"Still nothing, huh? I must say, Albus, I know this day would come, yet I did not think that you would make such a warm welcome… So many professors and Aurors… I am flattered that you think so highly of me… Then again, I would expect nothing less from you." Said Adrian with a smile on his face.
As the words were spoken, the figures revealed themselves. Adrian recognized some of them: Professor Filius Flitwick, Professor Pomona Sprout, Professor Horace Slughorn, Professor Severus Snape, Professor Minerva McGonagall, former Professor Remus Lupin, Alastor "Mad-Eye" Moody, the rest… Were Aurors that Adrian did not recognize.
But overall, 13 people were facing him, including Dumbeldoore himself. Each one of them already had their wand in their hand, some even pointed theirs at Adrian.
To anyone else, it was a fact that Adrian would fall today. No one can escape that many strong wizards and still live, not even Voldemort.
Adrian's eyes flashed purple as he scanned the area 'Not only the tower, they covered the exits, and probably even the village. I count about a dozen more wizards near the perimeter…'
"Adrian, you need to lower your wand and come with us." Said Snape, his face a mask of cold.
"Why should I? Is there a party somewhere? " Said Adrian. His tone was especially relaxed and playful as he faced the greatest wizards in the world.
" Save it, kid! We know what you are!" said Mad-Eye Moody.
"That's kind of racist, don't you think so, Moddy. As a former teacher, aren't you supposed to preach about equality and such?" Adrian sighed as he continued," Albus, I am very disappointed in your choices of teacher employment. You should really consider who you are hiring, perhaps if… "
"Shut it, boy! We know what you are, we know what you did!!! We know that you killed people for the sake of your dark rituals. Stop beating around the bush and lower your wand, right now!!!" Moody said, his saliva was spat from his face as he shouted.
"Adrian, what did you do, my boy?! I still remember the day I took you from the orphanage. What happened to that boy? When did you become such a monster, no less than the Dark- Lord? How could you do that to those people… And still standing here denying that?!"
" Give it up, boy, you are surrounded, there is no way out…"
" Adrian, you were the best I have ever thought. I still remember your brilliance in Charms in your first year… I was saddened to hear the news, saddened that the boy I thought was no more. Don't make this more difficult than it is; surrender quietly."
"Adrian, you have committed grave sins and now you must face justice…"
Screams like those were said more than once, but Adrian was unmoved. He stood quietly, his gaze indifferent to their screams and threats. His purple eyes scanned the crowd of people.
He looked at Dumbeldoore, the man stood at the center of it, he stood tall, his Elder wand held in his hand, as he looked at Adrian, his eyes, though, had expressed a ton of his true feelings.
Adrian could tell, the old man was sad, mostly. After Tom, he vowed not to allow the birth of another monster, yet here, right before him, Adrian stood.
Adrian understood the old man, clearly. He did not ask how Dumbeldoore equiered evidence against him; he didn't need to.
He could think of several ways himself. Perepes being here and fighting against everyone would serve as evidence, perepes not. It did not matter to him anymore.
For months, Adrian thought of this moment, how he would react, how he would prepare; he had made several plans in advance. Yet, strangely, he did not penic. In fact, he felt relieved.
He smiled for a moment, it was a genuine smile, not the fake one Adrian used to wear around School, he quickly said: "I must thank you, Albus. I have been living under a mask for so long, and you know what, I have grown tired of it. Life is what you make out of it. I refuse to live mine under a lie."
Dumbeldoore's gaze turned even sadder as he said, " It is not freedom, Adrian, it is the very own enslavement that you so desperately wish to escape… It is what makes you wrong."
"No, Albus. It is you who is wrong. Not chasing one's dreams and ambitions because of laws made by other men? This is enslavement!" Adrian said with conviction in his voice.
"So be it." Albus sighed. He attacked. Not to kill but to restrain. The others followed suit.
Legend says that a wizard is only limited by the vision that they dare to imagine. But the reality?
The air inside the Tower was alive with magic. Not the soft, breathing hum of the castle's wards, but something sharp — a vibration that burned against the nerves. Adrian felt it before he saw the first wand raised. Instinct screamed before logic did.
'They came prepared.'
