The clatter of cutlery and soft murmur of students filled the Great Hall as the last of the Sorting was completed. Eira sat at the Slytherin table, her posture straight, her hands folded lightly in front of her. The green and silver banners above flickered in the candlelight, while the enchanted ceiling mirrored the storm outside: dark clouds rolling, occasional flashes of lightning illuminating the hall in stark silver.
At the staff table, Dumbledore rose. His long, silver beard seemed to shimmer as he straightened, eyes twinkling behind his half-moon glasses. The chatter of the hall slowly died down, all attention drawn to him.
"Welcome," he began in his calm, measured voice, "to another year at Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry. Before we begin the feast, I have a few announcements to make."
A hush fell over the students, all leaning in with anticipation. Eira listened silently, her face composed, observing the hall as it shifted between whispers and curiosity.
"This year," Dumbledore continued, "we will not be holding the traditional Quidditch games at the start of term. This is due to… special circumstances involving renovations to the Quidditch pitch and certain magical precautions."
A murmur ran through the hall. Some students sighed in disappointment, others whispered in concern. Eira, however, remained calm, merely observing the reactions, her green eyes taking in every detail without judgment.
Before Dumbledore could continue, the doors at the far end of the hall swung open. A tall, broad-shouldered man strode in, his long, patched coat swaying with each step. One eye—a magical, amber orb—swiveled independently, scanning the hall with an unblinking, piercing gaze. His face was rugged and scarred, lines etched deep from years of dangerous work, and the jagged scar across his cheek hinted at battles long past. Every movement carried a quiet menace, a reminder that this was a man who had faced true darkness and lived.
A ripple of whispers spread through the students, some awed, some anxious. "That's Mad-Eye Moody… the Auror?"
"Wasn't he retired? What's he doing here?"
"The one who captured more Dark wizards than anyone else in Ministry history!"
"Half of Azkaban inmates owes their sentence to him. He never misses, they say."
"Mad-Eye Moody… I've heard he's… terrifying in a duel. And his magical eye sees everything."
Students craned their necks to get a better look, some leaning forward in fascination, others shrinking slightly, unsettled by the stories and his presence. Every table seemed to buzz with a mixture of awe, fear, and gossip, the legendary reputation of the new Defense Against the Dark Arts professor filling the hall long before he spoke.
"Ah," Dumbledore said with a subtle smile, "I see we have a new face to welcome as well. Professor Moody, please do come forward."
Moody gave a curt nod, stepping forward with a slow, measured gait. His magical eye scanned the students again, lingering for just a moment on Eira, though she neither flinched nor moved.
"Good evening," Moody said, his voice rough and deliberate. "I look forward to instructing the students in Defense Against the Dark Arts."
A polite applause followed. Dumbledore turned back to the students.
"And now," he said, his voice carrying the warmth and gravity that had always commanded attention, "we have a very different occasion to announce. This year, Hogwarts will welcome not only its own students, but also two transfer students: one from France, and another from the esteemed Ilvermorny School of Witchcraft and Wizardry in North America."
A ripple of whispers spread through the hall. Curious glances were cast toward Eira, who remained composed, quietly listening. The other transfer student was Isaac, though Dumbledore continued before students could speculate too long.
"In addition," Dumbledore went on, "Hogwarts has been chosen to host the Triwizard Tournament once again. This year's competition will involve only students who have reached the age of seventeen. Those younger than seventeen may, unfortunately, not participate."
A collective gasp echoed through the hall. Some students protested immediately, voices rising in excitement and disbelief.
"Seventeen? That leaves me out!" one boy exclaimed.
"What about the younger champions?" another asked, confused.
Dumbledore raised a hand, silencing the hall with practiced ease.
"I understand your disappointment," he said gently, "but the tournament's nature requires participants of a certain maturity and magical experience. Safety is paramount. That is why the age limit is strictly observed."
Eira listened, as always, calm and composed, her attention fully focused on Dumbledore's words. She noted the reactions of those around her—some eager, some envious, some debating quietly with their neighbors. She remained unaffected by their emotions, a silent observer to the storm of excitement and discussion around the Triwizard Tournament.
"Now," Dumbledore continued, "let us formally welcome Professor Moody as our new Defense Against the Dark Arts teacher, and acknowledge the presence of our two distinguished transfer students. We hope that both will find Hogwarts a place of learning, growth, and… friendship."
A polite applause followed again. Eira merely inclined her head slightly in acknowledgment.
With the announcements concluded, the enchanted ceiling above brightened subtly, and the tables suddenly groaned under the weight of platters piled with roast chicken, potatoes, vegetables, and a variety of magical delicacies. Plates clattered as owls delivered pumpkin juice and other drinks. The hall buzzed with a mixture of excitement and hunger.
Eira reached for a goblet of pumpkin juice, pouring herself a modest serving. She began eating with composed elegance, careful and deliberate, her movements refined and measured. She sampled the roast chicken, taking a small piece before moving to the vegetables, her gaze occasionally flicking across the hall to observe her fellow students' reactions.
Around her, students talked in low tones, still discussing the Triwizard Tournament announcement. Some young Slytherins whispered strategies and possibilities, while Gryffindors argued over who would be the likely champion. Ravenclaws debated magical theories, and Hufflepuffs focused on the fairness of the age limit.