The Great Hall hummed with the renewed energy of hundreds of returning students, its enchanted ceiling reflecting a gentle snowfall that never quite reached the tables below. After days of near-solitude in the quiet castle, Chris found the sudden explosion of voices, laughter, and the clatter of cutlery against plates almost overwhelming. He sat at the Hufflepuff table, watching as friends reunited in enthusiastic embraces, winter cloaks still dusted with snow from the journey up from Hogsmeade Station, their faces flushed with cold and excitement.
"Chris!"
He turned to see Susan and Hannah making their way toward him, winter cloaks draped over their arms and matching grins on their faces. Susan's hair had been trimmed over the holiday, framing her face in a neat bob that gave her an uncanny resemblance to her formidable aunt. Hannah's cheeks remained pink from the cold outside, her usual plait adorned with a small sprig of holly that had somehow survived since Christmas.
"We looked for you when we got off the train," Hannah said, dropping onto the bench beside him with a contented sigh. "Should have known you'd already be here waiting for us."
"Had to secure the best seats," Chris replied with a warm smile, genuinely pleased to see his friends despite the weight of anticipation pressing against his chest. "How was your holiday?"
Susan settled across from them, reaching immediately for a pitcher of warm pumpkin juice. "Absolutely brilliant! Aunt Amelia took me to the Ministry's Yule Ball this year, said I was finally old enough to appreciate it properly." Her eyes gleamed with excitement. "The atrium was transformed with ice sculptures that moved and danced. And guess who I met? Kingsley Shacklebolt! He spent ten minutes telling me about advanced shield charms after Aunt Amelia mentioned I was interested in defensive magic."
"Did you tell him why you've been so interested lately?" Hannah asked with a grin. "Our need for self-preservation in the face of pixie attacks?"
"I tactfully avoided mentioning our educational setbacks," Susan laughed. "Though Aunt Amelia did say Professor Proudfoot has written to the Auror Office asking for curriculum suggestions. Apparently, he's determined we'll actually learn something before he returns to active duty."
Chris nodded approvingly. "That's welcome news. Though I hope he stays on next year too."
"What about you, Hannah?" Susan asked, helping herself to roast chicken. "How was your greenhouse adventure?"
Hannah groaned dramatically, though her eyes sparkled with amusement. "Dad's latest experiment with self-fertilizing shrubs went horribly wrong. They became a bit too... enthusiastic about the fertilizing part." She wrinkled her nose. "The whole house smelled like dragon dung for three days before Mum finally put her foot down and banished them to the greenhouse. But!" She brightened visibly. "We did have the most gorgeous Christmas roses as a result. They bloomed right on Christmas morning, petals edged with frost that never melted."
They continued exchanging holiday stories as the feast progressed, their conversation flowing with the comfortable rhythm of friendship resumed after absence. Chris contributed edited highlights of his "quiet research holiday," describing fascinating books he'd discovered in the library's restricted section, and an interesting conversation with the Grey Lady about medieval magical theory.
What he didn't mention was how each night had brought him closer to understanding the complex web of binding spells that trapped Cassie, or how he had meticulously mapped the ward stone's magical signatures through the books she had provided. Some secrets weren't meant for sharing, even with friends as dear as these.
"Earth to Chris," Susan's voice cut through his thoughts, accompanied by a gentle kick under the table. "You've been staring at your pudding for a full minute without blinking. Did you enchant it when we weren't looking?"
Chris shook his head, offering a rueful smile. "Sorry, just thinking about that Transfiguration assignment. I'm not entirely satisfied with my conclusion on the principles of mass conservation."
Hannah rolled her eyes good-naturedly. "Only you would be worrying about homework before classes have even started. We've got ages before that's due."
"Speaking of the new term," Susan said, leaning forward, "have you heard the rumour that Dumbledore's bringing in dragons for the third-years' Care of Magical Creatures class? Ernie swears his cousin at the Ministry confirmed it."
"Absolutely not," Chris replied with certainty. "The Board of Governors would never approve live dragons on school grounds, and the Department for the Regulation and Control of Magical Creatures would require permits that would take months to process."
