The start-of-term feast was just minutes away, and the Great Hall hummed with quiet anticipation. Floating candles glowed softly overhead, their warm light dancing across the polished golden plates set neatly on the long house tables. Everything was in place, and all that remained was for the students to arrive and bring the hall back to life.
At the high table, Maverick settled in among his colleagues, exchanging light conversation as the rest of the staff gradually filled their seats. Before long, Headmaster Dumbledore arrived too, though from the corner of his eye, Maverick noticed that the usual twinkle in the old man's eyes was strangely missing tonight.
Dumbledore did not take his seat right away, but instead walked straight over to Pomfrey and leaned in to whisper something to her. Whatever he said must not have been anything good, as Maverick saw her expression change at once before she stood up and left the hall without a word.
Only then did Dumbledore take his place at the center of the table still clad in a thoughtful expression, eyes fixed ahead in quiet contemplation.
Seems the news of the Dementors going rogue has reached the school, Maverick thought as he glanced inquisitively at the Headmaster.
The old man did not hide anything from him and first let out a tired sigh before saying softly, "I have received word that there were complications aboard the Hogwarts Express. The Ministry conducted an inspection mid-journey, employing Dementors, and, regrettably, a few students suffered mental injuries."
So, Dumbledore wasn't aware that a raid was happening?
Maverick had assumed the Headmaster was in the loop about the inspection, but it seemed he wasn't. And Fudge—the fat moron—really wasn't taking the old wizard seriously at all.
"Is it bad?"
"A night or two in the hospital wing," Dumbledore nodded regretfully.
"Did the Minister not inform you in advance of such an arrangement?"
The old wizard narrowed his eyes before shaking his head. "Had I known, I would never have agreed… or at least arranged for personnel to be on board."
Maverick didn't press any further and simply shook his head. "Your patience with Fudge is simply remarkable, Headmaster."
"I shall have a word with him," Dumbledore said, picking up on what Maverick was implying. "This matter will not go unaccounted for."
The old man looked as calm as ever, but Maverick could tell he was royally pissed this time.
---
Time passed, minute by minute, and soon the Great Hall filled with the low murmur of voices as students from second to seventh year gathered at their house tables.
But unlike the usual start-of-term excitement, there wasn't much laughter echoing off the stone walls. Instead, nearly every conversation circled back to the same thing... what had happened on the Hogwarts Express and what everyone had gone through.
A few students sat quietly, looking pale and withdrawn, clearly still shaken or worried about the friends who had been taken straight to the hospital wing.
The rest were more talkative, eagerly recounting what they had seen, with no shortage of dramatic embellishments. A few even claimed to have seen the Dementors up close, describing them with wide eyes and voices that grew more theatrical with every retelling.
One in particular—Weasley, of course—was loudly retelling how his best mate had heroically repelled a Dementor with a majestic lion Patronus, saving the entire train in the process.
Some students were impressed. Others weren't buying it.
At the Slytherin table, a certain blond boy cast a long look toward the Gryffindor side, his gaze landing on Harry with a complicated expression. While their relationship hadn't quite sunken to the level of "arch-enemies" in this universe, there was still an unspoken rivalry between them.
And at the moment, Draco Malfoy was cursing under his breath. Potter had outdone him again. Top of the class, star of the school Quidditch team—and now this?
When the Dementors boarded the train, Draco didn't dare move an inch. And now, he had to sit there and listen to everyone talk about how Potter had actually fought one off.
Of course, he didn't believe every word of the redhead's story, but even Draco had heard from others that a blinding flash of light had erupted from the carriage where Potter and his gang had been sitting. That part, at least, seemed to be true.
At the high table, the professors sat with unusually grim expressions, and not one of them looked particularly pleased. They had only just learned what had happened, as Dumbledore had been uncharacteristically quiet, speaking only briefly—and only to Maverick.
Even so, a shared thought seemed to hang in the air between them: what in Merlin's name had the Ministry been thinking? Sending Dementors to patrol a train full of children?
Fortunately, someone among them had been on board, and although this particular individual's appointment hadn't been formally announced yet, he was still a professor. And judging by the chatter among the students, the new professor, Remus Lupin, had played a major role in protecting everyone and driving the creatures away.
As for Potter's supposed feat—casting a corporeal Patronus in third year?—none of the staff were inclined to believe it.
Of course, had they known the boy had been, and still was, personally mentored by an Archmage for over a year, they might have thought differently. But Maverick hadn't told anyone, and neither had Dumbledore. Even the Gryffindor trio had kept it to themselves, just as Maverick had instructed.
Meanwhile, Maverick's gaze landed on a particular wizard who had just taken a seat at the staff table. The man was dressed in a tattered robe patched at nearly every seam, the sort of clothing that hinted more at survival than style. He looked exhausted, like someone who had only just managed to escape a storm—figuratively or otherwise.
