Inhuman

October 15, 1993, 6:20 PM, Room of Requirement

Adam Clarke

The spell crackled past my left ear, so close I could almost smell it. I twisted away from the Stunner, my body already moving into the counter-attack I’d been planning. Fred Weasley grinned at me from across the dueling platform, his wand weaving another pattern while his twin brother circled around to my right flank.

“Getting slow there, Adam!” Fred called out, launching a rapid-fire series of Stinging Hexes that forced me to conjure a shimmering shield. The hexes splattered against the magical barrier like angry wasps, each impact sending vibrations up my wand arm.

George had moved into position now, and I could see the coordination in their movements that made them so dangerous as a team. So close together their entire lives, they could anticipate each other’s moves with an almost telepathic precision. Most opponents made the mistake of treating them as two separate threats. I’d learned better over the past sessions.

The moment Fred’s barrage ceased, I didn’t drop my shield— I expanded it, pushing outward in a concave wave that forced both twins to stumble backward. In the same fluid motion, I spun on my heel and fired a Conjunctivitis Curse at the space between them. They were expecting me to target one or the other, not the gap.

The curse split the air with a sickly yellow light, and both twins had to dive in opposite directions to avoid it. Perfect. Now they were separated.

I pressed my advantage, advancing on George with a series of well-placed Cutting Curses that kept him on the defensive. I could see the strain in his shoulders as he blocked each strike. Behind me, I heard Fred scrambling to his feet, but I was counting on the few seconds this would buy me.

“Protego!” George shouted, throwing up a powerful barrier that shimmered like heat haze. I smiled grimly and switched tactics without missing a beat.

I cast a Banishing Hex aimed not at George, but at the stone floor beside his feet. The spell struck with explosive force, sending chunks of debris flying in all directions. George’s shield protected him from the front, but the ricocheting stones caught him from the side, making him stagger.

That’s when Fred struck from behind me. I’d been expecting it, but even so, the Leg-Locker Curse nearly caught me. I threw myself into a roll, feeling the spell pass through the space where my legs had been a moment before. Coming up in a crouch, I fired another Banishing Curse over my shoulder without looking, trusting my sense of where he was positioned.

The impact sent Fred diving for cover behind one of the practice dummies, and I used the distraction to put some distance between myself and both twins. The other students watching from the sidelines had gone quiet, following every move with the intensity of people studying for their lives. Which, I supposed, they were.

“Nice try.” I called out, breathing hard but grinning. “But you’re thinking too small.”

Both twins emerged from their defensive positions at the same time, and I saw them exchange a look. Whatever they were planning, it was going to be their finishing move. Fred began weaving an elaborate spell pattern while George started what looked like a Binding Curse. They were going to try to pin me down and overwhelm me with combined firepower.

I let them think it was working. I stood my ground, apparently focused on maintaining a standard shield against their preparatory spells, letting them believe they had me cornered. The key to fighting multiple opponents wasn’t just about dividing their attention— it was about controlling the tempo of the engagement.

“Now!” Fred shouted.

They fired simultaneously— Fred with a Stunning Spell that could have dropped a troll, George with conjured thorny vines that writhed through the air like serpents. Instead of blocking or dodging, I did something they weren’t expecting.

I moved forward, shield moving with me.

Both of their attacks struck the shield harmlessly, and the momentum of my charge carried the shield forward into both young men, catching them both and knocking them down to the ground.

I didn’t waste the opportunity. An Impediment Jinx followed by two quick Disarming Charms in succession— they couldn’t dodge effectively under the effects of the Impediment Jinx, and their slowed reflexes lowered their chances even further.

George’s wand flew from his grasp first, spinning end over end before clattering against the far wall. Fred managed to deflect my second attempt, but the third caught him clean, sending his wand arcing high into the air. I caught it without looking, my eyes never leaving the twins.

“Match.” I said, canceling the Impediment Jinx with a wave of my wand.

The watching students erupted in appreciative murmurs and a few scattered claps. Fred and George looked at each other, then at me, then began laughing.

“Bloody hell.” George said, shaking his head as he walked over to retrieve his wand. “We should have seen that coming— your expertise with the Shield Charm is practically legendary.”

“We did see it coming.” Fred corrected, accepting his wand back from me. “We just couldn’t figure out how to counter it without hitting each other.”

“That’s the point.” I said, offering them both a respectful nod. “You fought as a team, which is your strength. But every strength can become a weakness if your opponent knows how to exploit it.”

