The weather on this particular day was abysmal, easily the most miserable in everyone's recent memory. Thick, dark clouds hung low in the sky, unleashing a relentless deluge that seemed determined to drench every last inch of the Scottish Highlands. The wind howled mercilessly, whipping raindrops into stinging projectiles that assaulted any exposed skin.
Despite the gloomy conditions, an unexpectedly relaxed atmosphere permeated the grounds of Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry. The ancient stone walls of the castle, usually imposing seemed to exude a warmth and anticipation that contradicted their cold, wet exterior.
Every staff member, from the stern-faced professors to the diligent house-elves working tirelessly behind the scenes, bustled about with barely contained excitement. They were all engrossed in the numerous tasks necessary to prepare for the imminent arrival of the students and the official start of the new school year.
There was a shared sentiment among them: The cold, ancient castle only truly becomes Hogwarts when its halls are filled with the laughter, chatter, and footsteps of young witches and wizards. That's when the magic of the school comes alive.
As the Hogwarts Express pulled into Hogsmeade station with a billowing cloud of steam, Harry stepped onto the rain-soaked platform. His emerald eyes immediately sought out the familiar silhouette of Hogwarts Castle in the distance. Despite the dreary weather, the castle stood proudly against the stormy sky, its countless windows blazing with warm, welcoming light that cut through the gloomy curtain of rain.
The sight of Hogwarts filled Harry with an overwhelming sense of joy and belonging, a feeling so intense it quickly dispelled the lingering melancholy caused by Sirius's absence at King's Cross and his encounter with Draco Malfoy on the train.
Harry wasn't alone in experiencing this sudden uplift in mood. Ron who had spent a good portion of the train ride sulking about the embarrassingly old-fashioned dress robes his mother had packed for him, seemed to cheer up considerably at the sight of the castle.
Together with their classmates, Harry and Ron eagerly made their way to the line of horseless carriages waiting just outside the station. As they scrambled inside, seeking shelter from the downpour, the interior of the carriage came active with lively chatter and laughter.
After a summer spent apart, everyone was bursting with eagerness to share their holiday experiences. Tales of family trips, magical mishaps, and summer adventures filled the air. However, one topic dominated the conversations, covering all others: the spectacular duel that had attracted the World's attention on the night of the Quidditch World Cup final.
In one corner of the carriage, Neville listened to the excited recountings with a mixture of envy and disappointment etched across his round face.
"Gran didn't want to go," he said pitifully, his voice barely audible above the lively discussions surrounding him. "She wouldn't buy tickets, saying she thought the match would be boring. But after reading about that night's events in the Daily Prophet, she was kicking herself for missing it."
Hermione turned to console Neville with a sympathetic smile. "Look at it this way, Neville," she began, her tone gentle and encouraging, "Many wizards witnessed that duel, it's true. But how many of them had the incredible opportunity to receive personal instruction from Professor Watson? And not only that, but you're even Professor Watson's appointed teaching assistant. That's something truly special, something most of those World Cup attendees would probably trade their experience for in a heartbeat."
As soon as the words left her mouth, however, Hermione's expression changed. A shiver ran through her body, and her eyes widened with sudden worry. "Oh no," she said, her voice tinged with anxiety, "When school starts, if Professor Watson finds that we haven't made enough progress over the summer, do you think he'll be furious with us? Oh, where's Luna? I need to find her!"
Harry, who had been listening to the exchange, felt a jolt of panic at Hermione's words. "Oh, speaking of that," he said, running a hand through his messy black hair, "At least you kept up with your running over the summer, Hermione. I'm afraid my physical condition will have deteriorated terribly."
Ron, who had been happily munching on a Chocolate Frog he'd saved from the train, rolled his eyes at his friends' concerns. "Give it a rest, you two," he said, his mouth still half-full of chocolate. "You were both as nimble as garden gnomes when dodging the attacks of that witch named Melanoff! I saw you myself. Professor Watson would have to be blind not to see how much you've improved."
As their conversation continued, the carriage passed through the gates of Hogwarts, each pillar topped with a magnificent winged boar statue. The wide driveway stretched before them, winding its way up to the castle. The fierce wind caused the carriage to shake violently, eliciting nervous giggles from the occupants. Harry leaned against the window, his breath fogging up the glass as he watched Hogwarts draw nearer. The castle's many lit windows glowed dimly through the thick curtain of rain, like a constellation of warm, inviting stars.
