"Thank you for the compliment. It's not worth mentioning—just something to make up for my own mistake," Adrian Blackwood replied modestly, standing with a straight back under the gaze of the headmaster. "I only didn't want Mr. Filch's workload to increase unnecessarily because of something that was, ultimately, our responsibility."
Despite his composed tone, Adrian remained cautious. There was something subtle in Dumbledore's voice—an undercurrent that made him feel as though he were being subtly measured.
"A kind heart is a rare treasure," Dumbledore said with that familiar twinkle in his blue eyes, though Adrian sensed the weight behind them. "And when paired with responsibility, it shines all the brighter. Mr. Blackwood, after such a lively evening, I believe you must be quite exhausted. Off you go—back to the Ravenclaw Tower and into a nice, warm bed. Good night, good night."
Adrian bowed politely. "Good night, Professor," he said, then turned and made his way through the dim corridors.
Dumbledore hadn't punished him for his illicit nighttime wanderings, which was somewhat expected—Adrian had already noticed the headmaster's penchant for turning a blind eye when rules were broken in pursuit of learning or insight. Still, he couldn't help but feel that this leniency came with a quiet expectation: that Adrian would continue his curiosity carefully, and not without consequence.
When he finally arrived back at Ravenclaw Tower, the bronze eagle knocker awaited him.
"Answer me this riddle," it sang softly. "Call its name, and it breaks. What is it?"
Adrian blinked tiredly. His body ached from tension, and his thoughts were clouded with the events of the evening. After a moment of bleary silence, he replied, "Silence."
The door swung open with a whisper, and the lone Ravenclaw slipped inside.
He had only just begun climbing the spiral staircase toward the boys' dormitories when he froze. A strange, unmistakable sensation prickled at the back of his neck—he was being watched.
He turned sharply, scanning the vast, silent common room. No one was there. Not even the Grey Lady, who occasionally drifted quietly past the shelves of magical theory texts. The enchanted candles still glowed in their holders, casting a steady blue-gold light over the walls of arched windows and ancient bookshelves. Nothing moved.
Still, Adrian didn't relax.
He knew the feeling wasn't imagined. His older brother Albert had drilled into him a core Auror principle: "Be alert at all times." It was an old maxim passed down from someone in Albert's division, but it had stuck. Tonight, it resonated like a spell humming on the tip of a wand.
Adrian drew his wand in one smooth motion and took a slow, cautious step back into the common room.
The curtains near the windows fluttered slightly in the breeze. The enchanted ceiling shimmered with stars above, mirroring the true sky outside. Everything seemed calm, but Adrian's senses screamed otherwise.
He moved through the space methodically. Past the blue armchairs. Behind the carved oak reading desks. Around the foot of the spiral stairwell that led to the girls' dormitory. Still nothing.
But the feeling remained—persistent and heavy, like a shadow leaning too close.
If the entire room was empty, then there was only one place left to check.
Adrian's gaze turned toward the far end of the room—toward the alcove where the white marble statue of Rowena Ravenclaw stood, illuminated by a single magical lantern that never dimmed.
The statue was magnificent. Regal. Intimidating. Her face was carved with sharp precision—high cheekbones, stern brows, eyes half-lidded with thought. Her mouth was set in a thin, contemplative line. In one hand she held a carved wand pressed to her heart, while the other arm extended gracefully, palm turned upward in an eternal gesture of invitation—perhaps to magic, to reason, or to something deeper.
Adrian stepped closer.
The more he looked, the more he felt the statue's eyes following him—not in the metaphorical sense, but in the real, penetrating way. He circled her slowly, taking in every curve and fold of her robes. Her expression didn't change, but his unease grew.
He stopped in front of her and furrowed his brow. That presence—it was emanating from the statue itself.
"I know you're in there," Adrian said clearly, raising his wand and pointing it toward the heart of the marble effigy. "Come out."
Silence.
His voice sharpened. "If you don't come out… I'll have to make you."
He tapped the statue gently with his wand and whispered, "Pulveris Diffindo—"
"Stop it! How dare you?!"
A tall, translucent figure burst from the statue in a swirl of spectral wind. The air grew colder.
Before him now floated a beautiful, imperious ghost—her long silver-grey robes billowing without breeze, her features delicate but proud, and her dark eyes gleaming with fury.
The Grey Lady.
Helena Ravenclaw.