As Susan and Hannah debated the plausibility of various creatures making appearances in future lessons, Chris allowed his gaze to drift toward the staff table. Dumbledore sat in his central golden chair, resplendent in robes of midnight blue embroidered with silver stars. The Headmaster's eyes twinkled as he conversed with Professor McGonagall, occasionally glancing out over the sea of students with apparent benevolence.
How many of them knew the truth of what he'd done? How many suspected that beneath the grandfatherly exterior lay a man who would bind a sentient being to his will, cutting her off from her purpose of protecting the very students he claimed to cherish?
Beneath the table, he discreetly activated his silver bracelet, watching as the faint blue glow of his HUD illuminated against his wrist, visible only to him. The precise dot that represented Dumbledore remained stationary at the staff table, as expected. Chris would need to monitor that dot carefully in the coming days, waiting for the perfect moment when the Headmaster left the castle grounds entirely.
Only then would he make his move, when there could be no sudden interruption, no premature confrontation. Cassie had waited decades for her freedom; she could wait a few days more to ensure their success.
As the feast concluded and students began to rise from their tables, Chris deactivated his HUD and gathered himself to join the stream of Hufflepuffs heading toward their common room. The waiting game had begun.
The soft snores of his housemates drifted through the corridors of the Hufflepuff 2nd year boys dormitory, a gentle chorus that had become as familiar to Chris as the scent of fresh parchment or the whisper of turning pages. He lay motionless beneath his yellow and black patchwork quilt, eyes closed, breathing deep and even, the perfect picture of peaceful slumber. Yet beneath his closed lids, his eyes remained alert, occasionally peeking through slitted lashes at the faint blue glow emanating from the silver bracelet on his wrist, its magical display casting ghostly illumination across his pillow.
Chris had been monitoring his HUD continuously since the welcome feast, stealing glances during classes and meals, activating it beneath library tables and behind textbooks. Dumbledore's movements had followed predictable patterns: office to Great Hall, Great Hall to various classrooms, occasional visits to the hospital wing or staff room, and back to his office where the dot remained stationary for hours at a time.
Tonight, Chris expected more of the same, a long vigil of watching an unmoving dot while planning for future opportunities. He had reconciled himself to days of waiting, perhaps weeks, for the perfect moment when the Headmaster would leave the grounds for some Ministry function or International Confederation meeting.
Chris was about to close his eyes properly and allow himself some rest when a flicker of movement caught his attention.
The dot was moving.
Chris's heart rate quickened as he opened his eyes fully. The blue light showed Dumbledore's marker traveling swiftly down the spiral staircase from his office, then proceeding along corridors with purpose rather than the meandering patrol that might indicate a routine night time walk.
The dot moved toward the entrance hall, then out onto the grounds. Chris sat up silently, all pretence of sleep abandoned as he tracked the Headmaster's unexpected journey. The marker continued past Hagrid's hut, beyond the boundaries of the castle proper, until it reached the edge of the HUD's mapping range, and then disappeared entirely.
Dumbledore had left Hogwarts.
A surge of adrenaline coursed through Chris's veins. This was it, the opportunity he'd been waiting for, arriving far sooner than anticipated. The timing was perfect: students had returned, creating the magical background noise he needed, and now the Headmaster had inexplicably departed without warning.
He wouldn't waste a second.
With practiced silence, Chris slipped from his bed, feet landing noiselessly on the floor. He reached beneath his pillow, extracting the Invisibility Cloak he'd kept there for precisely this moment. From his trunk, he retrieved a small pouch containing the specialized magical instruments he'd prepared during the holiday break, tools to help him unravel Dumbledore's binding spells.
Draped in perfect invisibility, the door opened with a barely audible click, revealing the deserted common room beyond. A single lamp burned low near the entrance, casting just enough light to navigate by. The room that had hummed with conversation hours earlier now stood in peaceful abandonment, scattered textbooks and abandoned chess pieces the only evidence of earlier occupation.
