Revelations

April 13, 1993, 7:20 PM, Outside of Dumbledore’s Office

Adam Clarke

Gilderoy Lockhart strode down the corridor, his turquoise robes swishing dramatically with each step. Despite the chaos of recent events, his hair remained perfectly coiffed, though I noticed a few worry lines creasing his normally flawless forehead.

“Professor Lockhart.” I said, inclining my head respectfully and doing my best to not show any weakness to this man. “Are you here to see Professor Dumbledore as well?”

He waved his hand dismissively, though his smile remained fixed. “Please, after what we’ve been through, I think we can dispense with such formalities. Call me Gilderoy.”

I shifted uncomfortably, not quite able to bring myself to address a professor so casually. “I appreciate the offer, sir, but I think I’d prefer to stick with Professor Lockhart, if that’s alright.”

His smile didn’t falter, but I did catch a flicker of something— disappointment, or perhaps annoyance?— in his eyes. “Of course, of course. Old habits die hard, I suppose. Now, I’m glad I ran into you. I wanted to commend you on your performance during the battle in the Forbidden Forest.”

“Thank you, sir.” I said, feeling a mix of pride and embarrassment.

“I mean it, Adam.” He continued, his voice lowered as if sharing a secret. “Your tactical awareness was remarkable for someone your age. The way you also anticipated the needs of the Acromantula— Aragog, was it?— it shows wisdom beyond your years.”

I felt my cheeks grow warm at the praise. “I just reacted on instinct, really. It was a team effort all around, sir. You, yourself, have contributed quite a bit.”

“Ah, and modest too.” Professor Lockhart said with a knowing smile. “But don’t sell yourself short. That ‘instinct’ of yours saved lives. It’s one thing to be skilled with a wand— and make no mistake, you are— but tactical thinking like that? It’s rare, especially in one so young.”

For a moment, I could understand what he meant. I had spent my previous life fleeing from conflict; in this one, I had embraced it wholeheartedly, instead.

I focused on him again. It was strange how much could change in such a short time. The man before me was still undeniably Gilderoy Lockhart, with all his theatrical mannerisms and perfect hair, but there was a new depth to him now, a seriousness I’d never seen before.

“We are facing dark times, Adam. Dark times, indeed.” He said, his voice quiet but intense. “And we need every advantage we can get. Your quick thinking and ability to adapt in the heat of battle? That’s going to be crucial in the fights to come.”

“We, sir?” I said, eyes widening a second. “Does this mean you’re going to…”

“You didn’t think the Great Gilderoy Lockhart would shy away from the chance to join his name to the annals of history, did you?”

I was about to respond when a grinding sound interrupted us. We both turned to see the stone gargoyle guarding Dumbledore’s office leap to the side. A small group of wizards filed out, their faces grave and drawn. I recognized a few of them as Ministry officials, but couldn’t place their names.

The gargoyle remained to the side, its stone eyes seeming to fix on us expectantly. Professor Lockhart straightened his robes and made his way towards the revealed staircase.

“Well, it seems our audience awaits.” He said, then paused, looking back at me. “Coming, Adam?”

I hesitated, suddenly unsure. “I… perhaps I should wait. If you have a meeting, Professor Dumbledore might be busy for a while…”

Professor Lockhart shook his head, a hint of his old bravado returning.

“Nonsense! If the gargoyle’s letting us in, it means Dumbledore’s ready to see us. Besides.” He added with a wink. “I have a feeling your input might be valuable. You’ve earned your place at this table, my boy.”

I opened my mouth to protest again, but something in Professor Lockhart’s expression stopped me. There was an earnestness there, a belief in me that I wasn’t quite sure was real. But if recent events had taught me anything, it was that sometimes you had to step up, ready or not.

I just hope that this isn’t some sick game he’s playing. If my suspicions about him are true, then…

With a deep breath, I nodded.

“Alright then, Professor.” I said, falling into step beside him. “Let’s go see what the Headmaster has to say.”

We ascended the spiral staircase and, before we could even think to knock, a calm voice called from within. “Enter.”