Around us, the other students were processing what they’d just witnessed. I could see some of them taking mental notes, already thinking about how they might adapt similar tactics to their own dueling styles.

Diggory raised his hand.

“Adam, that Shield— isn’t that incredibly risky in close quarters? What if they’d used more powerful magic?”

“It is risky.” I admitted, wiping sweat from my forehead with the back of my hand. “And I wouldn’t recommend that you do something like this unless you’re very confident in your ability to adapt to new situations; for me, I knew their intent was to bind and overwhelm me, so I took the risk.”

Susan looked thoughtful. “How do you practice something like that without getting hurt?”

“Very, very carefully.” I said with a slight smile. “And with a lot of healing potions on hand. But the key is building up to it gradually. You start by getting a good handle on the spells in your roster, then you apply them in increasingly more difficult scenarios. Instinctively, I’m sure you can all understand it.”

Among the nods, I could see Draco Malfoy in the back of the group, his expression unreadable.

“The important thing.” I continued, addressing the group as a whole. “Is that you don’t try to copy exactly what I just did. Combat magic isn’t about memorizing a set of moves— it’s about understanding principles and adapting them to your own strengths and limitations.”

I gestured toward the twins. “Fred and George fought brilliantly just now. Their coordination, their tactical awareness, their ability to force an opponent into a crossfire— those are all advanced techniques that most wizards never master. The only reason I won is because I’ve been studying their style for a month and had time to develop specific counters.”

“Plus you cheated.” Fred said with a grin.

“I used an unexpected tactic.” I corrected. “There’s a difference. In a real fight, there’s no such thing as cheating— there’s only winning and losing. And losing usually means dying.”

The mood in the room sobered at that reminder. These weren’t just academic exercises we were running. Every spell, every technique, every tactical principle I was trying to teach them might be the difference between life and death in less than two weeks.

The bell I’d conjured to time our dueling sessions chimed, its clear note cutting through the low murmur of conversation. The sound had become as familiar as a school bell over the past month, a Pavlovian trigger that meant it was time to focus, time to fight, time to learn.

“All right, everyone.” I called out, raising my voice to address the whole group. “Next pairing up. Let’s see… Cho Chang and Michael Corner.”

Both students stepped forward, taking their positions on the dueling platform we’d marked out with chalk lines on the stone floor. Cho moved with the fluid grace of someone who’d been playing Quidditch for years, while Michael had the more measured, deliberate stance of a theoretical duelist who’d spent more time reading about combat than actually engaging in it.

It would be an interesting match-up. Cho had better instincts and reaction times, but Michael knew more obscure spells and had been studying the tactical principles I’d been teaching with obsessive dedication. In a real fight, experience usually trumped knowledge, but under controlled conditions like these, the outcome was less certain.

Alef alerted me to a visitor on the outside as the two students faced off. A door appeared on the wall beside me, which was immediately pushed open, revealing Harry Potter. The boy looked battered and exhausted but had a smile on his face that told me his third trial had gone well. His robes were singed in several places, there was a cut above his left eyebrow that had hastily been healed, and he moved with the careful gait of someone trying not to aggravate bruised ribs.

But his eyes were bright with accomplishment, and I could sense something different about his magical aura— deeper, more complex, as if new pathways had been carved through his power.

“How did it go?” I asked as he made his way over to where I was standing.

“Better than I expected.” He said, though he winced slightly as he sat down on one of the benches the room had conjured along the wall. “Rackham wasn’t kidding when he said the trials would push me to my limits. But I think I’m finally starting to understand what he meant. About everything.”

The other students had overheard, and I saw several curious glances directed our way. Harry and I had been deliberately vague about what exactly he was doing during his absences from the training sessions. Most of them probably assumed he was working with Dumbledore or pursuing some other form of preparation. Which wasn’t entirely wrong, just… incomplete.

“Are you up for staying to watch the next bout?” I asked him quietly. “Or do you need to get those injuries properly looked at?”

“I’m fine.” He said, though the way he favored his left side suggested otherwise. “I’ll let Madam Pomfrey work me over later. This is just residual soreness.”

I nodded, not wanting to push the issue in front of the others. Harry was as stubborn as I was when it came to showing weakness, and I understood the psychology behind it. Any sign of vulnerability might undermine the confidence others needed to face what was coming.

I settled onto the bench beside Harry, pulling out my water bottle and taking a long drink. The physical exertion of dueling the twins had been significant, but it was the mental strain that really wore me down. Every move, every spell, every tactical decision had to be consciously calculated and executed without much time. There was no room for sloppy thinking or reflexive responses when you were trying to demonstrate techniques that others might need to use to save their lives.