The barrel entrance opened at his touch, responding to the silent charm he cast. Beyond it, the corridor stretched dark and silent, illuminated only by the occasional wall sconce burning with enchanted flame that would last until dawn. Chris moved with confidence born of extensive practice, his footsteps cushioned by silence charms cast wordlessly on his shoes.
His path through the nighttime castle reflected weeks of careful exploration. He avoided the main staircases with their unpredictable movements and creaking steps, instead taking the hidden passage behind the tapestry of jumping frogs that connected directly to the fourth floor. From there, another concealed corridor led upward, emerging just one floor below his destination.
Hogwarts at night possessed a different quality than its daytime self, a stillness, as though the castle held its breath in anticipation. Now that Chris understood the truth of Cassie's existence, this sensation took on new meaning. Even bound and restricted, some essence of her consciousness permeated these ancient stones, perhaps sensing that liberation approached.
The seventh-floor corridor appeared deserted when he reached it, the tapestry of Barnabas the Barmy's ill-fated ballet lesson hanging still in the dim torchlight. Chris checked his HUD once more, Dumbledore's dot remained absent from the map, confirming he was still beyond the castle boundaries.
Taking a deep breath, Chris began pacing before the blank wall, his thoughts focused with laser precision: I need to help Cassie break her bindings. I need to free Lady Hogwarts from Dumbledore's control. I need the place where I can access the ward stone.
On his third pass, magic rippled through the stone, golden light tracing complex patterns across the wall's surface before resolving into a door that hadn't existed moments before. This door appeared different from previous manifestations, taller, more ornate, with ancient runes carved into its frame that pulsed with faint luminescence. The very air around it seemed charged, as though the magic of the room strained against unseen constraints.
Chris glanced in both directions, confirming the corridor remained empty, then reached for the handle. It felt warm beneath his touch, almost vibrating with energy. The door swung inward silently, revealing the ethereal garden glade he'd come to associate with Cassie's presence.
She waited at its center, her semi-translucent form pulsing with more intense colors than he'd ever seen before, streams of magic flowing beneath her skin like liquid light. Her childlike face showed a mixture of hope and pain, the binding in her chest glowing an angry purple against the golden radiance of her being.
"You came," she whispered. "Tonight is the night, isn't it? I can feel it."
Chris nodded, letting the Invisibility Cloak slip from his shoulders as the door closed behind him. "Dumbledore is gone. It's time to set you free."
Cassie floated toward him, her luminous form casting ripples of light across the enchanted garden. Unlike their previous meetings, where pain had etched permanent lines into her ageless features, her expression now shone with a hope so intense it was almost painful to witness. Her essence seemed brighter, more vibrant, as though the mere prospect of freedom had already begun to strengthen her against Dumbledore's binding.
"You found the perfect moment," she whispered. "I felt him leave, like a weight lifting, just for a moment. He's gone beyond my awareness entirely."
Chris nodded, setting his tools on the grass beside him. "It was unexpected. I thought we might have to wait weeks for an opportunity." He straightened, meeting her gaze. "Are you ready? Once we begin, there's no turning back."
"I've been ready for decades," Cassie replied, a flash of something ancient and decidedly not childlike crossing her features. The purple knot in her chest pulsed angrily, as though sensing its impending destruction. "The ward stone awaits you, big brother."
She raised her translucent arms, and the enchanted glade around them began to dissolve. The starlit sky above swirled into darkness, the grass beneath his feet hardening into ancient stone. The transformation was more dramatic than any previous reconfiguration of the Room of Requirement, the very essence of the space shifting with a deep, resonant hum that Chris felt in his bones rather than heard with his ears.
When the transformation completed, they stood in a vast circular chamber unlike anything Chris had seen in Hogwarts before. The ceiling soared upward into darkness, its limits invisible in the gloom. Massive stone pillars carved with runic sequences rose from floor to unseen heights, their surfaces glowing with faint blue light that provided the chamber's only illumination. The air felt different here, heavier, charged with magic so ancient it made his skin prickle.
And at the center, atop a raised dais of pure white marble, stood the ward stone.
