Perhaps his return had exerted so form of deterrence on those young wizards who loved to wander at night, breaking rules.
After seeing off Lucius Malfoy, watching him disappear into the shadows of the corridor on Bryan's way to Dumbledore's office, he surprisingly didn't discover a single young wizard wandering through the castle in the dead of night.
The corridors were empty, eerily so.
Only Peeves's distant maniacal laughter and Filch's exasperated curses drifted through the empty corridors, echoing off walls. The usual late-night troublemakers were all safely in their dormitories for once.
When he entered the headmaster's office after ascending the spiral staircase, speaking the password to the gargoyle, Dumbledore was sitting motionless in his high-backed chair. His gaze was fixed on the dod ceiling in a daze, seemingly lost in thought or mory.
On his desk, positioned prominently, The Pensieve emanated a galaxy-like glow swirling silvery light that casted strange shadows across Dumbledore's wrinkled face.
As he passed the golden brazier where Fawkes roosted, Bryan paused to look for a few monts with interest.
Fawkes, who had been reborn in New York after sacrificing himself, had not yet fully recovered his magnificent forr glory. But the phoenix's small body, lying flat on the warm ashes in his nest, had already sprouted so scattered, vividly colored crimson and gold feathers erging from the gray down.
"Is there any possibility, Headmaster Dumbledore—"
Extending a gentle finger to rub the soft down on top of Fawkes's small head, Bryan smiled with affection.
"Suppose... I an, suppose that one day in the future—"
"That's not for to say or decide, Bryan."
Dumbledore interrupted gently, his eyes twinkling with knowing amusent.
"You'll have to win Fawkes's consent yourself. Phoenixes choose their companions, not the other way around."
Bryan shrugged and left the brazier, walking toward the spindly desk crowded with silver instrunts. His gaze turned to the glowing Pensieve, and before he could ask about it, Dumbledore volunteered an explanation without prompting,
"I've been reviewing so old mories tonight—from the last ti Tom lost his powers fourteen years ago, the mories of his Death Eaters facing trial. Karkaroff's testimony, Crouch's sentencing, all of it."
Bryan nodded slightly in understanding, imdiately grasping why Dumbledore was revisiting these particular mories now.
"I had a chat with Lucius Malfoy, as you know. Based on so information he told , our previous speculation about additional Horcruxes may indeed be possible."
"Besides Horcruxes, what else would make Tom so nervous now, so paranoid?"
Dumbledore's voice was soft and certain.
"He's no longer the little boy in the orphanage, desperate and hungry. Wealth is no longer his goal or concern—only eternal life matters to him now. Only surviving."
"I asked Lucius for his opinion on which Death Eaters, apart from himself, Voldemort trusts most or trusted, back then—and he did indeed offer so valuable views—"
Bryan recited the nas of those Death Eaters that Lucius had provided, listing them. Then he said with calmness,
"We can't pinpoint the correct answer with certainty, Headmaster Dumbledore. To find that Horcrux that may exist hidden in a Gringotts vault, we'll have to open all the vaults belonging to Voldemort's most loyal followers."
"But you know that's impossible, Bryan, completely impossible—"
Dumbledore's gaze conveyed a trace of warning, of concern about the implications.
"It's certainly ill-tid and impractical at present, I agree—"
Bryan responded frankly, not arguing the point.
"But as the situation inevitably deteriorates and the wizarding world enters open warfare, so plans that normally wouldn't be acceptable or legal might gain people's understanding and support. Desperate tis call for desperate asures."
Dumbledore said nothing more to that, only wearily rubbing his brow with wrinkled fingers.
So things were absolute taboos for him, lines he wouldn't cross, those ethical boundaries forged over a lifeti won't be crossed so easily. But they couldn't and didn't bind Bryan's hands in the sa way.
Even though Dumbledore remained vigilant about how excessive destruction of order and law would ultimately lead to consequences that all ordinary wizards would bear, he had to admit reluctantly—that using so crude, forceful thods could indeed solve problems more quickly and efficiently than his careful approach.
On the fundantal issue of dealing with Voldemort, Dumbledore and Bryan weren't walking the sa path, weren't using the sa thods.
Strictly speaking, the Order of the Phoenix's actions were more targeted and reactive. For example, Voldemort was currently urgently expanding his forces, recruiting followers while the Order of the Phoenix actively countered Voldemort's specific plans, playing defense.
But Bryan's arrangents and strategies... in the short term, seed unrelated to dealing with Voldemort directly, yet they struck more directly at the core issues. He was playing a longer ga, changing the board itself.
Therefore, even though Dumbledore had seen through exactly why Bryan was pushing so hard for Hogwarts to gain greater independence at this particular ti, he hadn't stopped him or objected.
After hearing everything Bryan had instructed Lucius to do, Dumbledore sighed heavily,
"I don't doubt you can achieve your goals, Bryan. Your capabilities are beyond question. But you should anticipate and prepare for the fact that once Fudge realizes Hogwarts has further slipped from his control, has beco even more independent, he'll likely descend into complete madness. His response will be extre."
After rummaging in his robes for a mont, Bryan produced a folded letter and placed it before Dumbledore on the desk.
"There's sothing you probably already know about, Headmaster—or should know—"
Bryan's expression turned slightly cold.
"The British Ministry of Magic has already secretly threatened the International Confederation of Wizards by threatening to withhold next quarter's budget contribution, demanding they hold a vote to suspend both your position and mine in the Confederation."