“Are you going to tell them today?” Harry asked quietly, his voice pitched low enough that the other students wouldn’t overhear.

I knew what he meant without needing to ask for clarification. The question had been weighing on my mind for days now, growing heavier with each training session, each spell practiced, each tactical principle explained. These students had been working with me for a month now, pushing themselves harder than they ever had before, trusting that I knew what I was doing and that their efforts would serve some greater purpose.

They deserved to know what that purpose was.

“I have to.” I replied, matching his quiet tone. “There’s no avoiding it anymore.”

Less than two weeks. The thought sent a familiar chill down my spine, the same cold certainty that had been my constant companion since we’d discovered the timing of Grindelwald’s ritual. October thirty first was approaching with inexorable momentum, and every day that passed brought us closer to a confrontation that would determine the fate of the wizarding world.

I watched Cho and Michael circle each other on the dueling platform, their wands held in textbook-perfect stances. Michael fired the opening salvo— a precisely aimed Stunning Spell that Cho deflected with casualness, her Quidditch reflexes serving her well. But my mind wasn’t really on their duel. Instead, I found myself studying the faces of the other students gathered around us.

There was Susan Bones, her round face creased with concentration as she analyzed every move. Terry Boot— now completely changed from the fool who’d attempted to get me jumped in First Year— scribbling notes in a leather-bound journal he’d taken to carrying everywhere. Draco, watching the fight with a hawk’s eyes, among others. And scattered throughout the group, the Ilvermorny students who’d become some of my most dedicated followers— kids whose country was falling apart while they sat in a Scottish castle learning to fight.

Could I really ask them to walk through Hell with me?

The question had been gnawing at me for days. We’d only been training together for a short time, less than a month— hardly enough time to forge the kind of bonds that would see people through a battle against one of the most dangerous dark wizards in history. Yet here they were, session after session, pushing themselves to their limits because they believed I knew what I was doing.

Some days I wasn’t sure I did.

On the platform, Cho had taken the offensive, weaving between Michael’s increasingly desperate attacks with a series of Cutting Curses that kept him constantly on the back foot. The boy was smart, tactically sound, but he thought too much and reacted too little too late. In a real fight, that hesitation would get him killed.

The thought made my stomach clench. How many of these kids would I be leading to their deaths?

“Reducto.” Cho called out, and Michael’s shield was smashed into pieces. Her follow-up Stunner took him center mass, dropping him to the stone floor with the boneless sprawl of the unconscious.

I stood and walked over to revive him, but my movements felt mechanical, distant. The weight of what I was about to tell them pressed down on my shoulders like a physical burden.

“Good match.” I said as Michael blinked back to consciousness. “Cho, your movement was excellent— you used the terrain to your advantage and didn’t give him time to think. Michael, your spell selection was sound, but you need to trust your instincts more. If you were fighting an enemy, you’d be dead right now.”

They both nodded, accepting the critique as they had dozens of others over the past month. Such good students. Such trust in my judgment.

The bell chimed again, and I felt the familiar tightening in my chest that came whenever I had to make a decision that would change everything.

“That’s the end of today’s session.” I announced, my voice carrying clearly across the practice room. Several students began gathering their things, but I held up a hand. “Actually, before you go— I have an announcement to make.”

The murmur of conversation died away. Everyone turned to look at me, and I felt the full weight of their attention like a physical force. Harry shifted beside me, and I could sense his tension even without looking at him.

This was it. No going back after this.

I took a deep breath, looking out at all those expectant faces. Hufflepuffs, Ravenclaws, Slytherins, Gryffindors— and the Ilvermorny students who’d thrown their lot in with me despite barely knowing who I was. Could they be trusted to keep their word? I didn’t know, but I had to take the chance.

“On Halloweeen.” I began, my voice steady despite the hammering of my heart. “I’m going to face Grindelwald in an attempt to stop him from destroying the world.”

The words hung in the air like a curse. For a moment, there was complete silence— even the distant sounds of the castle seemed to fade away. Then the murmurs started, low and confused, building into a buzz of overlapping voices.

“What do you mean, destroy the world?”

“Halloween? This is a joke, isn’t it?”

“How do you know where he’ll be?”

“Are you serious?”

I held up my hand again, and gradually the room quieted.

“I’ve been tracking their movements for quite some time.” I continued. “And have had information come my way from various sources to confirm this.”