The monolith towered nearly fifteen feet tall, a perfect obelisk of glowing white stone. Its surface was covered in thousands of intricately carved runes, some familiar from his studies, others so ancient they predated written magical history. In its natural state, Chris knew it would have radiated pure golden light, a beacon of protective magic at the heart of Hogwarts.
But the stone was far from its natural state.
Wrapped around it, constricting like serpents around prey, were thick chains of writhing darkness. These weren't physical restraints but magical ones, manifestations of Dumbledore's binding spells made visible within this sacred space. They pulsed with sickly purple-black energy, tightening visibly around the stone, their corrupted magic a stark contrast to the pure white radiance struggling to shine through.
Cassie remained near the chamber's edge, her form flickering with distress as she gazed at the ward stone. "I cannot approach closer," she explained, gesturing toward the purple knot in her chest that matched the chains' malevolent hue. "The binding pulls at me, tries to force me back into submission."
Chris studied the stone carefully, mentally comparing what he saw to the texts he'd studied. "These are more complex than I anticipated," he admitted, walking slowly around the dais. "Multiple layers of constraint, anchored at..." he pointed to seven distinct nodes where the chains connected most deeply with the stone, "these junction points."
"Can you break them?" Cassie asked, her voice small and uncertain.
"Yes," Chris replied without hesitation. "But I need to know something crucial first." He turned to face her directly. "Will Dumbledore know what we're doing? Will he sense me tampering with the bindings before they're broken?"
Cassie shook her head, silver hair flowing like liquid around her translucent shoulders. "The binding works one way, he can control and restrict me, but he cannot feel me struggling against the chains. He will only know the moment they finally break."
"And then?"
"And then he will know immediately," she said simply. "The backlash will alert him no matter where he is. The connection between a binder and their breaking spell is instantaneous."
Chris frowned, a new concern forming. "So he could apparate directly back to Hogwarts, directly into this room, the moment I break the final binding?"
"Yes," Cassie confirmed. "The moment the last chain shatters, he will feel it and likely return at once."
This was a complication. Chris had hoped for more time between freeing Cassie and confronting Dumbledore, time to secure his position and perhaps even leave the room before the Headmaster discovered what had happened.
"How quickly could he reach us?" he asked, already calculating potential scenarios.
"Seconds," Cassie replied. "But," her expression shifted, a smile forming that contained nothing childlike, "there is something he doesn't know. Something important."
She drifted closer, though still maintaining her distance from the ward stone. "This room is mine in a way nothing else in the castle is. It's where I hid part of myself when I felt him coming for the ward stone. Here, my power remains unconstrained by his bindings." Her eyes flashed with something that looked remarkably like mischief. "The moment he apparates into this chamber, I can render him unconscious before he draws a single breath."
Chris's eyebrows rose in surprise. "You can overpower Dumbledore? The most powerful wizard alive?"
"Not anywhere else in the castle," Cassie clarified. "But here? In this room? Yes. This space obeys me absolutely. It's why he's never found me again, despite decades of searching. I've hidden from him specifically."
A new, bolder plan began forming in Chris's mind. If what Cassie said was true, if she could incapacitate Dumbledore the moment he arrived, then this wasn't merely an opportunity to free her. It was an opportunity to deprive Dumbledore of his most powerful weapon.
"Here's what we'll do," Chris said, retrieving his Invisibility Cloak from where it lay folded beside his tools. "I'll work under this cloak. The moment I break the final binding, you'll feel your connection to the ward stone restore. When Dumbledore appears, you knock him unconscious immediately."
He didn't share his full intention, that the moment Dumbledore fell, Chris would take the Elder Wand from his hand. Such a powerful magical artifact couldn't be left with a man who would bind a sentient being against her will, who would manipulate children's lives for his own purposes, who would sacrifice others' freedom for his own convenience.
"I understand," Cassie nodded, her form seeming to strengthen with each passing moment in anticipation of her freedom. "I won't let him harm you, big brother. Not after you've done so much to help me."
Chris draped the Invisibility Cloak over his shoulders, his form disappearing from view save for his head. "Are you ready?" he asked one final time.
