Harry Potter: Westeros’s Plant Life

Chapter 478 478: 0478 The Celebrations

"First," Sirius said, his voice carrying clearly through the room, "I want to say what everyone here is thinking: Voldemort is gone. Really, truly, permanently gone. And we're all still here to celebrate that fact."

He raised his glass. "To those we've lost in this war—may they rest knowing their sacrifice wasn't in vain."

"To the fallen," everyone shouted, raising their own glasses in solemn toast.

There was a moment of respectful silence, remembering friends and family who hadn't survived to see this victory. T

hen Sirius let out a breath, and the mood shifted with him.

"And now, to the reason we're still standing here rather than buried alongside them—Professor Adrian Westeros, who apparently decided that defeating dark lords single-handedly was a reasonable weekend activity."

Laughter broke across the room like a wave. Adrian considered, briefly, whether the floor might open up and spare him.

"A toast," Sirius declared. "To Adrian—for courage, for skill, for doing what needed to be done when no one else could!"

"To Adrian!" the room sang together.

Adrian acknowledged this with a slow nod. Being celebrated for killing someone, even someone as monstrous as Voldemort felt rather weird and strange, though he understood the necessity of the moment.

The formal toasts concluded and the gathering dissolved back into smaller conversations and celebrations.

Adrian found himself surrounded by Order members wanting to express their gratitude, ask careful questions, or simply shake his hand. He crisscrossed these interactions with as much grace as he could manage, though his natural inclination toward privacy made the attention challenging.

Remus cornered him near the drink table with an expression that showed genuine curiosity with respect for boundaries.

"Adrian," Lupin said softly. "I don't want to pry, and you don't need to answer. But... how did you do it? The whole Order has been fighting Voldemort for years. Dumbledore himself struggled against him. What did you, I mean how did that happen and it was all of a sudden, we were all caught off guard when we heard the news first."

Adrian considered the question carefully.

"Information," he said in response. "I knew things about his Horcruxes that others didn't. I had... things like my mutated plants you know that gave me advantages he didn't expect. And I was willing to take a risk that might have killed me if I'd miscalculated."

He met Remus's eyes and said. "It wasn't heroism, Remus. It was desperation and careful preparation and a lot of luck. Now, when I think about it, I feel I was quite foolish and ponder over the many wrong decisions that could have been avoided and reduced the risks."

"Most heroism is considered foolishness," Remus said with a small smile. "And people rarely talk about the luck part—it makes the story less tidy."

Moody stumped over, his magical eye was spinning to focus on Adrian while his normal eye studied him with usual assessment.

"You've got secrets," Moody growled without much greeting. "Can smell them on you, Westeros. Big ones."

"Yes," Adrian agreed, not bothering to deny it.

"Going to share them?"

"No."

Moody growled out a laugh. "Good. Constant vigilance means knowing when to keep your mouth shut. Too many people think it only means watching for threats from outside."

He nodded approvingly then continued. "You did well, boy. Never thought I'd see the day that snake-faced bastard was gone for good, but you managed it. Respect."

Coming from Moody, that was high praise indeed.

As the evening wore on, Adrian found a quiet corner and simply watched. Harry was laughing with the Weasley twins about something probably inappropriate, given the mischievous expressions on all their faces.

Hermione was engaged in what looked like an intense discussion with Mrs. Weasley about something related to magical theory or probably S.P.E.W. Sirius had his arm around Harry's shoulders, looking more at peace than Adrian had ever seen him.

The war was over. These people, this strange, dysfunctional, brave collection of wizards and witches had survived and won.

And Adrian had helped make that possible.

It was a strange feeling. Good, but strange.

The Daily Prophet's coverage of Voldemort's defeat had been, predictably, sensationalized beyond all recognition.

Rita Skeeter's front-page article, which appeared three days after the battle, was titled "HERO PROFESSOR DEFEATS DARK LORD IN EPIC DUEL" and contained approximately fifteen percent accurate information and eighty-five percent wild speculation.

According to Rita's version of events, Adrian had fought Voldemort in a spectacular magical battle that had lasted hours, unleashing spells of unprecedented power while delivering inspiring speeches about justice and goodness.

The actual plantation location had been transformed into "an ancient fortress where dark secrets were kept," and Voldemort's death had apparently involved "a blaze of phoenix fire and the wrath of nature itself."

It was quite an entertaining and creative fiction but it bore almost no resemblance to reality.

The public's response to the articles had been overwhelming. Suddenly Adrian couldn't walk through Hogsmeade without being recognized, couldn't check his mail without receiving dozens of letters from strangers thanking him or asking for autographs or proposing marriage or requesting his endorsement for various products.