Though his face was still youthful, streaks of white threaded through his brown hair, suggesting he'd lived through more than his years should allow.
This man was none other than the very professor the staff table had been praising for his prompt yet expected actions during the Hogwarts Express incident—Remus Lupin.
And just as the man sat down, Maverick's magical sense caught a sudden flicker of intense malice—but it wasn't aimed at him. He turned his head and saw that it came from none other than Snape, directed squarely at the newcomer.
The Potions Master was glaring at the newly arrived professor with such hatred, it was almost comical. His silver fork bent in his hand with a sharp ting, and his face twisted into something between a sneer and a snarl—like he had just laid eyes on a personal nemesis.
Good lord. Just how much had Lupin and his gang bullied the old bat to make him hold onto this much hatred? Maverick thought, shaking his head with a hint of amusement.
"Right then," as if on cue, Dumbledore—who had been unusually quiet up to this point—finally spoke, his voice calm and clear as he introduced the wizard to the rest of the professors and staff. And whether by coincidence or on purpose, Maverick noticed that Dumbledore didn't look at Snape once during the announcement.
Amid the buzz of student chatter and whispered stories, and the quiet conversations happening at the staff table, the tall oak doors of the Great Hall opened once more, and Hagrid stepped inside, leading this year's line of wide-eyed first-years.
Usually, it would be Professor McGonagall who escorted the freshmen through the school, while Hagrid was in charge of bringing them from the Express across the lake. Maverick guessed she was probably busy dealing with the matter of students affected by the incident.
In her place, Professor Flitwick stepped forward to handle the Sorting Ceremony. Without wasting a moment, he unrolled the parchment and began calling names. One by one, the nervous first-years approached the stool, the Sorting Hat was placed on their heads, and slowly, they began finding their seats among the four house tables.
"Callum O'Reilly…"
"Gryffindor!"
"Eliza Goode…"
"Hufflepuff!"
"Dorothea Inkwell…"
"Ravenclaw!"
"Astoria Greengrass…"
"Slytherin!"
"Jean Grey…"
Maverick's eyes landed on the little redhead as she stepped up, her back turned toward the staff table. From what he could tell, she doesn't seem particularly shaken now, by the whole Dementor incident. When he observed her inside the carriage earlier today, at least, she had definitely looked very scared.
Maybe the awe of the Hogwarts had already swept her up, pushing the whole episode aside beneath the castle's wonder.
Still, he made a mental note to check on her later—maybe after class tomorrow.
"Gryffindor!"
"Oh..." His eyebrows lifted slightly in surprise as he glanced over at the Gryffindor table, where the trio was already on their feet, clapping enthusiastically.
Did they talk her into it? Maverick wondered. After all, the tricks with the Sorting Hat weren't exactly a secret among older students. Everyone knew that if you wanted it badly enough, you could nudge the hat's decision. Technically, it was just a rumor—but one with enough weight that most students believed it.
He let the thought go with a small shrug. In the end, it didn't really matter. Whatever works.
With that, he joined in the clapping as well. When Jean finally took her seat, her gaze drifted toward the staff table—just as Maverick raised his goblet in her direction.
"Welcome to Hogwarts, Jean," he sent his voice gently into her mind, offering her a warm smile.
Around the end of the Sorting Ceremony, when only a handful of students remained, Professor McGonagall finally appeared through the side door reserved for staff and quietly took her seat at the table.
One look at her expression told Maverick she was barely keeping her temper in check. Messing with her precious students was probably the one line you really didn't want to cross.
"Albus. I don't care what you do, but I expect an answer for this... or you make that baboon of a Minister answer for it."
Her voice was low and controlled, of course, but not so quiet that it slipped past those with sharp enough senses.
Dumbledore gave a single nod in response, and although it was a simple gesture, Maverick had never seen the old man that serious before.
"RAVENCLAW!"
With the last name called aloud by the Sorting Hat and applause echoing through the hall, Professor Flitwick stepped forward, removed the stool, and carried the old antique away—finally marking the end of the sorting ritual.
A moment later, Dumbledore rose from his seat and stepped to the center of the high table, his gaze sweeping over the hall like a kindly grandfather.
Inwardly, he wasn't in the best of moods, but none of that showed on his face. Not when he was standing before his students. With a gentle smile, he raised both hands and pressed them down slightly, signaling the hall to settle.
"Welcome to another year at Hogwarts! I have a few things to say to you all... and as one of them is rather serious, I think it best to mention it before you become befuddled by our excellent feast."
Dumbledore cleared his throat and went on,
"As you will no doubt be aware, following their inspection of the Hogwarts Express, our school is currently playing host to a number of Dementors from Azkaban... who are here on Ministry of Magic, official business."
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