Professor Dumbledore sat behind his desk, looking up from what appeared to be a lengthy piece of parchment. His half-moon spectacles caught the light as he nodded at Professor Lockhart, but his eyebrows rose slightly when he saw me.

“I’m sorry, Professor.” I said quickly, already taking a step back. “I didn’t mean to intrude—”

“Not at all, Adam.” Professor Dumbledore interrupted gently. “Please, take a seat, the both of you.” He gestured to the two chairs before his desk with a wave of his hand.

As we settled into our seats, I tried to make myself as unobtrusive as possible. The portraits of former headmasters and headmistresses watched us with varying degrees of interest, though several were pretending to be asleep.

“Gilderoy.” Dumbledore said warmly. “I trust you’re recovering well after the battle?”

“Quite well, thank you, Albus.” Professor Lockhart replied, and I noticed he’d dropped some of his usual flamboyance. “Though I must say, the experience has given me much to think about. In fact, I came here to—”

“To tender your resignation from the Defense Against the Dark Arts post, I presume?” Dumbledore finished, his blue eyes twinkling though his expression remained serious.

I couldn’t help but gape a little, even though I had suspected it. Professor Lockhart— resign? After everything he’d done during the battle? After proving himself so capable? I turned to look at him, but his face was set with determination.

The man who had once seemed so focused on fame and appearance now sat straighter in his chair, all pretense gone. For the first time, I saw Professor Lockhart not as the flashy celebrity from book covers, but as the warrior who’d fought beside us in the forest.

Seeing my confusion, Professor Lockhart’s expression softened. The smile he gave me wasn’t his camera-ready grin from the covers of Witch Weekly, but something more genuine, tinged with what looked like regret.

“There’s a curse on the Defense Against the Dark Arts position.” He explained, his voice lacking its usual dramatic flair.

“A rather nasty bit of magic, from what I understand. Come June, it would…” He paused, choosing his words carefully. “Shall we say, ensure my departure from the castle one way or another. This was always part of the plan.”

I frowned. I supposed this was always one of those immutable things about Harry Potter. 

“The older students.” I said, my voice quieter than I intended. “They mentioned we’ve had a different teacher every year…”

“Indeed.” Professor Dumbledore interjected. He folded his hands on his desk. His blue eyes held none of their usual twinkle. “Now, Gilderoy, do you intend to depart today?”

Professor Lockhart straightened in his chair, and I saw some of his familiar confidence return— not the showy bravado of his books, but the quiet assurance I’d witnessed in the Forbidden Forest.

“I plan to remain until late May, Albus. These are dangerous times, and the students need all the preparation they can get.” He paused, glancing at me with an expression I couldn’t quite read before continuing. “I’ve been in talks with the Ministry, actually. They’re interested in having me assist with troop training.”

His voice took on a note of carefully measured pride as he continued.

“There’s even discussion of granting me my own command, specifically for the…” He trailed off abruptly, and both professors turned to look at me. The sudden attention made the air feel heavy in my lungs.

I tried not to fidget under their gaze, but it was difficult. Professor Lockhart looked almost apologetic, while Dumbledore’s expression was unreadable behind his half-moon spectacles. The portraits of former headmasters had abandoned any pretense of sleep now, leaning forward in their frames with unconcealed interest.

“Perhaps.” Dumbledore said delicately, breaking the tense silence. “We should table that particular discussion for another time.”

His blue eyes met mine briefly, and I caught something in them— not quite apology, but acknowledgment. It was the look of someone who wanted to say more but couldn’t, or wouldn’t. I was starting to become familiar with that look from the adults around me.

The weight of unspoken words hung in the air, as tangible as the silver instruments whirring softly on Dumbledore’s shelves. There was more going on here than a simple resignation, more than just the curse on the Defense position.

Something bigger was brewing, something they didn’t want to discuss in front of a twelve-year-old— even one who had already seen more combat than most adult wizards.

I shrugged, not particularly invested in this revelation. In truth, I’d been expecting something like this from Professor Lockhart sooner or later.

A man with his combination of combat skills and desperate need for recognition wasn’t going to stay quietly teaching at Hogwarts forever— not with a war brewing. He’d either end up with the Ministry, where his actions could be monitored and his ego stroked appropriately, or he’d find another side that would offer him even greater glory. At least this way, someone could keep an eye on him.