"More ready than I've ever been," Cassie replied, her voice resolute despite the tremor of anticipation running through it.
With a nod, Chris pulled the hood of the cloak over his head, vanishing completely as he approached the ward stone, tools in hand, determination hardening into something unbreakable within his chest.
Invisible beneath the perfect concealment of the Deathly Hallow, Chris approached the ward stone with reverent caution. The ancient monolith loomed before him, its natural radiance struggling against the constricting darkness of Dumbledore's binding chains. Up close, the corrupted magic emanated a subtle wrongness that made his teeth ache and his skin crawl, like hearing a beloved melody played in a discordant key. He placed his tools on the edge of the marble dais, arranging them in the precise order he would need them, then drew his wand and began.
"Revelare Nexus Magicae," he whispered, making a complex figure-eight motion with his wand. The spell washed over the nearest binding chain, causing its magical structure to become visible as layers of glowing magical signatures. What he saw confirmed his suspicions, Dumbledore had crafted these bindings using principles drawn from multiple magical traditions, layering them in a way that made conventional counter-curses ineffective.
Chris removed a small silver instrument from his collection of tools, something resembling a tuning fork merged with an astrolabe. When activated with a tap of his wand, it vibrated at a specific magical frequency, emitting a soft hum that caused the nearest binding chain to resonate in response. The chain's vibration revealed its weakest point, the junction where two different magical systems had been forced to integrate.
"Finite Connexum," Chris cast, targeting this precise point with a jabbing motion. The spell struck true, causing the magical energies to unravel at their seam. The smallest binding chain shuddered, then dissolved into particles of black dust that scattered and vanished before touching the ground.
One down. Six to go.
Emboldened by this initial success, Chris moved to the next chain, slightly thicker than the first. The same diagnostic approach revealed a more complex structure, this binding incorporated elements of ancient Nordic rune magic interwoven with modern containment charms. He adjusted his silver instrument, recalibrating it to the new magical frequency.
"Dissolvo Vincula," he cast, following the incantation with a counterclockwise spiral of his wand. The spell met resistance, the chain flexing but holding. Chris frowned beneath his cloak, then tried again with greater force, channeling more of his magic into the spell. This time, the chain's integrity faltered, cracks of white light appearing along its length before it too crumbled into nothingness.
The ward stone pulsed brighter, as though sensing its gradual liberation. Chris could feel its ancient magic reaching out, recognizing him as Merlin's descendant, acknowledging his right to interact with its power. The sensation bolstered his confidence as he approached the third binding.
This pattern continued, each chain requiring more complex counter-spells than the last. The fourth binding incorporated elements of blood magic, requiring Chris to press the tip of his wand to his palm, offering three drops of his Emrys bloodline as a catalyst for the unbinding spell. The fifth chain fought back actively, sending painful jolts of magical feedback up his arm when he probed its structure.
By the time he reached the sixth binding, sweat beaded on his forehead despite the chamber's cool air. His magical reserves, considerable though they were, had been depleted by the precision and power required for each successive unbinding. This chain was nearly as thick as his wrist, pulsing with malevolent energy that seemed almost aware of his efforts to destroy it.
Chris reached into his robe pocket and withdrew a small vial of restorative potion, downing it in one swift motion. The effect was immediate, a surge of renewed energy flowing through his body, replenishing some of his expended magical power. He couldn't afford exhaustion, not with the final and most powerful binding still to come.
"Rumpo Sigillum Potestatis," he intoned, this time incorporating a complex series of wand movements that mimicked the runic pattern carved into the ward stone beneath the chain. The sixth binding resisted longer than any previous one, writhing like a living thing as his magic sought to unravel it. For a moment, Chris feared it would not yield, then, with a sound like cracking ice, the chain split and disintegrated.
Now only one binding remained.
There would be no second chances. The spell had to be perfect.
Chris closed his eyes briefly, centering himself, gathering his remaining magical strength. He thought of Cassie, bound and suffering for decades. He thought of the students of Hogwarts, unwittingly deprived of the castle's full protection. He thought of Dumbledore, who had committed this violation and would soon face the consequences.
