The next morning at breakfast, McGonagall announced that Hogwarts had been searched and there were no signs of any immediate danger. The adults were not convinced but left Hogwarts right after breakfast. As it was Sunday, their classes would resume the next day.
At the headmistress's office, McGonagall told all the Portraits that too.
"The whole castle has been searched and has been under excessive protection for one and a half months. There are no signs of immediate danger, so I don't see any reason not to resume classes. The students will fall behind, so the easter holidays will be canceled and classes will be held. Plus, James Sirius Potter and Rose Minerva Weasley have been recovered completely.
There was a heavy silence, followed by a dry, skeptical hum from Phineas Nigellus Black's portrait.
"No immediate danger," he drawled. "The most foolish thing I've ever heard. And I once taught a class of sixteen Weasleys."
Minerva did not respond. Her eyes lingered on the silver instrument Dumbledore once used, now glowing faintly on her shelf.
Meanwhile, in the hospital wing, James and Rose were sitting on the edge of their beds. Physically fine. Internally? Wrecked.
"They healed us," James whispered. "But they're still trapped."
"I saw her lips," Rose said, not looking at him. "They were blue."
Madam Pomfrey hovered nearby, her lips pursed, but she didn't say anything. She knew there were wounds beyond healing.
Meanwhile, Nova had been taken along with Alicia, Fred, George, Ginny, and Luna to a location Seamus had written down weeks ago in case of emergency—a place layered in unbreakable enchantments. He called it 'The Shard Vault'. They didn't ask questions. They just went.
No one saw her that morning.
She had been lying on her bed, pretending to sleep, but was wide awake, staring at the ceiling, which had a beautiful sunset painted on it. She was thinking about the fight she had to fight; she didn't know anything, but Aunt Luna told her that the truth would slowly be uncovered, and she would know when to fight. While thinking about this, she slowly drifted into sleep.
Back in Gryffindor Tower, Hugo stretched, blinking blearily. "Hey," he mumbled. "Something weird happened last night."
Lily turned to him, mid-toast. "Hm?"
"In the middle of the night, I think I drank something. It was warm. Like... weirdly warm. Then I looked around and everyone was asleep."
Lily froze. "You drank what?"
"I don't know! Maybe it was a dream?"
But his voice was clearer. His eyes are sharper. His muttering had stopped entirely.
Albus just stared. "You think someone... cured you?"
"Maybe," Hugo shrugged. "I feel better, though."
Lily frowned, her eyes scanning the common room as if it might split open at any second. "I don't like it. This silence. It feels like... like something's waiting."
Al nodded. "Could be. Or... maybe we go with the flow for now. Rest while we can."
McGonagall, true to her word, called the five of them—James, Rose, Lily, Albus, and Hugo—into her office.
"Make yourselves comfortable," she said, waving them in with a flick of her wand. "As always."
James took his usual chair near the window. Rose leaned on the back of a couch. Al sprawled beside her while Hugo poked through the old silver trinkets Dumbledore used to collect. Lily stood by the fireplace, arms folded.
"Oh no," groaned Dumbledore's portrait. "Not them again."
"Good morning to you, too, Professor," Rose said sweetly as she strolled in and flopped onto the couch like she owned it. Which, arguably, she did. Her initials were literally scratched into the side of it.
"I had peace," Dumbledore muttered. "I had quiet. I had dignified solitude."
"You had cobwebs and a creaky frame," Albus replied, dropping into an armchair and tossing a Bertie Bott's bean at Hugo, who was already rifling through McGonagall's bookshelf like it was his own.
"I was enjoying the silence," Dumbledore muttered, eyes trailing after Hugo, who was halfway to the bookshelves with wild purpose.
"You were also talking to a snoring Phineas Nigellus last night," Albus pointed out, settling beside Rose with a heavy thud. "Not exactly a thrilling conversation."
"I prefer solitude," Dumbledore sniffed.
"You prefer talking to yourself and pretending we're not your favorites," James grinned, flopping onto the rug. "Which we obviously are."
"I do not have favorites. And you five are using this sacred office as a private lounge."
Dumbledore huffed. "This space is a cornerstone of Hogwarts history, not a student common room!"