"Oh… it turns out to be you, Ms. Gray," Adrian Blackwood said, lowering his wand with a twinge of embarrassment as he realized he had nearly hexed the ghost of Rowena Ravenclaw's daughter.
The Grey Lady, the enigmatic and aloof ghost of Ravenclaw Tower, drifted slightly backward, folding her translucent arms as she regarded him coolly. Like her mother, she was tall and strikingly beautiful. Her long hair flowed down past her waist like a silver waterfall, and her ethereal robes swept the floor like mist. Yet unlike Rowena's dignified serenity, the Grey Lady's elegance carried an undercurrent of cold arrogance—a barrier rather than an invitation.
"Adrian Blackwood," she said at last, her voice echoing faintly like a wind through stone. "Yes… I know who you are. The professors speak of you often—top of your year, sharp-minded, precise. But I also know you've been using the Disillusionment Charm to sneak out early every morning. You vanish from your dorm long before the sun rises. You hide your movements. What are you concealing?"
Adrian stood still, surprised at how closely she had been watching. He gave a small, cautious smile. "So you were hiding in the statue all along. I admit, you caught me. But I've got nothing sinister to hide. Everyone has a few habits they'd rather keep to themselves. My morning training isn't exactly a secret, but the Disillusionment Charm keeps me from running into Filch or getting tangled in one of Peeves's late-night tantrums. Hogwarts patrols are still quite strict—even for Ravenclaws."
He shrugged nonchalantly, watching the Grey Lady's hands cling slightly tighter to the marble pedestal. She didn't look convinced. But she didn't retreat either, which Adrian took as a good sign. At least she didn't seem hostile.
"What puzzles me," he continued, tone now more pointed, "is how you were inside the statue of Rowena Ravenclaw in the first place. That's no ordinary haunting. Ghosts don't usually inhabit solid marble."
At that, the Grey Lady's expression flickered. Her silvery features twisted—just slightly—with something like discomfort. Her eyes, typically unreadable, showed the briefest glint of panic before settling into cold composure once again.
"I am Rowena Ravenclaw's daughter," she said tightly, lifting her chin. "As her only heir, I am connected to her in ways that transcend time and stone. It is not strange that I can linger near what remains of her."
Adrian tilted his head. The Grey Lady was famously proud, sometimes scathing, and never known to explain herself to students—especially not with such eagerness. Her hasty defense only confirmed his suspicions.
And more importantly—he knew ghosts couldn't hide inside solid objects. They could pass through walls, yes, but to stay inside a statue? That wasn't how ghost magic worked. Myrtle haunted a bathroom only because of its open structure and constant moisture—it had air, pipes, and resonance. Solid objects like a thick marble statue had no such echo. It could only mean one thing: the statue was hollow.
And Ms. Gray was lying.
But why?
"Your mother was said to possess a mind unmatched in her age," Adrian said smoothly, deciding it was best to compliment her before pressing further. "She was one of the greatest witches in history—wise, beautiful, revered. As her daughter, you must have inherited a remarkable legacy."
The Grey Lady's shoulders stiffened. A visible shadow passed across her face.
"Lucky, you think?" Her voice dropped to a haunted whisper. "Boy, you'll learn in time that great minds can be heavy burdens. Extraordinary intellect… it doesn't always bring peace. And having a mother draped in fame and unfulfilled dreams… that can become its own prison."
Her sorrow was palpable, like frost in the air. Adrian softened his tone.
"You sound… sad," he said gently. "I don't mean to pry, Ms. Gray. But I am Ravenclaw. I was chosen by the hat in accordance with your mother's own ideals. If there's something troubling you—something you're guarding—I'd be honored to help."
She looked at him sharply then, her translucent face flickering like smoke in a gust. Her next words were sharp and bitter.
"Perhaps. You do resemble someone once—another boy. He too was clever, earnest, well-spoken. He offered to help me… promised he wouldn't lie. But he did. He lied—and he used me."
Her features contorted with anger, and a shiver ran down Adrian's spine. The gentle sorrow had become fury, and the Grey Lady's glowing eyes narrowed with remembered betrayal.
Adrian took a careful breath. "Who was he? Do you remember his name? Which house was he in?"
She looked away, lips pressed thin.
But Adrian could sense the weight in her silence. There was a story here—a story of the past, of betrayal, and perhaps even the famed lost Diadem of Ravenclaw. Adrian didn't know all the pieces yet, but the edges were beginning to show.
And he would find them—one truth at a time.