Out of the corner of my eye, I saw Draco fidget slightly. He kept his expression carefully neutral, but his discomfort was obvious to anyone who knew what to look for. Harry seemed to pick up on it too— I caught him glancing in the Slytherin’s direction with a thoughtful frown.

It was Blackthorn Jr. who spoke up first, his voice carrying the particular brand of skepticism that came from a privileged upbringing and too much exposure to political maneuvering. “How do we know this is true? What proof do you have?”

I had to suppress the urge to throttle the man. Blackthorn… I didn’t like him— after everything he’d done, who would? Still he’d come to these training sessions in what appeared to be good faith, and his dueling skills were good enough to make the cut.

I swallowed back my initial retort and pointed to my left eye.

“I know there’s been rumors about it since First Year, but when my eyes changed, I started to have visions.” I said simply. “Most of them I didn’t understand, but there was one that I could confirm, and so I went to the Headmaster. With his help, we confirmed the validity of my powers— an item that I saw in my vision was supposed to be in the keeping of one of the faculty. It wasn’t anymore.”

That got their attention. Most of them had heard or made up rumors about my supposed ocular abilities, but this was the first time I’d openly acknowledged them. I could see the shift in their expressions, the way skepticism gave way to something approaching awe— or fear.

“More than that.” I continued, letting my gaze sweep across the assembled students. “Those among you who have family members involved with… shall we say, a more shady crowd… know that things have been ramping up recently.”

Several students shifted uncomfortably at that. I saw Draco’s jaw tighten, and noticed similar reactions from a handful of other Slytherins whose family names appeared on the more questionable guest lists at Ministry functions. They didn’t deny it, though— couldn’t deny it, because we all knew it was true.

The Wizarding World had been holding its breath for months now, waiting for Grindelwald’s next move. The attacks during the tournament had been just the beginning, and everyone with connections to the darker corners of magical society had been feeling the tremors of something building.

“I understand this is a lot to process.” I said, my voice gentler now. “And I want to be clear— I’m not asking anyone to come with me. This is going to be dangerous. More dangerous than anything any of us have ever faced.”

Blackthorn crossed his arms, his expression still skeptical but less openly hostile. “All right, let’s say we believe you. Where is this confrontation supposed to take place?”

I shook my head. “I’ll tell you that on the day of the event.”

A ripple of annoyed muttering went through the group. I could understand their frustration— I was asking them to trust me with their lives based on incomplete information. But operational security was paramount. The fewer people who knew the details, the better.

“That’s not fair.” Padma Patil protested. “How are we supposed to prepare if we don’t know where we’re going?”

Before I could respond, one of the Ilvermorny students stepped forward. It was Sarah Chen, from the Thunderbird house. If I remembered right, her family had been in New York when the Outsiders’ attack had taken place.

“He’s right to keep it secret.” She said firmly, her slight accent adding weight to her words. “The fewer people who know, the less chance of the information getting to the wrong ears.”

“Besides.” Added Tomas Martinez, another Ilvermorny student. “We trust Adam. He helped our school mates during the tournament, and has now taught us more in a month than we learned in years of regular classes. If he says the world’s in danger, then the world’s in danger.”

I felt a surge of gratitude toward the Ilvermorny contingent. They’d been through hell— watching their country tear itself apart while they sat in relative safety at Hogwarts. It had made them harder, more focused, more willing to take risks that their British counterparts still found unthinkable.

“I appreciate that.” I said, nodding to Tomas and Sarah. “But I want everyone to understand— you don’t owe me anything. What happened during the tournament, what I’ve taught you here— that doesn’t obligate you to follow me into what might be a suicide mission.”

“The hell it doesn’t.” Joe Albertson, a Seventh Year, said. Her voice was hard as steel, and there were murmurs of agreement from the other American students.

The Hogwarts students were taking longer to process, which was understandable. For them, this was still abstract— a theoretical danger rather than the lived reality that had driven the Ilvermorny kids to my classes. But I could see the wheels turning, see them beginning to grasp the implications of what I was telling them.

It was Marcus Belby who spoke up next, his voice uncertain but determined. “If Grindelwald really is planning something that could destroy the world… then we have to try to stop him, don’t we?”

“You don’t have to do anything.” I said firmly. “This isn’t about obligation or duty or any of the other noble concepts they teach you in Defense Against the Dark Arts. This is about choice. Your choice.”

