The Start-of-Term Feast

Night fell, and the young wizards and professors gradually gathered in the Great Hall from every direction.

The ceiling of the hall reflected the dazzling starry sky outside. Beneath it, the four long tables were crowded with bustling heads. The young wizards eagerly shared tales of their wonderful Christmas holidays, seeming to have completely forgotten the unease caused by the attack before the break.

The sight secretly relieved Harry. What he feared most was becoming the focus of everyone's attention and having them point and whisper about him.

Most of the professors were already seated at the staff table, and Headmaster Dumbledore was in his usual place. Professor Lockhart was chattering away to Professor McGonagall about how many letters he had received from fans over the Christmas holiday. Thoroughly fed up, Professor McGonagall shot Headmaster Dumbledore a resentful glare, but Dumbledore pretended not to notice.

The amusing scene made Harry's lips curve slightly. But when he saw the extra empty seat beside Professor Snape, Harry could no longer keep his expression steady. He guessed what it might mean, but he did not want to believe it.

Ron was talking to his twin brothers. "You came back early this morning. Why haven't I seen you all day?"

"Oh, little Ronnie has learned to pry?" Fred raised his head, looked at Ron with an arched brow, and said, "Come to think of it, why hasn't Miss Know-It-All come to the feast?"

Harry quickly kicked Ron beneath the table, terrified he might say something wrong.

"That's none of your business, Fred!" Ron said unhappily.

"And little Ronnie has learned to keep secrets too!" George added, twisting the knife before the two of them stopped paying attention to Ron.

At that moment, Harry sensed an uneasy gaze. He glanced sideways and found Neville looking at him as though he wanted to speak but could not. Harry immediately knew what Neville was worried about, but he could hardly tell him that Hermione was still in the Hospital Wing having the lovely black fur on her face treated. So Harry hurriedly lowered his head and pretended to be fascinated by the silver spoon on his plate.

"I don't know, Draco. I hadn't enrolled yet!"

At the Slytherin table, Malfoy leaned over Goyle and Daphne, asking something of Marcus Flint, who looked remarkably like a Troll. Marcus, however, was clearly impatient.

"I did hear about it afterward. They said it had something to do with him, but Dumbledore locked down the details tightly. Not one of those Gryffindor team lot was willing to say a word... If you ask me, they don't know anything either, because the professors had to carry them all back that night!"

During the Christmas holiday, Flint had attended tryouts for the Luxembourg Quidditch team, but the result had been disappointing. Given his academic record, that meant he would have to accept his family's arrangements after graduation and become an unnoticed minor clerk in some obscure Ministry of Magic department.

The scattered young wizards arriving in the hall quickly merged into the four long tables. The Great Hall was as noisy as if several hundred Cornish Pixies had been crammed inside. Quite a few students were already stretching their necks and staring eagerly at the staff table, as though demanding to know why dinner had not begun.

"Ah, here he is."

Snape heard Dumbledore murmur softly. Looking up, he saw Amosta stride in through the Entrance Hall and swiftly approach the staff table.

"My apologies, everyone. I was so busy that I forgot about the feast," Amosta said quietly.

The professors smiled at him. Professor McGonagall had already informed the teachers of every subject that the castle had gained a security guard for the second half of the year. Over the past two days, Amosta had also visited them one by one, except for Lockhart, who had been the last professor to return to school.

"Come and sit down, Amosta," Professor Flitwick called in his shrill voice. "The young wizards are starving!"

"Would you like to say a few words, Amosta?"

Dumbledore stirred his silvery white beard and smiled at Amosta.

"I'd better not, Headmaster. I'm not a professor," Amosta politely declined.

Almost instantly, the long tables were covered in sumptuous food. The noisy hall immediately filled with cheerful energy, and the clinking of cutlery sounded like a lively tune.

Of course, that harmony was only superficial. Amosta could feel at least a hundred pairs of eyes fixed on him.

Five minutes after dinner began, nearly all the young wizards knew the name of the handsome young wizard seated beside Professor Snape. The information had come from the older students in fifth year and above, who had attended school with Amosta.

But accounts of Amosta's famous exploits as a student varied wildly.

Some said that one night before Christmas in his fifth year, Amosta had sneaked into the Forbidden Forest and set a fire. The blaze had trapped him instead, and if the Gryffindor team had not been practising their footwork in the forest at the time, he might have died there.

Others said the fire had actually been set by the Gryffindor team, and that Amosta had been the one to rescue them.

Both versions had their supporters, and neither side could convince the other.

