Quirks in Wizarding World

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- Girls' Bathroom, Hogwarts Castle -

- October 31,1991 -

The silence in the corridor stretched, thick with tension. The trolls lay motionless, their deep, labored breaths the only sign they were still alive. Water dripped from the shattered sinks, pooling around the wreckage. The professors stood at the entrance, their expressions ranging from shock to scrutiny.

Dumbledore's sharp yet unreadable gaze settled on Arthav.

"Well?" he prompted, his voice calm but expectant.

Arthav took a breath, already forming his response. But before he could speak, Hermione stepped forward.

"It was my fault," she said, her voice steadier than expected.

Professor McGonagall's eyes snapped to her, narrowing. "Miss Granger?"

Hermione swallowed but held her ground. "I—I was in the bathroom. I didn't know about the troll. If they hadn't come, I—" She hesitated, shaking her head. "Arthav, Harry, and Ron only came to help me. They saved my life."

McGonagall's lips pressed into a thin line. The rigid set of her shoulders betrayed her inner turmoil. "Miss Granger, do you have any idea how reckless that was?" Her voice was sharp but not raised. "Defying the Headmaster's orders, running straight into mortal danger—you could have been killed, all of you."

Hermione's face burned with guilt, but she didn't back down.

Professor Flitwick sighed, rubbing his forehead. "Bravery, yes, but this was beyond foolish."

Snape, who had remained silent so far, took a deliberate step forward. His dark eyes flickered to Harry before shifting to Arthav. His gaze lingered, sharp and unreadable, on the faint glow in Arthav's irises.

"They should be suspended," he said coolly. "A week, at the very least. Or a more severe punishment."

Harry stiffened beside Arthav. Ron looked ready to argue. Hermione's breath hitched.

McGonagall exhaled sharply but didn't immediately disagree. "Rules exist for a reason," she muttered, clearly conflicted.

Before the conversation could escalate, Dumbledore raised a hand. The weight in the air shifted immediately.

"That will not be necessary, Severus," he said, his voice as gentle as it was firm. "I do not believe punishment is the lesson they need tonight."

Snape didn't argue, but the way his jaw tightened showed he wasn't pleased.

Dumbledore's gaze softened as he looked back at the four students. "You have shown courage, intelligence, and resourcefulness—admirable qualities, but ones that should be tempered with caution." He paused, his expression unreadable. "Nonetheless, you did what you believed was right."

McGonagall huffed. "That may be, but rules were still broken." Her stern gaze landed on Hermione. "Fifteen points from Gryffindor, Miss Granger."

Hermione flinched, but nodded. She had expected worse.

"And," McGonagall continued, her tone reluctant, "five points each to Mr. Nair, Mr. Potter, and Mr. Weasley—for their… efforts."

Ron's mouth almost dropped open. "We lost points for saving someone?" he muttered under his breath, but one sharp look from McGonagall silenced him.

Dumbledore nodded. "Now, the trolls." His eyes flicked toward the fallen creatures. "Professors, if you would?"

Flitwick and McGonagall moved immediately, beginning the process of magically securing the creatures. Snape, however, lingered, watching Arthav for just a moment longer before sweeping away without another word.

Dumbledore finally turned back to the students. His expression was unreadable for a brief moment before settling into something kinder. "The rest of you should get some rest. It has been a long night."

Then, his gaze fell solely on Arthav.

"Mr. Nair," he said, voice gentle yet firm, "a word in my office."

Harry, Ron, and Hermione turned to Arthav, concern clear in their eyes.

Arthav merely smiled. "I'll be fine," he assured them.

That's when they finally noticed it.

His eyes.

The faint glow, the almost imperceptible ring around his pupils. Their expressions shifted from worry to curiosity, but they didn't have time to ask questions. Dumbledore had already started walking.

Arthav followed without hesitation.

As the others stood watching him go, one thought lingered in their minds—

Something had changed in him.

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Arthav stood before the stone gargoyle that guarded the entrance to the Headmaster's office. The dim torchlight flickered against the carved surface, casting long shadows. Dumbledore turned to him with a small, knowing smile.

"Sherbet Lemon," the old wizard said lightly.

With a soft rumble, the gargoyle shifted aside, revealing a spiraling staircase that moved on its own. Dumbledore gestured for him to follow, his blue eyes twinkling with something unreadable but not unkind.

Arthav nodded and stepped onto the staircase. It carried them upward in slow, smooth turns.

As they ascended, he let his thoughts settle. Back in the corridor, when Hermione had spoken up to protect him, something had clicked in his mind. He had always been able to see auras—faint outlines of light surrounding people, shifting with their magic. But now… he could feel the emotions through them.

Hermione's had been a mix of bright gold and soft green, her emotions flickering in waves—anxiety, determination, guilt. He had understood, without words, that she didn't want him to suffer for her mistake. That was why he hadn't argued.

Even now, as he glanced at Dumbledore, he could see the vastness of his aura, stretching further than most. Unlike Hermione's sharp fluctuations, the Headmaster's was steady, warm. There was no hidden anger, no silent scheming. Just patience. The quiet affection of a man who carried too much but still chose kindness.

Arthav exhaled softly and followed Dumbledore into his office as the staircase came to a stop.

The room was unlike any other he had seen at Hogwarts. Large, round, filled with curious silver instruments that whirred and clicked on their own. Shelves lined with countless books stretched toward the ceiling, and portraits of past Headmasters and Headmistresses dozed in their frames. A magnificent red-and-gold phoenix perched on a stand near the desk, watching him with sharp, intelligent eyes.

Fawkes.

Arthav had read about him in passing, but seeing the phoenix in person was something else. The creature's aura shimmered like molten gold, ancient and powerful.

Dumbledore moved toward his desk, his robes swishing softly against the floor. He gestured toward a chair opposite him. "Please, have a seat."

Arthav hesitated for just a moment before lowering himself onto the chair. His fingers curled slightly against the armrests as he met the Headmaster's gaze.

He was prepared for questions.

What he wasn't sure of was whether he had the answers.

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