The following morning filtered through the windows of Hogwarts, finding the girls deep in their routine. In these days of paranoia and lurking corridors, the Lair had become their world—a sanctuary where nothing was lacking and where external danger seemed unable to pierce the secure walls.
Susan, as the culinary heart of the group, already had breakfast ready. Thanks to the magical kitchen artifacts—designed for efficiency—the feast was served by the time everyone gathered in the main hall. But it was not a quiet morning: the attack on the Castelobruxo students demanded an exhaustive analysis. They had set up a makeshift chalkboard in the hall, covered in clippings and diagrams, preferring the warmth of the armchairs to the coldness of the research room now that it was just them.
They were discussing amidst yawns and coffee when, out of nowhere, a kind voice fractured the silence.
"Good morning..."
"Professor Dumbledore!" several exclaimed, jumping in their seats. Pansy nearly dropped her plate from her lap in shock.
"Oh, my apologies. It was not my intention to startle you," Albus said with that twinkling gaze that hid as much as it revealed.
Though it didn't seem like it, he had been discreetly observing the makeshift "research room" for a while. His stealth had allowed him to overhear part of their deductions, and he couldn't help but sigh with a certain admiration at the energy and sharpness of youth.
They didn't have all the answers yet, but they were getting close. With time, he had no doubt they would reach the truth.
He only regretted that these girls were more aligned with a certain problematic student. If Harry had a team like this, he wouldn't have to worry about whether or not he would find the necessary clues to face Riddle.
Though… perhaps it wasn't such a far-fetched idea.
Dumbledore couldn't help but consider the possibility of bringing them closer to Harry. It would undoubtedly be more effective than relying on Lockhart, as he had planned.
"Headmaster?" Penelope asked, breaking the old man's trance.
"Forgive me, one gets lost in one's own thoughts with age," he laughed, stroking his silver beard.
"What do you need, Professor Dumbledore?" Hermione asked.
"Can I not simply come to see how you are?" he replied with a light tone.
"No, no! Of course you can," Hermione hurried, somewhat embarrassed. "You are always welcome."
"I know, I know," Dumbledore chuckled. "Though I suspect young people don't enjoy the company of an old man like me too much." Then, as if it were a casual question, he added: "Actually… I wanted to know if you knew anything about Red. I assume that, being his friends, you might know more than Professor Kettleburn's reports."
His tone was relaxed, almost casual. However, he watched their reactions intently.
He knew well that this student was anything but ordinary. He had even surprised him on more than one occasion. Because of that, his disappearance was… unsettling.
If anyone knew something, it was them.
Of course, he could also turn to the "Dragons of Albion," but he preferred to avoid it. He hoped for a simpler answer. Something indicating that everything was fine.
"No, Professor... Red hasn't contacted us lately," Daphne replied, measuring every word so as not to mention the [message] system they shared.
"I think the last time we heard from him was on Valentine's Day," Pansy added, quickly correcting herself so as not to reveal they had physically seen him that day.
"Are you sure? Nothing at all?" Dumbledore insisted, his eyebrow arching just a millimeter. If even they knew nothing, the situation in the jungle was graver than he feared.
"Why do you ask, Headmaster?" Parvati intervened, now worried. "Did something happen?"
The others exchanged looks. It had already seemed strange to them that communication had decreased in recent days. They had assumed it was because of the distance—messages usually arrived with a delay—but now doubt began to weigh heavy.
They had also found Hannah's silence for a few days odd. They thought it was the same thing.
What they didn't know was that Hannah had stopped writing out of fear of revealing more than she should. After what happened, she didn't want to ruin Red's plans. Only when he told her what she could and couldn't say did she resume contact… though her messages, like his, had become brief and carefully measured.
"No, no... nothing like that. I just wanted to know how things were going in Brazil; rumors have reached me that the situation there has become... complicated lately," Dumbledore explained, softening his voice to downplay the gravity of the matter. "You already know Red can be a somewhat unpredictable young man, and I just wanted to make sure he was alright. If anyone knows his wanderings, it's you. Consider it the simple concern of an old man for his students. If you happen to hear anything, please let me know."
The silence that followed was tense. The girls had strict orders not to reveal the communication system, but the mention of "trouble" sowed the seed of doubt in the younger ones. Penelope, noticing that the nervousness on their faces was about to betray them, decided to step forward before the secret collapsed collectively.
"Actually... he contacted me recently," Penelope blurted out with speed.
Daphne caught the move instantly. It wasn't a crime to hide things from the Director, but looking like liars to Albus Dumbledore was a strategic error they couldn't afford. With an acting precision worthy of a Slytherin, Daphne turned to her companion with fake resentment.
"Seriously, Penelope?" Daphne asked, feigning indignation. "Why didn't you tell us anything? Now it turns out you're hiding things from us?" She pouted perfectly, glancing sideways at Hermione. "Hermione is supposed to be his girlfriend, why would he contact you first?"
The rest of the group, far from naive, understood the signal. Within seconds, the room turned into a nest of gossip, complaints, and sulky murmurs. Even Hermione, who loathed lying to the Director, forced herself to participate in the farce, looking down with a mix of feigned jealousy and real shame.
