0463 The Transition

Words : 2196 Updated : Nov 12th, 2025

Chapter 463 of "Harry Potter: The Golden Viper" opens presenting: 0463 The Transition Among the four Hogwarts Heads of House, Professor Flitwick, and Professor Sprout, both... Don’t stop now!

0463 The Transition Among the four Hogwarts Heads of House, Professor Flitwick, and Professor Sprout, both were slightly surprised. Their eyebrows were raised subtly, and they exchanged quick, meaningful glances. They were well aware that Hogwarts had succeeded over its competitors to secure the honor of hosting the legendary Triwizard Tournament, a feat made possible by the significant contributions of Bryan. However, they weren't sure if Dumbledore had asked Bryan to give the speech for this specific reason. In stark contrast, Professor McGonagall's usually rigid posture seemed to soften slightly, and there was an unmistakable glimmer of encouragement in her eyes behind her square spectacles. The Head of Slytherin House maintained his characteristically impassive demeanor. His sallow face remained an unreadable mask, showing no emotion. However, his dark eyes darted back and forth between Bryan and Dumbledore with intensity. Seemingly oblivious to the subtle undercurrents of curiosity and speculation swirling around him, Bryan calmly dabbed at the corner of his mouth with a crisp linen napkin. His demeanor was one of practiced nonchalance, as though he hadn't noticed the unusual signals coming from his colleagues. "No problem, Headmaster Dumbledore," Bryan replied with a slight nod. Meanwhile, the buzzing of excited chatter continued to rise from the four long House tables below. At the Gryffindor table, sat a small, mousy-haired boy named Dennis Creevey a new addition to the house this year. For what seemed like the hundredth time that evening, Dennis was tirelessly describing to his fellow Gryffindors with the tale of his dramatic entrance to Hogwarts. "And then," Dennis exclaimed, his voice pitched with excitement, "just as I thought I was done for, sinking into the freezing water of the lake, I felt something brush against my leg!" He paused for dramatic effect, his audience leaning in despite having heard the story multiple times. "I thought it was the giant squid, come to eat me! But then Hagrid's boat appeared, and he sent up these brilliant red sparks from his umbrella. It was like fireworks in the rain!" His fellow first-years gasped in awe, while the older students smiled kindly. Dennis, encouraged by their reactions, continued with even more gusto. "But the best part was when Professor Watson came swooping down! He looked like a superhero flying with billowing robes. One moment I was flailing in the water, and the next, whoosh! He'd scooped me right out of the lake with this amazing bit of magic. I didn't even get any wetter than I already was!" Further down the table, Neville was hanging on every word of a heated discussion about the Quidditch World Cup final. His eyes were wide with fascination, and he leaned in so far, he was in danger of dipping his sleeve into his pumpkin juice. Every time someone mentioned the duel that had broken out that night, Neville's ears practically perked up like an attentive puppy's. "Did you see how Viktor Krum feinted?" one student exclaimed. "Never mind that," another interrupted, "what about those masked wizards? I heard they were throwing curses left and right!" Neville nodded vigorously, drinking in every detail. The World Cup and its chaotic aftermath had been the talk of the wizarding world all summer, and Neville, who had missed the event, was determined not to be left out of the excitement. Beside Neville, Hermione her bushy brown hair even more frazzled than usual, was engaged in an entirely different kind of distress. She had just finished a vigorous conversation with Nearly Headless Nick, the Gryffindor ghost, and the information she had collected had left her horrorstruck. In her shock, she had knocked over her goblet of orange juice. "Hogwarts has house-elves?" she spluttered, her voice a mix of disbelief and indignation. "And not just a few, but the most in all of Britain? How can this be? It's... it's slavery!" Her outburst drew curious glances from her housemates, but Hermione was too caught up in her newfound crusade to notice. Her mind was already whirring with plans for elf liberation and campaigns for magical creature rights. Across the hall, at the Slytherin table, draped in green and silver, Draco held court among his fellow snakes. The pale, pointed-faced boy was basking in the attention of his peers, particularly that of Blaise Zabini. With exaggerated movements, Draco rolled up the sleeve of his expensive robes, revealing a thin, pale scar on his forearm. "You see this?" he drawled, his voice dripping with haughtiness. "Got it the night of the World Cup final. A masked wizard thought he could take on the Malfoys." He paused, savoring the anticipation on his classmates' faces. "Big mistake, that. Father and I showed him what happens when you cross a family as powerful as ours." Zabini leaned in, examining the scar with a mixture of skepticism and grudging admiration. "Must have been some duel," he commented, his tone carefully neutral. Draco's chest puffed up even more. "Oh, it was. You should have seen it. Spells were flying everywhere, Of course, we came out on top." The Slytherins around him nodded approvingly, though a few exchanged knowing glances behind Draco's back. It was often hard to separate truth from embellishment in Draco's tales, but few dared to challenge him openly. A sudden burst of girlish laughter erupted from the Ravenclaw table, drawing attention from across the hall. A group of girls had their heads bent close together, whispering and giggling. At the Gryffindor table, Harry caught staring, quickly averted his gaze, his cheeks flushing slightly. In that moment, as laughter, chatter, and the clinking of cutlery filled the air, not a single young witch or wizard in the Great Hall realized the magnitude of the changes that were about to unfold. They stood unknowingly at the transition to a new era, blissfully unaware of the trials, tribulations, and triumphs that awaited them in the coming year. Suddenly, a series of clear, resonant chimes cut through the din of the Great Hall. Ding, ding, ding — the sound rang out, causing a ripple of surprise to sweep through the gathered students. As if by magic (which, of course, it was), the remnants of dessert vanished from the golden plates before them, leaving behind spotless tableware that gleamed in the candlelight. The abrupt silence that