Time at Hogwarts seemed to pass quickly. One day, Harry, ever earnest, attempted to recruit Adrian into the 'Dumbeldoore training army' efforts.
"Adrian, we need you," Harry said, urgency in his tone. "You can teach us things, things no one else can—"
Adrian's eyes, calm and violet-lit, met Harry's. "I cannot," he said smoothly. Harry's expression faltered, but Adrian did not waver. "I will not provide guidance where necessary. But I can give you this: Access to a training room, a room called the Room of Requirement, its enchantments, and the limitations of its wards — that is all I offer. The rest is yours to discover." He did not linger for debate. For him, even persuasion was tedious.
With that settled, Adrian returned to his sanctuary — the Chamber of Secrets. What others feared as a dark, monstrous place, he found to be a haven of precision and control. Its echoes, its serpentine architecture, and its hidden recesses were perfect for experimentation. Here, he explored the intricate relationships between body, soul, and magic. Hogwarts itself, to Adrian, was now merely a backdrop — a theater of observation.
But the 'Dumbeldoore Army' activity did not go unnoticed. Whispers of secret gatherings, of magical resistance, of training sessions beyond the reach of Hogwarts faculty, reached Umbridge's ears. She seized the opportunity. With the backing of the Ministry, she petitioned to arrest Dumbledore and neutralize his influence.
But who was Dumbledore? He was always aware; he had anticipated such a move. He vanished — leaving Umbridge in a vacuum of power that she filled immediately with calculated precision.
Adrian, of course, observed everything. From the shadows, he watched the political chessboard unfold. His observations extended to her agents — students eager to curry favor, sycophants, and ambitious house members, led by Draco Malfoy.
They were predictable, obedient, and foolish — perfect tools for a headmistress desperate to assert control.
The hunt for Adrian happened the same day she became Headmaster; it led inevitably to the Slytherin common room. Adrian was seated alone, surrounded by shadows, his violet eyes faintly glowing as he reviewed notes and spell diagrams. The door opened abruptly, and the group entered, wands raised, faces taut with excitement and fear.
"There he is!" Malfoy hissed. "You're coming with us."
Adrian's lips curved in a faint, indifferent smile. "Is that so?" he murmured. The soft glow of his eyes was enough to make the students hesitate.
They advanced, wands shaking. "You'll obey, or—" one began.
In a motion almost imperceptible, Adrian blinked. The room seemed to breathe with him for a fraction of a second. Then, without a word, a wave of telekinetic force erupted. The Slytherins were hurled backward, tumbling into the walls, their wands clattering across the stone floor. Not a single life was harmed, but the message was unmistakable: defiance came at a cost.
"Leave," he commanded, voice calm and precise. Like an emperor deciding his subject's life.
'This should be enough, right? I just hope I made the pink toad angry enough…'
Hours later, Adrian's wish came through, and the situation escalated to the Ministry itself. Aurors, led personally by Fudge, arrived in force.
Their intentions were clear: detain Adrian Atlas.
They declared him a danger, linked to Death Eater sympathies, and potentially in possession of magic beyond even the Ministry's understanding.
Adrian laughed — a low, controlled sound, resonating with amusement. The kind of laugh a person can have when they achieve their agenda.
The Aurors raised their wands, but in the next few seconds, the battle was over. Adrian moved as if he were a conductor of energy itself, neutralizing each opponent in precise, elegant motions. Wands were disarmed, spells deflected, momentum redirected — all without causing physical harm. Within moments, the Aurors stood bewildered, humiliated, yet unharmed, the room alive with the residual hum of raw magic.
He left the Slytherin common room silently and slowly; he did not hurry. Why would he?
Stepping into the Forbidden Forest, the air thick with moss, decay, and the faint pulse of unseen magic, Adrian allowed himself a moment of satisfaction. He was unchained, unthreatened, and fully aware.
And yet, as he observed the stars through the gaps in the canopy, a pattern emerged in his mind — the distant, subtle movements of Dumbledore, the Ministry's escalating desperation. Each was a variable, a component in a system far more complex than any duel or spell.
Adrian smiled faintly. The chessboard was set, the pieces in motion, and he, as always, several steps ahead.
