against his every instinct for self-preservation.
Adrian could easily guess the primary reason behind this.
Because if Draco hadn't accepted the Mark when directly ordered by Voldemort himself, Lucius would definitely lose his already precarious footing among the Death Eater group.
The consequences of being ostracized, mistrusted, and marked as unreliable among a group of paranoid, violent terrorists...
Need not be clearly said. They were inevitably fatal.
While contemplating the troubling Malfoy's situation, Adrian walked toward his designated classroom.
The next Care of Magical Creatures class would begin in about half an hour, and he needed to prepare. Due to the heavy rain, this lesson had been relocated to a large, mostly empty classroom on the castle's ground floor that was sotis used.
He planned to give the students a small written quiz today, just one parchnt's worth of questions covering the material they'd studied over the past month.
Co to think of it more carefully, his course had always heavily emphasized practical hands-on work with actual creatures with theoretical lessons few and far between.
Perhaps far too few, if he was being honest with himself.
Perhaps he should appropriately increase the theoretical content going forward for the remainder of the year; after all, this course did have a substantial theoretical examination section at both O.W.L. and N.E.W.T. levels that his students would eventually face, and he had a responsibility to prepare them properly for those tests.
This adjustnt was totally and completely for the students' grades and long-term educational benefit, ensuring they had the foundational knowledge they needed.
Definitely not just to slack off from outdoor work in bad weather or avoid getting drenched again...
Just as Adrian reached the courtyard corridor, shaking accumulated rain from his robes and hair, a figure with thoroughly soaked clothing and hair plastered to their head suddenly burst through the heavy rain from the courtyard outside.
The person was moving at nearly a full run and nearly collided directly with Adrian in their haste, barely stopping in ti.
Whoosh—
The completely drenched person shook the water droplets vigorously from their hair with an exaggerated motion like a dog fresh from a bath, spraying water in all directions and complaining breathlessly through gasps:
"What in rlin's na was Dumbledore thinking? Insisting on setting the Portkey arrival point in the completely open, exposed courtyard in this terrible weather... Oh, Professor Westeros, what a pleasant and fortunate coincidence to run into you."
Adrian looked with concealed amusent at the thoroughly bedraggled Ludo Bagman standing in front of him with water still dripping from every part of his robes and forming a puddle on the stone floor. "Mr. Bagman? Is sothing particularly urgent the matter? You look like you've been swimming fully clothed in the Black Lake."
Ludo hastily wiped the streaming rainwater from his round, flushed face with his already-soaked sleeve, revealing a bright smile beneath the water, though it looked sowhat forced and strained.
"Dumbledore sent word that he has urgent business with , apparently quite important and ti-sensitive," He explained quickly between breaths, still slightly winded from his rush.
"I received his letter by owl just over an hour ago, along with a Portkey enchanted for imdiate one-way transportation... Ah, I'm already quite late by his instructions. I really must go right away. Goodbye, Professor. Sorry for nearly bowling you over."
Without waiting for any response or further conversation, Ludo hurried off down the corridor, his wet robes making slapping sounds against his legs as he practically jogged toward the staircases.
Adrian felt genuinely puzzled by this rushed, almost panicked behavior and the urgency Dumbledore had apparently conveyed.
If the Headmaster was urgently summoning Ludo with such emphasis on fast arrival, it was almost certainly about so critical aspect of the Triwizard Tournant, probably concerning the upcoming final task or so logistic crisis.
As a supervising professor, perhaps Adrian should go and understand the situation directly from the source.
With this practical and responsible thought, Adrian also changed his direction and set off toward the headmaster's office at the top of the castle, abandoning his original classroom destination for now.
The quiz could wait a few more minutes.
At that precise mont, as Adrian was walking through the corridors toward the spiral staircase, Harry and Ron ca running up breathlessly from the opposite direction and blocked his path, both boys looking anxious, suspicious, and seriously out of breath from running.
"What's wrong?" Adrian asked with patience, stopping and looking at the two gasping boys with so concern. "Has sothing happened? You both look like you've seen a dentor."
"We just... just from the common room window... saw Malfoy..." Ron managed to gasp out desperately for air between words, clutching dramatically at his side as though he had a stitch.