The Ministry Aurors burst through the archway like a black tide, spells exploding from their wands before the first foot touched stone. Shield charms bloomed and shattered in the same instant; green light flashed across the walls like lightning reflected in glass. Adrian's mind snapped into motion — cold, fast, mechanical. He moved before thought could follow.
The first curse skimmed his shoulder, a Stunner heavy enough to break bone. He twisted his wrist, summoned the nearest table, and sent it spinning through the air like a blade. The wood exploded under a barrage of spells, but the splinters bought him half a second — half a second to breathe, to think, to see.
Through the smoke, his Magic Eyes flared. The world slowed. Lines of power crisscrossed the tower — the threads of every spell, every charm, every curse. He saw the lattice of the Hogwarts wards above, a living cage pulsing with golden veins. And through it all — them.
Dumbledore at the back.
Calm.
Centered.
Surrounded by the professors — McGonagall, Flitwick, Lupin, even Snape — all moving as one, their magic weaving into his like tributaries into a river.
Behind them, the Ministry's finest: curse-breakers, Aurors, enforcers. Nearly twenty strong.
Adrian's pulse slowed.
' I can't win here.'
The space was too tight. The wards pressed down on him, choking the more complex forms of dark magic he relied on. His best chance was to break free, draw them out, turn the environment itself into a weapon.
Power surged from his soul, radiating outward in a telekinetic wave that cracked the floor. The air detonated. A dozen Aurors screamed as they were thrown backward, their bodies smashing through the tower's upper windows and into the open air.
The explosion left the room ringing, full of dust and echo. Adrian didn't hesitate. He dissolved — his body unraveling into violet mist. The sensation was always disorienting: weightless, stretched between molecules, the world reduced to currents and light.
He rose through the debris like smoke, heading straight for the boundary of the castle wards.
If he could slip past the outer layer, Apparate, he'd have a chance.
Just a chance.
Our intentions may be clear, our plans carefully drawn, but the world is not obliged to follow our script. The unfolding of life often dances beyond our control, reminding us that certainty is an illusion and adaptability is wisdom...
Then the trap snapped shut.
From below, a team of Curse-Breakers lifted their wands in perfect unison. Threads of gold fire coiled upward, embedding themselves into the dome of magic that crowned Hogwarts. Adrian felt it before it hit him — a tightening, a pull. The air around him vibrated with foreign incantations, ancient ones meant to seal, to contain.
"No…" he breathed.
The spell closed around him like a net of iron.
He slammed against it, invisible but solid as glass. Pain shot through him; the transformation faltered, the mist condensed back into flesh.
He hit the ground hard, rolling as another volley of spells exploded around him.
Adrian rose to his knees, blood in his mouth, body injured. He reached out with his magic, eyes blazing — the Magic Eyes scanning every rune of the barrier, searching for weakness. The structure was elegant, a fusion of old wards and Ministry containment charms — designed to keep even 100 dragons from breaking free. But nothing was perfect. Everything had a flaw.
He found three.
He could break them.
But not while the entire damn Ministry was throwing spells at him.
A flash of light. Dumbledore's voice. "Adrian!"
The word cracked like thunder through the smoke.
Adrian spun, deflecting two Blasting Curses and firing back. His own spell hit the stone, fracturing it into molten shards. He caught movement on his right — Flitwick and McGonagall closing in, twin torrents of blue and gold flame pinning him between them.
His wand blurred. 'Soul-cer!'
A spiral of black energy tore through the air, colliding with the shield of a witch. The witch staggered; her defensive charm shimmered, cracked, and a part of her soul was cut forever lost, unable to heal. The backlash forced her to her knees, but Flitwick and McGonagall countered with a wave of energy that sent Adrian flying backward.
He hit the wall, hard enough to rattle his bones.
Pain lanced down his side.
He forced himself up. "Too many…" he hissed. "Too damned many."
If it had been just Dumbeldoore, Adrian was confident in his victory…
His Magic Eyes mapped everything — every attack vector, every breath of magic — but his body was beginning to fall. There was no helping there; he was still a mortal, and his body could still get hurt. His chest burned.
More spells came.
He countered, deflected, retaliated — but for every one he stopped, ten, twenty, fifty more and more came.