I let that sink in for a moment, then continued. “I’ve spent the past month teaching you how to fight, how to think tactically, how to survive in combat situations. I’ve done that because I believe each of you has the potential to make a difference. But potential isn’t the same as obligation.”

Daphne, who’d been quiet the whole time, raised her hand tentatively. “What exactly do you think he’s planning to do? Grindelwald, I mean.”

I hesitated. How much should I tell them? The truth about the Abyss, about the ritual that would tear apart the barriers between life and death— that was information that could break minds if not properly prepared for. But they deserved to know what they were fighting against.

“He’s attempting to access sources of power that should remain sealed.” I said carefully. “Magic that was deliberately hidden away because it’s too dangerous for anyone to wield. If he succeeds, the consequences won’t be limited to the wizarding world— they’ll affect everyone, magical and Muggle alike. Think New York but a thousand times worse.”

The room had gone dead quiet again. I could see fear in some faces, determination in others, and a few expressions that suggested their owners were seriously reconsidering their presence in this room.

That was when Draco Malfoy surprised everyone— including, I suspected, himself.

“Before too long.” He said, his voice carrying clearly across the practice room.

“The world’s going to end anyway if someone doesn’t stop him. So we might as well live in the light of truth.” He straightened his shoulders, meeting my gaze directly. “I’m tired of hiding.”

The effect of his words on the other students was immediate and visible. If Draco Malfoy— scion of one of the most notoriously Dark wizarding families in Britain— was willing to stand against Grindelwald, then perhaps the situation really was as dire as I’d claimed.

One by one, the other Slytherins voiced their agreement. Then the Ravenclaws, then the Hufflepuffs. The Gryffindors had been nodding along from the moment I’d mentioned stopping a dark wizard, because of course they had.

“So it’s agreed then.” I said, feeling a mixture of pride and terror at what we’d just committed to. “October thirty first, we end this once and for all.”

A student I didn’t recognize— one of the Ravenclaws, I thought— raised her hand. “Will there be no more lessons after today?”

I shook my head. “One more session. We’ll use it to sharpen our skills as much as we can before, well…”

I let the sentence trail off, but everyone understood what I meant.

Before we go to war.

Everyone began gathering their things, the normal post-training chatter subdued by the weight of what they’d just learned. But there was something else in the atmosphere now— a sense of purpose that hadn’t been there before. They weren’t just training anymore; they were preparing for battle.

As the students filed out, Harry remained seated beside me, along with Hermione, Ron, and Tony, who’d been quietly observing from the back of the group throughout the session. None of them looked particularly surprised by my announcement— they’d been part of the inner circle long enough to know what was coming.

But they did look stressed.

“Was that the right decision?” Harry asked quietly, once the last of the other students had left.

I stared at the empty dueling platform, at the chalk lines that marked out the boundaries of our practice combats. In less than two weeks, we’d be fighting on very different ground, against opponents who wouldn’t be pulling their punches or holding back lethal curses.

“I don’t know.” I admitted. “I have to trust in the process. I’ve done my best to prepare them, taught them everything I can in the time we’ve had. There’s no point in worrying about anything else anymore.”

Harry nodded slowly, then reached over to pat Ron and Hermione on the shoulders. Tony got a reassuring squeeze on the arm.

“Everything will be all right.” Harry said, and even though we all knew it was a bald-faced lie, it seemed to help. Sometimes people needed to hear hopeful words, even when hope was in short supply.

I walked ahead of them for a bit, aimlessly trudging through the corridors for several minutes to get my thoughts in order.

They trusted me. That was the part that made my stomach churn. They’d listened to my announcement about facing Grindelwald, about the world ending, about walking into what amounted to a suicide mission— and they’d said yes. Not because they fully understood what they were agreeing to, but because they believed I knew what I was doing.

Some days I wasn’t sure I did.

I found myself in one of the upper corridors, looking out through a tall window at the grounds below. The sun was resting in the horizon behind the Forbidden Forest, painting the sky in shades of orange and purple that reminded me uncomfortably of the magical fires that had consumed parts of Hogsmeade during the tournament attacks. Everything beautiful seemed to carry echoes of violence these days.

The sound of footsteps made me turn. Harry was approaching, moving with that careful gait that suggested his injuries from the trial were bothering him more than he wanted to admit. Behind him, Hermione, Ron, and Tony followed at a respectful distance— close enough to offer support, far enough back to give us space to talk.

“Thought you might want some company.” Harry said as he joined me at the window.

I appreciated the gesture, even if I wasn’t sure I deserved it. “How are you holding up? Really, I mean. Not the brave face you put on for the others.”