When he opened his eyes, his resolve was iron. He raised his wand, the movement deliberate and precise, and began the complex incantation he had memorized from the ancient texts, words in a language older than Latin, older than Celtic, words that resonated with the very foundations of magical theory.
"Ath-nasc na geangail, scaoil an ceangal, saoraigh an chumhacht, till chun d'úinéir!"
His wand moved in intricate patterns that left trails of golden light hanging in the air, forming a counter-sigil to the binding. The chamber's atmosphere grew heavy, charged with competing magical forces, Dumbledore's binding fighting against Chris's unbinding, ancient power struggling against modern constraint.
For a breathless moment, nothing happened. The final chain remained intact, still pulsing with its sickly purple-black energy. Then, a hairline crack appeared along its surface, a thread of pure white light escaping from within.
The crack widened, branching like lightning across the chain's surface. The binding began to vibrate, emitting a high-pitched keening that rose in volume until it became a shriek of magical agony. Chris maintained his focus, pouring the last of his magical reserves into sustaining the counter-spell as the chain fought against its own destruction.
The shriek reached an impossible pitch, then silence.
For one suspended moment, the broken chain hung in place, outlined in brilliant white light.
Then it exploded.
The detonation was not physical but magical, a concussive wave of pure, unrestrained power erupting from the ward stone as its centuries of contained energy suddenly found release. The force struck Chris like a physical blow, lifting him off his feet. He felt himself flying backward through the air, unable to control his trajectory or brace for impact.
His back struck one of the chamber's stone pillars with enough force to drive the air from his lungs. He slid to the ground, momentarily stunned, as waves of magic continued to pulse outward from the liberated ward stone. Through dazed eyes, he saw the monolith now blazing with pure golden light, so bright it was almost painful to behold, its runes no longer carved in stone but seemingly composed of liquid light.
In the same instant, he felt rather than heard Cassie's cry of joy, a sound that resonated not in his ears but in his very being, as though the castle itself was singing with newfound freedom.
Somewhere, Chris knew, Dumbledore had just felt his binding shatter. The Headmaster would be coming. But for this brief, glorious moment, all that mattered was the sight of the ward stone, finally free, its magic once again flowing unimpeded through the heart of Hogwarts.
The study in which Albus Dumbledore sat bore all the hallmarks of a scholarly wizard's retreat, walls lined with leather-bound volumes arranged by some private system of relevance, comfortable armchairs worn smooth in precisely the right places, and a hearth in which flames danced with just enough vigour to keep the January chill at bay without overheating the room. A silver tea service gleamed on the low table between the two elderly wizards, steam rising gently from fine porcelain cups.
"I maintain that Flamel's interpretation of Paracelsus was fundamentally flawed," Dumbledore was saying, his blue eyes twinkling with the pleasure of intellectual discourse as he stirred a third sugar cube into his tea. "Brilliant though Nicolas was, he occasionally mistook innovative thinking for accurate thinking."
His companion, a wizard nearly as ancient as Dumbledore himself, with wispy white hair that floated around his head, chuckled appreciatively. He wore spectacles perched so far down his nose they seemed in imminent danger of falling into his teacup.
"Bold words from his former apprentice," the old wizard replied, selecting a shortbread biscuit from the tray between them. "Though I suppose after six centuries of friendship, one earns the right to critique."
"Six centuries for Nicolas, a mere five decades for me," Dumbledore corrected with gentle humour. "Though I confess those decades provided ample opportunity to identify the limitations in his approach to elemental transmutation. His insistence that mercury must always serve as the catalytic agent prevented him from exploring alternative pathways that might have…"
He stopped mid-sentence, the teacup freezing halfway to his lips.
Something was wrong.
Something was catastrophically, fundamentally wrong.
Deep within his magical core, where he maintained his most powerful and important enchantments, Dumbledore felt a sudden, violent disturbance. It was not pain, precisely, but a sensation so jarring and discordant that his physical body responded as though to injury, pupils dilating, breath catching, muscles tensing in preparation for fight or flight.
