The low murmur of conversation filled the Great Hall like a rolling tide. Students leaned across benches, eyes wide, whispering about the towering figure they had seen outside — the stranger with a voice that echoed like ancient magic, who commanded ghosts and phoenixes with casual familiarity.
Harry sat at the Gryffindor table, a little apart from the others. He watched the swirl of movement and sound around him, feeling oddly detached.
"He talked to the Sorting Hat, like it was an old friend," someone whispered behind him.
"What was that form he changed into? A giant? A monster?" said another. "Did you see the thing behind him — the black one with horns?"
Hermione sat beside him, glancing around anxiously. Her eyes flicked to Harry.
"You've been quiet since we came back inside," she said softly, nudging his arm. "Are you alright?"
Harry hesitated, watching Hadrian Briarwood from across the hall — the man stood still among the teachers like a mountain that had decided to walk into Hogwarts.
"I'm fine," he said, but his voice lacked conviction.
Hermione frowned. "No, you're not. Ever since the trial… you've been different. Distant."
Harry turned toward her, giving a small shake of his head. "It's nothing. I'm just thinking about… what just happened."
He didn't tell her about the conversation in the safe house, about the portrait of Headmaster Black and the warning he'd given. Not yet.
Hermione didn't push further, but her concern didn't fade. She watched him carefully, sensing there was more he wasn't saying.
A few seats down, Ron leaned toward Seamus and muttered something. They laughed. But Ron's eyes lingered on Harry and Hermione with a tightness in his jaw, his smile fading just a little too quickly.
Across from them, Ginny sat quietly. She hadn't said much since the return to the Hall, but her eyes rarely left Harry. When he turned his head, she quickly looked away, pretending to fix a crease in her sleeve. Her expression was calm — maybe even sweet — but the way she watched him, so carefully and without blinking, had an intensity Hermione didn't notice… but Fawkes, who sat high above, did.
Ginny's fingers curled slightly on the table. Under her breath, she murmured something no one caught. Her gaze remained on Harry, as though memorizing the exact shape of his profile.
At the head table, Professor McGonagall leaned toward Dumbledore and whispered something urgently, her eyes flicking toward Hadrian. Dumbledore didn't respond. He was staring at nothing, lost in thought, unaware that the castle wards had already slipped from his grasp.
Harry watched him, then turned back toward the tall man — Hadrian — who now stood silently, his presence drawing the weight of centuries into the hall.
"A new storm is coming," Harry thought. And he's right at the center of it.
The Great Hall had fallen into a reverent hush.
Whispers had lingered as students took their seats — murmurs about the titan form outside, the strange beasts no one could name, and how he had spoken to the ghosts and even Fawkes like a long-lost friend.
Now, all conversation faded into silence.
From the shadows near the staff table, the Grey Lady drifted forward, her presence like moonlight gliding through mist. Her long, translucent silks caught the soft candlelight, and her eyes were calm — timeless.
She floated to the floor beside the man who stood so still, watching the hall with quiet remembrance in his eyes.
Turning to the gathered students and professors, her voice echoed gently through the space — cold, clear, and ancient:
"This is not his first return to Hogwarts."
A ripple moved through the room.
"Few remember his name, fewer still dare speak it aloud. But when this castle trembles… when its sovereignty is threatened… he returns."
"He has walked these halls in fire and shadow. And when necessary… he has shed blood to protect it."
Whispers stirred in the far ends of the room — fearful, awestruck.
"Long before your time, even before your grandparents' grandparents, he stood against those who sought to seize this place. Not for power. Not for glory. But because this school was built with purpose… and he made a vow to protect it."
Her gaze settled on him for a beat — not with fear, but reverence.
"He was here when the Four were still learning. He taught them. Guided them. And when they dreamed of a school for magical children, he helped them build it. When they passed on, he remained hidden. Watching."
She turned once more to the gathered crowd:
"Now, as darkness gathers again…He has returned."
Her hand extended gracefully toward him.
"Hadrian Nicholas Briarwood.The Founder's Teacher.The Keeper of Wards.The Unseen Guardian of Hogwarts."
A collective breath was held.
At the staff table, Professor Flitwick slowly stood, eyes wide behind his spectacles.
"It's true…" he murmured, voice trembling. "In Ravenclaw's private archives — I found a book, written in silver ink… It told of a man who stood with the Founders. Who returned to defend the castle in times of peril."
He looked around at the other teachers, then back at Hadrian.
"It said… he would come when Hogwarts was at its most vulnerable. And that… he had done so before. Silently. Without fanfare. Without mercy."
The room fell into stillness again.
And then, Hadrian spoke.
His voice was calm. Deep. Not loud — but it carried across every corner of the hall with unnatural clarity:
"I remember this room... when it was still bare stone and scaffolding. When the Four were arguing over who got which table and what enchantment would keep the ceiling from leaking."
A few chuckles from older students, but most simply stared — mesmerized.
He let his gaze wander over them — so many faces, so many young lives.
"It feels… good, to see it full again."
He said no more. He didn't need to.
The silence that followed was not born of fear — but reverence.
He was not a stranger.
He was legacy.
He was history that had returned when Hogwarts needed it most.