Harry Potter's reappearance made the dining hall unusually restless at lunchtime.
The moment Draco stepped into the hall, he saw that aside from the few wizards who genuinely cared about Harry, most of the crowd pressing in around him were those eager to hear some "thrilling" tale of adventure straight from Harry's mouth. Most of them were lower-year students.
What caught the eye even more were the Durmstrang students not far away, clearly itching to move.
More than satisfying their own curiosity, these wizards from the north wanted answers—specifically, whether their Headmaster and Champion had anything to do with Harry Potter's disappearance, and more importantly, where the two of them were now.
Why had Harry returned, yet not a single trace of those two men could be found…?
But judging by the situation, forcing their way through the crowd to reach Harry wasn't going to be easy. Unless you were a friend of his, you wouldn't get even a single word in.
Among those who managed to speak with him was Cedric Diggory, who—thanks to his friendship with the Weasley twins—was lucky enough to exchange a few words with Harry.
"Harry, are you feeling alright?"
"Cedric… thanks, but I'm fine."
"Good. But Harry, during that match…"
"I don't know anything about that."
"Oh… I see."
Before Cedric could finish, Harry cut him off, as though he already knew what Cedric intended to ask.
But was it truly ignorance? Or knowledge he wasn't allowed to share?
Anyone with half a brain could hear the problem.
In truth, the Chosen One—never skilled at hiding his emotions—had already given himself away. The faint bitterness on his face was enough to explain a great deal.
And Cedric Diggory, who "should" have been the Champion, was hardly a fool. Besides Harry's odd behavior, he had also noticed something else: George and Fred's unusual silence.
They were far too quiet.
What's going on? That's not like them at all.
They were so subdued that Cedric wondered if something had happened to them. That calm, strangely obedient demeanor, with no desire to push through the commotion—this was nothing like Hogwarts' notorious Weasley twins...
...
Unlike the lively Gryffindor table, Harry Potter's return hardly stirred Slytherin.
Except for one girl desperately trying to monopolize the seat beside Draco…
"Granger, why don't you go try talking to him? You might learn something."
"..."
Pansy's comment earned an eye roll from Hermione, who was seated at the Slytherin table.
Leaving aside Pansy's teasing, trouble-seeking tone, the truth was that with how things currently stood between her and Harry's group, there was no way she'd get any useful answers…
"But you noticed too, didn't you?"
"Obviously. Our Chosen One doesn't seem very good at hiding his secrets."
"Yeah, everything he's thinking is written right on his face."
The three girls leaned in together, almost competing to speak first as they voiced their observations right in front of Draco.
Goyle and Crabbe stared toward Harry with widened eyes, as if trying to decipher his expression. Judging by their vacant looks, they hadn't picked up anything at all.
Before they could even ask, Draco provided the answer. "He was probably warned. After all, that's not something he can go around telling people, even if… it's the truth."
"The real question is, who told Harry Potter not to say anything? That's what I want to know."
Pansy's eyes sparkled; her eager expression made it look like she was seconds away from dragging Goyle and Crabbe over to interrogate Harry Potter on the spot.
Thankfully, Hermione stopped her.
"I think it's both."
"Oh?"
"We already know the Ministry's stance on this from the recent Daily Prophet. As for who else could influence Harry Potter…"
As Hermione frowned in thought, Minerva McGonagall entered the dining hall with all the professors following behind her.
Notably absent were Severus Snape, always clad in black, and the silver-haired wizard who drew a London Underground map over his robes.
And of course, the wizard with the blue magical eye was missing as well...
...
Ever since the day she brought Harry Potter to the hospital wing, the Headmaster of Hogwarts had vanished entirely from public view, as if he had disappeared from the British wizarding world altogether—let alone been seen anywhere on school grounds.
In his place stood Minerva McGonagall, the Deputy Headmistress of Hogwarts.
Now positioned at the center of the staff table, Professor McGonagall wore an expression that could no longer hide her exhaustion. It was clear these past few days had been far from easy for her, and she had been working tirelessly.
Under her sharp gaze, the Great Hall—noisy only moments before—fell instantly silent. Draco noticed that her eyes kept drifting toward Harry Potter...
"Ahem! As you can all see, Mr. Potter has returned safely. I expect you to direct your attention to the upcoming exams rather than causing unnecessary trouble for your fellow classmates."
Her pointed stare swept over the young wizards who had been clustered around Harry earlier, peppering him with questions. They shrank in their seats at once.
Harry, however, seemed lost somewhere in his own thoughts, his vacant expression drawing a small frown from McGonagall on the podium.
Returning her attention to the hall, McGonagall continued, "Although the Triwizard Tournament cannot proceed this year, after discussing the matter with the rest of the professors, we have decided..."
She paused, waiting until she had captured the curiosity of every student present. Only then did the stern Deputy Headmistress adjust her witch's hat and slowly deliver the news that sent the students into an eruption of cheers.
"That the Yule Ball—scheduled in advance—will still be held as planned."
"..."
"..."
"Wooooo!!"
"Merlin's beard!!"
"You're kidding!"
"I thought it'd be canceled just like the Tournament!"
"This is brilliant! I thought I'd lost my chance to shine as the dance king!"
Perhaps because recent events had left them feeling stifled for days, the moment this good news landed, the students from every house burst into delighted cheers.
Draco wasn't sure if it was his imagination, but the breathing of the three girls beside him seemed to grow noticeably quicker...
Just as the hall was swept up in celebration, the doors swung open again.
"I'm afraid I do not agree with that decision!"
All eyes turned toward the voice.
The witch who had spoken strode confidently into the hall and onto the podium, head held high, utterly unruffled.
And gleaming on her robes was the unmistakable insignia of the Ministry of Magic...
...
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