'I need space.' He thought.
He turned toward the shattered way, pointed his wand to the sky, 'Tempus Vortex.'
Wind howled through. Every loose object, glass, stone — spun violently around him. Then, with a twist of will, Adrian redirected the storm outward. The blast hurled the nearest attackers off their feet. Before they could recover, he jumped straight into the open air.
BAM!
A curse hit him; he looked back with his eye, 'Dumbeldoore', he thought.
He fell.
The lake below glistened like obsidian under the fading daylight.
As he plummeted, Adrian reached into the storm and water that was his own magic and called.
The water answered.
The wind screamed as Adrian dropped through open air. The lake rushed up toward him like a slab of black glass. He twisted his body, wand flicking, and a shockwave of telekinetic force burst beneath his feet — slowing his fall just enough that when he hit the surface, it shattered outward like liquid crystal instead of stone.
He sank to one knee on the water's trembling skin, magic coiling around him like smoke.
The wards still glimmered above, a faint gold shimmer through the clouds — the cage that refused to let him leave.
They were reinforced now; he could feel their pulse, feel the Curse-Breakers feeding them from the shoreline. He'd have to break them from within.
The first spells followed him down — red lances and bolts of lightning tearing through the air. Adrian raised a shield with a twist of his wrist; the water around him rose in answer, spiraling into a translucent wall. Spells slammed against it, sending ripples through the surface beneath his boots.
He exhaled slowly.
His eyes, glowing faintly violet. The world around him came alive in threads of power and rhythm. Every curse, every rune of the wards, every strand of magic shimmered like constellations waiting to be rewritten.
He raised his hand, muttered an incantation of his own creation — "Veilmare."
Dark sigils burst around him and spread across the lake like ink spilled in water. The fog thickened — not natural fog, but enchanted mist that warped perception itself. Through it, sound fractured; vision folded. To any normal wizard, reality itself began to shimmer and bleed.
Above, the professors hesitated. Spells went wide, ricocheting harmlessly. The first wave of Curse-Breakers landed on the water's edge, shouting countercharms, trying to pierce the distortion. Adrian watched their patterns — saw their formation, their channels of magic — and struck.
'Cineris Cruor!'
The water beneath the first Curse-Breaker turned crimson. He screamed as a column of liquid burst upward, wrapping around him like a serpent of blood. The spell tore through the man's defenses, leaving his wand spinning uselessly into the air.
Two others faltered; one broke free, his countercurse unraveling mid-chant. The wards above flickered. Just slightly — but enough.
'That's it… break your rhythm, and the structure weakens.'
Adrian stepped forward, raising his left hand toward the glimmering net of light. 'Fractum.'
A surge of power lanced from his arm — violet and white, sharp as a blade. It struck the base of the containment wards, cracking one of the anchor runes. The feedback hit him instantly — pain blooming across his chest, runes along his ribs burning white-hot. He gritted his teeth and stayed standing. 'A counter.' He thought.
"Adrian, stop this!"
The voice tore through the fog — Dumbledore's, old and thunderous, closer now.
He turned.
Dumbledore stood on the water as though on solid ground, Fawkes circling overhead like a comet of fire. Behind him — McGonagall, Snape, Flitwick, and half a dozen professors. To the sides, Aurors. The Ministry had regrouped.
Adrian's chest tightened. His breathing had gone ragged; his blood was singing with adrenaline. He felt the rituals beneath his skin stir again — layers of strengthening magic woven through his veins. The pain was unimaginable, but compared to the rituals he did, it was nothing.
'Too many. But if I can buy time, if I can fracture the wards just a little more—'
Dumbledore lifted his wand. "This ends now."
"You talk a lot, old man," Adrian growled.
The air detonated.
A wave of incandescent light crashed toward him. He met it head-on, raising a counterspell of dark blue flash.
The collision erupted in a blinding flash, throwing up steam that blanketed the lake. The very air seemed to be destroyed by them—
Boom!
The coalition shattered, and both were thrown back as the water absorbed the kinetic energy of their clash.
Flitwick was the first through the mist — small, fast, precise. Adrian saw him an instant before the spell hit. He twisted sideways, narrowly avoiding a slicing curse that carved a gash through his ribs. He retaliated with a pulse of violet energy.
