Minor deviation from canon events coming up. How might it impact main story progression?

Happy reading

Chapter 14 - Eventful Nights

Maxximus stepped out of the infirmary, the cool night air of the castle a welcome relief from the thick scent of potions that had surrounded him for days. Madam Pomfrey, never one to let a student go without a lecture, eyed him sternly as she cleared away the last of the potion vials.

"You're lucky you're older than most of the students," she said, her tone firm. "A lightning strike like that—first-years wouldn't have been so lucky. I've given you potions for the scarring. Now, off you go—and no more trouble, you hear?"

Maxximus nodded, still dazed from the whole experience. The fact that lightning had struck him during Astronomy class still seemed surreal. He'd never been struck by lightning before and hoped this would be the last time.

It was almost midnight when he finally left the hospital wing and began walking toward his dorm on the third floor. The castle was eerily quiet, the occasional flicker of torchlight casting shadows along the cold stone walls. Maxximus wasn't exactly looking forward to the long climb back, especially after the frustrating way his Astronomy lesson had been cut short.

As he neared his dorm, he heard hurried footsteps echoing down the corridor. Before he could react, four familiar figures came barreling around the corner—Harry, Ron, Hermione, and Neville—looking wide-eyed and breathless.

"What—?" Maxximus muttered, but they skidded to a halt right in front of him.

"Filch!" Harry gasped, clutching his side. "He's chasing us! Malfoy tricked us into sneaking out for a duel, but it was all a setup."

"He was trying to get us caught," Ron added, looking both angry and out of breath. "Filch is on our tail!"

Maxximus blinked, processing this quickly. "Come on," he said, gesturing for them to follow. "You can stay in my dorm for the night. It's just down the hall."

Without any further questions, they followed Maxximus to the large wooden door that led to his dormitory. The bronze scale in the center of the door caught Hermione's attention instantly.

"What is this?" she asked, her eyes wide as she moved closer to examine the lock. "Is it some kind of balancing mechanism?"

Maxximus nodded, smiling slightly. "Yeah. The flasks behind the glass have to be perfectly balanced for the door to open. It's a bit of a headache at first, but it keeps out anyone who doesn't know the trick."

Neville groaned, still catching his breath. "If my dorm had a lock like this, I'd be stuck outside every night."

Maxximus chuckled, pushing the door open and stepping inside. The others followed, their expressions shifting from worry to awe as they took in the sight of the Sphinkus dormitory. In the center of the room was a small oasis, complete with a crystal-clear pool, soft grass, and fruit-bearing trees. The air smelled fresh, like citrus and earth, a stark contrast to the castle's usual mustiness.

"This place is incredible," Ron said, his eyes lighting up as he spotted the fruit trees. "You've got an orchard in here!"

Maxximus, still grumbling internally about the lost Astronomy class, sank down onto a stone bench near the pool. The others joined him, settling into the peaceful environment.

"So," Maxximus said, rubbing his temples. "What did I miss while I was stuck in the infirmary?"

Hermione, ever the diligent student, jumped in immediately. "Well, we covered a lot in class, actually. In Transfiguration, Professor McGonagall concluded the match to needle exercise, and in Herbology, we started learning theory for Lumos Solem, though I believe I'm already prepared to cast it. Then in Charms, Professor Flitwick—"

Ron groaned loudly, cutting her off. "Oh, come on, Hermione! Who cares about classes right now? Harry's on the Quidditch team—youngest Seeker in a century!"

Hermione shot him an annoyed look, crossing her arms. "I wasn't finished."

Maxximus, sensing the tension, leaned forward slightly. "It sounds like I missed a lot. Maybe we could have a review session over the weekend?" He glanced at Hermione, who looked pleased by the suggestion. "You can fill me in on everything I need to catch up on."

Before Hermione could respond, Ron eagerly jumped back in. "Forget the review, mate—Quidditch! You don't know what Quidditch is?"

Maxximus raised an eyebrow. "No, not really."

Ron's face lit up as though he had just been given the greatest opportunity. "Quidditch is the best sport ever! Wizards flying on broomsticks, offense, defense, BLUDGERS, but Harry's position—he's the Seeker. His job is to catch the Golden Snitch, a tiny ball with wings. If he catches it, his team wins a load of points and usually the match!"

