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After more than ten days of self-imposed isolation, Sargeras finally sensed the curse within him begin to ebb away.
It was like the tide retreating from a hidden reef, revealing stone once buried beneath the waves. A long-lost feeling of lightness returned to his body, subtle at first, then spreading through his limbs until he felt almost human again.
He drew in a deep breath. The air carried the faint fragrance of grass and trees, warm and alive after days of confinement. Then he pushed open the oak door of his office, which had remained tightly shut for far too long.
The corridor outside was utterly empty; the students' laughter had vanished with the coming of summer vacation, leaving behind only the hollow quiet of an emptied castle.
Sargeras walked purposefully towards the Great Hall. Nothing, he thought, could announce a return to normal life better than a proper, hot dinner.
He was not a man of great appetite, nor did he ever demand much from his meals, yet when circumstances allowed, there was comfort in eating like a normal person again.
Inside, the Great Hall was so empty that the echo of his footsteps filled the space.
However, near the high table, his eyes caught a familiar figure. Albus Dumbledore was seated there, a small plate of cream pudding before him, its surface gleaming with a drizzle of maple syrup. A silver fork hovered halfway between plate and mouth, and behind the crescent-shaped lenses of his glasses, his blue eyes twinkled, waiting, it seemed, quite deliberately for him.
Of course...
"Sargeras," Dumbledore's voice rang clear across the vast empty hall. "It is truly wonderful to see you out of your room again."
"So it seems," Sargeras replied as he took the high-backed chair beside the Headmaster, the one clearly reserved for him, not that he ever doubted it. He reached forward, spooned himself a generous serving of mashed potatoes, and settled into the seat.
"Something on your mind?" he asked bluntly, his fork already aimed at a slice of roasted carrot, golden and slightly charred at the edges.
Dumbledore nodded, gracefully spearing a small piece of pudding with his silver fork. "Earlier today, I went to St. Mungo's to visit Professor Lumina."
Sargeras's chewing slowed until it came to a stop.
Dumbledore sighed softly. Behind his half-moon glasses, his blue eyes showed genuine sorrow. "I'm afraid the aftermath of the accident was more severe than I had expected. The healers at St. Mungo's have done everything within their power, but their conclusion is troubling. She won't be able to return to teaching Defence Against the Dark Arts next school year, and perhaps not for quite some time after that. Her body needs rest, a long and peaceful recovery."
"Is that so?" Sargeras's tone was calm. "That's quite unfortunate."
Yet beneath that flat voice, there wasn't the faintest trace of regret.
"Yes, very unfortunate," Dumbledore agreed and took another unhurried bite of his pudding. "It also means that before September arrives, we must find someone new to take up the Defence Against the Dark Arts position, which, as you know, has a rather… difficult reputation."
Sargeras silently lifted the carrot to his mouth. Finding a Defence Against the Dark Arts professor had always been one of Hogwarts' enduring problems. That post seemed cursed, forever bound to misfortune.
"Fortunately," Dumbledore continued, his tone brightening with a quiet note of optimism, "I believe I may already have the right candidate in mind. Someone of great talent, who has shown remarkable courage and wisdom even in adversity."
"Oh?" Sargeras responded absently, his thoughts still tangled in the troubles surrounding Kestrel. "And who might that be?"
"Remus Lupin," Dumbledore said clearly. "Speaking of which, he's also your senior. Though by the time you entered Hogwarts, he had already graduated three years before."
"Lupin?" Sargeras's chewing came to a complete halt.
"You know him?" Dumbledore set his fork down and turned toward Sargeras with mild curiosity.
"I don't," Sargeras replied with a small shake of his head, then turned his attention back to the food on his plate. "Was he a Ravenclaw as well?" he asked casually.
"No, he was a Gryffindor," Dumbledore said with a soft laugh. "But you can rest assured, he served as a Prefect during his years there. His knowledge and sense of responsibility leave nothing to doubt."
"I see."
Sargeras set down his knife and fork. His voice, clearer and firmer than before, carried a quiet decisiveness. "Since you already have someone in mind, and I happen to be thinking of stepping out for some air, perhaps I could take this opportunity to visit him. If you don't object, I can go and speak with Mr. Remus Lupin myself."
Dumbledore looked at him, mildly surprised. His deep eyes seemed to search Sargeras's face as if trying to see beyond his expression. After a long pause, he finally said, "Of course. I have no objection."
He lifted his goblet and took a small sip. "However, Sargeras, I do hope you'll be gentle in your approach. He's a kind man, though his life after graduation has been... rather difficult."
Sargeras gave a small nod. "Do you have his address?" he asked offhandedly. "I assume you've already been in contact with him?"
"Yes," Dumbledore replied simply.
"Then I'll leave tomorrow morning. If there's anything else you'd like to tell him, write it in a letter and I'll deliver it for you."
Dumbledore nodded in agreement. "That would be best. I have a few other matters to attend to in the next couple of days anyway."
"What matters?" Sargeras asked.
"That," the old Headmaster said with a weary sigh, "is also one of the reasons I sought you out today." His tone grew heavy. "Sirius Black has escaped from Azkaban."
"Sirius Black?" Sargeras repeated the name, his brow furrowing slightly.
"That's right," Dumbledore said, his expression solemn. "A follower of Voldemort. He was the one who betrayed the Potters, the very act that led to that tragedy all those years ago."
"So many years have passed, and he's still alive?" Sargeras sounded genuinely surprised. "To survive that long in Azkaban and even manage to escape..."
"Yes. I was just as astonished when I received the news," Dumbledore admitted quietly.
"But that's the Ministry's failure," Sargeras replied. "What does it have to do with you?"
"Because there's only one reason he would have escaped."
Sargeras paused, his eyes narrowing slightly. "You mean… he's trying to avenge his former master?"
"That's my guess." Dumbledore gave a slow nod. "Which means Harry Potter is in real danger. But even more urgent right now is Azkaban itself."
The old Headmaster's tone turned grave. "Cornelius has asked me to assist in the investigation — to find out how Black managed to break free. The Ministry is in chaos. They fear not only that others might follow his example, but that Black himself might bring even greater trouble while he's at large."
Sargeras gave a dismissive hum. "So that's why you came to see me today?"
"You once worked as a Dark Wizard hunter, and later as an Auror for the Ministry," Dumbledore said, meeting his eyes directly. "If possible, I'd like you to help me find him. Consider this a personal request, not an official one."
For a long moment, Sargeras was silent. Then he spoke, his voice even. "And what's the reward?"
He took a napkin, wiped his mouth, and added calmly, "Just to be clear, I'm not short on Galleons."
"Well... that does make it a bit difficult," Dumbledore mused after a brief pause. "How do you feel about… a pair of wool socks?"
"Not very enthusiastic," Sargeras replied flatly, without so much as a twitch of his eyebrow.
"Then is there something you do want?" Dumbledore asked, half curious, half amused.
"Leave it open for now," Sargeras said as he rose from his chair. "I'll tell you when I think of something."
He took a few steps toward the door, then turned back slightly. "You didn't make this request to me alone, did you?"
"Oh, not at all," Dumbledore answered with that familiar, knowing smile. "I've mentioned it to a few old friends as well. After all, the more people looking, the sooner we might find him."
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[Chapter End's]
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