Malfoy only kept his head down and dealt with the lamb chops on his plate, taking no part in the discussion. His father's letter that day had sternly warned him never to provoke Amosta Breen.

Lucius Malfoy knew exactly who had brought Amosta into Hogwarts. Malfoy had certainly heard of Cacus Fley. With even a little imagination, he should have been able to guess where Cacus had found Amosta. Wizards who came from that place rarely had clean hands.

Even without his father's warning, Draco Malfoy would not have dared provoke Amosta.

Because of what had happened in the dormitory that afternoon, Malfoy had suffered nightmares for half a month. Whenever he closed his eyes, he could vividly see that Acromantula, neatly sliced in two, its intestines and organs scattered across the floor.

"Please, Harry, can I tell people about that?"

"Of course you can, Ron, if you want him to hold a grudge against me—or even take revenge on me—for revealing his private affairs. If I get thrown into Azkaban, you and Hermione had better remember to visit me often!"

Over the Christmas holiday, Harry, Ron, and Hermione had agreed not to tell anyone what they had learned from Hagrid about Amosta Breen's past.

Whether Mr. Breen had been sent by the Ministry of Magic or the Board of Governors, his purpose in entering Hogwarts was to find Slytherin's Heir. And as the person everyone considered the most suspicious, Harry wanted to avoid doing anything that might make Mr. Breen unhappy.

But it was truly agonizing for Ron. After all, he did not get many chances to show off.

Another ten minutes passed, and the focus of the students' private discussions gradually shifted from "Who is he?" to "What is he here for?"

"Maybe Defence Against the Dark Arts is finally going to use up two professors in a single year?"

Millicent Bagnold, the sturdy girl who had once had a "wandless duel" with Hermione in Lockhart's duelling class, shook her thick chin and laughed nastily.

Millicent's joke did indeed trigger a burst of laughter at the Slytherin table. Naturally, the main target of their mockery was Professor Gilderoy Lockhart. Most Slytherin students had already seen through Lockhart's flashy facade and realized he was nothing more than a storyteller.

Malfoy hunched his shoulders. He quickly glanced at Amosta, who was talking with Dumbledore at the staff table, then immediately lowered his head and pretended not to know the laughing people around him.

"You've been acting a little strange tonight, Draco." Pansy leaned over from his other side, studying the unusually quiet Malfoy with concern.

"Shut your mouth, Pansy!" Malfoy did not even look at her, his voice hurried. "Unless you want someone to slice you neatly in half too!"

"It seems you're quite popular with the children, Amosta."

Dumbledore shook his silvery white beard, now stained with thick mushroom soup, and turned to look at Amosta, who was working on a roasted sausage. His expression was warmly amused.

"They're simply curious about a stranger who suddenly appeared, Headmaster Dumbledore."

Amosta nodded politely in response. Before Dumbledore, he tried to say as little as possible. There was a reason people said that trouble came from the mouth.

Dumbledore did not mind his deliberately restrained manner and continued speaking to him kindly.

"Severus told me that you have gone several nights without rest. I must thank you, Amosta. Thank you for all you have done for the children's safety."

Amosta smiled modestly, but Dumbledore clearly intended to continue.

"Though I am very old, Amosta, I am fortunate enough not to be a stubborn old fool. You are right. Ensuring the children's safety is the most important thing—"

Professor McGonagall, seated to Dumbledore's left and listening intently, pursed her lips. She did not look pleased.

"I think it is a brilliant idea, Amosta. I mean the set of alchemical items you arranged in your office, although some have said it violates the young wizards' privacy."

At last, Dumbledore tactfully revealed his attitude toward Amosta's surveillance of the students.

"Thank you for your understanding, Headmaster Dumbledore. If you wish, once the Chamber of Secrets attack has been resolved, I can move that surveillance system to your office—"

Amosta nodded gratefully.

It would certainly work far better than using portraits to monitor the school—though Amosta did not say that aloud.

They exchanged a few more pleasantries. Dumbledore hoped that Amosta would come out more often when he had time and interact with the young wizards.

"The children would very much like to get to know you, Amosta."

Dumbledore ended the conversation with that trivial request.

"Traitor."

As he withdrew his gaze, Amosta muttered softly.

Snape, who had remained expressionless between Amosta and Dumbledore, darkened at once. He clearly knew who Amosta's remark had been aimed at.

Meanwhile, at the other end of the staff table, Lockhart had been unable to hear the conversation clearly despite desperately wanting to join it. He covertly glanced a few times at Amosta as he picked up his silver fork again, and for no apparent reason, suddenly felt a strange sense of danger...