Chapter 14: Club Recruitment
The Welcoming Feast was drawing to a close.
Dumbledore rose to his feet, and a hush fell over the Great Hall as he began the traditional start-of-term notices.
"First, the Forbidden Forest is, as the name suggests, forbidden to all students."
"Second, Mr. Filch, our caretaker, has asked me to remind you all that magic is not to be used in the corridors between classes."
"Third, Quidditch tryouts for students in their second year and above will be held in the coming weeks. Please contact Madam Hooch for details."
"And most importantly," his eyes twinkled, "any student who does not wish to suffer a most painful and unexpected death should avoid the third-floor corridor on the right-hand side."
As Dumbledore finished, a wave of thunderous applause swept through the hall. Most of the younger students had no idea why they were clapping; it just felt like the thing to do after a leader finished speaking.
A few students, however, including a certain Mr. Potter who was being glared at by a certain Mr. Malfoy, laughed aloud. They assumed the Headmaster was just trying to be funny. A school couldn't have a truly dangerous place in it, could it?
Harry leaned over to whisper to Percy Weasley, who, as a prefect, found the announcement preposterous. It was illogical that he wouldn't be aware of such a serious matter. He therefore concluded, with absolute certainty, that Dumbledore was joking.
At another table, the Ravenclaw prefect, Pablo Pierce, had a different take. "Ryan," he whispered, "is the Headmaster being serious?"
Pablo's philosophy was simple: in terms of raw talent, Ryan was ten times the wizard he was. In terms of prophetic ability, the entire rest of Hogwarts combined couldn't hold a candle to him. As long as it didn't conflict with his own future studies, blindly following Ryan's lead was the most logical course of action. No matter how absurd Ryan's pronouncements seemed, it was best to just listen.
Ryan nodded. "It's real. But I can't talk about it."
"You really can't say?" someone else pressed. After years of knowing him, they understood Ryan's style. As he himself had once said, a prophecy that isn't shared is not a successful prophecy. He was known for sharing rare knowledge and information.
This time, however, Ryan just shook his head. "I can only say that what's happening in that corridor this year is unrelated to any internal school matter. I can't say more."
"Understood," Pablo said decisively. "I'll make sure the Ravenclaws stay away. And Ryan, if you have any new ideas, just let me know. We can discuss it." Seeing the shrewd look in Pablo's eyes, Ryan smiled and nodded. The Ravenclaw eagles, once known for being studious rule-followers, were slowly learning to disregard the rulebook under his years of influence.
At the head table, Dumbledore spoke again. "And now, for some more welcome news." He paused for dramatic effect. Every eye in the hall was on him, the students buzzing with excitement. The professors, however, looked variously confused, annoyed, or thoughtful.
"First, Mr. Ryan Welles has generously donated a collection of priceless manuscripts to the Hogwarts library over the summer. For this, I award one hundred points to Ravenclaw!"
The Ravenclaw table erupted in a massive cheer. The older students from the other three houses were already used to it. Only the first-years looked truly stunned.
"A hundred house points on the first day? That's incredible!"
"Are house points that easy to get?"
"That's so unfair! Ravenclaw is already a hundred points ahead!"
The older students looked at the clamoring first-years with knowing smiles. Their shock would only grow when they discovered how difficult it was to actually earn house points. Tonight's events would be a source of recurring disbelief for them, right up until the day they themselves were the old students, looking down on the next generation of wide-eyed first-years. It was a never-ending cycle, a phenomenon known simply as "the Ryan Welles effect."
"Second, and more importantly," Dumbledore continued, "Mr. Welles has expressed a desire to create a new kind of magical club. After passing a rigorous evaluation by the staff, I am pleased to announce the official creation of the Adventurers' Club, located in the empty classroom at the far east end of the second floor."
"A notice will be posted on the bulletin board shortly. Any student who meets the requirements or receives a personal invitation may join."
"I am delighted that we will finally have a club that encompasses all four houses, a place where students can make friends and explore the mysteries of magic together, regardless of the color of their ties."
"Furthermore, within the Adventurers' Club, Mr. Welles will have the authority to award and deduct house points from its members."
"Speaking of clubs, the professors' own clubs..." Dumbledore began, but was cut off by a series of sharp, pointed coughs from Professor McGonagall. He trailed off.
The effect of this announcement was just as explosive as when Harry Potter's name had been called. After a moment of stunned silence, the Great Hall erupted into a chaotic din, loud enough to rival a marketplace brawl.
"Impossible!"
"Students can have hobby clubs, sure, but a magic club? Shouldn't only professors be able to do that?"
"Awarding and deducting points? That's a prefect's privilege!"
Catching Dumbledore's eye, Ryan stood up. He gave his wand a slight flick. "Silencio."
An invisible ripple expanded from the tip of his wand, precisely blanketing every student in the hall. Instant silence.
"I am thrilled that the Headmaster has personally announced the formation of my Adventurers'… Club," Ryan said into the quiet, his voice calm and clear. "The purpose of the Adventurers' Club is to create a community for those who wish to venture to the very edge of what is known in magic, and to foster unity among the four houses."
"I would like to thank the Headmaster for his encouragement, the professors for their approval, and all of you for your support. I will be establishing a set of standards for admission soon, and I encourage you all to apply."
"Of course," he added, a mysterious smile playing on his lips, "I will also be sending out special invitations based on... certain impressions I have."
With that, he canceled the Silencing Charm and gave a respectful bow to the head table and to the students.
In the moment before the sound returned, nearly every older student who saw that smile knew exactly what "certain impressions" meant. It meant that Ryan had already seen, in his prophecies, those wizards who were destined for greatness. Of course, to ninety-nine percent of the student body, "greatness" simply meant landing a good job at the Ministry of Magic after graduation—a dream held by none other than the "outstanding" Gryffindor prefect, Percy Weasley.
The instant the Silencing Charm lifted, the chaotic din returned with a vengeance, escalating from a marketplace brawl to a heated debate worthy of the Wizengamot. Even Peeves the Poltergeist, finding the noise too much, let out a terrified shriek and fled the Great Hall. Everyone was talking at once, speculating on what Ryan's standards would be and, more importantly, who would receive a coveted personal invitation.
"Please, silence! SILENCE!" Dumbledore's voice boomed, finally quelling the uproar. "What youthful energy! But it is getting late. Now, before we all go off to bed, let us sing the school song!"
At the head table, Dumbledore beamed, positively radiant. The rest of the professors looked varying degrees of miserable.
Ryan, who was hopelessly tone-deaf, made a silent vow. One day, Headmaster Ryan Welles would abolish this dreadful tradition of singing at feasts.
Wait a minute, he thought, when I'm Headmaster, I'll only have to listen, not sing... No need to abolish it!
Realizing the issue was, in fact, not his problem, the future Headmaster Ryan immediately changed his stance. For now, however, he could not yet usurp Dumbledore's position and had to endure the cacophony of different tunes, miserably mumbling his way through the school song.
It's fine, he reassured himself. Someone has to be a worse singer than I am.