Suddenly, a blinding flash of lightning split the sky, illuminating the grounds for a brief, dazzling moment. Harry, who had been staring intently out the window, jumped up with a flinch. His sudden movement caused Ron to drop his half-eaten Chocolate Frog, which promptly hopped away under the seats. Pointing at the sky with a trembling finger, Harry shouted, "Someone just flew by!"
Harry's startled cry silenced the noisy carriage for a heartbeat or two. Then, as if on cue, everyone except Hermione rushed to Harry's window, pressing their faces against the glass and straining their eyes to peer into the darkness outside. Unfortunately, the lightning's glow had already faded, leaving only the oppressive gloom of the storm-darkened sky.
"You mean," Hermione began, eyeing Harry with a mixture of suspicion and concern, "Someone was practicing Quidditch in this weather? That seems incredibly reckless."
"No, no! it's impossible in this weather," Harry insisted, his voice filled with excitement and a touch of frustration at not being believed. "It wasn't Quidditch. Even Wood wouldn't be mad enough to fly in this storm. I saw that person flying directly, without a broomstick!"
Hermione's eyebrows shot up in surprise. "Was it Professor Watson?" she asked, her voice hushed with awe.
Among all the Hogwarts professors, only Professor Watson had ever demonstrated the ability to fly without the aid of a broomstick or other magical device in front of her. Intrigued by Harry's claim, she leaned against the window, following Harry's outstretched arm with her gaze. "That direction... isn't that towards the Black Lake?"
Neville, who had been listening to the exchange with growing nervousness, piped up, "What would Professor Watson be doing at the Black Lake in this weather?"
Ron chimed in with his own theory. "Maybe someone fell into the Black Lake," he suggested, a mix of concern and excitement in his voice. "Oh, I hope it's not Hagrid. If Hagrid fell in, this year's first-years might all have to take a cold bath. Brr, in this weather—" He shuddered at the thought but couldn't hide his eagerness as he pressed his nose against the window, peering into the darkness outside the carriage.
As the carriages finally came to a stop at the foot of the stone steps leading up to the castle, the students braced themselves for the mad dash through the rain to the entrance hall. The short walk from the bottom of the marble staircase to the massive oak front doors was enough to soak their clothes thoroughly.
Everyone jostled and pushed, eager to get into the relative warmth and dryness of the Great Hall, but the combination of the slippery floor and the sheer number of students trying to squeeze through the doors at once created a chaotic and somewhat dangerous situation.
In the midst of this confusion, a cry of pain rang out. "Ouch!" Hermione exclaimed as someone stepped hard on her foot. The ruckus of the crowd and the pounding rain drowned out her voice, and even Harry and Ron, who were right beside her, didn't hear her over the commotion. They were each struggling to maintain their own balance on the treacherously wet floor. Unable to move freely in the press of bodies, Hermione could only hunch her shoulders like a quail and inch forward, gritting her teeth against the throbbing pain in her foot.
Whoosh—
Suddenly, a whoosh of displaced air cut through the sound of rain and chattering students. Accompanied by a gust of wind that momentarily parted the curtain of rain, a figure descended from the sky.
Seeing the congested path and the suffering young wizards in the rain, Bryan sighed. With a fluid motion, he gripped the wand that had slid from his sleeve into his waiting hand. Pointing it towards sky, he uttered an incantation that was lost in the howling wind.
From the tip of his wand emerged a milky white light, shimmering and flowing like liquid starlight. This ethereal substance twisted and morphed in mid-air, rapidly expanding to form a canopy closed on both sides and the top, effectively blocking the pouring rain.
But Bryan wasn't finished. With another wave of his wand, he directed its tip at the shivering young wizards. A warm breeze, as gentle as a summer wind, emanated from the wand, enveloping the students in its soothing embrace. To their amazement and delight, not only had the rain stopped falling on their heads, but their rain-soaked clothes, which had been clinging uncomfortably to their skin, became dry in an instant. The sudden change from cold and wet to warm and dry elicited gasps of surprise and murmurs of appreciation from the assembled students.
Attracted by the commotion, Professor McGonagall quickly made her way down from the entrance to the Great Hall. Her normally stern face was etched with concern as she surveyed the scene. Under the combined direction of the two professors, the flow of traffic soon resumed its normal pace, with students filing into the castle in a more orderly fashion.