Adran looked back at the school, at the place that changed his life forever, gave him hope, and taught him knowledge. "If I am wrong, this may be the last time I set foot in this place," Adrian said with a sigh, but he was not upset… From the moment he decided on this path, he never feared offending others.
What did it even mean to offend others?
As long as he continued to grow stronger, what is there to fear?
If the Ministry sent 5 men to capture him, he would kill five.
If they sent 100, he would kill a hundred.
If the all world came after him, then perhaps there is no reason for this world to exist.
If they succeed and capture him or even kill him, that would mean that he was not strong enough, that he did not study hard enough, and that he did not train hard enough… He deserves to die than.
" A man's ambition can only be judged by how far he is willing to go for it."
And Adrian?
Hahaha.
He had no limits.
FLASH.
He used Apparition.
The forest was once again lonely.
\\\
Weeks had passed since Adrian Atlas disappeared from Hogwarts. He wandered the world like a shadow in the night, traversing continents, cities, forests, and mountains. His presence was felt only in fleeting phenomena — a faint shimmer in the air, a whisper of displaced magic, the brief pulse of raw energy in deserted places. Every step, every breath, was deliberate, calculated, a rehearsal of mastery over the elements, over the world itself.
The Ministry of Magic had escalated his classification. He was no longer merely dangerous — he had been elevated above Dumbledore, publicly declared the most wanted wizard in history.
Warnings flooded magical newspapers: Adrian Atlas, "a merciless, unnatural being, whose power surpasses any known wizard, whose allegiance is unknown — to be contained at any cost." Aurors and Ministry officials trembled at the mere thought of him, yet Adrian moved with complete indifference. Their fear was meaningless; their threats trivial. He was beyond their reach.
During his wandering, Adrian's experiments continued. He refined his understanding of the threefold harmony of life — body, soul, and magic — exploring spells and rituals that tested the boundaries of existence itself. He developed ancient wards, stole long-lost magical artifacts, and made phenomena no wizard had dared catalog. He became not just a wanderer, but an observer of the world's hidden heartbeat.
And all the while, he followed Harry. Adrian had cast a silent, precise spell to tether himself psychically to the boy, monitoring his every move.
Finally, the moment came. The Ministry of Magic would become the stage for the culmination of planning, research, and calculated patience.
Adrian re-entered Britain, moving with flawless stealth. He infiltrated the Ministry. He observed Harry, the Order's movements, and the location of powerful magical devices. With unmatched precision, he retrieved three Time-Turners, relics of temporal mastery, and explored hidden chambers, uncovering secrets the Ministry had buried for centuries — forbidden experiments, spells of unimaginable power, magical diagrams lost to memory, and the echoes of sorcery that shaped wizarding history.
Every step, every shadow, every whisper of intent was accounted for. Adrian's eyes — glowing violet with barely contained power — scanned the Ministry like a chessboard, each figure a predictable piece.
When the confrontation became inevitable, Adrian positioned himself. He followed Harry as the chase through the atrium began, allowing him to witness the tragic fall of Sirius Black. It was not cruelty, but strategy — the death provided momentum, emotion, and consequence, shaping events to his design.
Then Voldemort appeared.
The Dark Lord's presence warped the air, searing energy through the atrium, green lightning dancing like serpents along the walls. Adrian stepped into the open, eyes cold, calculating, every motion precise. "Harry, stay behind me," he said softly. "I will guard you."
Harry obeyed; his awe and trust in Adrian was absolute, a silent shield of anticipation and raw magical force. He did not question Adrain; he trusted him well enough.
But unlike Harry, Adrian had no interest in saving the boy — not out of charity, but for the opportunity he had waited for: the confrontation with Voldemort himself.
The moment the two men faced each other, the air itself seemed to bend and twist. Adrian's violet eyes gleamed, steady, cold — a predator sizing up his prey, yet knowing the prey was a threat unlike any he had faced before. Voldemort's green gaze burned with hatred, a coiled spring of arrogance and malevolence. The room — the atrium of the Ministry of Magic — vibrated under the tension, walls quivering from the power radiating off both wizards.