Dumbledore, suddenly finding himself caught in a teenage squabble, raised his hands in a gesture of peace. For a moment, he wondered how that boy had managed to manage such a volatile group.
"Please, young ladies, calm," the Director asked, focusing his attention on the eldest. "Could you tell me what he wrote, Miss Clearwater?"
"Nothing of great importance, Professor. In fact, his messages have been exasperatingly short lately," Penelope replied with sincerity. The messages truly had become cryptic and brief. "He just said: 'Practice your Patronus'."
The others nodded in unison. It wasn't a private message to Penelope, but one from the group chat they all shared.
"The Patronus Charm?" Dumbledore arched both eyebrows, genuinely surprised. It was such a concise message that it didn't allow him to deduce whether they were safe in the jungle or if someone else was intercepting the communication. "He expects you to master a Patronus at your age, Miss Clearwater?"
"All of us, Professor," Hermione intervened, regaining her academic voice. "Before leaving, Red insisted on teaching us the basics of the charm. He told us we had to master it before next year, no matter what happens."
Although it wasn't a forbidden secret, the group's tacit confidentiality had kept it hidden until that moment. Now, faced with Dumbledore's inquisitive gaze and the pressure of the moment, some truths were beginning to leak.
"That charm is quite advanced for many of you," Dumbledore commented.
He seemed genuinely surprised. He didn't fully understand the motive, though he remembered that in Kettleburn's reports, it was mentioned that Red possessed a certain talent for prophecy, recognized by the Divination professor there. Perhaps that order had some connection to that.
"We know, but he insists we master it," Padma said, shrugging with a mix of resignation and pride.
"Well, it is an arduous task for your age. It would be more suited to someone like Miss Clearwater, but I suppose Red has his reasons," Dumbledore concluded, preparing to leave. "Even so, you are very sensible young women; I trust you will know when to stop. Do not overextend yourselves; you still have a whole lifetime to learn these arts. I won't take up any more of your time. Enjoy the day and don't forget the Quidditch match was moved up to this afternoon. Good luck, Miss Chang!" With a final smile, he withdrew from the hall.
With a final nod, the Director left the Lair.
When the door closed, the girls let out a collective sigh of relief.
The director's presence in that place—their place—had made them nervous. Not only were they alone there, but they were also carrying out activities that professors would likely disapprove of. Since Dumbledore hadn't said anything, some thought he hadn't discovered anything.
They didn't know he had already seen… and heard everything.
After his departure, they tried to resume the discussion, but it wasn't the same. Worries weighed too heavily: what was happening in Brazil, Hannah's silence, the uncertainty about Red… and, to a lesser extent, the Quidditch match that afternoon.
The rest of the day passed with a strange normalcy.
Some managed to distract themselves—especially with the match—but others couldn't put the investigation out of their minds. They knew they couldn't do anything about whatever was happening in Brazil except wait… but at least they could try to solve what was happening at Hogwarts before his return.
Hermione was one of those people.
During the day, along with the others, she had gathered information, but she hadn't fully processed it yet. The pieces were there… they just needed to fit together.
And then, on the way to the Quidditch stadium, something clicked. Her eyes suddenly lit up. Without a word, she stopped, spun on her heels, and ran back toward the castle.
"Hermione?" one of the girls managed to say, too late.
Perhaps it was the excitement of the moment. Perhaps the impulse to solve that clue on her own. But she left without waiting for anyone.
If her theory was correct, she could drastically reduce the number of suspects. And to prove it, she needed to speak with the remaining Castelobruxo students.
She knew they wouldn't attend the match. Since the attacks, they hardly left the Hufflepuff common room. And now, with everyone at the stadium, the castle would be practically empty. Besides, she knew the way in. Susan and Hannah had revealed it to her long ago.
Hermione hurried through the deserted corridors… until the silence began to weigh.
Then she hesitated.
Maybe it wasn't a good idea to go alone.
Maybe she should have warned the others.
She even thought about sending a [message], setting aside any individual glory. She also doubted if she should just go back, leave it for later, and not miss the match Cho would be playing.
She bit her lip, undecided.
And at that moment—
A hand touched her shoulder.
"Ah!" Hermione screamed, turning abruptly, her heart racing.
Recognizing the person in front of her, she let out a sigh.
"Oh… it's you. You scared me."
"What are you doing alone in the corridors? It's not safe."
"I know…" Hermione replied, catching her breath. "But I need to meet with the Castelobruxo students. I have to ask them something… it's important."
...
—At the Fief—
"Where is Chiara?" I asked Lottie while watching Astrid, with her striking greenish hair, directing the construction of the underground greenhouse in the distance.
"Chiara and Abigail are organizing the werewolves..." she replied without looking up from her notebook, in which she kept writing non-stop. "By the way! Poppy told me—"
The rest of her words were drowned in a void. A sharp and ominous pain pierced my chest, forcing me to hunch over. It was a blink. When Lottie finally looked up, she only found the air where I had just been.
"Red...?"