“Is that everything then, Gilderoy?” Professor Dumbledore asked, his keen eyes studying Professor Lockhart’s face.

“Yes, I believe that covers it.” Professor Lockhart replied, smoothing an imaginary wrinkle from his robes. He glanced at me again, this time with genuine curiosity. “Though I must admit, I don’t actually know why young Adam is here.”

Professor Dumbledore turned his attention to me, one silvery eyebrow raised in question. “Indeed? What brings you to my office today, Mr. Black?”

I straightened in my chair slightly, grateful for the opening. “Actually, Professor, I was hoping I might speak with you privately.”

“Oh? Very well.” Professor Dumbledore said and rose from his chair. “Gilderoy, thank you for coming to me with this. I appreciate your forethought in the matter of your employment; it shall give me ample time to secure a replacement.”

Professor Lockhart gave one of his signature smiles, though it seemed more subdued than usual.

“Of course, Albus. Always best to be prepared.” He turned to me with a slight bow. “Adam, a pleasure as always.”

I watched him leave, his turquoise robes swishing around the corner of the spiral staircase. The grinding sound of the gargoyle returning to its position echoed from below, leaving Professor Dumbledore and me alone in the circular office. Well, as alone as one could be in a room full of portraits pretending not to eavesdrop.

Dumbledore settled back into his chair, adjusting his spectacles slightly. “Now then, Mr. Black, what can I—”

“Wait just one moment!” The sharp voice cut through the room like a knife. I turned to see one of the portraits glaring down at me with undisguised suspicion. The man in the frame wore ornate green and silver robes, his pointed beard quivering with indignation. I recognized him from my visits to Grimmauld Place— Phineas Nigellus Black.

“This boy.” Phineas declared, his voice dripping with disdain. “Claims to be a Black?”

His dark eyes bored into me as if trying to find some familiar feature. That was odd. Hadn’t he been here when I’d asked Sirius to adopt me in this very office? Maybe he was sleeping?

Wouldn’t he have been told by the others? I thought for a moment before dismissing it. Then again, Phineas Nigellus Black was one of the most unlikable people in existence, so it’s possible that he really doesn’t know.

“I’m adopted.” I said simply, meeting his gaze. I’d dealt with enough Pureblood silliness by now to know what was coming.

The portrait’s reaction was immediate and explosive.

“Adopted?” Phineas’s face contorted with horror. “The Noble and Most Ancient House of Black, reduced to… to adopting outsiders?”

He began pacing within his frame, his robes swishing dramatically. “First blood traitors and Half-Bloods, and now this! Oh, what has become of my family? My proud lineage, diluted and desecrated by—”

“Phineas.” Dumbledore’s voice was soft but carried enough authority to halt the portrait’s tirade. “That will be quite enough.”

Phineas froze mid-stride, his mouth still open in protest. He shot me one last withering look before stalking to the edge of his frame, where he stood rigid with barely contained outrage.

Dumbledore turned back to me, and I caught a glimmer of what might have been amusement in his eyes. “My apologies for the interruption, Adam. You wished to discuss something?”

The weight of Phineas’s glare still burned against the side of my face, but I forced myself to focus on Dumbledore. I had more important things to worry about than the prejudices of a long-dead headmaster.

“Actually, Professor.” I said carefully. “I was hoping we could speak in complete privacy.”

I glanced meaningfully at the portraits surrounding us. “Without any additional ears. No offense, everyone.”

Phineas made another sound of outrage from his frame, but I kept my eyes on Dumbledore. The Headmaster studied me for a moment, his expression thoughtful.

“Complete privacy?” He repeated softly. “That is quite a serious request, Adam. While I don’t doubt you have something worthwhile to share, perhaps you’re overestimating the need for such… extreme discretion?”

I met his gaze steadily. “I know what was taken from the Ministry.”

Dumbledore’s face remained carefully neutral, but I saw his fingers twitch slightly on his desk. “And what do you believe was—”

“The Vei—” I began, but Dumbledore was suddenly on his feet, moving with a speed that belied his age.