"Atlas," Voldemort hissed, voice a whisper of venom. "You should have stayed a boy at Hogwarts. You have overstepped."
"I have only… measured," Adrian replied, calm, every word precise. "And now it is time to act."
Without another warning, the duel began.
Voldemort struck first, sending a torrent of green sparks slicing through the air. They twisted, jagged, snapping against the fabric of reality itself. Adrian countered immediately, violet tendrils of energy twisting to intercept, refract, and redirect the attack. The sparks collided, exploding in blinding bursts of light and waves of concussive force that shattered nearby walls.
Adrian's response was fluid, almost musical in its precision. He flicked his wand, casting a binding spell that wrapped around Voldemort's next curse like silk, absorbing it, and returned it amplified back at him. Voldemort staggered slightly, an unfamiliar sensation — shock at seeing his own power turned against him.
The fight escalated. Voldemort unleashed a barrage of Cruciatus curses, each aimed to crush the mind as much as the body. Adrian's shields shimmered like living water, absorbing the pain, bending it, and sending back faint ripples of energy designed to test the Dark Lord's defenses. With each move, Adrian probed, studied, and cataloged Voldemort's patterns.
"You cannot… surpass me!" Voldemort screamed, his voice echoing unnaturally, warped by rage and magic. He cast the Avada Kedavra — green lightning surging like a river of death.
Adrian did not dodge. Instead, he twisted the spell midair, splitting it into multiple streams, each fragment dissipating harmlessly, while a violet counterwave surged toward Voldemort to kill. Voldemort hissed, recoiling at the precision, realizing that this opponent was not only fast and powerful — he was impossible to predict.
The duel became a ballet of devastation. Spells ricocheted off the walls, ceilings cracked, and magical energy whirled in chaotic arcs that painted the room in shifting green and violet fire. Adrian invoked a ward, one of his own creation, which twisted gravity locally, making Voldemort stagger midair as if the laws of physics themselves opposed him.
Voldemort countered, summoning serpentine shadows, twisting and slithering toward Adrian, aiming to strike at his mind. Adrian's Magic Eyes flared; he could see the threads of Voldemort's soul, the tendrils of thought, the ripples of malice. With a subtle gesture, he severed them momentarily, causing Voldemort to flinch in surprise — a rare break in the Dark Lord's composure.
They clashed again, wands crossing, creating arcs of energy that burned the air and scorched stone. Adrian cast complex binding sequences mid-flight, combining wandless magic and wandwork in ways the world had never witnessed. Voldemort countered with dark enchantments, curses that warped perception and reality, but Adrian anticipated, adapted, and exploited every flaw.
Minutes stretched. Both were panting, sweat gleaming, robes torn, both wild from the intensity of the arcane battle. Yet neither yielded. Their magic intertwined, building a vortex of destructive force that threatened to consume the entire atrium. Sparks shimmered around Adrian, subtle but potent, revealing his mastery of the Astral Form cast silently with his Magic Eyes; he could feel the very essence of Voldemort, matching strength with strength, will with will.
"You are… persistent," Voldemort growled, his voice a serpentine hiss. "But you are arrogant, boy. You will fall!"
"And you… predictable," Adrian replied. "You forget that power without comprehension is chaos."
The room erupted. Adrian unleashed a barrage of spells that twisted space itself: force fields that bent trajectories, chains of magical energy that restrained attacks before releasing them with amplified effect. Voldemort countered with a storm of curses, lightning, and dark illusions. Yet slowly, inexorably, the duel reached equilibrium — a point where each could strike, each could defend, and yet neither could dominate.
Finally, after an endless sequence of spells, counterspells, wards, and calculated maneuvers, they paused, hovering midair, eyes locked. Sweat and magic glimmered on their skin, robes shredded, hair standing wild, and yet the tension remained, electric and lethal.
Voldemort's voice hissed, low and furious. "You are… my equal? But why… why have you not succumbed?"
Adrian's lips curled into a faint, almost amused smile. "Because you are merely another variable, Voldemort. And I… I am the equation itself."
The two stared at each other, exhausted but unbroken, the entire atrium trembling from their confrontation. For the first time in history, Voldemort recognized a rival he could not best — not in fury, not in cunning, not in mastery.