"To be fair, it is the nicest room in the castle," Hugo said, picking a thick green tome off the shelf and cracking it open. "And you all let us use it for years now, sooo…"
Dumbledore narrowed his eyes. "I allowed Harry Potter access during times of crisis, not to throw casual sleepovers and sneak in pumpkin pasties after curfew!"
James raised an eyebrow. "Mate, I came in once in first year to hide from Peeves, and you acted like I'd set the place on fire."
"And yet here we are," Rose said brightly. "Upgraded from criminal trespassers to regulars."
"And don't forget the musical night," Hugo grinned. "We performed a whole Weird Sisters set."
"We only did that once!" Lily said.
"No, that was thrice," Rose corrected her.
"Once with the dragon egg, though," Hugo added.
"WHAT dragon egg?" McGonagall cut in sharply from behind her desk.
"Nothing," the four said in unison.
"That was Lily's fault!" James declared.
Lily gasped, offended. "Excuse me, I was on vocals, thank you very much."
"It was still terrible," Dumbledore said flatly. "No rhythm. And who performs rock in a room with goblin-made windows?"
"People with taste," Albus replied with a smirk.
Dumbledore was still grumbling, now clearly winding up into a full nostalgic rant. "In my day, the office was respected. It was a place of learning, of wisdom. And now... beanbags. Beanbags, Minerva."
"And just to clarify," Rose added smugly, "we didn't sneak in after James's first-year nonsense. McGonagall gave us access. She said, and I quote, 'You lot seem to break fewer things when I can see you.'"
"I stand by that," McGonagall said from behind her desk, looking up from a teacup. "Although I do regret the beanbag chairs, Dumbledore."
"They add character," Hugo said, bouncing a little on the purple one.
McGonagall shook her head, but there was a fondness in her eyes.
"Do you ever support the school's actual goals?" Dumbledore asked the kids.
"Define 'goals,'" Rose countered.
Snape's portrait let out a long sigh, holding a book in his hands. "Honestly, Albus, you're embarrassing even for a dead man."
Snape didn't even look up. "You let Harry into this office so many times that we had to replace the carpet. So spare us the 'this office is sacred' speech. They've earned the space more than you did half the time."
"I offered wisdom!" Dumbledore argued.
"You offered riddles and lemon drops."
"I liked lemon drops."
"Exactly."
James let out a full laugh and leaned back, arms behind his head. "Snape's roasting everyone today. I love it here."
Dumbledore sulked in silence.
"You can't tell Minerva off for asking kids to hang out, at least they're having fun, you just used it in your time for Harry's emotional tantrum. He destroyed half of your possessions, Albus. Snape continued.
"Dad had emotional tantrums?" Lily said, laughing, "Please tell us more, Professor Snape." Lily asked innocently, fluttering her eyelashes at his portrait.
"I think I have much better work to do than recounting Potter's life at Hogwarts, Miss Potter," Snape said sternly.
"Like roasting Dubledore, then go on, no one's stopping you," Hugo said, rolling on the floor laughing.
Dumbledore's portrait gave an exaggerated huff. "This entire situation is unprecedented. The Headmistress's office turned into a common room. Next thing you know, you'll be painting the walls."
"Actually," Hugo said brightly, "we did paint one wall once—"
"That was a project!" McGonagall cut in quickly, eyes narrowing. "An... educational project."
"It was for Transfiguration theory, remember?" Rose added innocently. "The one where we explained object essence through mural symbolism?"
"That mural had a hippogriff dancing ballet," Dumbledore said, appalled.
"And a dragon doing taxes," Albus added helpfully.
"Art, Professor," Lily said, fluttering her lashes toward the frame. "Ever heard of it?"
Snape's portrait groaned. "I miss the days when students feared this office."
McGonagall chuckled behind her tea. "They feared it because you were in here half the time handing out detentions like candy."
James smirked. "Now it's just the room where we eat actual candy."
"You've desecrated everything I stood for," Dumbledore muttered dramatically.
"Would you like a sherbet lemon to feel better?" Rose asked sweetly.
Dumbledore narrowed his painted eyes. "I do not appreciate sarcasm, young lady."
"She wasn't being sarcastic," Hugo said, tossing an actual lemon sweet from his pocket into the air and catching it. "We keep a stash."