Harry, looking a bit embarrassed, gave a modest shrug. "Yeah... I'm the new Seeker for Gryffindor."

Maxximus blinked, trying to picture the chaotic scene Ron was describing. "So... you're flying around, scoring goals and chasing this... Snitch thing that ends the match?"

"Exactly!" Ron said enthusiastically. "And it's fast-paced and dangerous—totally brilliant! Gryffindor's going to win the House Cup for sure with Harry on the team. First years aren't supposed to play Quidditch but Harry can bloody fly, that's for sure."

Maxximus chuckled, imagining the chaos of it all. "Sounds... intense. You'll have to show me sometime."

"We will," Harry chimed in, a small smile on his face. "My first match is coming up soon."

As the conversation moved back to Quidditch, Maxximus leaned back on the bench, content to let the others chatter away. Ron, unable to resist, plucked a piece of fruit from the tree and took a bite, a grin spreading across his face.

"Well," Harry said after a moment, "we're glad you're alright after that lightning strike. We heard it was pretty bad."

Maxximus shrugged, still irritated by the whole thing. "Yeah, first time for everything, I guess. Pomfrey gave me potions to prevent scarring, but the worst part was missing the rest of Astronomy."

Hermione nodded sympathetically. "We were pretty worried..."

"I really only remember the blinding light," Maxximus replied, a small smile creeping onto his face. "But at least I'm still here."

The group fell quiet for a moment, the soft sounds of the oasis filling the space. Maxximus, however, still had something on his mind. He glanced at Ron.

"During Astronomy... before the storm, you were the first one to point it out, weren't you? About Orion's Belt looking like Harry's scar."

Ron, who had been munching on a piece of fruit, nodded. "Yeah, it was weird. I just looked through the telescope, and there it was—Jupiter made the constellation look exactly like Harry's scar."

Harry blinked, unsettled by the idea. "My scar? You're sure?"

Ron leaned forward. "Positive, mate. It looked just like your scar, and everyone crowded around to see it."

Maxximus nodded. "I got the last look before the storm hit. And Ron's right—it wasn't just a coincidence. Jupiter was completely out of place, and it made Orion's Belt look... wrong. Like someone was pointing it out on purpose."

Hermione furrowed her brow. "That's not supposed to be possible. The stars don't just move around like that. There has to be something magical causing it."

Maxximus shrugged. "I've been looking at the stars for years, and I've never seen anything like it. It felt deliberate... and I can't stop thinking about it."

Ron glanced over at Harry, frowning. "It's not just random, though. You got that scar from You-Know-Who."

"You-Know-Who?" Maxximus asked, confused. "Sorry, I can't say I know who."

Ron looked a bit uncomfortable, but Harry sighed and turned to Maxximus. "Voldemort. The Dark wizard who killed my parents and gave me this scar," he explained, tapping the lightning bolt on his forehead. "People call him You-Know-Who because they're too scared to say his name."

Maxximus frowned, leaning forward. "Oh, sorry, Harry... I didn't know you lost your parents." His voice quieted, his own recent grief surfacing as he rubbed his arm where his shield tattoo resided. After a brief pause, he continued, "Does it hurt?"

Harry hesitated, running a hand through his messy hair. "I don't really know," he admitted. "Sometimes it hurts... like the other day, in the Great Hall. My scar prickled when I was looking at Snape. But I don't understand why."

"Snape?" Ron scoffed, sitting up with a scowl. "Right foul git!"

"Ronald!" Hermione said indignantly, "He's still a professor."

Harry shrugged. "It's not like I know what it means. Hagrid told me Voldemort gave me this scar when he tried to kill me. He killed my parents, but for some reason, the curse didn't work on me. I survived, Voldemort was defeated... but no one knows how. That's why I'm supposed to be famous—for something I didn't even do." His tone was bitter as he finished.

Hermione nodded, her face clouded with thought. "And that's why everyone's so afraid of You-Know-Who. He killed a lot of good people during the war. People won't even say his name—they just call him, well, You-Know-Who."

Maxximus's brow furrowed. "So you think your scar hurting is a sign? Something to do with Voldemort?" The group, minus Harry, winced at the name.