He paused to let that sink in.
"Vipor is currently coordinating this matter with all his strength and has written personally to German Minister for Magic Adenauer, asking him to likewise express his position and apply pressure. For the sake of power and control, Fudge has already fallen into madness—he's not about to fall into it, he's there. Do you really believe that allowing such a corrupt governing body to exist is a responsible act for the wizarding world?"
Dumbledore picked up his half-moon spectacles from the desk before him. He didn't pick up the letter itself but focused intently on Bryan with his blue eyes.
"You know I don't care about political positions or titles, Bryan. They an nothing to personally."
"Then you should care, Headmaster, you must—"
Bryan said calmly and forcefully.
"It has nothing to do with personal power or ego. These titles and positions will make you appear more authoritative and legitimate in the eyes of ordinary wizarding citizens who don't know you personally. If we cannot unify our ideology, cannot present a unified front, we cannot thoroughly win this war. Perception matters."
Watching Dumbledore frown slightly as he pondered his words carefully, Bryan's breathing eased slightly with relief, though his voice grew heavier with emphasis.
"Fudge has already committed so unforgivable sins, Headmaster... You'll know everything in ti, but not now. Not yet."
"I'll never be able to pry from your lips what you don't want to say, Bryan—"
Dumbledore shook his head with a mixture of helplessness and resignation.
"You're as secretive as Tom in your own way. But I think I should remind you that Lucius Malfoy isn't nearly as skilled in Occluncy as Severus is. If Tom interrogates him properly, and uses Legilincy, Lucius will likely be unable to hide the secrets in his heart. Everything will be exposed."
"Oh—"
Bryan leaned back comfortably in his chair, the smile that appeared on his face was flickering between virtuous and sinister in the dancing candlelight, creating an almost eerie appearance.
"But Lucius Malfoy is quite skilled at acting and deception, isn't he? Years of practice in high society. Of course, so insurance asures are necessary for protection. I imagine he can understand that himself..."
When he finally stepped through Hogwarts's heavy iron gates steeped in centuries of historical atmosphere and stood beneath the wild boar sculpture beside the gate, the ancient marker of the school's boundary that piercing, uncomfortable sensation of being constantly watched finally disappeared.
Only then did Lucius dare to pause and look back at the tall castle on the cliff behind him, with its scattered points of warm light shining from windows.
The sowhat pale moonlight cast a trace of desolation and loneliness on Lucius's face, aging him even more.
Pulling down his collar with trembling fingers, Lucius turned his head awkwardly to look at his own left shoulder. As if sensing his attention, in the moonlight's silvery lighting, a strange golden flying serpent slowly erged from beneath his left shoulder.
After swelling gracefully a few tis, pulsing with light, it slowly disappeared back beneath his skin, burning slightly.
A heavy sigh dissipated into the night wind and the rustling of leaves filled with prival atmosphere in the Forbidden Forest. Lucius lifted his feet and headed with resignation toward Hogsade village.
The "fabulously wealthy" Malfoy family naturally owned property in Hogsade—a safe house which was discreetly maintained.
After a flash of green fire and the sensation of spinning through the Floo Network, Lucius Malfoy returned through the fireplace of his safe house in Hogsade directly to Malfoy Manor, which had been effectively stripped of its sovereignty and beco 'enemy' territory.
The late-night mansion was so eerily quiet that not even the chirping of insects or birds could be heard through the windows. The servants who would normally co out to clean and maintain the house after he and his wife retired for the evening had all been permanently dismissed after Voldemort took residence in the manor.
This wasn't the Dark Lord's requirent but Lucius's own desperate decision.
Because Lucius understood very well from experience that allowing these Squibs and common ordinary wizards with little magical ability to appear before the Dark Lord would only lead to their deaths. And his family would be punished severely by the Dark Lord under the charge of "disrespect" or "insulting his presence."
Comparatively, house-elves—creatures whose lowly status in the wizarding world was legitimate and expected were more acceptable to the Dark Lord. He didn't bother killing them.
Pushing open the study door, Lucius walked out into the corridor without even removing his traveling cloak. Under the judgntal gaze of the pale-faced portraits on the walls, he walked silently toward the grand hall and climbed the spiral staircase to the mansion's highest floor.
The Dark Lord wasn't in the study and sitting room that Lucius had specially prepared and furnished for him, but he vaguely heard the Dark Lord's high-pitched voice from the terrace on the other side of the floor.
"I thought you had already retired for the evening, my respected master—"
Before crossing the threshold to the moonlit terrace, Lucius nervously tugged at his collar, trying to compose himself and slow his racing heart.
"Ah, you've returned at last, my dear Lucius—"
Voldemort's voice was almost pleasant.
He was wearing a baggy black robe and half-reclining comfortably on an elegant lounge chair that had once belonged to Lucius. He moved his slender, spider-like fingers in a lazy gesture. The chair beneath him slowly rotated with a creak, turning to face Lucius directly.
Lucius's eyes quickly glanced at his wife Narcissa beside Voldemort—pale-faced and trembling slightly, holding a silver tea tray with both hands. His lips moved, wanting to speak.
But seeing the Dark Lord's scarlet serpentine eyes gleaming with cold amusent, Lucius held his breath and stopped himself. The next second, he slowly knelt on the hard stone terrace and bent low to kiss the hem of the Dark Lord's robe in submission.
"I have completed the task you assigned , my respected master—"
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