His students at Hogwarts treated him differently now. Some with awe that made normal teaching difficult, others with fear that he found deeply uncomfortable, still others with exaggerated respect that felt false and performative.

He did not like it. All of it.

Harry found him one afternoon hiding in his office between classes, deliberately avoiding the Great Hall for lunch because he didn't want to face the stares.

"It's overwhelming, isn't it?" Harry said, settling into the chair across from Adrian's desk without being invited but was clearly welcome. "The fame, the attention, the way people look at you like you're not quite real."

"Of course, it's overwhelming. Now that I think about it. How do you stand it?" Adrian asked honestly. "You've dealt with this since you were eleven."

"Not very well, honestly," Harry said with a smile. "I mostly just... try to ignore it. Focus on my friends, on the people who know me as just Harry rather than the Boy Who Lived. And I remind myself that the public version, the hero they're celebrating isn't really me. It's a story they're telling themselves. I just happen to have the same name as their hero."

It was surprisingly insightful.

"That's actually quite wise," Adrian said laughing.

"Don't sound so surprised," Harry said with false offense. "I occasionally have intelligent thoughts."

Then, said more seriously, "It does get easier. The immediate frenzy dies down eventually. People move on to other stories. It won't be like this forever."

"I hope you're right," Adrian said.

The resolution of Amy's situation came as one of the genuine bright points in an otherwise complicated week of aftermath and consequences.

He'd been checking on Amy's progress regularly since Voldemort's defeat, monitoring her recovery from Obscurial instability now that the dark presence that had been influencing her was permanently gone.

On Thursday afternoon, Adrian Apparated to Hogsmeade and made his way through the village streets to the shabby tavern with its faded boar's head sign. The place looked no more inviting than it ever had, but Adrian knew appearances could be deceiving, especially where Aberforth Dumbledore was concerned.

He entered through the main door this time rather than the side entrance, finding the tavern's main room almost empty as usual. Only a single customer was huddled in a shadowy corner, and Aberforth himself stood behind the bar with his typical scowl, polishing a glass that probably wasn't getting any cleaner from his efforts.

"Professor Westeros," Aberforth said with a grunt, setting down the glass. "Come to check on the girl again?"

"If that's alright," Adrian said.

Aberforth jerked his head toward the narrow staircase. "She's upstairs. Been quiet all morning. Tonks visited yesterday, brought her some new books."

Adrian climbed the stairs to the second floor and found Amy's room, the one that Tonks had cleaned so thoroughly.

The transformation from what it had been was remarkable. The room was simple but clean now, with proper furniture and cheerful yellow curtains that let in afternoon light. A small vase of flowers sat on the windowsill, probably another of Tonks's additions.

Amy sat on her bed with her legs tucked under her, a book open in her lap. She looked up when Adrian knocked gently on the open door, and her face brightened immediately.

"Professor Westeros!" she said, setting the book aside. There was color in her cheeks now that hadn't been there a week ago, and her eyes were clearer, more focused. She looked like a child rather than a tragedy waiting to happen.

"Hello, Amy," Adrian said warmly, stepping into the room. "How are you feeling today?"

"Better," she said simply. Then, with more enthusiasm: "Look what I can do!"

She held out her small hand, concentrating hard. A moment later, a single perfect flower bloomed in the vase on the windowsill—one of the existing flowers suddenly grew larger and brighter, its petals were unfurling with slow magical intent rather than wild, chaotic power.

"That's remarkable," Adrian said with pride. "Your control has improved significantly. That's very deliberate, very controlled magic."

Amy beamed at the praise. "Mr. Aberforth says I'm doing well. He's been teaching me breathing exercises to help when I feel the... the darkness moving inside me." Her expression became more somber. "It helps. Not always, but sometimes."

Adrian nodded, pleased that Aberforth was taking this seriously despite his gruff external. The old wizard knew more about Obscurials than most people alive, had his own painful history with them that made him particularly suited to understanding Amy's struggle.

"The bracelet I made for you," Adrian said, gesturing to the silver-white rope circlet still on her wrist. "Has it activated at all? Has the Obscurus tried to erupt?"

Amy shook her head. "Not since you put it on. I've felt it but it hasn't broken free like before. The bracelet gets warm sometimes, like it's ready to work, but then the feeling passes."

"That's very good," Adrian said. "That means you're learning to manage it, to keep it contained through your own will. The bracelet is there as a safety measure, but the fact that you haven't needed to use it yet shows real progress."

They talked for a while longer about her daily routine—how Aberforth was surprisingly kind despite his rough manner, how Tonks visited twice a week as promised and brought books and sweets, and how Dumbledore had arranged for a tutor to come give her proper magical instruction in preparation for eventually attending Hogwarts.

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