“A moment, if you please.” He cut across me, already striding toward a door I’d never noticed before, partially hidden behind a tapestry depicting the founding of Hogwarts. “Join me, Adam.”

Frowning, I followed him through the door and into what could only be a personal chamber. The room was circular, like his office, but smaller and somehow both cluttered and meticulously organized.

Towering bookcases lined the walls, their ancient tomes bound in materials I couldn’t identify. A narrow window looked out over the Black Lake, its glass stained with patterns that shifted subtly in the light. Various magical instruments whirred and puffed on spindly-legged tables, giving off soft chimes and occasional wisps of colored smoke. A worn armchair sat beside a small fireplace, a half-finished cup of tea on the table beside it suggesting this was where Dumbledore did his private reading.

The Headmaster closed the door behind us with a soft click. He raised his wand, and I felt rather than heard the charm he cast— a subtle pressure in my ears, like descending quickly on a broomstick. The ambient sounds from the office beyond fell away completely.

“Now then…” Dumbledore said gravely. “I believe you were about to tell me something rather sensitive about a certain artifact from the Department of Mysteries.”

I took my time looking around the chamber, using those precious seconds to gather my thoughts. The room felt lived-in despite its grandeur— books lay open on various surfaces, bookmarks of varying colors protruding from their pages.

A particular silver instrument caught my eye, its delicate mechanisms releasing tiny puffs of purple smoke that formed intricate patterns before dissipating. The dancing shadows from the stained glass window created an almost hypnotic pattern across the worn carpet.

Finally, I turned back to face Dumbledore.

“The Veil of Death is gone from the Department of Mysteries.” I said, the words falling heavily into the silence between us.

Dumbledore’s expression shifted minutely— a slight narrowing of his eyes behind those half-moon spectacles, a barely perceptible tension in his shoulders. He moved to stand by the narrow window, where the strange, shifting patterns in the stained glass cast mottled shadows across his lined face, making him look even older than usual, and more intimidating besides.

“How did you come by this information?” He asked, his voice gentle but probing. His hand came to rest on the windowsill while his other one remained partially hidden in his sleeve. “You are, after all, Nymphadora Tonks’s cousin now, through your adoption into the Black family by Sirius. Perhaps she mentioned something in passing…? You two are somewhat close.”

“No.” I said firmly, meeting his gaze.

“I knew about it before seeing her today. She…” I paused, remembering my conversation with Tonks, her worried expression when I’d revealed what I knew. “She actually suggested I come to you with what I know.”

“I see.” Dumbledore nodded slowly, his long fingers absently stroking his silver beard. The light catching his rings sent small rainbows dancing across the nearby bookshelf. “And how exactly did you come to possess this knowledge?”

I hesitated, my mouth suddenly dry. The soft whirring of the magical instruments seemed to grow louder in the silence, matching the racing of my thoughts.

This was the tricky part— the part of the conversation I’d been dreading since I’d made the decision to come here. How could I explain knowing things I shouldn’t possibly know, without revealing that in another reality, all of this was fiction? That somewhere out there, this was all just words on pages in books titled ‘Harry Potter’?

He’d either think I was completely mad or, worse, start questioning everything about my presence here. The adoption, my place at Hogwarts, my involvement in recent events— it would all come under scrutiny. No, telling him about the Harry Potter books was out of the question.

He’d never believe me anyway, and even if he did, that knowledge could be more dangerous than helpful.

The silence stretched between us like a physical thing, broken only by the soft chimes of the instruments and the distant cry of a bird from beyond the window. All the while, Dumbledore watched me with that patient but penetrating gaze, as if he could see the wheels turning in my mind as I searched for the right words.

The words came out more steadily than I’d expected, considering how my heart was hammering against my ribs. “Professor, I… I’ve been having visions.”

Dumbledore’s reaction was subtle— a slight raise of his eyebrows, a thoughtful tilt of his head— but I could tell this revelation had surprised him. Yet somehow, there was also a glimmer of recognition in those piercing blue eyes, as if he’d been waiting for this piece to fall into place.

“Visions, you say?” His voice was soft, contemplative. He leaned forward slightly in his chair, and I tried not to focus on the ethereal threads of light that seemed to pulse around him. “Not dreams, I take it?”