He was quiet for a long moment, staring out at the darkening forest.

“Terrified.” He finally admitted. “The trials Rackham has been putting me through… they’re showing me things about magic, about the connections between all living things, that I never imagined. And the more I understand, the more I realize how much is at stake.”

“Having second thoughts about our chances?”

“No.” He said, and there was steel in his voice. “If anything, I’m more convinced than ever that we have to stop him. Ancient Magic, it’s not just about power— there’s a strange balance. Life and death, order and chaos, the fundamental forces that hold reality together. What Grindelwald is trying to do…”

He shook his head. “It would unravel everything.”

I nodded, feeling a familiar chill at the thought of the Abyss and what lay beyond it.

“I keep thinking about those kids.” I said. “Wondering if I had the right to make that choice for them.”

“You didn’t make the choice.” Harry pointed out. “You gave them information and let them decide for themselves.”

“Did I? Or did I manipulate them into saying yes by appealing to their sense of duty and heroism?”

It was a question that had been gnawing at me since the moment Draco had declared his intention to stand with us. These weren’t hardened Aurors or experienced fighters— they were students, all of them teenagers, who’d been caught up in something far beyond their understanding.

Hermione stepped closer, apparently deciding she’d given us enough privacy.

“Adam.” She said, her voice gentle but firm. “You can’t protect everyone from the consequences of their own choices. Those students aren’t children— they’re old enough to understand what war means.”

Are they? I thought to myself. Because I never understood war until I was right in the middle of it, in my past life. I was their age, true, but is it right of me to subject them to this?

I shook my head again. “This is the sort of thing that tears families apart, permanently.”

“That’s exactly why they need to be there.” Tony said quietly. “Because someone has to stand. No one else will.”

I wanted to argue with him, to point out that there were trained professionals whose job it was to handle threats like this. But the truth was that the trained professionals had been failing spectacularly. The Ministry was compromised, three quarters of the Auror force was preoccupied, and the remaining one dead or missing; the international magical community, for its part, was barely holding together in the face of Grindelwald’s growing power.

Maybe a group of determined students really was the best hope we had.

The thought should have been comforting. Instead, it was terrifying.

“I keep having this dream.” I said, surprising myself by admitting it. “I’m standing on a battlefield, surrounded by bodies, and I recognize every face. People who trusted me, who followed me because they believed I could lead them to victory.”

“Dreams aren’t prophecies.” Hermione said firmly. “Your visions are different— they show you things that are actually happening, or will happen. Nightmares are just your mind processing fear and guilt.”

I knew she was right, intellectually. But knowing something and feeling it were two very different things.

“The worst part.” I continued. “is that some of them looked… relieved. Like they were glad it was over, even if it meant dying.”

Harry placed a hand on my shoulder. “Adam, you can’t carry the weight of everyone’s choices. Those students didn’t agree to follow you because they have a death wish— they agreed because they understand what’s at stake. And because they trust that you’ll do everything in your power to bring them home alive.”

“What if my power isn’t enough?”

“Then we fail together.” He said simply. “But we fail fighting for something that matters.”

It wasn’t the most comforting answer he could have given, but it was honest. And honesty was in short supply these days.

We stood in companionable silence for a while, watching the last light fade from the sky. The castle around us was settling into its evening rhythms— students heading to their common rooms, professors making their final rounds, the ancient stones themselves seeming to exhale after another day of bearing witness to the education of young minds.

Soon, those same students would be preparing for their Halloween feast, excited about costumes and candy and the simple pleasures of youth. They had no idea that their celebration might be interrupted by news of a battle that would determine the fate of their world.

“Any regrets?” I asked.

“About getting involved in all this? No.” Harry’s voice was firm, certain. “About the choices we’ve had to make along the way? Sometimes. But regret is a luxury we can’t afford right now.”

Hermione nodded. “We can analyze our decisions and second-guess ourselves after we’ve won. Right now, we need to focus on the task at hand.”

“One more training session.” I said, almost to myself. “One more chance to make sure they’re ready.”

“They’ll never be ready.” Tony said bluntly. “Not really. None of us are ready for what’s coming. But that doesn’t mean we can’t succeed.”

He was right, of course. Readiness was a myth, a comforting fiction people told themselves to make difficult decisions seem more palatable. The truth was that you were never fully prepared for the moments that defined your life— you just did your best with what you had and hoped it was enough.

The castle bells chimed the hour, and I realized how long we’d been standing here. The corridors were mostly empty now, filled with the particular quiet that settled over Hogwarts after the students had gone to bed.