The beam hit the water near Flitwick's feet, and for a heartbeat, the professor froze, his soul tugged violently toward his reflection before he wrenched himself free. 'Ilusion, of this level?!' He thought, as he was forced back.
Then came McGonagall, conjuring silver wolves that leaped across the surface toward him. He countered with a whip of fire, the beasts dissolving into mist.
Pain flared at his side — a curse from behind. He spun, deflecting another attack, and saw Lupin's eyes, yellowing faintly even in human form, as the werewolf instinct took over. Adrian fired off a concussive blast that threw Lupin backward into the lake's edge.
Adrian was still standing.
Still breathing.
But the numbers were closing. Aurors encircled him. Spells lit the night like fireworks, each flash a near-death.
His shield flickered, cracked, reformed.
Adrian's heart pounded against the inside of his ribs. His muscles screamed. Every movement now was half pain, half willpower. He could feel the exhaustion creeping in — that heavy and dangerous fatigue where thought blurred.
The world was chaos — fire and water and the roar of collapsing magic. Adrian moved through it like a shadow, every breath a decision.
To his left, an Auror shouted coordinates to the others, his wand blazing blue. "He's weakening! ATTACK him!"
To his right, another aimed — a woman, sharp-eyed, fast — her curse a bolt of emerald light that nearly caught his shoulder.
He ducked, rolled, and came up kneeling. There were too many. It was not just the quantity but the quality as well; every one of them was an elite, a wizard above wizards. Army of one, and all of them were here for him.
His shield was cracking, his energy thinning. They would not stop. Not until he was dead or broken.
He exhaled, eyes cold. He raised his wand.
A green light struck. The spell tore through the air like ice through glass. A flash of green — silent, absolute — and the first Auror froze mid-step. His eyes went wide, then glassy. He fell without a sound, hitting the water hard enough to send ripples spreading in perfect concentric circles.
The others hesitated.
Shock.
Fear.
That split-second pause was all he needed.
He turned, pivoting with mechanical precision, and fired again.
'Avada Kedavra!'
The second beam leaped from his wand — faster than thought. It struck the witch square in the chest. Her shield charm flared and died instantly. She didn't even scream. Just collapsed backward into the lake, hair fanning out like ink in water, the light leaving her eyes before her body touched the surface.
Adrian lowered his wand slowly, staring at the water where the bodies sank. There was no time for triumph, no satisfaction. Only the detached stillness of a man who had accepted the cost long ago. His hand moved, and a fog was created.
The fog around him pulsed, reflecting the green light still lingering in the air. And then — as if the world remembered to move again — another barrage of spells came.
He bit his tongue hard enough to taste blood, forcing himself alert.
He needed something stronger.
Something that would hurt everyone.
His hand shook as he lifted his wand again. He whispered a spell. "BURN THEM ALL, TILL NOTHING REMAINS, Findefyre." He raged.
The air went silent.
Then white fire bloomed from his wand like the birth of a star.
It wasn't normal flame — it was living, conscious, impossibly hot. The water hissed into vapor as the fire coiled outward, forming serpentine shapes that screamed and struck. Everything they touched disintegrated — Auror shields, lake water, even light itself.
The white flames recognized only one truth: Adrian's will.
And his will saw everyone here as enemies.
Everyone had to die!
Screams tore through the air. Two Aurors vanished into ash. One of the professors fell backward, robes aflame. The Fiendfyre surged outward, devouring everything in its path.
Above, Fawkes cried out — a pure, piercing sound. The phoenix dove into the inferno, wings spread wide, golden feathers igniting with divine light. The clash of the two fires — one holy, one not — sent shockwaves across the lake.
Dumbledore stepped forward, wand raised, face pale with strain. His magic poured outward in waves of raw force, barely holding back the tide of Adrian's creation.
The old man looked older than Adrian had ever seen him — sweat pouring down his face, his hands trembling slightly. But his power did not waver.
Then the white flame broke free of Fawkes' containment. It struck — a direct hit on Alastor Moody. The veteran Auror screamed as his body was engulfed; the flame burned his flesh before Dumbledore could extinguish it.