followed was intermingled only by the howling of the wind outside and the steady drumming of heavy rain against the castle's ancient windows. The storm seemed to highlight the sense of anticipation that now filled the hall. To the students' collective surprise, it was not Headmaster Dumbledore who had risen to address them, as was customary at the start-of-term feast. Instead, Professor Watson stood at the center of the staff table, his tall figure catching their attention. Dumbledore remained seated in his chair with a serene smile on his lips as he gazed out at the sea of young faces before him. Bryan's eyes swept across the Great Hall, taking in the hundreds of curious and slightly confused expressions turned towards him. The disappointment that had settled over the hall began to lift, replaced by a growing sense of curiosity and anticipation. What could possibly be important enough to cancel Quidditch? Bryan's voice took on a tone of dramatic reveal. "I am very pleased to announce that this year at Hogwarts—" Just as the words were about to leave his lips, nature itself seemed to conspire to heighten the suspense. A brilliant flash of lightning illuminated the enchanted ceiling, casting eerie shadows across the Great Hall. The fork of white light was immediately followed by a deafening crack of thunder that shook the castle. The ancient glass windows rattled ominously in their frames, as if threatening to shatter under the force of the storm's fury. In that same moment, as if choreographed by some unseen hand, the massive oak doors of the Great Hall burst open with a resounding bang that echoed through the cavernous space. The timing was so perfect it almost seemed staged, causing several students to gasp and a few to let out startled yelps. Framed in the doorway stood a figure that seemed to have stepped out of a tale designed to frighten young witches and wizards. A man, if indeed it was a man, leaned heavily on a long, gnarled staff. He was wrapped in a black traveling cloak that seemed to absorb what little light reached it, giving the impression of a mobile patch of darkness. Water dripped steadily from the hem of the cloak, forming a small puddle on the flagstone floor. The students, who mere seconds ago had been hanging on Professor Watson's every word, now turned as one to gawk at the stranger. The air in the Hall seemed to thicken with tension and curiosity. As if on cue, another flash of lightning illuminated the Great Hall, this time silhouetting the newcomer. The burst of light revealed a mane of long, graying hair that seemed to wriggle in the wind that howled through the open doors. The stranger took a stumbling step forward, his staff making a dull thud on the stone floor with each laborious movement. "Blimey," Ron whispered, his eyes wide as saucers. "Who in Merlin's name is that?" Hermione, usually quick with an answer, found herself speechless. She had read extensively about the wizarding world, its history, and its notable figures, but nothing in her vast repository of knowledge had prepared her for the sight before them. As the stranger drew closer to the staff table, intermittent flashes of lightning continued to illuminate his features, revealing a face that caused many students to recoil in shock. The man's face was a battlefield of scars, each one a testament to the many duels and dark encounters he had survived. His features, though unmistakably human, seemed to bear the weight of decades of conflict. His mouth was a tight, grim line, pulled slightly by a scar that ran diagonally across his lips. Though battered, it was his nose that bore the most obvious mark of violence. A significant chunk was missing, leaving a jagged edge as though it had been torn away in some vicious battle. Every breath he took was labored, his face a map of hardship and survival. He looked like a man who had spent his life on the front lines of a war that never seemed to end. "Merlin's beard," Seamus breathed, his Irish accent more distinct in his shock. "Who is he!" "Isn't it obvious? He must be the new Defense Against the Dark Arts teacher!" Ron said, drawing in a sharp breath. "Look at that face — he's clearly an expert in dealing with Dark Magic!" But as unsettling as the man's face was, it paled in comparison to his eyes. Hermione felt a shiver run down her spine as she studied them. One eye was small, dark, and beady, sunken deep into its socket like a piece of coal pressed into dough. The other was large, round as a coin, and a vivid, electric blue. The blue eye moved ceaselessly, without blinking, rolling up, down, and from side to side, quite independently of the normal eye. As the students watched in fascinated horror, the blue eye suddenly rolled completely over, pointing backward into the man's skull, so all they could see was whiteness. Several students gasped, and Neville looked as if he might faint. As the stranger approached the staff table, a subtle shift occurred in the atmosphere of the Great Hall. Dumbledore, who had remained seated throughout Professor Watson's speech, now rose to his feet. His long silver beard gleamed in the candlelight as he spread his arms in a welcoming gesture, a warm smile crinkling the corners of his eyes behind his half-moon spectacles. "Ah, Alastor!" Dumbledore's voice rang out with warmth. "We're pleased you could join us." Moody just gave a curt nod, his magical eye whirling around the room. He scanned the hall with both his normal and magical eyes, clearly assessing everyone, even in the presumed safety of Hogwarts. Bryan also turned his attention to the stranger. Alastor Moody. Reportedly the most outstanding Auror in the Ministry of Magic in recent years. After Voldemort's downfall, he had led the capture of some of the most stubborn holdouts. Bryan knew who this man was, but this knowledge came from Dumbledore's prior briefing, not from personal acquaintance with this retired Auror. When Bryan had graduated from Hogwarts and entered society, Rufus Scrimgeour was already the head of the Auror Office. "Alastor ran into a bit of trouble on his way here, which accounts for his late arrival,"Dumbledore exchanged a few words with Moody, then turned to Bryan, "Perhaps, Bryan, you could take this opportunity to introduce the children to their new professor for this school year?" "It would be my honor--" Bryan nodded with a slight smile, extending his hand to the 'legendary Auror' who had scanned him several times with his magical eye. ******************************* For More Chapters; /FicFrenzy

0463 The Transition

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