"Join me," Voldemort said, voice venomous yet laced with respect. "Together, we could reshape the world."
Adrian laughed, violet light flaring from his eyes. " Claiming equality… and yet, Voldemort, a duel where one must always lose is hardly fair."
The-Dark-Lord's eyes snapped open.
At that moment, fire erupted behind Voldemort. Fawkes descended, and from the phoenix's flames emerged the headmaster, calm and perfectly timed. Adrian had sensed Dumbledore's presence minutes earlier through his Magic Eyes, and had waited — the precise moment of intervention.
Words were exchanged, a battle of minds and wills between Dumbledore and Voldemort.
Spells intertwined with logic, strategy, and power. In the end, Voldemort faltered.
He attempted to seize control of Harry, but the boy's will, strengthened by Adrian's unseen shield, resisted.
The Dark Lord collapsed, defeated, exposed before the Ministry and the world.
\\\
Days passed. News spread of Voldemort's return, then defeat. Panic gave way to relief; accusations against Dumbledore, Harry, and Adrian were absolved. The wizarding world recognized the truth: the Dark Lord had returned, but the heroes had triumphed. Adrian observed from the shadows, calculating, calm, satisfied.
With the world restored, the Ministry cleared the way for him. Hogwarts — the place that had shaped him, challenged him, and tested the limits of his ambition — awaited. The doors, long closed to him by circumstance and fear, now opened freely. Adrian could return, for now.
He walked through the familiar halls with silent confidence, violet eyes scanning, measuring, absorbing. The castle was the same, yet changed, echoing with the events of a year none would ever forget. Adrian's presence was a quiet statement: he had left, and now he returned.
But the game is only just beginning.
"You have summoned me, Headmaster?" Inside the Headmaster's office, both Adrian and Dumbledore sat together, a cup of tea resting on each side of the table.
"Ahh, yes, young Adrian, it is good to see you. I must admit I never quite believed that the Ministry would go that far on you, sigh, the things that you suffered are something that no child your age should go through…" Said the Headmaster of Hogwarts.
His tone was soft and comforting; any student would feel a deep attachment. But not Adrian, his heart was unmoved. Months ago, he had already seen through his plan. A smile formed on his face as he said, "Well, you are right, no one should go through that, especially if they are innocent. Don't you think it's true, Headmaster?"
"Ahh, yes, I believe you are right on that one, the innocent should never suffer like that," said Dumbeldure, a smile on his face as well.
No one spoke for a moment until Adrian broke eye contact and stood up. He said, "Well then, I'd better go back, I have a lot of exams I missed that I need to do." As he turned his back and was about to leave. He heard the Haedmaster's voice. " Tell me, Adrian, are you familiar with the body-strengthening ritual?"
Adrian paused, his body half turned as he said, " Body-strengthening ritual? No, what is that?" His tone was genuine.
Dumbledoore continued, "In ancient times, wizards discovered the ability to enhance their magical abilities, saving them decades of training and hard work." He pussed and then said with a deep tone, " But the body-strengthening ritual is sacrifice, the human one, however, it was deemed useless and too dangerous by too many wizards, since the ritual has to be adapted to the wizard specifically, by them, and since not all witches and wizards are capable of that…"
Adrian listened to Dumbledore's words, his gaze betrayed nothing as he asked, "Why are you telling me this?"
But the Headmaster did not plan on answering him, " Although it was banned in the wizarding community, it did not stop some circles of wizards from using it; in fact, you have already met and fought a wizard who used a version of the ritual. I believe you understand who I am talking about, right?"
Adrian thought for a moment before he said, "The dark lord. "
Dumbledore stood up, "Walk with me, " he said, it was more of a command than a request.
They reached the balcony of his office. The sun was about to set, and the two men stood near each other. They did not speak; sometimes, between intelligent people, words were unnecessary, but the silence, the silence was true understanding.
"How did you know I was coming?" Asked Dumbledore, his tone did nothing but suggest an academic curiosity.
Adrian did not need to be told what event the Headmaster was referring to; he was already tired of those mind games.