McGonagall didn't even flinch. "I confiscated twenty-seven packets last week, and they were all back the next morning."
James gave an innocent shrug. "Magic."
Snape stared directly at McGonagall's desk. "Minerva. You let this continue."
She set her teacup down with a soft clink. "They've been through more in one year than their own parents handled in a lifetime. If this office gives them a moment to breathe, to laugh... they've earned it. Even the beanbags."
"Thank you, Professor," Albus said, looking at her sincerely.
Her eyes met his, just for a second, and something flickered there—sadness maybe. Concern.
"You're welcome, Mr. Potter."
Then Dumbledore, ever the master of drama, sighed deeply. "Still. I was rather enjoying the peace."
James leaned back, grinning. "That's the thing about peace, Professor. You only notice it when it's about to end."
Snape gave a slow, annoyed blink. "Thank you, Potter the Third, for the doom-laced fortune cookie."
Roses laughed. "Honestly, he's not wrong though.",
"Honestly," Dumbledore muttered, still looking grumpy, "this office was once a symbol of wisdom and authority."
"And now it's a symbol of snacks and sarcasm," Lily chirped, propping her feet on a small footstool.
"You're not wrong," Hugo said, pulling a Chocolate Frog from his sleeve. "Also, it's a great nap spot."
"You napped under my desk," McGonagall reminded him, lifting a brow.
"Only once!" Hugo protested. "Okay, maybe three times. Four. But once I was sleep-talking about goblins and woke up in tears, so technically—"
Snape raised a hand in utter exasperation. "I would rather return to my jar of pickled grindylow teeth than listen to this nonsense."
James leaned forward with a grin. "You kept grindylow teeth?"
"For educational purposes," Snape hissed.
"Sure," said Lily, speaking with a small smile. "Let's not pretend you weren't the king of spooky classroom décor."
"Exactly!" Hugo said. "Why do you think people still shiver when they pass the dungeons?"
"Because of trauma," Snape snapped.
"No, because they remember your creepiness and they are thankful that Professor Slughorn took over, though I wish someone else did," James said.
McGonagall cleared her throat, "Sometimes you five really need to understand that I am Headmistress and I have full power to give you detention for talking ill about a professor."
"Oh, will you, Professor?" Rose asked with a high-pitched, cute voice.
"Oh no, I think we should really step back this time, right guys?" Albus added, making his voice sound like he was scared.
Dumbledore sighed again. "You know, the more I hear, the more I suspect Hogwarts itself is slowly descending into chaos."
"We like to call it personality," Rose said sweetly. She put down the book she was reading and went near McGonagall's stash of drinks and pulled out some butterbeer, and started drinking it.
"I call it anxiety," Snape muttered.
McGonagall let the banter roll on for a few seconds more before standing and straightening her robes. "Enough, now. You may be free to lounge here, but this office still runs a school."
Lily tilted her head. "Then why do you let us stay, really?"
There was a pause.
The air shifted.
McGonagall looked over them—James, Rose, Lily, Hugo, Albus—and something in her expression softened.
"Because," she said, "if there's any place in this castle that should be the safest place, it's this one. And if these portraits don't like it—" she pointed at Dumbledore "—they're free to take a nap."
Dumbledore looked scandalized. "I am the former Headmaster of this school!"
Snape smirked. "Yes. And as a portrait, entirely removable."
Lily burst out laughing. "You really don't like him, do you?"
"I didn't like anyone," Snape replied flatly.
"But you tolerate us, right?" Hugo asked, hopeful.
Snape rolled his eyes. "Only marginally more than Peeves."
Dumbledore, still fuming, folded his arms across his chest in the portrait. "This is deeply irregular…"
Just as quietness settled across the room, Albus looked at both the portraits with a mischievous smile.
"You know I was named after you both,?" He said, his tone hinted to James that he was going to say something hilarious in a few seconds.
Dumbledore straightened up in his frame and wore a smile, while Snape raised his eyebrow, but he tried to hide that he was equally touched.
"Albus Severus Potter," Albus recited with mock grandeur, sitting up straight now and dramatically motioning toward both portraits. "A name filled with meaning, legacy, and apparently… a complete lack of compatibility."
Snape chuckled, Dumbledore scoffed.