"I don't know," Harry said, looking down at his shoes. "It's never made sense to me. It just happens, like in the Great Hall. But why would it hurt when I looked at Snape? I don't even know if it's related to Voldemort."

"Maybe..." Neville's quiet voice broke the silence, and they all turned to him. "It senses dark magic. My gran said Snape was a Death Eater."

"A Death Eater?" Maxximus asked, frowning again.

"You-Know-Who's inner circle," Neville continued, his expression sinking. "They hurt even more people than You-Know-Who himself."

Maxximus processed Neville's words, his expression darkening. "Death Eaters... So, they were responsible for a lot of the pain during the war?"

Neville nodded, his voice soft but steady. "Yeah. They did You-Know-Who's bidding. Killed, tortured... They ruined a lot of lives."

Ron, trying to break the heaviness of the moment, leaned back with a huff. "Still don't get why Snape's teaching at Hogwarts if he was one of them. Doesn't seem right."

Hermione's sharp gaze turned to Ron. "Dumbledore trusts him, Ron. If he didn't, Snape wouldn't be here. Besides, we don't know the whole story."

Maxximus leaned back, his mind churning over everything they had told him. He hadn't expected to learn so much about the darkness lurking in this world so soon. "So Snape was with Voldemort..." He noticed the others wince again but continued, "...and now he's teaching at Hogwarts? Does that mean he's still dangerous?"

"Dunno," Ron muttered. "I don't trust him, that's for sure."

Harry remained quiet, his fingers tracing the edge of his scar. "Whatever it is... it doesn't feel right. But it's not just Snape." He glanced up at the others, his green eyes conflicted. "There's something bigger going on. When I was at Gringotts with Hagrid, he took an item out of the vault that got broken into the very next day. 'Dumbledore's orders' he said. Only place safer than Gringotts is Hogwarts according to him."

Maxximus looked at Harry thoughtfully. "Maybe your scar is warning you. If it reacts to dark magic, and Snape's tied to that, it's possible something's happening under the surface."

Hermione, ever the rational thinker, leaned in. "It could be, but we don't have enough information yet. Professor Snape's behavior is strange, but without proof, we can't jump to conclusions."

Ron rolled his eyes. "Leave it to Hermione to need 'proof.' I say we keep an eye on him."

Maxximus didn't respond immediately. He was still piecing things together—the lightning strike, the stars shifting, Harry's scar, and now this. Everything felt interconnected, but how?

"I think we should be careful," Maxximus finally said, his voice serious. "Whatever's happening, we need to stay alert. It feels like something's coming. I have detention with him tomorrow, maybe something'll slip."

The group fell into silence again, the weight of their discussion lingering in the air. The oasis, usually calming, felt different tonight—like it couldn't quite drown out the tension building around them.

After a moment, Ron sighed and stood up, stretching his arms. "Well, that's enough doom and gloom for one night, don't you think?" He grabbed another piece of fruit from the tree, biting into it with a grin. "Besides, we've got more important things to worry about—like Gryffindor winning the Quidditch Cup!"

Harry smiled faintly, though the shadow in his eyes hadn't fully lifted. "Yeah... Quidditch."

Maxximus chuckled softly, appreciating Ron's attempt to lighten the mood. "Someone needs to teach me. Sounds... chaotic."

Ron's face lit up, his previous worries all but forgotten. "Oh, it is! You'll love it. We'll make sure to get you up on a broom in no time!"

As the conversation shifted away from dark wizards and strange omens, Maxximus could see the fatigue settling in on everyone. The excitement of their narrow escape from Filch and the intense discussion about Harry's scar and Snape had left everyone looking exhausted.

Maxximus glanced around at the group. "It's getting late. You all should probably get some rest."

Hermione stretched her arms, looking tired but slightly relieved. "At least it's Friday, no classes tomorrow."

"Right," Harry agreed, rubbing his eyes. "Wood has me showing up bright and early for my first practice tomorrow."

Maxximus shook his head, gesturing toward the stairs at the back of the room. "No need to sneak back through the halls. There are plenty of empty rooms upstairs you can use tonight."

Ron's eyes lit up. "Really? That'd be brilliant!"

Hermione looked a bit hesitant. "Students are supposed to sleep in their own dorms, we'd be breaking at least three rules."