"How is it, Bryan?" Professor McGonagall called out anxiously, still unable to leave her post at the Great Hall entrance due to the continuing influx of students. She stood on tiptoe, craning her neck to see over the heads of the crowd. "Has that child been found?"
As if in answer to her question, a small figure became visible, held securely in Bryan's grasp. It was a young boy, soaking wet and looking somewhat shell-shocked, but otherwise unharmed. At the sight of him, a voice rang out from the crowd of students.
"Dennis!" The cry came from Colin Creevey, who had finally managed to emerge from the press of bodies. His eyes widened in a mixture of surprise and relief as he recognized his younger brother in the professor's arms. "What happened? How did you end up with Professor Watson?"
The small boy, Dennis, seemed to come alive at the sound of his brother's voice. "I fell into the lake, Colin!" he shouted in a high-pitched voice with his limbs dangling in the air as Bryan held him in flight, a position that seemed to delight rather than frighten the young boy.
"It was amazing! I tipped over in the storm, and I thought I was done for. Then this gentleman – this flying gentleman – swooped down out of nowhere and pulled me right out of the water!" Dennis paused, his eyes growing even wider as he twisted in Bryan's grip to look up at his rescuer. "Wait a minute, you're Professor Watson!!"
Bryan chuckled at the boy's enthusiasm, and gently set him down on the now-dry stone steps. He winked at Colin, who was beaming with pride. "Now, get in line properly, little one. You don't want to miss your own Sorting Ceremony, do you?"
As Dennis scurried off to join the other first-years, Bryan turned to face the remaining students. He observed the admiring gazes focused on him. With a small smile, he rose effortlessly into the air, floating gracefully over the heads of the young wizards and into the Great Hall.
The Great Hall, as always, was a sight to behold. It had fully regained its former grandeur after the summer break and was specially decorated for the new term's feast. Hundreds upon hundreds of candles floated serenely in mid-air above the long House tables, their warm light reflecting off the gleaming golden plates and goblets laid out in neat rows. The enchanted ceiling above mirrored the stormy sky outside, though without the discomfort of actual rain falling on the students below.
By the time Harry, Ron, and Hermione finally squeezed their way into the Hall, the four House tables were already filled to capacity with chattering students. The excited buzz of conversation filled the air, mixed with the occasional burst of laughter or exclamation of surprise as friends reunited after the long summer break. At the far end of the hall, elevated on a platform, stood the staff table. Most of the familiar faces of their teachers were already seated there, engaged in their own quiet conversations or surveying the sea of students before them.
Harry's eyes scanned the staff table, taking in the familiar sight of Professors Flitwick, Sprout, and Snape. His gaze then landed on an empty chair, conspicuous in its vacancy amidst the assembled faculty. "There's an empty seat," he pointed out to Hermione, gesturing towards the gap. "It's probably for the new Defense Against the Dark Arts teacher."
Hermione followed his gaze, her brow furrowing in concentration as she, too, scanned the staff table. "But where is he?" she asked, craning her neck and letting her eyes dart around the Great Hall as if expecting to see the new professor materialize out of thin air. "I can't see any new faces up there. You don't think... is it possible that Professor Dumbledore couldn't find anyone to take the position this year?"
As the evening grew, Hermione's speculation seemed to gain more credibility. Even after the Sorting Ceremony had concluded, with its parade of nervous first-years trying on the ancient Sorting Hat, and even after the four long House tables had been magically filled with a sumptuous feast that filled the air with mouth-watering aromas, the empty seat at the staff table remained conspicuously unoccupied.
Up at the staff table, Dumbledore sat in his chair at the center. His long silver beard gleamed in the candlelight as he watched the young wizards below, all enthusiastically wolfing down their meals.
Setting down his knife and fork, Dumbledore turned slightly in his seat to address Bryan.
"Soon, we'll be announcing to the children that the Triwizard Tournament will be held at Hogwarts again this year, Bryan, you've made a significant contribution to this matter. I think perhaps you should be the one to share this joyous news with the children."
The professors at the staff table, some were attending to their own meals, while others were engaged in quiet conversations with their neighbors. However, at Dumbledore's casual remarks, a ripple of surprise seemed to pass through the assembled faculty.
The Headmaster's speech at the start-of-term feast was a Hogwarts tradition. Since Dumbledore had taken the position of Headmaster, he had never missed this occasion or failed to give a speech, regardless of how pressing other matters might be. For him to suggest that Bryan deliver this particular announcement in his stead today seemed... a very clear signal indeed!
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