“No, sir. Not dreams. They come when I’m awake. Sometimes they’re… overwhelming.” I carefully kept my eyes fixed on his face.

“What sort of visions, Adam?” The way he said my name made me wonder if he already knew more than he was letting on.

I took a deep breath, my fingers fidgeting with the edge of my robes.

“I saw certain artifacts in a cave somewhere. One of them was the Veil of Death.” The words hung in the air between us, heavy with implications I couldn’t fully grasp. “It was dark, but I could see it clearly— and I knew what it was after research.”

Of course, the ‘research’ being the Harry Potter books…

Dumbledore studied me for a long moment, his fingers slowly interlacing on the desk before him. His eyes turned intense— calculating, perhaps, or concerned.

“The Veil.” He repeated softly. “Most interesting. And when, precisely, did these visions begin?”

“Since the events of last June, sir.” I replied, watching as understanding seemed to dawn in his expression. “I’ve been seeing things that no one else can since then.”

“Yes.” Dumbledore said thoughtfully, standing to pace behind his desk. “I’ve noticed your… sensitivity to magic has increased rather dramatically since that time. As has your magical ability itself. Professor Flitwick tells me you’re performing Charm work well beyond NEWT level. My brother, as well: Gubraithian Fire, he spoke of.”

“Oh… He said that?” I shifted uncomfortably in my chair. The thread around Dumbledore seemed to pulse, but I forced myself to ignore it. “I have been practicing quite a bit, sir.”

“Indeed.” His blue eyes seemed to pierce right through me. “Though, practice alone rarely accounts for such… exponential growth. Particularly in one so young.”

I could feel the air had gone unusually still, and even Fawkes had stopped preening to watch our exchange. I could see the phoenix’s own thread, different from human ones— more akin to living flame than a strand of light.

“Is there anything else you’ve seen in these visions, Adam? Anything at all that might be… pertinent to our current situation?”

I frowned, my mind racing through everything I knew— the complex web of events yet to unfold, the dark possibilities looming on the horizon. More than that, the intricate tapestry of souls and magic I could see all around me, each person trailing their own unique signature like cosmic fingerprints. But how could I explain that without sounding completely mad?

“I…” My voice trailed off as I struggled to find the right words. The truth felt like a living thing in my chest, demanding to be let out, but also dangerous— volatile, even. I looked up at Dumbledore, wondering if he could see the conflict written across my face.

I considered the vision I’d seen of the dark cave, the memory so vivid it felt like I could reach out and touch the rough stone walls. I hadn’t just seen the Veil of Death— the chamber had been massive, its ceiling lost in shadows, every surface covered in runes that seemed to pulse with their own inner light. They weren’t like any runes I’d studied; these were older, more primal, their patterns defying conventional magical theory.

“There was more.” I said carefully. “Beside the Veil, there was a statue of a man, easily ten feet tall, carved from some black stone I couldn’t identify. In its hands, it held an enormous eye— not like a human eye, but something bigger. The eye was pointed directly at, well… It was the Mirror of Erised.” I paused, remembering the way the mirror’s ornate gold frame had gleamed even in the cave’s darkness. “And there was a sword, too, just… floating in the air between them.”

Dumbledore’s soul thread constricted noticeably as his expression darkened.

“You’re absolutely certain about the mirror?” His voice was sharper than I’d ever heard it. “The Mirror of Erised?”

“Yes, sir. I couldn’t mistake it— that inscription along the top. It was exactly the same as the one I’d seen last Christmas.”

“That is… most troubling.” Dumbledore said slowly, the magic around him swirling in agitated patterns. “The mirror is kept here in the castle, in a location known only to me. And you say it is in an unknown location?”

I shook my head. “I know that sounds impossible, sir, but I’m certain. I saw it in my vision.”

Dumbledore considered my words. Without warning, he rose and extended his arm toward me. “Very well. Take my arm, Adam. We shall see if there are any merits to your words, or if this is only one elaborate coincidence.”

I hesitated for a moment, but then nodded.

And with that, we Apparated. My stomach flipped as every inch of me felt squeezed through a tight, freezing tunnel— like being caught in a wind pressing in from all sides.