“I should go.” I said. “I still need to contact Snape, and I’d rather get that conversation over with tonight.”

“Good luck with that.” Ron said with feeling. “I still don’t understand why you trust him.”

“I don’t trust him.” I corrected. “But I understand him. And right now, understanding is more valuable than trust.”

We separated then, each heading in different directions through the castle’s winding corridors. As I walked toward the dungeons, I found myself thinking about trust, about the bonds that held groups together in times of crisis. The students who’d agreed to follow me into battle— did they trust me, or did they simply trust that I was their best option in a world gone mad?

Maybe it didn’t matter. Maybe trust, like readiness, was less important than the willingness to act when action was needed.

“I’ll see you later.”

“Count on it.”

ooo

Later…

The dungeons were colder than usual as I made my way through the familiar corridors.

The conversation wasn’t one I was looking forward to— my relationship with the Potions Master had always been complicated, built on mutual necessity rather than anything resembling trust or respect.

I’d already sent word to Remus earlier in the day, using one of the more secure communication methods we’d established. His response had been characteristically brief but reassuring— he would be ready when the time came, and he was working on gathering additional support from the remaining members of the Order. Every ally we could muster would be crucial for what was coming.

But Snape was a different matter entirely. His loyalties were… complex, to put it charitably. To be more accurate, they were intensely personal, tied up in guilt and love and a dozen other emotions he kept buried beneath layers of sarcasm and disdain.

I was still lost in these thoughts when a familiar black-robed figure appeared around the corner ahead of me, moving with the predatory grace that made nervous students scatter from his path. Severus Snape’s dark eyes fixed on me immediately, and I could see the tension in his shoulders that suggested he’d been looking for me.

“Clarke.” He said, his voice carrying its usual mixture of authority and barely contained irritation. “We need to talk.”

I fell into step beside him as he turned and headed toward his office, not bothering with pleasantries. That was fine with me— I’d never been comfortable with small talk, and Snape had even less patience for social niceties than I did.

His office was exactly as I remembered it: dimly lit, filled with the acrid smell of preserved ingredients, and lined with shelves of bottles containing things that probably shouldn’t exist in a sane world. Snape waved me to a chair and settled behind his desk, his black eyes boring into me with uncomfortable intensity.

“When were you going to tell me that you had discerned the location of the ritual?” He asked without preamble, his voice pitched low and dangerous.

“Just now.” I replied honestly. “I finished my meeting with the students and was about to seek you out when you found me first.”

He studied my face for a moment, apparently trying to determine if I was lying. Whatever he saw there seemed to satisfy him, because his expression shifted from outright hostility to mere professional irritation.

“Halloween.” He said. It wasn’t a question.

“Yes. Halloween night. At Stonehenge.” I leaned forward slightly, meeting his gaze directly. “Everything we suspected about the timing was correct. Grindelwald has been planning this for months, possibly over a year.”

Snape’s fingers drummed against the surface of his desk, a nervous habit I’d rarely seen him display. “The symbolic significance of the date and location will amplify the ritual’s power considerably. Halloween, when the veil between worlds is at its thinnest. Stonehenge, unexpected, but there have always been deeper rumors.”

“Which is why we have to stop him before the ritual is completed.” I said. “Once he opens that gateway to the Abyss…”

“The consequences will be irreversible.” Snape finished grimly. “Yes, yes, I’m aware of what’s at stake. More of your ilk coming into this world… You alone are enough.”

We sat in silence for a moment, both of us contemplating the magnitude of what we were facing. Then Snape’s expression hardened, and I knew he was about to bring up the other matter that had been weighing on both our minds.

“What progress have you made with the Stone?” He asked, his voice carefully controlled.

I had been dreading this question. The Stone represented one of the most dangerous magical artifacts I’d ever encountered.

The problem I needed to solve was figuring out how to create a Philosopher’s Stone. I had some ideas, but otherwise no progress whatsoever. Still, I couldn’t tell him that, could I?.

“I’ve made some progress.” I said carefully. “I believe I can utilize the Stone in conjunction with a Philosopher’s Stone by invoking the void, but the current emergency necessitates my full attention.”

Snape’s face darkened, and I could see the frustration and desperate hope warring in his expression. “How much more time?”

“I don’t know.” I admitted. “Weeks, possibly months. I’m not exactly an Alchemist…”

“You need to work faster.” He said, his voice taking on the sharp edge that made students cower in their seats.

