Despite the general air of mutual relaxation, Adrian's eyes detected a figure sitting apart from the group, Remus was hunched over a mug of butterbeer in the far corner, his face looking listless lost in thought, seemingly pondering something.
Adrian walked over and patted his shoulder. "You don't look very spirited."
"Ah, it's nothing."
Remus snapped back to reality, shook his head, and said quietly to Adrian, "Nothing special. I'm just worried about Peter."
When Peter's name came from Remus's mouth, Adrian was slightly surprised.
"Why are you worried about Peter?" Adrian asked in confusion. "Didn't Dumbledore arrange for him to be safely settled? Even I don't know where he is—he should be quite safe."
Adrian wasn't lying; he truly didn't know where Peter was.
In all of Hogwarts, probably only Dumbledore and Remus knew his location.
"I'm not worried about his safety," Remus replied, though his attempt at a reassuring smile failed. His fingers traced the rim of his mug in nervous circles, a gesture that showed his inner turmoil.
"Actually, Peter told me he wanted to come to Hogsmeade, but Dumbledore refused him. Um..." He paused. "I think as long as he wore a robe, who would know his true identity? Dumbledore seems a bit too nervous. Besides, we'd be there to look after him..."
Adrian nodded thoughtfully.
Perhaps Peter had said something to Remus, wanting Remus to help him leave Hogwarts, but Dumbledore had objected.
However, maybe Dumbledore hadn't refused Peter's request out of concern for Peter's safety.
He might have noticed something abnormal.
After all, hiding oneself from a wise man over a hundred years old was extremely difficult.
Peter certainly couldn't manage it.
Perhaps Peter's urgent desire to leave the castle was precisely because he felt Hogwarts was no longer safe.
Not only was Sirius Black lurking in the shadows, but his own lies could be exposed at any moment.
Time in Hogsmeade always passed quickly.
In the blink of an eye, it was already dark.
The streets of Hogsmeade lit up with warm orange lights, and the crowds began to thin out.
Students gradually returned to the castle to prepare for the Halloween feast.
Hogwarts Castle welcomed its returning students with grandeur. The Great Hall had been transformed into a spectacular Halloween wonderland.
Hundreds of live bats fluttered through the air above the four house tables. The enchanted ceiling reflected the clear night sky outside, where a full moon cast silver light across the Scottish Highlands.
The house tables were filled with the feast that had been prepared. Roasted pumpkins served as centerpieces between platters of traditional Halloween fare. There were cauldron cakes that actually bubbled and steamed, bat-shaped cookies that fluttered their wings when touched, and variety of sweets that changed color with each bite.
The only regret was that there was no performance by the skeleton dance troupe this year—though they had specifically written to inquire if their services were needed.
Adrian thought that while it might not be pleasing to the eye, it certainly fit the Halloween atmosphere.
Of course, most students still couldn't appreciate it.
The Halloween feast passed in a pleasant atmosphere, but Adrian estimated that according to Hogwarts' law that something must happen on Halloween, something would definitely occur tonight.
Two years ago, it had been the petrification attacks that had terrorized the school. The year before that, a mountain troll had somehow found its way into the castle, creating chaos.
So, this year, it should be Black's turn to make his entrance, right?
At this moment, at the entrance to Gryffindor Tower, the Fat Lady's portrait swayed gently in its frame, her face flushed with the rosy glow of someone who had thoroughly enjoyed the holiday's traditional drinks.
Halloween was her favorite night of the year, not just for the festivities but for the excuse it provided to indulge in the excellent drinks that portrait subjects could share across the boundaries of their worlds.
"Oh, stop it," She giggled, waving her hands unsuccessfully at the small bats that had appeared in her portrait as part of the castle's Halloween enchantments.
These mischievous creatures appeared in paintings throughout Hogwarts every October 31st. They were harmless enough, but their constant fluttering and squeaking could be rather distracting when one was trying to enjoy a quiet evening.
It was then that she heard footsteps echoing from the stone corridor. She straightened in her frame, smoothing her pink dress and preparing to greet whoever was approaching with the dignity befitting her position as guardian of Gryffindor Tower.
However, she waited for a long time without seeing any students, and the footsteps had disappeared...
Just as she was puzzled, around the corner opposite her.
A man with disheveled beard and a haggard face was crouching on the ground, muttering something, with a flat-faced, strange-looking cat beside him.
"Good cat," Sirius whispered. "Can you tell me the password to get in? You said you knew the password, dear."
"...Meow."
Sirius was stunned. He was certain the password wasn't "meow."
