The hallways of Hogwarts always felt extra long in the afternoon. A few young wizards trudged along behind Professor McGonagall, climbing the shifting staircases toward the eighth floor.
As they rounded a corner, the two professors suddenly halted.
Up ahead, a crowd had gathered by the stone gargoyle guarding the headmaster's office.
Lucius Malfoy's silver-green robes stood out like a sore thumb. He was speaking in that slick tone of his—smooth as honey but laced with hidden barbs.
A few school governors flanked him, their faces set in forced seriousness.
"...Given the current dangers and the board's unanimous decision, Professor Dumbledore, you must step down from your position temporarily."
Julien instinctively stepped back, slipping into the shadow of an armor statue with the others.
He watched as the gargoyle leaped aside, revealing the spiraling staircase. Dumbledore emerged slowly, his blue eyes calm behind half-moon spectacles, even carrying a hint of that elusive smile.
He held his familiar starry night-robe, like he was just heading out for a long vacation. "I understand, Lucius," Dumbledore's voice was unnervingly gentle. "When the school faces trouble, someone always has to take the fall."
"But first, I need a word with a few young wizards. It won't take long."
Then McGonagall ushered Harry and the others inside. Julien didn't follow. Maybe the shock was too much—none of them noticed he hadn't tagged along.
Professor Snape didn't go in either. He lingered by the door, chatting with Lucius and casually probing for details.
Not long after, the office door swung open again. Harry, Ron, and Hermione shuffled out, looking utterly defeated.
Hermione's eyes were red-rimmed, her lips pressed tight; Harry clenched his fists, knuckles white; even upbeat Ron hung his head, red hair flopping over his eyes.
McGonagall followed, her lips a stern line. Julien noticed her hands trembling slightly.
Only Dumbledore wore his usual mild smile. He turned, patting Harry Potter on the shoulder. "Don't worry—at Hogwarts, those who truly need help always find it." With that, he glanced meaningfully toward Julien's hiding spot, maybe even winking.
"Dumbledore's been suspended."
The news spread like wildfire. By dinner, the whole castle knew.
In the Slytherin common room, muffled cheers broke out—Malfoy was smugly waving his dad's parchment appointment as head governor to his pals.
Over in Gryffindor, the vibe was heavy as lead. In the common room, the fireplace crackled, but it couldn't chase away the chill in the air.
"What do we do now?" Ron slumped in an armchair, voice raspy. "Dumbledore's gone, and the attacks keep coming..."
Hermione didn't reply. She stared at an open copy of Phoenixes and Other Magical Beasts, but her eyes weren't really on the page.
Harry stood by the window, gazing at the darkening sky outside. His skinny frame looked even smaller.
In the corner armchair, Ginny Weasley hugged her knees, staring at nothing.
When Ron said "Dumbledore's gone," Julien—if he'd been there—would've caught her fingers tightening, nails digging into her palms.
A flash of something complex crossed her eyes: relief? Anxiety? Or some buried thrill?
It vanished quick. She was back to that quiet, kinda shy first-year girl, murmuring, "Maybe... maybe it's not that bad?"
"Not that bad?" Ron whipped his head around, voice jumping. "Ginny, three students are petrified already! You don't get how dangerous that Chamber monster is, it..."
"Ron, don't scare her." Hermione looked up, forcing a tired smile. "Ginny, just be extra careful lately. No going off alone, okay?"
Ginny nodded, no questions asked. She clutched her black diary tighter—it pulsed faintly in her arms, a warmth only she felt, like a comfort... or a nudge.
Meanwhile, the Hogwarts Quidditch pitch was shrouded in golden twilight mist. Practice was long over, leaving just three figures on the empty field.
Julien sat on the cold edge of the stands, idly twirling his silver lime wand.
Rosier stood to his right, spine straight as ever, her Slytherin green-silver scarf whipping in the evening breeze.
Liriya crouched on the grass, fingers brushing stubborn weeds poking through stone cracks. Her ice-blue eyes half-closed, like she was listening to the earth's whispers.
"The board stripped Dumbledore's power," Rosier's voice was cool as usual, but Julien heard the underlying worry. "My dad wrote—Lucius Malfoy insisted it was 'necessary.' Idiots. They have no clue what they're unleashing, just scrambling for scraps of control."
"They've let chaos loose," Liriya cut in suddenly. Her fingers paused, fingertips glowing faint blue. "And chaos hides the truth. Julien, you sure about this? The Chamber's got what you want... but also the basilisk."
Julien looked up toward the castle's towering west turret, his gaze piercing the stone like he could see some dark corner inside. "I know," he said low.
"That meteorite... or Pyxis's 'star fragment'—it needs to reinforce the seal at the Azure Coast. We can't let it fall into the wrong hands—like some diary-puppet, or worse, get swallowed by the coming darkness."
He paused, his right hand absently touching the inside of his wrist. "Elizabeth," Julien turned to Rosier, "how's your end shaping up?"
Rosier pulled a folded parchment from her robe pocket, marked with her family's signature withered-rose crest.
"All set, confirmed," she nodded slightly. "My mom's shipping the protective goggles through family channels. Made from Hungarian Horntail lenses, with special alchemical coating. They'll block direct eye contact with the basilisk—won't fully immune you, but it'll buy time against the petrification curse."
"When's it arriving?"
"Tomorrow noon," Rosier tucked the letter away, gray eyes sharpening.
Liriya stood, brushing grass off her cloak.
She pulled out a crystal like the Tear of Evernight, sealed with aurora light—hers held white aurora, different from Julien's.
In the twilight, it hummed faintly, resonating like it was echoing some deep underground force.
"I can feel it," Liriya said softly. "That meteorite... it's calling. Not evil, just... ancient loneliness. Waiting for someone specific, someone who gets it."
Julien took a deep breath, standing up. He looked between Rosier and Liriya. "I'm almost ready too," he said, voice low and steady, holding parchment sheets with phonetic diagrams.
He raised his wand, hissing a spell from deep in his throat.
Not human speech—Parseltongue. At the sound, a small grass snake in hibernation lifted its head, amber eyes fixed on Julien. Then it bowed submissively, slithering to his feet and coiling up.