"ALASTOR!" shouted someone — maybe Bones, maybe Snape. Adrian couldn't tell anymore.
He staggered.
The backlash from Dumbldoore's spell burned through him, veins glowing faintly beneath the skin.
He could feel his magic weakening…
He barely noticed the next wave — Dumbledore, McGonagall, and the remaining Aurors attacking all at once.
Light.
Heat.
Pressure.
Adrian's shield shattered. A curse slammed into his chest, throwing him backward through the air. He hit the shore with a wet crack, the world spinning.
For a few seconds, he couldn't breathe. Every nerve screamed. His vision pulsed red and white.
He forced himself up. Blood streamed from his mouth.
Above, the wards still glowed. Unbroken.
The professors advanced, forming a circle.
Dumbledore's voice came again, quiet this time. "It's over, Adrian."
He didn't answer. His hand twitched. He could barely lift his wand. But his ritual forged body flared again — defying pain, defying exhaustion.
He whispered a single thought to himself, 'Not yet.'
The world burned.
White fire raged behind him, turning night into a living inferno. Steam hissed where the lake tried to fight back. The air itself shimmered with heat and magic. Every breath Adrian took tasted like smoke and blood.
He could barely hear anymore — only the deep, continuous roar of Fiendfyre and the rush of his own pulse. His heart hammered so hard it hurt.
Still, he moved.
He ducked under a bolt of light, twisted, and sent back a wave of force that split the earth in two. Every spell he cast tore something inside him — his reserves, his strength.
He had pushed his body beyond its limit, and still they came.
Dumbledore.
McGonagall.
Flitwick.
Snape.
Dozens of Ministry Aurors behind them, fanning out in formation, wands blazing.
Adrian's Magic Eyes followed each spell with a trail of luminous geometry. His mind processed every trajectory, every collision, every fracture in the wards above. But his body lagged. His mind is exhausted. His knees buckled once. He almost fell.
Then he forced air into his lungs and steadied himself. 'Not yet.'
A wall of light surged toward him — Dumbledore's spell, raw and blinding.
Adrian raised both hands, pouring his will outward. The impact shook the lake like an earthquake. The shield cracked, shattered, then reformed from sheer defiance.
Another hit.
And another.
The ground gave way beneath his feet.
He knew he couldn't win. He had known it since the tower. But knowledge and surrender were not the same thing.
"Not yet," he whispered to himself. His eyes were blazing in fury.
He stepped forward. His magic flared once more, feeding power into broken muscle and bone. Pain and strength blurred together until he couldn't tell them apart.
Dumbledore shouted something — a plea, a warning, a command — but the sound drowned in the storm.
Adrian's vision narrowed to light and motion. He thrust out both arms and released everything.
The resulting blast was not magic in any structured sense — it was raw telekinetic violence, the concentrated fury of a collapsing star. The water around him vaporized. The ground exploded outward. Within thirty meters, the lakebed became a crater of molten stone and ash.
When the shockwave ended, silence fell.
Where spells and voices had been, there was only destruction.
Adrian stood in the center, swaying, breath shallow, blood streaking his face. His robes were in tatters. His hands trembled uncontrollably. Boodies of the fallen surrendered him.
He'd destroyed everything around him.
And still, they came.
Through the smoke, shapes emerged — burned, limping, but alive. Dumbledore led them. His robes were torn, his wand still burning with light, his eyes sorrowful but unyielding.
"Adrian," the old man said quietly, "stop. Please."
Adrian's lips parted. No sound came out. His vision pulsed — black, white, violet. The effort of standing felt impossible. But surrender was a word that did not exist in him.
He tightened his fingers. "No."
More voices behind Dumbledore now — McGonagall's sharp breath, Snape's muttered curse, the scraping boots of Ministry enforcers encircling the crater. Wands raised. The ring of light around him shrank with every step.
A dozen binding spells hit him at once.
Chains of gold, ropes of blue energy — they struck his arms, his legs, his chest. His body locked.
He fell to one knee, unable to breathe.
He didn't fight it.
Not yet.
Dumbledore approached slowly, as if nearing a wounded animal. "It's over," he said, voice almost sad and angry. "You've lost."