Neville nodded quickly, looking relieved. "Better than running into Filch again..."

Maxximus shrugged. "Besides… it's not like anyone's going to check in here tonight. And with no classes tomorrow, you'll have the whole morning to get back without any trouble."

He smiled and gestured toward the stairs. "Come on, I'll show you."

He led them up the stone steps that spiraled around the oasis. The second floor opened into a wide corridor, lined with large, cozy rooms, each with a comfortable four-poster bed, like his own, and a window overlooking the grounds.

"Take your pick," Maxximus said, gesturing toward the rooms. "There's plenty of space."

Ron immediately claimed the room nearest the stairs, eyeing the bed with relief. "This is perfect."

Hermione, though still a bit hesitant, finally gave in and nodded gratefully. "Thanks, Maxximus. This is really generous of you."

Maxximus waved it off. "No trouble at all. Better safe here than wandering the halls."

Harry chose a room across from Ron, and Neville picked the one next to Harry's. They exchanged tired smiles, clearly grateful for a safe place to rest.

Before heading back downstairs, Maxximus glanced back at them. "I'll be downstairs if you need anything. Good night."

"Good night, Maxximus," they echoed, their voices already softened as they settled into their rooms.

Maxximus had spent the better part of the last two days in the infirmary, he was not quite ready to go back into a bed. Tomorrow's detention with Snape was beginning to occupy his thoughts. Apparently, the professor was an acolyte to the most dangerous wizard of this land. Could he have somehow orchestrated the lightning to strike Ron's telescope as a way of getting back at Harry? His mother had said that wizards of that caliber had been locked away. Was he sent here to do the same to Snape? How would he even begin to do that? The Praetor was probably supposed to show him through the lessons that he's conveniently missing tomorrow. But the Praetor gave warning towards Quirrell, not Snape. Could he be wrong? They sit next to each other in the Great Hall, he must have been deceived. Maxximus was determined to remain vigilant.

The whirlwind of thoughts and questions persisted for some time before Maxximus decided to also head to bed.

The next morning, the dorm was unusually quiet as the soft light of dawn streamed through the windows. Everyone woke around the same time, stretching and rubbing the sleep from their eyes—everyone except Harry, who had already left for his first Quidditch practice.

Ron groaned as he sat up, his hair sticking out in all directions. "What time is it? We've missed breakfast, haven't we?"

Neville's stomach growled loudly in response, and he nodded, looking crestfallen. "I was really looking forward to a proper meal too…"

Hermione, ever pragmatic, sighed but quickly got to her feet. "Well, it's our own fault for staying up so late."

Maxximus sat up slowly, feeling the remnants of yesterday's turmoil weighing on him. "At least you didn't get hit by lightning," he muttered with a wry grin.

Ron chuckled, though his stomach growled in agreement with Neville's. "Still, skipping breakfast on a weekend... it's tragic."

They all shared a brief moment of camaraderie before the Gryffindors gathered their things, preparing to head back to their dorm. Hermione, already thinking ahead, waved as they made their way to the door.

"We'll see you later, Maxximus," she said. "Good luck with the detention."

"Yeah, thanks for letting us crash here, let us know if Snape does anything foul." Ron added, flashing a quick grin before they all slipped out.

Once they were gone, the dorm felt quiet and still again. Maxximus stared at the space around him, feeling an odd sense of loneliness creeping in. With nothing pressing for the morning, he decided to focus on improving his reading and penmanship. He found a quiet corner, pulling out a few books and a quill.

The self-writing quill was useful, especially when he needed to keep up with his notes, but Maxximus knew that if he didn't practice his own handwriting, he'd fall behind in his studies. He carefully traced the letters on the page, concentrating on forming the words properly. It was slow work, but it felt satisfying in its own way.

Time passed as Maxximus lost himself in the task. After a while, he switched to doing some homework with the self-writing quill, letting it take over as he planned out the structure of his assignment.

Maxximus continued practicing his reading and writing, but his mind kept wandering back to the storm, the strange constellation, and the feeling that something larger was at play. As he pondered the connections, the Praetor materialized quietly in the corner of the room, his ghostly form more somber than usual.

"Praetor," Maxximus greeted, looking up. "I knew you'd come."