Crookshanks' face contorted into an expression of exasperation. Crookshanks' face showed a very human-like expression of helplessness.
Although it knew the password, it was just a cat.
To make it produce human sounds...
Wasn't this making things difficult for a cat?
Moreover, it couldn't quite understand why its large, friendly dog friend had suddenly turned into a human.
That appearance was really ugly, just like its human servant.
"It's Useless..." Sirius muttered, but there was no real anger in his voice, only weariness.
He rose slowly as he still had to figure out a way himself.
He had already learned that the rat called Scabbers was hidden in the dormitory of a student named Ron Weasley.
'Just wait, you pathetic traitor,' he thought, his hands clenching into fists that shook with suppressed rage. 'Twelve years I've waited for this moment. Twelve years of hell, and now it's your turn.'
However, Sirius didn't know that his target had already been moved elsewhere.
Back in the Great Hall, the Halloween feast was coming to its end.
Adrian sat quietly in his seat at the staff table, his untouched dessert growing cold as he maintained his careful observation of the hall. The strange premonition that had been growing stronger throughout the evening now felt like a large heavy weight in his chest. Experience had taught him to trust these instincts, especially on Halloween night at Hogwarts.
The students were beginning to show signs of the pleasant exhaustion that comes from a day of adventure followed by a feast of rich food.
Conversations grew quieter, laughter softer, and more than one head began to nod close to empty plates. It was the perfect time for everyone to go to their dormitories, to end the day on a note of contentment and magical satisfaction.
Which was, of course, exactly when disaster chose to strike.
The great doors of the hall burst open with a crash that echoed off like thunder. Every head turned toward the entrance as a familiar figure came speeding through the air, his ghostly body spinning wildly as he shrieked at the top of his lungs.
"Black's here! The murderer's here!"
Instantly, the entire Great Hall fell silent, then erupted in terrified commotion.
Dumbledore rose from his chair, his wand appearing in his hand as if by magic—which, of course, it was. A stream of golden light erupted from the tip, wrapping around Peeves and freezing him in mid-flight like an insect caught in amber.
"You might as well explain things more clearly, Peeves." The headmaster's voice carried the authority of decades, cutting through the chaos w. Despite the crisis, his tone remained calm, and controlled.
The golden bonds of magic seemed to have a sobering effect on Peeves, who suddenly found himself the center of attention in a way that even he found uncomfortable.
The poltergeist had great respect for very few people, but Dumbledore's power was undeniable, and his displeasure was not something to be taken lightly.
Still, Peeves couldn't resist maintaining some drama even in his controlled state. "Go look at the Fat Lady! Oh, that poor portrait might have been torn to shreds."
With a dramatic puff of silvery smoke, Peeves vanished, leaving behind only the echo of his words and the growing terror they had stirred.
The Great Hall erupted into chaos once more, but this time Dumbledore was ready.
"All students!" His voice was amplified by the Sonorus charm and boomed through the hall. "All students stay where you are! Prefects maintain order, professors come with me!"
Adrian quickly stood up, following Dumbledore and the other professors as they strode toward the exit.
It seemed the events from the original story had still occurred.
As they passed the Gryffindor table, he noticed Harry trying to stand up, but Hermione held him down.
"Don't worry," Adrian said, bending down to directly to Harry. "Just stay here. Everything will be fine."
Harry nodded silently.
When they reached the entrance to Gryffindor Tower, the scene that greeted them was both shocking and strangely anticlimactic.
The Fat Lady's portrait had indeed been damaged, but not destroyed as Peeves had dramatically said. A long, ragged tear ran through the canvas, creating a wound in the painted surface. The frame was hung skewed on the wall.
The Fat Lady herself was nowhere to be seen, though Adrian knew she had likely fled to another portrait for safety. The magical nature of portrait-people allowed them to travel freely between paintings, a fact that had undoubtedly saved her from worse harm.
Adrian studied the damage, noting the desperate, frantic nature of the cuts. This wasn't the work of a skilled wizard using magic to bypass the portrait's protections—this was the desperate slashing of someone who had been reduced to crude, physical violence.
The tears spoke of frustration.
Sirius Black had been here, that much was certain. But he had failed to gain entry to the Gryffindor common room, and that failure had driven him to an act of violence that revealed just how desperate his situation had become.
Looking at the ruined portrait, Adrian felt a complex mixture of emotions. Pity for the Fat Lady, who had been terrorized while simply doing her duty. Concern for the students who would now feel unsafe in their own dormitories.
And, despite everything, a trace of sympathy for the man who had been driven to such extremes by the weight of injustice and the desperate need to clear his name.
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