Having apparently sprinted down from the eighth-floor tower in one continuous, reckless rush without stopping, no wonder he was in such a breathless state.
Harry had been literally dragged down the stairs by Ron the whole way, his arm probably bruised from Ron's grip, so he was in considerably better shape physically, his breathing was only slightly elevated and irregular.
He said as concisely as he could manage: "We saw Malfoy from the tower window—he was right down below in the rain with you. What was he doing? Did sothing serious happen?"
Adrian felt with so exasperation that these two particular children had been overly sensitive, suspicious, and frankly paranoid about Malfoy lately, seeing dark conspiracy and sinister plots in every single interaction the boy had with anyone.
"Just a small magical test to check his physical condition after the Mark removal," He explained calmly and patiently. "Nothing particularly concerning or dangerous. Don't worry yourselves too much over it—you'll give yourselves stress headaches. Malfoy has no problems that I can detect... probably."
'It seems even the professor doesn't fully trust Malfoy or believe he's completely safe,' Harry thought to himself with a sense of vindication, his suspicions seemingly confird.
"Is there anything else you needed to ask ?" Adrian inquired mildly, glancing at his pocket watch and noting the ti. "Class ti is rapidly approaching for all of us. You have exactly two and a half minutes left to reach your next lesson, gentlen. I'd suggest you start moving."
"What class do we even have next?" Harry turned to ask Ron with sudden urgency, his mind having been completely focused on the Malfoy situation.
"Potions," Ron said with sudden rising horror, his face paled at the realization. "Double Potions. With Snape. In the dungeons. We're absolutely dead if we're late."
The two boys exchanged mutually panicked glances, and imdiately took off running down the corridor at their absolute top speed.
Adrian shrugged his shoulders at their retreating backs and changed his own direction, walking toward the classroom at a more leisurely, unhurried pace befitting a professor who didn't have to worry about detention.
Later that afternoon, after his relocated indoor class had concluded successfully, Adrian carried a stack of completed test papers down the corridor, reviewing the top few essays as he walked and making ntal notes about common mistakes.
The students surprisingly didn't seem to have any particularly resistant feelings toward this sudden, unannounced examination—in fact, many had actually seed relieved it was only one parchnt of questions rather than a full essay.
This was genuinely good news for future planning. Perhaps he could arrange more frequent written tests and theoretical assignnts going forward to balance the practical work...
"I still don't agree with this proposal at all!"
Adrian's mildly wicked thoughts about tactically increasing student workload were abruptly interrupted by a sudden, loud exclamation echoing down the corridor from sowhere ahead.
"?"
He looked with curiosity toward the source of the raised voice and finally spotted, partially hidden around a corner near a suit of armor, Dumbledore and Ludo apparently having what looked like a heated, intense discussion.
It was Ludo who had just spoken so ardently, his voice sounded with frustration and borderline anger.
Why would they be having this obviously important discussion here in the public corridor rather than in the privacy and security of the Headmaster's office behind closed doors?
Adrian approached with this question prominently in mind, his curiosity thoroughly piqued, just in ti to hear Dumbledore's gentle but utterly firm voice: "Ludo, we absolutely must put the students' safety first in all our considerations and decisions. That has to be our primary concern..."
"But this is a very important international event with trendous consequences!" Bagman interrupted forcefully, gesturing with wild, exaggerated hand movents that scattered water droplets.
Water drops from his still-damp hair flew everywhere with each gesture. "We've invested trendous amounts of ti, effort, and money, and we're already at the final stage with just one task remaining! Cancellation is absolutely not allowed under any circumstances—"
His increasingly agitated voice cut off abruptly mid-sentence when he spotted Adrian approaching from down the corridor as his expression shifted rapidly to hope.
"What's happened?" Adrian asked with curiosity, his gaze moving assessingly between the two n. "So kind of disagreent about the tournant?"
"We're discussing necessary arrangents for the Triwizard Tournant going forward," Dumbledore replied with briefness.
"I guessed as much," Adrian nodded knowingly, setting down his stack of papers on a nearby windowsill. "Given all the recent... unfortunate incidents and 'casualties'."