The Praetor hovered closer, his face grave. "Maxximus, there is much I must tell you—about the storm, about the powers at play... forces far beyond your understanding."

Maxximus leaned forward, eager for answers. "What kind of forces? Is this about Snape?"

The Praetor's gaze darkened. "The storm, the stars—something far more powerful is watching. But I cannot speak it plainly..."

Before the Praetor could finish, his form flickered, and the sharp mischief of Peeves took over. The playful grin spread across his ghostly face, and the tension in the room shifted from ominous to chaotic.

"Ooooh, cryptic, cryptic, the answer's there! But you won't know it, Maxxy, not even a hair!" Peeves twirled around the room, his voice a singsong taunt. "The stars! The skies! What a surprise! No truth for you, just riddles and lies!"

Maxximus frowned, already feeling frustrated by the sudden change. "Wait—what are you trying to say?"

But Peeves continued in his usual cryptic manner, ignoring Maxximus's plea for clarity. "Can't give the answer, nope, nope, nope! You'll have to wait, you'll have to hope!" He cackled, spinning through the air in a wild dance. "All in due time, little Maxxy—Jupiter sees, but who can be sure? You won't understand 'til you knock at the door!"

Maxximus's frustration grew. "What door? What are you talking about?"

But Peeves was already gone, vanishing into the walls with a final, mocking rhyme. "Oh, Maxxy, dear, the truth will unwind! But not now, not yet—it's not your time!"

The cryptic words hung in the air, leaving Maxximus standing in silence, trying to piece together the scattered, meaningless hints. The Praetor had clearly known something—something important—but Peeves had disrupted it completely, leaving only confusion in his wake.

Maxximus sighed, feeling more lost than before. It was as if the answers were right there, just out of reach, hidden behind Peeves's madness. Nothing made sense now, but he had the sinking feeling that in time, these vague warnings would become all too clear.

For now, though, he was left to grapple with the uncertainty, determined to stay vigilant as he headed towards his most dreaded event of the week, detention with Professor Snape.

As Maxximus made his way down the winding stone staircase leading to the dungeons, the familiar chill in the air crept over him. The dimly lit corridor stretched ahead, casting long shadows as he neared Professor Snape's office. His thoughts wandered, still trying to piece together the cryptic warnings of the Praetor and the unsettling storm from a few days ago.

When he reached the heavy wooden door, he hesitated for a brief moment, taking in a deep breath. Detention with Snape, he reminded himself. He pushed the door open and stepped inside, expecting the usual sight of Snape brooding over some concoction.

Instead, to his shock, there was not one, but two figures waiting for him. Professor Snape stood at his desk, his dark, piercing eyes fixed on Maxximus with his usual cold expression. But beside him, seated calmly in one of the few chairs, was none other than Headmaster Dumbledore, the most esteemed and revered wizard at Hogwarts. His eyes twinkled kindly beneath his half-moon spectacles, and the ever-present air of gentle authority surrounded him like a protective cloak.

Maxximus's steps faltered for just a second. Dumbledore? he thought, utterly confused. What could possibly warrant the Headmaster's presence during his detention?

"You're late, Sphinkus," Snape's voice cut through the air, sharp and precise as always, although Maxximus was in fact early. "But no matter." He crossed his arms and turned toward Dumbledore, his tone shifting ever so slightly, adopting that familiar condescending drawl. "As you can see, the Headmaster has decided to grace us with his presence this evening, though I suppose a simple detention wouldn't be adequate for someone with... your potential, now would it?"

Snape's lip curled ever so slightly, the disdain in his voice almost palpable. "Apparently, your... peculiar situation has warranted the Headmaster's personal attention. I shall leave you to it."

Maxximus's stomach knotted, unsure of what this meant. He looked toward Dumbledore, hoping for some clarification.

Dumbledore's smile broadened, his eyes twinkling with that familiar warmth and mischief, as if he knew far more than he was letting on. "Ah, Maxximus, my dear boy," he said, his voice as gentle as ever, "you look quite startled, though I suppose finding the Headmaster involved with your detention would give anyone pause."

He moved gracefully from his chair, his long robes trailing behind him like a whisper of silk. "But fear not, this is not a detention in the conventional sense. No scrubbing of cauldrons or polishing of trophies tonight, I assure you. Rather, I took this opportunity to, shall we say, borrow you for a small chat. A tête-à-tête, if you will."

