Before he could carefully consider who had been observing him, Dumbledore concluded his speech and entered the Great Hall with the first-year students and the other four house prefects.
Compared to last year's solemn and imposing atmosphere, this year the hall felt much livelier. In the past, the hall was dimly lit by glowing fire basins, only becoming brightly illuminated during speeches by Headmaster Armando Dippet.
Now, however, thousands of floating candles lit up the hall, bathing it in a brilliant glow. On the four long tables stood gleaming golden plates and goblets. At the head of the hall, another long table was set for the teachers.
The atmosphere was beginning to evoke the romantic charm described in the original story.
Students from the other years were already seated around the four house tables.
Upon entering the hall, Dumbledore gestured for Hoffa to wait for his signal before leading the students toward the Sorting Hat.
Hoffa noticed an empty seat near Miranda and Aglaea at the Ravenclaw table and was about to take it.
But just then, the Ravenclaw prefect, Sherlock Bohan, swiftly stepped forward, brushing past Hoffa to claim the seat himself. He cast a sidelong glance at Hoffa as he sat down.
Hoffa was momentarily taken aback.
Aglaea lowered her head in silence, while Miranda frowned slightly.
Before Hoffa could react, he heard someone calling his name.
"Hoffa, over here!"
He turned to see his dormmate William waving enthusiastically, gesturing toward another empty seat beside him.
Hoffa nodded and sat down, though his peripheral vision remained fixed on the uninvited prefect. What was that guy up to?
William pulled Hoffa into the seat, excitedly patting his shoulder and addressing the others around them. "This is my dormmate, Hoffa Bach—the one who cast the Shield Charm! He's usually quiet, but let me tell you, he's a transformation genius!"
Some younger students turned to look at Hoffa, squirming nervously in their seats. Even a few older students couldn't help but stare.
A hint of pride flashed across William's face as he raised his hand in a lofty gesture. "What are you all gawking at? Sit down."
The younger students immediately complied.
Leaning closer to Hoffa, William whispered, "Buddy, I saw loads of people asking about you on the train. This year, we're destined for greatness!"
"Greatness in what?" Hoffa asked, puzzled.
"Listen," William said eagerly, "I'm planning to start a club—the Bach Transformation Society—to teach younger students Transfiguration. What do you think?"
Hoffa blinked in surprise. "If you want to start a club, go ahead. But why use my name?"
William clapped him on the shoulder, his excitement palpable. "Why your name? Because I want you to be the president! Think about it—a third-year student leading a club! It's unprecedented. If we pull this off, we'll be remembered in Hogwarts: A History. Just imagine!"
Hoffa felt momentarily bewildered.
William was now chatting animatedly with nearby Ravenclaws, spinning tales and sharing secrets as if he were Hoffa's closest confidant. Meanwhile, another dormmate, Antonio, sat in the corner, watching with envy and admiration but not daring to approach.
Hoffa found himself wishing Headmaster Dippet would bellow for silence, as he often did, to put his boastful dormmate in check. But the headmaster merely sat there, staring vacantly at his golden goblet, a shadow of his former self.
Last year's ordeal with Silby had drained the headmaster of his vitality, leaving him a frail old man. He no longer silenced student chatter, allowing the hall to buzz with whispers. Few seemed to pay attention to the Sorting Ceremony.
At last, amidst the murmurs of the four houses, the largely unnoticed Sorting Ceremony concluded.
Deputy Headmaster Dumbledore stepped beneath the giant eagle statue and cleared his throat. The chatter subsided slightly. He clapped his hands, and the hall finally fell silent.
"This year has been an extraordinarily difficult one," Dumbledore began. "The war outside speaks for itself. Those of you who have returned to school during these times possess great courage."
The Gryffindor table nodded solemnly.
The Slytherins merely stared coldly.
Ravenclaw and Hufflepuff remained largely expressionless.
On the podium, Dumbledore glanced at Hoffa, who felt a knot tighten in his stomach. Was it happening now?
Sure enough, Dumbledore continued, "Before the feast begins, I would like to invite a remarkable student who has protected this school, the one who cast the legendary Shield Charm—Hoffa Bach. He will announce this year's changes and arrangements for the school."
In an instant, all eyes turned to the Ravenclaw table, sharp as spotlights.
Having a third-year student speak at the start-of-term feast was unprecedented. This responsibility had always belonged to the headmaster. But now, Dippet was little more than a figurehead, barely glancing up before lowering his gaze again.
Hoffa rose silently. He had no choice.
The Ravenclaw table broke into applause.
The applause spread to the other tables, hesitant but sincere.
Avoiding the stares, Hoffa walked to the front, trying not to think about the eyes on him.
Standing beneath the eagle statue, he took his place as Dumbledore stepped aside, lowering his hands naturally at his sides. Then, with a quiet incantation, Dumbledore whispered, "Mirror of Shadows."
Beams of light projected from Hoffa's feet, casting his image onto the ceiling and the four walls.
His face appeared on all sides, clearer and more surreal than any projection. Even his slightly uneven breathing echoed loudly.
There was no escaping now. Hoffa summoned his courage, meeting the expectant gazes around him, trying to understand what they sought.
In that moment, hundreds of faces stared back, flickering like lanterns. Ghosts mingled among the students, their silver glow adding to the surreal scene. He saw Aglaea with her head lowered, Miranda's worried expression, Tom Riddle's sharp, brooding eyes from his wheelchair, and the hope and anticipation in countless students' faces.
The overwhelming pressure surged over him like a tidal wave.
Sweat beaded on his forehead. It wasn't fear of speaking publicly that troubled him.
It was the sheer volume of information his mind struggled to process.
For a brief moment, Hoffa was utterly speechless.
(End of Chapter)
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