"You couldn't even pretend to like each other, even as paintings," Albus continued, his grin now fully formed. "So really, is it that surprising I turned out like this?"
Lily giggled from the corner. "Like what, exactly?
"A mischief-maker," Albus declared solemnly,
"A chaos gremlin," Hugo offered helpfully.
"A magnet for mayhem," Lily added, tossing him a cushion.
"A Potter," James declared, arms wide, like that explained everything.
Albus grinned and gave an exaggerated bow.
Dumbledore sighed, shaking his head with a twinkle in his painted eyes. "Well, I must admit, I rather enjoyed the days when Fred and George were the school's primary mischief-makers."
Snape muttered under his breath, "That explains a lot."
Rose tossed a cushion at the portrait (which of course passed right through). "Well, we are their descendants! You can't expect us to be less mischievous."
She continued, leaning forward in her chair. "Also, considering I'm their niece and James is basically their spiritual heir, what did you expect?
"She's right," James added, smirking. "And if anyone needs a reminder—there's still that swamp they left behind during their final year. Still beautifully preserved in the third-floor corridor. Teachers walk around it like it's an exhibit."
"Ah, yes," Dumbledore said fondly. "They left it as a parting gift. I couldn't bring myself to remove it. Felt… symbolic."
Snape rolled his eyes so hard it looked like they might get stuck. "Symbolic of disorder."
"Symbolic of freedom," Lily chimed in, grinning.
"Symbolic of mop duty," muttered McGonagall, though even she had a ghost of a smile.
"I believe the Arithmancy professor actually assigns homework near it to make sure no one gets too comfortable," Hugo added, smirking.
"It should've been cleared out years ago," Snape grumbled, his portrait visibly scowling.
"Oh, come now," Dumbledore said with a light chuckle. "It's tradition. Besides, no one's been able to undo the spells they wove into it. That's a kind of magic worth preserving."
"Symbolic of chaos," Snape retorted.
"Symbolic of legacy," McGonagall corrected from behind her desk, though her tone was more fond than disapproving.
"Symbolic of having fun," Hugo added innocently, which earned a sharp look from McGonagall and a round of snorts from the rest.
"How many symbolics are going to come in this conversation next?" Lily said once they stopped laughing.
Albus leaned back again and sighed dramatically. "See? This is what I mean. I was named after the most powerful wizard of the century and the most feared professor of Hogwarts… and still, you couldn't get your act together. Obviously, that's why I'm like this."
"Blame the portraits. Nice," Rose said dryly.
Dumbledore chuckled, but Snape looked personally offended. "If you were truly meant to reflect us both, you'd be top of your class, not sneaking into staff rooms and crafting magical stink bombs."
"Balance," Albus said proudly. "That's the point, right? Equal parts greatness and trouble."
"Equal parts headache and detention," McGonagall muttered.
"But we haven't been caught lately," Hugo said, puffing his chest.
"That's what worries me," McGonagall replied, deadpan.
Snape groaned. Dumbledore chuckled. McGonagall pinched the bridge of her nose.
"Anyways, this is my last year at Hogwarts, it would be a bummer if I couldn't cause any Mayhem?" James said.
"It means, you should be studying for your NEWET's," McGonagall said.
"Professor, I am not really worried about my NEWET's I got 11 OWL's I expect to get 11 NEWETs too."
"I am thankful that you got your mother's brains. If you got your father's I would be in big trouble right now. And never tell him I ever said that." McGonaagall said with a sigh
A silence settled over the room, but not a tense one—warm, teasing, filled with the type of familiarity that only came from years of shared chaos. The portraits were watched with varying degrees of fondness and irritation, and the students lounged like the office was their second common room. Outside the enchanted windows, the sun dipped lower over the lake, casting long shadows on the stone floor.
Lily leaned closer to the fire, her gaze thoughtful. "It feels… like the quiet before a storm."
Albus glanced at her, then out the window. "Maybe. But until then, I say… we enjoy the calm."
Rose grinned. "And maybe sneak a few chocolate frogs from McGonagall's drawer while she's distracted."
"Don't even think about it," McGonagall said without looking up.
They all burst out laughing—yes, the silence before the storm was here… and they were making the most of it.