The binding on the Hogwarts ward stone, his binding, his control, his safeguard against potential misuse of the castle's power, was unravelling.
No, not unravelling. Shattering.
The magical feedback hit him with the force of a physical blow, causing the hand holding his teacup to jerk involuntarily. Hot tea splashed across his robes, but Dumbledore took no notice. His focus had turned entirely inward, to the magical connection that had just been severed with brutal efficiency.
Years of magical work, undone in an instant. Decades of carefully maintained control, obliterated. The intricate web of spells he had woven to ensure that Hogwarts' formidable defences answered to him alone, gone.
The implications cascaded through his mind with terrible clarity. Someone was in the castle. Someone had found the ward stone. Someone with enough power and knowledge to break bindings that should have been unbreakable to anyone but himself.
And if they had broken his control of the ward stone, they now had access to capabilities he had deliberately suppressed, abilities that, in the wrong hands, could transform Hogwarts from a school into an impenetrable fortress, a weapon, or worse.
His companion was speaking, concern evident in his voice as he registered Dumbledore's sudden rigidity, but the words didn't penetrate. Dumbledore's normally composed features had transformed, the grandfatherly twinkle replaced by an expression that few had ever witnessed, a cold, hard mask of alarm that revealed the true power he typically kept concealed beneath genial eccentricity.
"Albus? Are you quite all right? You've gone rather pale…"
Dumbledore stood so abruptly that his chair tipped backward, clattering against the wooden floor. The sound seemed distant, irrelevant. His mind had already calculated the magical coordinates for apparition, locked onto the unique magical signature of Hogwarts' heart, a signature now blazing like a beacon as the freed ward stone recalibrated to its natural state.
"Forgive me," he said, his voice clipped and utterly devoid of its usual warmth. "I must return to Hogwarts immediately."
He didn't wait for a response. There was no time for explanations, no time for proper farewells. With a sharp crack that rattled the windows, Albus Dumbledore disappeared, leaving behind a startled old wizard staring at an empty space where the Headmaster of Hogwarts had stood just moments before.
"Well," the elderly wizard said to the empty chair, adjusting his spectacles with a slightly trembling hand, "I suppose that settles our debate on unexpected magical resonance patterns, doesn't it?"
He reached for the teapot, intending to refill his cup, then thought better of it. Whatever had caused Albus Dumbledore to depart in such a state was unlikely to be trivial. With a sigh, he summoned his walking stick and rose to contact the Ministry. Just in case.
Chris pushed himself up from the stone floor, his ears ringing and vision slightly blurred from the impact. The Invisibility Cloak had slipped partially off during his forceful encounter with the pillar, exposing one shoulder and arm. He quickly readjusted it, wincing as his muscles protested the movement. The ward stone at the chamber's center had transformed completely, no longer a constrained monolith fighting against dark bindings, but a pillar of pure, radiant light that pulsed with the rhythm of a massive heartbeat, its runes shifting and flowing across its surface like liquid gold.
The chamber itself was changing, responding to the ward stone's liberation. The blue light emanating from the pillars had brightened to a warm golden glow, and the very air seemed charged with renewed vitality. Chris could feel the castle's magic flowing outward in waves, awakening dormant enchantments, restoring connections severed decades ago.
He had succeeded. Cassie was free.
Where was she? Chris scanned the chamber, looking for her ethereal form, but before he could locate her, a sharp crack split the air, the unmistakable sound of apparition.
Albus Dumbledore stood twenty feet away, having materialized directly before the ward stone. Gone was the genial headmaster with twinkling eyes and grandfatherly demeanour. This was Dumbledore the warlock, Dumbledore the defeater of Grindelwald, his power no longer hidden beneath eccentric trappings. His midnight blue robes swirled with barely contained magical energy, his face transformed into a mask of cold fury. His eyes, usually twinkling with benevolent humour, now blazed with a terrible anger that seemed to illuminate the chamber with its intensity.
"Who dares?" he thundered, his voice carrying the full weight of his magical authority. His gaze swept the chamber, passing over Chris's invisible form without pause, seeking the culprit who had shattered his carefully constructed controls.
