It had to be said—at the very least, Hogwarts' Start-of-Term Feast was nothing short of spectacular.
Every kind of meat was cooked to perfection—tender, juicy, and bursting with flavor. The careful use of black pepper, rosemary, and other spices elevated each dish, highlighting the natural richness of the meats. Gravies, tomato sauces, and dips were equally impressive; just a dab on sausage or potatoes made all the difference.
Wyzett helped himself to another lamb chop, drizzling it with savory gravy as the feast grew ever more lively.
Around him, the older students laughed and chatted, swapping stories about everything from current events to the latest magical celebrity gossip, from spellcasting tips to the quirks of their professors.
Though Wyzett hadn't yet begun formal magical studies, he found himself learning plenty just by listening in.
Professor McGonagall had an excellent reputation—diligent and fair, respected by both colleagues and students alike. As Head of Gryffindor, she was especially strict with her own House, never hesitating to dock points when needed.
Professor Snape, Potions Master and Head of Slytherin, was a different story. If Professor McGonagall was the model of strict self-discipline, Professor Snape was her opposite: indulgent toward his own House, harsh and nitpicky with others—especially Gryffindor. Thanks to his relentless point deductions, Gryffindor tended to languish at the bottom of the House Cup standings year after year.
Professor Flitwick, Head of Ravenclaw and Charms Master, was beloved by all his students. His classes were lively and engaging, and the entire House adored him.
Professor Sprout was a kindly, middle-aged woman who spent her days among magical plants. She, too, was well-liked by Ravenclaws.
After the main course, dessert arrived—pies, sponge cakes, puddings, jellies, and ice cream in every imaginable flavor. The sweets were drenched in syrup, almost overwhelmingly so.
Wyzett took only a small scoop of ice cream, savoring its rich, creamy taste.
Dessert always brightened the mood. The older students shifted topics, chatting about their summer holidays and the recent Gringotts break-in.
"Did you hear about the Gringotts incident? The Daily Prophet has been running it on the front page for days."
"Someone tried to rob an underground vault—a top-security one at that. I just don't believe any wizard could be that daft."
"I know, right? Maybe the goblins staged it themselves, just to show off their 'service' to the wealthy purebloods."
"Or maybe it's another goblin rebellion brewing. I visited the Eye of the Mine over the summer—they've still got relics from the last uprising. Their smithing techniques are fascinating."
When the last of the desserts vanished from the plates, it signaled the end of the feast.
Dumbledore rose once more and returned to the owl-shaped podium. "Now that everyone's eaten their fill, perhaps you'll humor an old man with just a few more words…"
A ripple of laughter ran through the Hall as he continued, beaming, "First, let me introduce our new Defense Against the Dark Arts teacher—Professor Quirinus Quirrell."
Professor Quirrell stood up, his head wrapped in a thick purple turban that gave him a vaguely exotic air. He waved his arms awkwardly and stammered, "G-g-good evening, everyone! I—I'm Quirinus Quirrell! Very p-pleased to be teaching Defense Against the Dark Arts!"
"Thank you, Professor Quirrell!" said Dumbledore, gesturing for him to sit. "Now, a few reminders..."
"First-years, please note: The Forbidden Forest is strictly off-limits. It's dangerous—don't even think about going in unless you're absolutely certain of your abilities."
"If you want to know more about the rules or how points are deducted, our caretaker, Mr. Filch, has prepared handy booklets."
"And—Quidditch tryouts will be held next week. Check your common room notice boards for details…"
Dumbledore rattled off a few more announcements. At last, he cleared his throat, his smile fading into a rare seriousness.
"And now, one last matter—the most important of all. If you wish to avoid a most painful and untimely death, stay away from the corridor on the right side of the fourth floor. Remember that!"
A hush fell over the Hall—broken only when Dumbledore's smile returned.
He drew his wand with a flourish. "Before you return to your dormitories, let's sing the school song together!"
Bang!
A long golden ribbon shot from his wand tip, floating high above the Hall and twisting through the air, forming shimmering lines of text.
Dumbledore wielded his wand like a conductor's baton. "Pick any tune you like—just follow the words. Ready… sing!"
Gryffindor sang the loudest, with Hufflepuff not far behind. Ravenclaw and Slytherin, by contrast, mostly mouthed the words—few actually sang out loud.
When the slightly awkward school song ended, the prefects began shepherding students out of the Hall and toward their respective common rooms.
Wyzett followed the marble staircase, surrounded by portraits who whispered and pointed as they passed.
Rumble, rumble, rumble...
A deep, heavy sound echoed from ahead. The magical staircases were shifting—stretching, shrinking, gliding to doors or hugging the walls.
Penelope led the way, her voice full of pride as she pointed to the moving stairs. "The enchanted staircases were designed by Ravenclaw's founder—Rowena Ravenclaw herself."
"In a wizarding school, the stairs shouldn't be ordinary. They're meant to be as free as wizards… All right, time to go up! Let's move!"
She guided them onto the staircase, continuing her lesson on Ravenclaw history.
"Ravenclaw House is as free as the sky. That's why our common room is set high up in the tower. Bronze and blue are our House colors—symbols of the eagle and the open sky…"
"We even have our own House library. It may not match the school library's collection, but it's not far behind. At least when we use these books, we have a bit more freedom…"
The journey to Ravenclaw Tower was long, winding through the ever-shifting staircases.
Many of the first-years grew drowsy, nodding off as they walked.
Wyzett was wide awake, eyes shining with curiosity as he took in everything—the moving portraits, the dueling suits of armor, the sheer magic of it all.
Cho Chang laughed. "You really are cut out for Ravenclaw—not even a little bit sleepy!"
Wyzett nodded. "It's all so fascinating—I can't get enough. I just hope I'll be able to sleep tonight."
Cho smiled, "We've got class tomorrow, so you'd better get up early and make a good impression."
At last, they reached the tower where the common room was hidden.
A great bronze door stood before them, adorned with a magnificent eagle, wings folded close.
The eagle looked so lifelike, it seemed ready to take flight at any moment.
Penelope stepped up to the door. The bronze knocker beneath the eagle trembled, and a melodious female voice rang out:
"I am here, yet you do not know me; abandon me, and you shall surely perish. What am I?"
Penelope turned to the group. "Ravenclaw is different from the other Houses. We don't use passwords—just answer the riddle, and you're in."
"Today's question isn't too hard. Why don't we let the first-years try? Let's see who can guess… What's the answer to this riddle?"
She noticed the nervous faces and added kindly, "Remember, there's no single right answer. As long as you can explain it, you'll be let in."
~~~❃❃~~~~~~~~❃❃~~~
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