Then, just as suddenly as it had begun, the tunnel spit us out, and I stumbled, trying to regain my balance in an entirely new place, lungs greedily sucking in normal air as my senses readjusted.

I recognized this place from my routes to Potions class. We were in the dungeons. The familiar light from the enchanted torches cast dancing shadows on the weathered gray stone, and the air held that perpetual chill that never quite left the dungeons, even in summer. I’d passed through here dozens of times without noticing anything special.

But now, standing beside Dumbledore, everything felt different. The magic in the air, usually subtle enough to ignore, was converging on a specific point in the wall.

“This is…”

Dumbledore moved purposefully toward what appeared to be a suit of armor at first glance. As we got closer, I realized it wasn’t meant for a human at all— it was house-elf sized, its diminutive form crafted with the same attention to detail as the full-sized suits that lined Hogwarts’ corridors.

I couldn’t help but raise my eyebrows as Dumbledore stepped forward and… hugged the armor? The gesture seemed so incongruous coming from the dignified Headmaster that I almost laughed. But then I heard it; the deep, resonant sound of stone grinding against stone. The wall I’d been studying earlier began to shift, blocks rearranging themselves like some giant’s puzzle box.

“Sir.” I said, watching the transformation with wide eyes. “Is this where—”

“Yes.” Dumbledore replied simply. His usual warmth was absent, replaced by a focused intensity that made me nervous. He gestured for me to follow as he stepped into the newly revealed passage.

The tunnel was narrow, forcing us to walk single file. Our footsteps echoed strangely, as if the space was both smaller and larger than it appeared.

After a few seconds, we reached what appeared to be a dead end. Dumbledore stopped so abruptly I nearly walked into him. The threads of magic were almost blinding here, converging on a single point in the apparently solid wall.

“Ariana.” Dumbledore said softly, and there was something in his voice— a note of old pain, perhaps— that made me look away.

The wall shimmered like heat waves rising from summer pavement. As the shimmer faded, an ornate door stood revealed.

“Sir.” I began, but Dumbledore raised a hand, silencing me. He reached for the door handle, and I held my breath, wondering what we would find on the other side.

The door swung open. The chamber beyond was vast. Soft, golden light pulsed from crystal balls set into the walls, their glow revealing what could only be described as Dumbledore’s personal museum of magical mysteries.

Shelves of dark, polished wood lined the circular walls, reaching up into shadows that the ambient light couldn’t quite pierce. Glass cases of varying sizes dotted the floor space in a spiral pattern, each one thrumming with its own unique magical signature. The air itself felt thick with centuries of accumulated power.

Nearby, a set of crystal spheres contained what looked like miniature galaxies, stars wheeling in eternal dance. On a pedestal of black marble, a book bound in what looked like dragon scales continuously wrote in itself, its pages turning by some unseen hand. Above it, suspended in mid-air, rings of interlocked metal moved in impossible geometries, occasionally passing through each other without touching.

In another corner, a set of platinum scales balanced items that seemed to exist in multiple states simultaneously— solid, liquid, and gas all at once.

But the center of the room, where I could see the faded impressions of something, was conspicuously empty. 

“Is that where the mirror…” I said, focusing on the floor where I could see light scratches from something being moved.

“Indeed.”

“So it is gone.” I said quietly, the reality of my vision sinking in with a cold weight that settled in my stomach. “Just like I saw. The mirror really isn’t here anymore. The visions are true.”

Dumbledore turned to face me, and I nearly took a step back. The transformation in his demeanor was striking— gone was the benevolent headmaster with twinkling eyes and gentle smiles.

In his place stood a wizard of immense power, his magic coiling around him like a storm about to break. The power surrounding him took on a sharp, crystalline quality that made my eyes ache, pulsing with barely contained energy.

“Tell me again, Adam.” He said, his voice deceptively calm but carrying an undercurrent of urgency I’d never heard before. “Exactly what other artifacts did you see in that cave? Every detail, no matter how insignificant it might seem. The patterns of the runes, the position of the sword, the nature of that eye— all of it may be crucial now.”

I swallowed hard, understanding that we had just crossed some invisible threshold.

And so things change again.