Dumbledore's expression softened as he motioned for Maxximus to sit, his tone as light as a breeze. "Now, I understand this may seem rather mysterious—and I have a notorious reputation for being rather fond of mysteries—but I promise, no riddles tonight. At least, none I don't intend to solve with your help."

He clasped his hands together, gazing at Maxximus with a kindness that made the room feel warmer despite the dungeon's chill. "You see, Maxximus, there have been some… intriguing occurrences of late. Storms where there should be none, a fifth house where there were four." His eyebrows rose ever so slightly, as if he found the very idea amusing. "And unbreakable wards, broken. I believe you may have a unique perspective on these matters. But please, do not think of this as an interrogation—merely an exchange of thoughts over, well, an imaginary cup of tea."

He chuckled softly, his eyes twinkling once more. "All I ask is that you be candid. We are simply having a conversation, one that I hope will help us both understand a little more about the curious world we find ourselves in."

Dumbledore then gestured towards Snape with a slight, knowing smile. "And despite Professor Snape's perhaps… brisk manner, he is, as always, quite invested in his students' well-being. Isn't that right, Severus?"

Snape's expression did not change, but his silence spoke volumes.

Dumbledore settled into his chair once more, folding his hands in his lap and studying Maxximus with that same twinkle in his eye, though now there was a subtle undertone of curiosity.

"Now, Maxximus, let us start at the beginning, shall we?" Dumbledore said, his voice gentle yet inquisitive. "You see, Hogwarts is protected by some of the most ancient and powerful wards ever devised, designed to keep anyone from entering unless they are expected. And yet, you appeared here—quite unexpectedly, I might add."

He leaned forward slightly, his expression soft but keen. "How did you come to Hogwarts, my boy?"

Maxximus shifted slightly in his seat, feeling the weight of both Dumbledore's and Snape's attention. He took a breath and began to recount his journey—the turbulent manner in which he had left his village, the instructions his mother had given him, and how he had arrived in the Great Hall. As he spoke, Dumbledore listened intently, his expression thoughtful. The moment Maxximus mentioned the book, however, Snape's eyes narrowed.

"Portkey?" Snape interrupted, his voice dripping with skepticism. "Impossible! A Portkey can't bypass the wards. Even the Dark Lord couldn't manage that." His tone was sharp, dismissive, as if the very idea was beneath him.

Dumbledore, unfazed by Snape's outburst, smiled gently and turned his gaze back to Maxximus. "An interesting thought, Severus," he said, his voice soft but thoughtful. "Though it seems this situation might be a bit... different." He leaned forward slightly, his eyes glinting with curiosity.

"Now, Maxximus, you've mentioned this book your mother gave you—an intriguing artifact, to say the least. I wonder... would it be alright if I were to take a closer look at it?" He smiled softly. "I suspect it may hold more answers than we realize."

Maxximus hesitated, his fingers curling slightly at the thought. The book was the last tangible piece of his past, a connection to his mother and everything he'd left behind. But Dumbledore's gaze was so calm, so reassuring, that after a moment, he nodded, though the reluctance was clear in his eyes. "I suppose... yes."

Dumbledore's smile deepened, full of warmth. "Thank you, my boy. I promise to handle it with the utmost care."

With a quick and subtle flick of his hand, Dumbledore made a small motion, and in an instant, there was a soft pop in the room. Maxximus jumped slightly as a house-elf appeared out of thin air. It was small and wide-eyed, with large ears that twitched nervously. Maxximus had never seen one before and blinked in surprise. The elf gave a quick, low bow to Dumbledore before disappearing again with another pop, leaving Maxximus momentarily speechless.

Dumbledore chuckled lightly at Maxximus's reaction. "Ah, yes, the house-elves. Quite efficient, aren't they? Wonderful creatures—perhaps one day, when time permits, you'll get to know them better."

Maxximus still wasn't quite sure what to make of the sudden appearance, but Dumbledore smoothly shifted the conversation.

"Now, while we wait," Dumbledore said softly, "perhaps you could tell me a little more about your village? Do you know where it is, exactly?"

