The new term began

The Hogwarts dinner was no different from previous years.

The ceiling of the Great Hall reflected the night sky outside, the black night sky adorned with hundreds of stars, and the moon hanging in one corner.

Four long tables stretched from the entrance to below the professors' chair, each adorned with empty gold plates and wine glasses.

Hundreds of candles hung in mid-air, their flames flickering gently in the breeze, illuminating the entire hall with warmth and light.

The young Wizards came in one after another.

Over in Ravenclaw, people were discussing summer homework; over in Hufflepuff, someone was showing off their new toad; and the Gryffindor the loudest.

Some people were laughing, some were shouting, and James Potter's voice mingled in the noise, still as arrogant as ever.

Regulus and his friends sat down at the middle of the Slytherin table.

Avery plopped down next to him, still grinning from ear to ear. Hermes sat opposite him, hands on the table, eyelids drooping.

Alex sat next to Hermes, while Lina and Samuel sat next to Avery.

Caius Selwyn sat at the end of the table. He was Rosalie Selwyn's cousin, a seventh-grader and the Prefect for the new semester.

Seeing Regulus sit down, he raised his glass from a distance, his expression much calmer than usual, his eyes composed, maintaining the air of Prefect.

He's completely different from the guy who bet on Rosalie to win the competition for the Head of New Students last year, and was surrounded by a bunch of people congratulating him after he won.

Regulus glanced at it, then looked away.

It's fake.

Caius sat next to Cecilia Avery, a seventh-year Prefect.

They are not one of the Sacred Twenty-Eight, but their Pure-bloods lineage can be traced back several hundred years, and they have intermarried with several Pureblood families in continental Europe.

She had long, dark chestnut hair that hung neatly over her shoulders. She had a long face, delicate features, fair skin, and gentle, graceful features.

He was quiet and still, not saying a word and not really looking around.

Professor McGonagall led a group of new students in through the side door of the Great Hall, her expression as serious as ever, her gaze sweeping across the faces of the new students behind her square-framed glasses.

The Sorting Hat sang a song from its high stool, its brim parted in a wide grin as it hummed and chanted a whole verse, the gist of which was that each of the four houses had its own merits, and freshmen should think carefully about where they should go.

Some of the younger freshmen looked bewildered, while others couldn't help but laugh.

Professor McGonagall unrolled a long scroll of parchment and began to read out the names.

"Ackerman Flora."

Hufflepuff!

Brody Malcolm.

"Ravenclaw!"

"Bond Thomas."

"Gryffindor!"

The new students went up on stage, put on caps, were assigned to their respective colleges, and walked to the long table of their college. Every time a name was called, the corresponding long table would applaud.

The names were read out one by one, and halfway through, Regulus raised his eyelids slightly.

Barty Crouch.

A boy stepped out of the line. He had a long, thin face, brown hair combed to one side without a single stray hair, and an overly serious and earnest expression.

Slytherin!

The Slytherin table applauded, a bit louder than when they applauded the first few freshmen.

Crouch is one of the Sacred Twenty-Eight, and old Crouch has a strong advantage as he intends to run for the next Minister for Magic.

The boy got up from the stool, his expression not changing much, as if it didn't matter to him which college he went to.

As he walked toward the Slytherin table, he glanced at Regulus as he passed by.

Regulus glanced back at him.

Barty Crouch Jr. Crouch., eleven years old, you will get a real father at Hogwarts.

The sorting process continues, with the remaining names being read aloud in the background: Hufflepuff, Ravenclaw, Gryffindor, Slytherin. The names and houses drift past your ears, then you forget them.

After the sorting session ended, Professor McGonagall removed her hat and stool and returned to her professor's chair.

Dumbledore clapped his hands twice on the professor's table, and food appeared on four long tables.

Roast beef, roast chicken, pork chops, Lamb Chop chops, fish fillets, sausages, bacon, boiled potatoes, roasted potatoes, steamed potatoes, mashed potatoes, French fries, Yorkshire Pudding, peas, carrots, gravy, ketchup, jugs of Pumpkin Juice, plates of bread rolls.

Without a word, Hermes picked up his knife and fork, and a chicken leg was already on his plate. He started munching on it, finishing the whole leg in three bites. Then he reached for a piece of pudding, his eyes only on the food.

The atmosphere at the Slytherin table Taiyi than before. There were occasional whispers, but no one was raising their voices. Someone glanced in Regulus's direction, then quickly looked away.

I used to watch them, and after watching, I could even have a few quiet discussions. Now, I glance at them and quickly turn them away; I don't even have the confidence to discuss them anymore.

Back in school, Regulus was also the focus of Slytherin. Heir of the Black family, highly skilled, of high status, and very powerful.

All the attention was positive; some wanted to get closer, some wanted to strike up a conversation, and some wanted to show their faces in front of him.

That's not the case now. Two months have passed since the genocide war, and most of the people present witnessed that half-minute of silence on the platform. Some even saw the scene where someone tried to approach but was frozen in place by a single glance.

The distance between this person and them is widening, to the point where they are becoming almost unreachable.

Regulus ate quietly, cutting meat, drinking Pumpkin Juice, and dipping bread rolls in ketchup. The cautious glances that drifted over were quickly forgotten.

An unsettling commotion broke out at the otherwise quiet long table.

Avery asked the question on the train, asked it again after getting off the train, and is still asking it now.

He realized he couldn't get anything out of Regulus, so he gave up and focused on dealing with Lina and Samuel.

"How big and bright are those words in the sky? I remember the Revenge Pact being written in white. Do the people below have to crane their necks to see them?"

Lina repeated it, Samuel added two sentences from the side: the order in which the Latin words appeared, the color of the gold light, and the gesture of pointing the wand to the sky.