Ludo quickly walked over to Adrian's side with desperate, almost frantic vigor, clearly seeing him as a potential ally who might support his position.
"Please try to persuade your headmaster here, Professor Westeros," He said with genuine urgency, his voice taking on an almost pleading tone. "Dumbledore actually wants to cancel the entire Triwizard Tournant! When there's only one final task left! After everything we've invested! Can you believe it?"
Dumbledore calmly but firmly corrected this deliberate miswording, "Not cancel it permanently, Ludo—postpone it temporarily until circumstances improve. There's an important distinction. It won't be too late to continue the competition properly once we can ensure adequate safety for all participants, staff, and spectators."
"What's the difference?" Ludo said irritably, scratching at his damp, disheveled hair with both hands in frustration.
"Mada Maxi and Kar... would never agree to this postponent, and the Ministry has already invested so many thousands of Galleons in preparations, advertising, international coordination, stadium construction—"
He seed about to automatically say Karkaroff's na out of long habit, but caught himself just in ti. Karkaroff was still lying completely comatose in St. Mungo's Hospital with catastrophic brain damage and naturally couldn't agree to or object to anything anymore.
The man could barely rember his own na.
"I think postponent is actually quite a sensible and responsible thing, Mr. Bagman," Adrian said after a long mont's careful thought. "Look at the pattern that's erging—Karkaroff brutally injured with permanent damage, Crouch brutally murdered and his body destroyed... who will be the next victim in this obvious order?
Professor Dumbledore and Mada Maxi have remained relatively safe here at Hogwarts so far, protected by ancient wards and constant vigilance, so logically that only leaves..."
He let the ominous implication hang aningfully in the air.
"Those were completely random accidents and unrelated incidents!" Ludo protested with desperation, his face darkening with a mixture of fear and denial.
He certainly didn't want to think that he would end up like Karkaroff and Crouch. That was completely impossible. It had to be.
In his sowhat delusional and self-protective view, Karkaroff and Crouch had both been specifically, personally targeted for revenge because of their direct involvent and known cris during the first war, their known feuds with dangerous dark wizards who held long grudges.
But Ludo himself had always been essentially honest and upright, mostly rarely making the kind of serious, deadly enemies who would hunt him down for revenge. How could anyone possibly want to target him specifically for assassination?
Well... except for his nurous increasingly angry creditors to whom he owed substantial, growing gambling debts.
But they wouldn't actually kill him over money. They needed him alive to pay. Probably.
"Mada Maxi has already agreed to the postponent after consideration," Dumbledore said calmly.
Ludo's bloodshot eyes widened in shock. "What? That's completely impossible! She clearly told—"
"Just half an hour ago, she received an urgent ssage by ergency Portkey from Beauxbatons Academy," Dumbledore explained patiently, producing a formal letter sealed with deep blue wax bearing the Beauxbatons crest from within his robes.
"Beauxbatons' Divination professor who apparently has so genuine Sight and known accuracy has prophesied clearly that Mada Maxi will face serious, potentially fatal danger at Hogwarts, and this danger very likely cos directly from continuing the Triwizard Tournant to its conclusion."
"Divination?" Ludo nearly jumped at the word, his voice rising almost to a shout.
"You're actually willing to believe that unreliable nonsense? Divination is famously inaccurate! Everyone in the magical community knows that! It's all tea leaves and vague statents!"
"I'd rather believe and prepare appropriately for the worst possibility, Ludo," Dumbledore said quietly, his voice soft but brooking absolutely no argunt at all.
Upon hearing this utterly strict tone and seeing that rciless expression, Ludo's bulging Adam's apple bobbed nervously as he swallowed hard.
"What about the Goblet of Fire's ancient magical contract... If the Triwizard Tournant isn't completed exactly as specified by the enchantnts, that irreplaceable ancient cup will have to be destroyed due to the broken binding contract. It's bound by magic older than any of us."
"I'll find a way to handle that safely," Dumbledore just said this in response.
For soone of Dumbledore's experience and magical ability, breaking or working around the Goblet's complex binding contract wasn't impossible, it just required considerable ti.
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