Lunchtime was approaching, so Adrian and Harry's group politely declined Hagrid's lunch invitation and headed toward the castle.
Along the way, Hermione kept asking Adrian about the spell he had just used.
"That was an enhanced version of the General Counter-Spell, called Finite Incantatem," Adrian explained. "Do you know the basic Counter-Spell?"
Hermione nodded: "I've seen it in my Charms textbook. I've already learned it."
For Hermione, this spell wasn't difficult.
"Finite Incantatem is much more difficult than the basic Counter-Spell," Adrian continued. "It requires many wizards casting together; it's an area-effect spell."
"But you were alone," Ron interjected, rubbing his neck.
The Devil's Snare extended from beneath Adrian's robes and playfully patted Ron's head.
"Ah, yes," Adrian replied, "but I have an assistant."
The Devil's Snare could do the work of three people, making casting a small-scale Finite Incantatem effortless.
When the group reached the castle entrance, a voice called out to Adrian.
"Professor Westeros, could you bring your students over here?"
Adrian looked over—it was Professor McGonagall.
She stood at the entrance with a stern expression.
Seeing this, the three students unconsciously slowed their steps.
Whenever Professor McGonagall wore this expression, it meant someone was in trouble.
This time was no exception.
Professor McGonagall's sharp gaze swept over the three students, her lips pressed into a tight line: "I think you should explain what happened at the Quidditch pitch this morning. The hospital wing is now full of students vomiting slugs."
"Professor, it was Malfoy—" Harry began.
"Malfoy used that word," Hermione suddenly interrupted. "He called me 'Mudblood.'"
Professor McGonagall's expression immediately froze.
"Come to my office, all of you," she said in an unusually calm voice. "Explain everything that happened to me."
Then she turned her gaze to Adrian: "Professor Westeros, Professor Dumbledore would like to see you in the headmaster's office."
"Very well." Adrian nodded.
Professor McGonagall quickly led the three students away, and Adrian sighed.
Students fighting in groups was a serious matter that required stern handling.
Even though the Slytherin students had insulted someone first, Ron had been the first to throw a punch.
So most likely, all the involved students would receive some punishment.
'However,... why did Dumbledore want to see me?' Adrian was somewhat puzzled.
Ten minutes later, in the headmaster's office.
"Is there something you need, Professor Dumbledore?" Adrian asked, looking at Dumbledore, who was leisurely drinking tea.
Dumbledore set down his teacup, crossed his hands on the desk, and smiled slightly at Adrian: "About an hour ago, in the southeast direction of the castle, I sensed an unusual magical disturbance that affected the magic within Hogwarts. Do you know anything about this, Professor Westeros?"
"What magical disturbance?" Adrian paused, then seemed to remember something. "Wait, it wouldn't be that spell, would it?"
Dumbledore leaned forward slightly with a hint of inquiry: "Oh? Which spell?"
Adrian nodded: "It was Finite Incantatem. I used that spell to cure Mr. Weasley's Slug-Vomiting Charm."
"Finite Incantatem..." Dumbledore thoughtfully stroked his beard. "I don't recommend you use this spell within Hogwarts. The castle's defensive magic might injure you."
"Yes," Dumbledore continued. "Hogwarts will automatically retaliate against any spell it considers threatening, and Finite Incantatem is an area-effect charm. That means when you use this spell, Hogwarts will monitor it."
Adrian nodded thoughtfully. No wonder he had felt something unusual when casting the spell earlier.
Perhaps because the spell's range was very small, Hogwarts hadn't retaliated this time.
But Dumbledore, as headmaster, could still be informed of such occurrences.
Hogwarts' magic was indeed formidable.
"I understand," Adrian said. "I'll be careful using this spell."
Then Adrian glanced at his wristwatch—the hour hand was already pointing to half past twelve.
Just as he stood up to take his leave, Dumbledore raised his hand to indicate he should wait: "There's one more thing, Professor Westeros."
Hearing Dumbledore's words, Adrian sat back down.
"Regarding the recent incident," Dumbledore took out a piece of paper and glanced at it, "the entrance to Platform Nine and Three-Quarters was damaged. Do you have any clues about this, Professor Westeros?"
Adrian paused slightly.
"The station entrance was damaged?" He raised his eyebrows. "When did this happen?"
"Possibly on the day school started," Dumbledore said, watching Adrian with a hint of a smile at the corners of his mouth. "When we went to inspect the entrance, we used a Trace-Back Charm and discovered a spell identical to the one you used at Hagrid's this morning. After my confirmation, it was a Finite Incantatem that disabled the entrance."
Adrian adjusted his sitting position. Only now did he remember that during the start of term, he had cast Finite Incantatem on the train station entrance to counter Dobby's magic.
Now he'd been caught red-handed.
"It was indeed me," Adrian finally admitted. "Someone had sealed the entrance at the time, and I had no choice..."
"I'm not blaming you," Dumbledore said with a twinkle in his eyes. "That wasn't your fault. But... you'd better have it repaired before Christmas, so students can return home during the Christmas holidays. That shouldn't be a problem for you, should it?"
Adrian could only nod and accept this task.
"Excellent." Dumbledore nodded with satisfaction. "It's getting late, Professor Westeros. You should still be able to make lunch. Oh, about that entrance—I'll give you the old construction blueprints this afternoon."
After Adrian left the headmaster's office, Dumbledore couldn't help but hum quietly.
'One less troublesome matter to deal with.'
Originally, repairing the entrance would have been his personal responsibility—it was quite a troublesome task.
Having Adrian do it was perfect.
'That young man was truly considerate.
Compared to Lockhart...'
Thinking of Lockhart, Dumbledore felt another headache coming on.
Although he knew Lockhart was a poor teacher, he hadn't expected him to teach even worse than Quirrell, who had only read from textbooks.
Of course, he hadn't really expected Lockhart to teach anything worthwhile.
The only purpose of making Lockhart a professor was to learn the knowledge about various magical creatures and their habitats and weaknesses though there was some exaggeration in his books, it was better than nothing.
But now, he wondered when Lockhart would finally show his true colors...
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