Maxximus hesitated again, thinking back to the only home he'd ever known. "It's in Egypt," he said quietly, "on a plateau near an oasis." His voice faltered slightly, the memory of it bringing a shadow to his expression. "But I've never left before coming here. I don't even know if there's anything left... after the Erumpents passed through."

Dumbledore's expression softened, and his voice, though filled with its usual kindness, took on a more somber tone. "Ah, Erumpents... magnificent but tragic creatures, I'm afraid. They can be quite devastating when they roam unchecked." He paused for a moment, his gaze gentle. "It must have been difficult, seeing your home changed by such forces."

Maxximus nodded, his eyes downcast, the weight of it still heavy on his mind.

"But you have made it here, Maxximus," Dumbledore said, his voice lifting again, filled with quiet encouragement. "You've traveled a long way from that plateau. And though the path ahead may seem uncertain, I believe you are destined for great things. The strength you carry, the courage to face the unknown—it is rare, my boy."

He smiled warmly once more, his eyes twinkling just a little. "You may not know all the answers yet, but in time, I suspect you will uncover them. After all, even the most puzzling mysteries have a way of revealing themselves—especially to those who are patient and willing to ask the right questions."

Maxximus found himself nodding, feeling a faint sense of reassurance despite the lingering sadness. Dumbledore always seemed to know just the right thing to say.

Just as the conversation began to settle, there was another soft pop in the room. The house-elf had returned, looking slightly flustered and wringing its hands nervously. The book was wrapped tightly in what appeared to be an old cloth, as if the elf had taken extra care to shield it from something.

The house-elf gave a deep bow, its large ears twitching nervously as it spoke. "So sorry, Headmister sir! Dippy had to wrap the book up tight, yes, sir. The book didn't want to come, no, no! Very tricky, very tricky, Headmister sir! Dippy tried best, but book not liking to move, sir."

Dumbledore chuckled softly, nodding kindly. "Ah, Dippy, you've done very well. Thank you for your efforts."

Dippy nodded eagerly, still fidgeting. "Dippy is glad to help, Headmister sir! If Headmister sir needs Dippy again, Dippy will come quick, quick!" With that, Dippy gave another deep bow and disappeared with a soft pop.

Dumbledore turned back to the book, now wrapped securely in cloth. "Ah, Dippy did a fine job," he said with a smile. "Quite the stubborn object, this one. But, as with all stubborn things, I suspect it has a story to tell."

He looked to Maxximus, his eyes twinkling. "Shall we uncover it together?"

Dumbledore, still smiling gently, lifted his wand and began tracing delicate patterns over the surface of the book. "Now, Maxximus, this is just a precaution," he explained calmly, his voice as light and reassuring as ever. "There are many forms of magic that can hide themselves in objects like this—some benign, others not so much. I'm simply making sure we won't have any... surprises."

He murmured a few incantations, his wand glowing softly as it passed over the book. Maxximus watched as a faint shimmer briefly surrounded the book before fading.

"No curses here," Dumbledore said with a small smile, "but one can never be too careful. This book seems to have quite a history."

With a nod to Snape, who remained silent but observant, Dumbledore carefully opened the book. His expression shifted slightly when he saw the pages inside. "Interesting," he murmured. "Blank, it would seem—though I suspect there is more to this than meets the eye."

He glanced at Maxximus, his tone still gentle. "Family magic, perhaps. I've seen such things before—spells that only reveal their contents to those of a particular bloodline. Maxximus, would you mind taking a look? It's possible the book holds something meant just for you."

Maxximus stared down at the page, watching as the faint image of a man with the same blue eyes as his stared back. Words accompanied the picture, but he couldn't make them out clearly.

"I see a man," Maxximus said slowly, choosing his words carefully. "His eyes... they're like mine. And there's writing, but... I'm still learning."

Dumbledore watched him quietly, the usual warmth in his expression softened by a trace of concern. "I imagine this book holds much more than familial records, Maxximus. Family magic can be powerful... and sometimes unpredictable. As such, it must remain within my possession until a time where it can safely be returned to you."

Maxximus's grip on the book tightened. "It's mine, I should keep it."