I felt a flash of irritation at his tone. “Severus, we’re less than two weeks away from a confrontation that will determine the fate of the world. Forgive me if that takes precedence over your personal obsessions.”

The temperature in the room seemed to drop several degrees. Snape rose from his chair, his black robes billowing around him like the wings of some predatory bird.

“You forget yourself, Clarke.” He said, his voice deadly quiet. “I am not your friend, nor your ally.”

Part of me wanted to back down, to offer the apology he was clearly expecting. But I was tired— tired of tiptoeing around everyone’s emotional sensitivities, tired of pretending that personal desires mattered more than the survival of civilization, tired of being diplomatic when what the situation called for was brutal honesty.

“You really shouldn’t feel upset by this, Severus.” I said, my voice deliberately calm.

He stared at me as if I’d grown a second head. “What did you say?”

“I said you shouldn’t be upset. It’s a matter of logic.”

“Logic?” His voice was rising now, the careful control he maintained in public beginning to crack. “You stand there, in my office, telling me that my work— the one thing that might allow me to see her again— must wait while you play at being a war hero, and you call it logic?”

I stood up as well, matching his posture but not his anger. “Think it through, Severus. If we fail to stop Grindelwald, you’ll be seeing Lily again very soon— probably within days, when his ritual tears apart the barriers between life and death and drags us all into whatever lies beyond. If we succeed in stopping him, then we’ll have all the time in the world to work on bringing her back. And if all else fails…”

I paused, letting the words hang in the air between us. “You’re still going to die eventually. A century from now, maybe less. Death comes to everyone, and when it comes to you, you’ll see her then.”

The effect of my words on Snape was immediate and devastating. I watched as the anger drained from his face, replaced by something that might have been hope, or despair, or both. For a moment, he looked less like the terrifying Potions Master and more like what he really was— a man consumed by guilt and love for someone he could never have.

Then the rage returned, hotter and more focused than before.

“How dare you.” He whispered, his wand appearing in his hand with liquid grace. “How dare you stand there and speak of her death, of my death, as if they were nothing more than… than tactical considerations in your grand strategy.”

I didn’t draw my own wand, didn’t shift into a defensive stance, didn’t do anything that might escalate the confrontation into actual violence. Instead, I met his furious gaze with something that might have been sympathy.

“Or.” I added quietly. “If you’d prefer, I could kill you right now and send you to her immediately.”

The words hit Snape like a physical blow. He lowered his wand slightly, and for the longest moment, I thought he would take me up on my offer right then and there. Then he laughed, a harsh, bitter sound that echoed off the stone walls of his office.

“You’re a monster.” He said, shaking his head slowly. “An absolute monster.”

I smiled at that, though there was no humor in the expression. “You don’t know what I am, Severus. Not even I know what I am anymore.”

And that was the truth, wasn’t it? Somewhere in the process of trying to save the world, I’d become something other than human. I thought about the students who’d agreed to follow me into battle, about the trust in their eyes when they’d said yes to what might be a suicide mission.

I thought about Harry, pushing himself through increasingly dangerous trials to unlock power he might not survive using. I thought about all the people depending on me to make the right choices, to lead them to victory against impossible odds.

Maybe becoming a monster was the price of trying to save the world. Maybe it was necessary. Or maybe I was just telling myself that to make the transformation easier to bear.

Snape was still staring at me, his dark eyes searching my face for some sign of the person I used to be. I wasn’t sure he would find it.

“The Stone will wait.” He said finally, his voice hollow. “But when this is over— if we survive— you will finish what you started.”

“If we survive.” I agreed. “And if the world is still worth saving when we’re done with it.”

He didn’t respond to that, just sank back into his chair and waved a dismissive hand toward the door. I took the hint and headed for the exit, but paused with my hand on the doorknob.

“Severus.” I said without turning around. “For what it’s worth, I hope we both live long enough to see you have one last meeting with her. Whatever I’ve become, whatever I might become before this is over, that much is still true.”

I left him there in his office, surrounded by the tools of his trade and the ghosts of his past, and walked back through the empty corridors of the castle. The conversation had gone about as well as I’d expected, which was to say poorly, but at least now he knew what was coming and when.

As I once again walked aimlessly through the castle, I found myself thinking about monsters and heroes, about the thin line that separated them and how easy it was to cross without even realizing you’d done so.

The students who’d agreed to follow me saw a leader, someone worth believing in and fighting beside.

Snape saw an inhuman monster.

I suspected they were both right.