"In the Ministry of Magic, when you dueled Tom, how did you know I was about to arrive? Even Tom was unaware of that." Asked Dumbledore.
"I guess I am really good at fortune-telling," Adrian said with a small laugh, "But you should know a lot more about Fate Magic than I, isn't that right, Albus?" As he said it, Adrian turned to look into Dumbledore's eyes.
But before the Headmaster could answer, Adrian said, "It is getting late, I should get going. Ohh, by the way, give my regards to Professor Snape, will you…" And he turned and left.
This time, Dumbledore did not stop him, "You can come out now, he is gone," he said to the air. A figure materialized; it was Snape.
"You were right, there is something wrong with him. When did you first notice?" Asked Dumbledore.
Snape could not help but snort coldly, " While you were too busy manipulating Potter's life, I actually took notice of my student." He paused, "During his second year, I found out from Potter's memories that Adrian was very determined to help him. That got me thinking, Albus, why would a boy who showed no interest in anyone's life suddenly be interested in his…"
"It was a test, the boy was trying to test himself against young Tom," said Albus, his gaze sharpened.
"Exactly," Snape's eyes narrowed, he quickly said, " In his second year, he was testing his limits, in his fourth year, I suspect, the boy somehow knew that The-Dark-Lord would rise, possibly through The-Fake-Mody, that is the reason Albus…Perepes, he was even recruited by the Dark-lord, that would explain his 'unusual abilities'..."
"That is where you are wrong." Said Dumbeldoore. "Adrian and Tom, both brilliant beyond their peers, yet both are different… However, there is one quality they both share, and that is their arrogance; their reasons, however, are completely different. Tom's is because he believes that he is above everyone else, while Adrian, the boy, knows his weakness, yet still has the arrogance to believe in his victory. One is an arrogant fool, the other is just an arrogant one, albeit with more confidence…"
Snape was silent for a moment, "What do we do now? The boy is a threat, Albus. No one knows how many people he killed for his rituals, and if he sides with the Dark-Lord…"
"What will you have me do, Severus?" Asked Dumbeldoore, a sigh escaped his lips as he turned to face Severus.
Snape was quick to say, "He can not be left alone, his intentions are unknown to the world and to Potter…" His gaze hardened, "We corner him and use Veritaserum on him, then we let the Ministry handle him, the world Albus, CAN NOT HAVE A THIRD DARK LORD!"
"Sigh, do you think I have not thought of that, Severus?" Said the headmaster, "The ritual that he did changed his body in ways I can not even begin to understand. His resistance to Potions like Veritaserum has increased a lot; it is doubtful if it will even work on him, as for Mind-reading… Legend says that every wizard has a dormant ability inside them. The ritual that Adrian used seemed to awaken that ability. I do not believe that there is any wizard in this world who is capable of breaching his mind, let alone reading it… "
" There has to be something that we could do! You said it yourself, the boy saw through your plan this year, that is why he reacted that way to the Ministry officials, that is why he tied himself to your shadow, that is why he joined the battle in the Ministry, he did all that so that you would have no choice but not mention his crimes. If you were to go now, as you are to the Ministry and the investigation will start, people will view you negatively, they would think that you feel threatened by the boy, jealous even… And with no evidence to back your case, who would believe you? 'After all the boy went through this year, ' no one will risk speaking like that to him. There will be nothing to present in court, can't you see, Albus, he has tied the rope on your neck!!! " Said Severus in one breath without stopping for a second.
"You are right, Severus, there is nothing to do now. I originally planned for him to lower his guard this year, gather forces, and strike this year. But it seems that I will have to wait… Meanwhile, I am going to need you to do something for me."
"Name it." Said Severus.
Albus looked deeply on Severus and said, " To do the ritual, he must have sacrificed someone… But who, Severus? Who? That is what I need you to figure out, Adrian is a smart man, he would have chosen someone whom people would not think to look for, do you understand…"
"I do. I'll be on it; meanwhile, you should inform the Order about him." Severus said. As he turned to leave, he looked at the headmaster one last time. "What will you do now, Albus?" He asked.
"Me? Oh, there are still Tom's objects at hand. I need to investigate that, while I am at it, I will also look for trails that Adrian left." Said Albus.