Dumbledore smiled gently, but there was a seriousness beneath his usual twinkle. He nodded, acknowledging the weight of Maxximus's claim, but his tone was calm and deliberate. "Yes, it is yours. And I don't intend to take it from you. But I do ask you to think about something important."

Maxximus furrowed his brow, still hesitant.

"This book bypassed the wards of Hogwarts—wards that are meant to protect everyone here," Dumbledore continued, his voice soothing yet direct. "Wards that should be unbreakable. The magic that brought you here, through those wards, is stronger than we may fully understand. And while I believe it was meant for good, we cannot be sure what dangers might arise from it."

Maxximus's fingers loosened slightly on the book, but he remained silent, listening.

"You see," Dumbledore went on, his tone compassionate, "this isn't just about protecting you, Maxximus. If this magic fell into the wrong hands, it could put everyone in the castle at risk. Students, your friends, even the ones you haven't met yet. It's my responsibility to keep everyone here safe, including you."

Maxximus looked down at the book again, his chest tightening. The thought of handing it over was still difficult, but Dumbledore's words gave him pause. He didn't want to be responsible for endangering others—he'd already felt out of place enough.

Sensing the inner conflict, Dumbledore leaned forward slightly, his voice becoming even gentler. "I only ask to keep it safe for now, until we better understand what it holds. When the time comes, when we've ensured that no harm can come from it, the book will be yours again. I promise you that."

Maxximus hesitated for a moment longer before letting out a slow breath. The weight of responsibility pressed down on him, but he trusted Dumbledore. "Okay," he said quietly, his fingers releasing the book. "But only until it's safe."

Dumbledore smiled warmly, taking the book carefully from Maxximus's hands. "Of course, Maxximus. We'll keep it safe together." He gave a small nod, as if reassuring Maxximus that he'd made the right choice.

Dumbledore gave Maxximus one last reassuring smile as he tucked the book under his arm. "Thank you for understanding, Maxximus. I'll keep it safe." With a nod, Dumbledore gestured toward the door. "You're free to go for now. No detention tonight."

Maxximus stood frozen for a moment, overwhelmed by the hollow feeling left from losing the book. His steps were heavy as he left the dungeons and made his way back toward his dorm, his mind reeling with everything that had happened. The loss of the book felt like the final blow in a long series of disorienting events since his arrival at Hogwarts—events he hadn't yet had the chance to process.

When he entered his dorm, his heart skipped a beat. The Praetor was standing there, not as the playful Peeves persona but in full soldier stance, his ghostly figure tall and commanding. "Maxximus," the Praetor said, his voice deep and serious, "It is time for your lesson. I apologize for my earlier... lack of control."

Maxximus could barely hear the words. The sight of the Praetor, the reminder of the book, everything—it was too much. The loss of his mother, his village, the storm, the lightning, and now the book. It all came crashing down on him at once, and before he knew it, tears filled his eyes. His breath hitched as he collapsed onto the earthen floor, his shoulders shaking with sobs he had kept bottled up since he'd arrived at Hogwarts.

The Praetor watched in silence for a moment, his stern expression unchanging. Then, out of nowhere, a laugh—a high, mischievous laugh that echoed eerily through the room. It was unmistakably Peeves-like, and Maxximus, caught off guard, was stunned out of his tears.

The Praetor's face softened into something resembling amusement, his tone suddenly lighter. "A Sphinkus cannot be separated from the Chronicle," he said, almost with a playful lilt. "No one—not even a great wizard like Dumbledore—can change that." He tilted his head, nodding toward the dresser. "Go on, Maxximus. Check your dresser."

Maxximus wiped his eyes, confused but curious. He stood up slowly, walking over to the dresser and pulling it open. And there, as if nothing had happened, sat the book—the very same one Dumbledore had taken from him.

His heart raced as he grabbed it, his fingers brushing over the cover as if to confirm it was real. He turned back to the Praetor, wide-eyed. "But... how?"

The Praetor stood tall again, his soldierly stance returning. "It's time, Maxximus. We must begin your lesson now. There is no more time to lose."

Maxximus nodded slowly, still in shock but beginning to feel a sense of clarity. The Praetor's words lingered in the air, and as he clutched the book to his chest, he felt a strange mix of fear and determination building inside him.

The Praetor gave a curt nod. "This lesson is now urgent. We begin."