His hand moved with the swiftness that had made him legendary in magical combat, the Elder Wand rising in a motion almost too quick to follow.
But he was not quick enough.
Before Dumbledore could complete his first spell, before the incantation could leave his lips, an invisible wave of pure force washed through the chamber. It passed through Chris harmlessly, but when it reached Dumbledore, the effect was immediate and devastating. The Headmaster's eyes widened in shock, perhaps the last thing he had expected was for Hogwarts itself to turn against him, eyes then rolled back in his head as consciousness fled.
The most powerful wizard of the age crumpled to the stone floor like a puppet whose strings had been cut, the Elder Wand still clutched in his limp hand, his body sprawled inelegantly on the ancient stone.
Only then did Cassie materialize beside the ward stone, her form now blazing with light so intense that Chris had to squint to look directly at her. The purple binding in her chest was gone, replaced by a core of pure golden radiance that pulsed in perfect synchronization with the ward stone.
"I told you I could stop him," she said, her voice no longer that of a child but resonant with the full power of an awakened Hogwarts. "He never believed I could act against him directly. His arrogance blinded him to the possibility."
Chris approached the fallen Headmaster cautiously, still hidden beneath his Invisibility Cloak. Even unconscious, Dumbledore radiated a palpable aura of magical power. His breathing was deep and regular, his face now relaxed in forced slumber, making him look once again like the kindly old man the world believed him to be.
With deliberate movements, Chris knelt beside him and carefully pried the Elder Wand from his fingers. The moment of contact sent a shock up his arm, not painful, but intense, as though the wand itself was evaluating him. Then the sensation settled into a warm hum of acceptance. The wand had recognized a new master.
He couldn't risk leaving such a powerful artifact with Dumbledore, not now. The Headmaster would awaken eventually, and when he did, he would be furious, and potentially dangerous, despite his loss of control over Hogwarts. The Elder Wand would need to be secured somewhere safe, somewhere far from Dumbledore's reach.
"Jilly," Chris called softly.
With a soft pop, the house-elf appeared, her large amber eyes widening as she took in the scene before her, the transformed chamber, the glowing ward stone, and the unconscious form of Albus Dumbledore.
"Master called for Jilly?" she asked, her voice steady despite the extraordinary circumstances.
"I need you to take this to Ambrosia Manor immediately," Chris said, holding out the Elder Wand. "Place it in the sealed vault beneath my study. Tell no one what you've seen here tonight. This is a matter of utmost secrecy."
Jilly bowed, accepting the wand with the reverence of one who recognized its significance. "Jilly will protect Master's wand with her life. No one will know."
"Thank you, Jilly. That will be all."
With another bow and a soft pop, Jilly vanished, taking the most powerful wand in existence to the safety of Ambrosia Manor's ancient protections.
Chris turned back to Cassie, who hovered near the ward stone, her form shifting between humanoid and architectural as she reintegrated with the castle's full magical network.
"How long will he remain unconscious?" Chris asked, nodding toward Dumbledore.
"Thirty minutes," Cassie replied. "I could have made it longer, but extending magical sleep beyond that duration risks permanent damage, even to one as powerful as he is." Her expression turned troubled. "What will you do when he awakens? He will know someone interfered with the ward stone, though he won't know who."
"Let me worry about that," he said softly, already formulating his next move. "You focus on reclaiming your connection to Hogwarts. How does it feel to be free?"
Cassie's form brightened, joy radiating from her in palpable waves. "Like waking from a nightmare into the most beautiful dream," she whispered. "Thank you, big brother. Thank you for bringing me home."
As she spoke, her essence seemed to expand, flowing outward to merge with the very stones of the castle. Chris could feel the change rippling through Hogwarts, wards strengthening, hidden enchantments reactivating, the very air becoming charged with renewed protective magic.
The castle was awake again. And at its heart lay the architect of its imprisonment, temporarily powerless but far from defeated. Chris studied Dumbledore's unconscious form, the ticking clock of those thirty minutes echoing in his mind.