Adrian raised his head. Blood ran down his temple into his mouth. He smiled faintly. "You think so."
And then his left hand twitched — just enough to wake the ring on his finger.
The restraints pulsed once. Something deep inside the ring stirred, a hum, a heartbeat. The metal expanded, seams glowing with stored power.
Dumbledore's wand descended for the final restraint charm.
At that instant, the ring burst open — releasing a hidden mechanism with a whisper like steel unsheathing.
A blade shot from his hand — long, thin, black as midnight. The runes etched along its edge flickered to life.
Adrian moved faster than thought, powered by pure reflex, fury, and magic. The restraints cracked, his right arm snapping free in a blur.
He lunged straight at Dumbledore.
For a split second, the old wizard's eyes widened — too slow to cast, too tired to dodge.
"Albus!" McGonagall's scream split the air.
BAM!
A flash of gold collided with Adrian's chest — Fawkes.
The phoenix slammed into him with burning wings, knocking him backward through the air, a dozen meters. The sword spun from his grip, clattering across the stone.
Adrian hit the ground, breath exploding from his lungs.
Dumbledore vanished in a shimmer of light, reappearing several meters away, thanks to Fawkes. Wand raised, but face pale.
Even as he fell, Adrian reached inward again — into the ring's other dimension.
Two small vials slid into his palm.
He bit the corks off with bloody teeth and swallowed both.
Liquid fire raced through his veins. Pain faded. Wounds closed with a hiss of steam. His heartbeat evened. The exhaustion didn't vanish — but it dulled, replaced by focus.
He staggered upright.
No wand.
No sword.
Surrounded.
It didn't matter.
Even when fortune turns its back and adversaries gather like shadows, destiny never closes every door. What we call desperation is not a condition—it is a choice. The path to resolution lies not in the world, but within. When we dare to look inward, we discover that the strength we seek has always been ours. To truly live is to awaken to oneself, to grasp one's essence, and to walk forward with trust in that inner truth.
That has always been one of Adrian's philosophies.
His Magic Eyes burned bright violet. Through them, he saw everything: the structure of the spells forming around him, the invisible scaffolding of Dumbledore's magic.
He exhaled once, calm, almost peaceful. At that moment, his eyes flashed, and an idea appeared in his mind.
"This," he said softly, "is where we part ways."
Snape's voice cut through the haze. "You're surrounded, boy. Even if you heal, exhaustion will crush you. There's nowhere left to run."
Adrian smiled without warmth. "You underestimate me, Professor."
He raised his left hand again — fingers twitching once.
A spark.
A pulse of magic.
The air beside him shimmered — then solidified into the small form of a house-elf.
"Kinnie," Adrian murmured.
The elf looked up, eyes wide and terrified. "M–Master Adrian?"
Behind him, Dumbledore's face darkened with realization. "Don't—"
But the Imperius curse was already weaving from Adrian's gaze. It wrapped around the elf like silk. Kinnie froze, trembling, then straightened, pupils glassy.
Adrian's voice was quiet but absolute. "Now."
The elf blinked once, raised a tiny hand, and touched his arm.
The world folded inward — the air imploding with a deafening crack.
And they were gone.
\\
The world rebuilt itself around him in darkness and stone.
Adrian's boots hit solid ground — the floor of his safehouse, the one no map recorded. His knees nearly buckled. He caught himself on a table, blood dripping from his fingers.
"Master Adrian!"
Greg's voice echoed from the corridor. He appeared within seconds, eyes wide. "What in hell happened to you?"
Adrian tried to speak. No sound came. His throat burned from smoke and spells. He forced out a rasp.
"Kill the elf. Gather everything. Burn it. Leave nothing. Then take me away."
Greg froze. "What—?"
Adrian's eyes met his. The Magic Eyes glowed faintly — exhausted, but absolute.
It wasn't a request.
Greg swallowed hard, nodded once.
Adrian's last vision before the darkness took him was the small corpse of the elf at Greg's feet, the faint shimmer of erasing charms beginning their work, and the reflection of his own eyes in the shattered glass — still glowing, still unbroken.
'It's gonna hurt like hell when I wake up, sigh, it's time for a nap.' Those were his lost thoughts.
Then the world went black.