"And then what? After the announcement? What happened when they left? How did they react? Did anyone cry? How thick was that beam of light? Show me with your hand."

Lina and Samuel repeated it over and over again, tirelessly.

The two Half-bloods sat at the very center of the Slytherin table, recounting Regulus's personal experiences, which were heard by all the Slytherin around them.

There were far more people present in Diagon Alley that day than just the two of them, but at this moment, at the Slytherin table, only the two of them could say these words.

Alex would occasionally chime in with a question or two, "What was the Gringotts 'goblin reaction?"

Lina tilted her head and thought for a moment, "They probably really want to see wizards fight each other?"

Having finished eating, Dumbledore stood up from the professor's table and gently tapped his wine glass with a small silver spoon.

With a clang, the food disappeared, and the Great Hall fell silent.

Dumbledore's blue eyes shone brightly behind his half-moon lenses, his white beard hung down to his Orion's Belt, and his deep purple robe was embroidered with silver stars and crescent moons.

"Welcome back, returning students and new students, welcome!"

"I don't know how your summer vacation was for everyone here, but I do know that the outside world has had a very turbulent summer."

His blue eyes swept over the four long tables, and the lingering whispers in the Great Hall vanished.

Some of you have heard things this summer that you would never have heard at the dinner table before.

Some people tell you that some are unworthy of Magic; some people tell you that those people on the other side are not human, but traitors, things that should be eliminated.

"These words will become more and more frequent, louder and louder, and those who say them will become more and more certain."

Several upperclassmen from Slytherin were looking down at the plates, while several Gryffindor were exchanging knowing glances.

Dumbledore's voice echoed through the Great Hall: "Don't believe it."

"Your wands are always pointed at one person, someone else's child, someone else's friend, someone else's family."

No matter what labels others put on that the Dark Lord, when he stands in front of you, he is a person.

Remember this.

Several people on Slytherin's side subtly changed their expressions, and one of them gently placed his hand on his left forearm.

Regulus glanced at it; dark Magic Power condensed, Dark Mark.

He looked away.

The old man was right. Voldemort was turning people into symbols, turning Muggle-born into Mudblood, and those who opposed him into Blood Traitor.

Once it becomes a symbol, it can be trampled on, it can be killed. Symbols have no parents, no children, no friends, so killing them is effortless.

Dumbledore was doing the opposite, turning the symbols back into people, making people hesitate for a second before taking action. That second might save someone, or it might save the person who took action.

He shook his head.

This is useful, but it's useless to those who have already embarked on their journey.

Dumbledore's voice continued, though it was gentler than before.

"Many of you feel you have no choice. You have to side with whichever side your family takes, and you have to follow whichever side your friends take. You think you are making a choice, but you are actually being pushed around."

He looked at everyone: four long tables, hundreds of faces; some listened attentively, others had wandering eyes.

"But you are freer than you think. You can ignore your family, you can choose not to go with your friends, and you can decide where to stand for yourself."

The price is high, I'm not lying to you, the price is indeed high, but the choice is in your hands. No one can take it away for you unless you hand it over yourself.

There was clapping from the Gryffindor, sparse at first, then a few people started clapping, and then it became a chorus of applause.

The applause from Ravenclaw was more uniform and even, but it didn't seem very heartfelt.

Over at Hufflepuff, a young girl took advantage of Dumbledore's pause in speaking to pop a piece of Pumpkin Pasty that she had put away beforehand into her mouth.

On the Slytherin side, most of their expressions were reserved and indifferent. If they wouldn't go with their friends, and wouldn't listen to their families, then whose advice would they take?

Regulus glanced at Avery, who was about to strike up a conversation with Lina again, and the guy quieted down.

Dumbledore told the young Wizards that they had a choice, and that choice itself was a weapon.

But how many of them are actually willing to listen?

How many people can truly remain clear-headed, make their own judgments, and stick to what they believe is right when making choices?

When everyone in your family, every friend around you, and every word you've heard since childhood tells you the same thing, it takes courage even to ask a question, let alone actually stand up and take a different path.

Dumbledore's voice softened a little.

Finally, I'd like to say a few words to those who feel caught in the middle.

For some of you, your families have already made their choices. When you return to your dorm, you'll face the gaze of your roommates; when you return home, you'll face the expectations of your parents.

You feel you can't convince either side, and neither side is where you want to stand.

He looked at the faces in the Great Hall with their heads bowed, their eyes looking elsewhere.

"You are not alone. There are far more people in this Castle who feel the same way as you than you think."

You don't have to express your opinion, you don't have to say anything, but you don't need to feel like you're all alone. Hogwarts is yours, and you are safe here.

He raised his glass. "Happy new school term!"

Applause erupted in the hall.

Regulus clapped softly as well.

In his three opening speeches, Dumbledore spoke about kindness, justice, and responsibility, about using one's own mind, and about not surrendering oneself to others.

This time, we'll portray the enemy as a human being, tell the students they have a choice, and tell those caught in the middle that they are not alone.

The situation is changing in a forward direction, for better or for worse.

Dumbledore's words also moved forward, each time becoming more direct, more urgent, and closer to the End he least wanted to face.

But language plays the least role here.

Dumbledore's words are useful to those who are still hesitating, to those who haven't been drawn in yet, and to those young people who are still clear-headed.

But these words cannot change the minds of those who already bear the Dark Mark on their Left Arm, those who swore an oath before Voldemort during the summer holidays, and those who have already made their choice and embarked on their path.

War, conflict, killing, destruction, and interests—these things will never change because of any one person's words.

Dumbledore than anyone, but he still had to say it.

Because he knew that there would always be a few people who, at a certain moment when they needed to make a decision, would have a certain sentence they heard in the Great Hall flash through their minds.

Well, whatever, the new semester has begun.