\\
The following weeks at Hogwarts were unlike any the castle had known. The air itself carried weight — tension, curiosity, and fear all bound together, thick as mist. Students whispered in corridors, glancing over shoulders, lowering their voices when he passed. Professors, too, had learned to pause before addressing him, as if the act of saying his name might awaken something best left asleep.
Adrian Atlas had returned from the Ministry of Magic not as a hero, nor as a villain, but as something altogether different — a force, an enigma wrapped in human form.
He had stood against the Dark Lord.
He had defied the Ministry's command.
And he had lived.
That was enough for the world to be terrified.
Even now, sitting in the Great Hall beneath the endless glow of hovering candles, he felt the weight of their stares — hundreds of eyes, each filled with unspoken questions.
He didn't mind. He was used to being the center of gravity.
Dinner that night was unusually quiet. The chatter that normally filled the long tables had died down, replaced by murmurs that rose and fell like waves — the same words repeated over and over.
"Dark wizard…"
" Dumbledore's... ?"
"He fought Voldemort, didn't he?"
"They say he's worse…"
Adrian barely listened. His eyes — faintly violet beneath the flickering candlelight — drifted from one end of the hall to the other, tracing the flow of energy in the room. Magic moved everywhere here, pulsing in quiet streams through walls and candles and breath. It was beautiful, in its way — the living current of life.
Across the hall, Dumbledore sat in his high-backed chair, watching him. Their eyes met briefly, and in that instant, both understood: the silent truce between them could not last.
The Headmaster smiled gently, as he always did. Adrian returned nothing but a neutral look, neither hostile nor kind — simply observant.
The feast ended slowly. Students began to leave, chairs scraping the floor. But no one at the Slytherin table moved until Adrian stood. The sound of his chair against the stone floor echoed through the Great Hall like a spell. Even the flames in the air seemed to pause.
He walked toward the doors, calm, composed, untouchable. The younger students shrank away as he passed, unsure whether to bow or run. The older ones simply stared, envy and awe tangled in their expressions.
Outside, the night met him with silver quiet. The courtyard glowed under a thin moon, its light brushing the marble statues with pale brilliance. Adrian stood still for a moment, inhaling the scent of rain-soaked stone.
It was peaceful.
"Adrian."
The voice came from behind him — hesitant, almost apologetic.
He didn't turn. "Harry."
Harry's footsteps were slow as he approached. "You haven't said a word since the Ministry."
"There was nothing worth saying."
Harry frowned, his hands buried in his robes. "They're afraid of you. You know that, right? They say mean things about you... "
"I know." Adrian's tone was indifferent. "It's natural to fear what you can't control."
Harry hesitated. "You're not helping yourself, you know. If you just told them—"
"Why should insults affect me? They're just words—empty sounds with no real power," Adrian said, eyes fixed ahead.
Those who are quick to anger at insults or glow with pride at compliments are simply reacting to the noise of spectators.
Living by the opinions of others?
How tragic.
Such people are nothing more than pawns—obedient dogs tugged along by invisible leashes.
It's not talent that holds someone back, but the limitations they place on their own thinking.
Morality, judgment, criticism—these are instruments of control, wielded by those who pretend to stand on higher ground. From birth, society conditions us, shaping our minds to obey. But anyone who seeks to transcend the boundaries of human potential must first shed these chains.
'Sadly, most never do. They live their lives shackled by rules they mistake for wisdom, proudly wearing their restraints like medals…'
"Told them what?" Adrian finally turned, his eyes sharp but calm. "That I saved them? That I stood where no one else could?" His smile was cold, brief. "Gratitude dies faster than fear, Harry. That's the truth of people."
Harry looked down. "You don't really believe that."
"I do." Adrian stepped closer, his gaze softening for just a fraction of a second. "You still think there's a line between light and dark. That good and evil exist as absolutes. But power," he said, his voice lowering, "has no morality. Only direction."
"Then what do you stand for?" Harry asked quietly.
Adrian's eyes glinted like steel. "Evolution."
The words hung in the air — cold, absolute, final.
Harry opened his mouth to speak again, but no sound came. Adrian was already turning away, walking toward the dark horizon beyond the castle gates, his shadow stretching long under the moonlight.
That night, deep beneath Hogwarts, the Chamber of Secrets stirred once more. Adrian stood before the ancient statue of Salazar Slytherin, the air alive with echoes of whispers long dead. The diadem of Rowena Ravenclaw floated before him, suspended by magic — its surface cracked but still luminous, a faint pulse of blue light trembling at its core.
He reached toward it, his fingers glowing faint violet. The aura of magic flowed through his hands like a living current, wrapping around the artifact. The runes carved along the chamber walls shimmered in resonance.
He watched as the energies shifted, the object responding to his command — bending, not breaking. The faint hum of old power filled the space, vibrating through the ancient stones.
"You've endured so much corruption," he murmured, more to the artifact than to himself. "But even a corrupted artifact can be remade."
For a moment, the diadem pulsed brighter — as though it understood. Then it fell still, resting in his palm.
Adrian sighed and placed it gently into a containment case on his desk. "Not yet. But soon."
He sat in silence for a while, the candles flickering gently. His mind wandered — not with doubt, but with analysis. Dumbledore's words, Snape's gaze, Harry's naïve persistence — all pieces of a puzzle that surrounded him.
'They still think they understand me.' He smiled faintly. 'They still think I belong to their world.'
'Still, I have changed the course of events in this world; there is no telling if Dumbeldoore will still die by Tom's ring… I should prepare to face him just in case… Now that we are bound to be enemies…' Adrian held no illusion about Dumbldorre; he understood him, the man will stop at nothing but take him down.
The quill in his hand began to move across parchment. Lines, diagrams, fragments of theory — symbols of magic and soul, drawn with obsessive precision. He was no longer a student. He was a scholar at the edge of creation.
Above him, the castle slept.
Below, Adrian Atlas rewrote the laws that bound it.
When morning came, the Hogwarts Express waited. Steam hissed from its valves, filling the platform with clouds that shimmered faintly under the morning light. Students hugged, laughed, and said their goodbyes. Adrian stood apart from them — a tall, silent figure with hands tucked into his cloak, his eyes distant. The wind moved his hair slightly; his expression did not change.
Harry found him again, just before boarding. "Going home for the summer?" he asked.
"This is home," Adrian said quietly, glancing back toward the castle's distant towers. "Everywhere else is just a distraction."
Harry smiled weakly. "You sound like Dumbledore."
"No," Adrian said with a faint smirk. "Dumbledore sounds like me."
They both stood in silence.
Then, with a brief nod, Adrian turned away. Both were set down in different rooms in the train…
That time, Dumbledore stood alone in his office, watching the sun sink below the mountains. The light bathed the room in gold and crimson. Behind him, the door creaked open, and Severus Snape stepped in, his robes flowing like a shadow.
"He's gone," Snape said flatly.
"I know."
"We are letting him go, then? Just like that?!"
Dumbledore didn't answer immediately. His gaze remained fixed on the fading light. "There are moments, Severus," he said softly, "when interference only hastens what we seek to prevent."
Snape crossed his arms. "You think you can reason with him."
"No," Dumbledore said, shaking his head. "I think I can understand him. There is a difference."
The Headmaster poured two cups of tea, setting one gently on the table. "He is not like Tom," he said finally. "Tom sought power to fill a void. Adrian seeks understanding — and that may yet be more dangerous."
The wind outside rattled the windows. Dumbledore's eyes drifted toward the horizon again.
"Still," he murmured to himself. " He has to be stopped."
\\
From the moving train, Adrian Atlas stood, the wind tearing through his hair, his cloak flaring behind him. The countryside rolled by below — endless, fleeting, alive.
He raised a hand and traced the air, watching threads of invisible energy shimmer at his touch. Magic was everywhere — not in wands, not in words, but in existence itself.
He smiled — faint, content, dangerous. 'This next year might really be my last, huh…But it does not matter. I have learned all I need; there is no benefit in being in Hogwarts anymore.'
"This world," he whispered to the horizon, "is only beginning to wake up."
And with that, he vanished into thin air — leaving nothing behind but a faint shimmer of violet light. As if he was never on the train to begin with.