Chapter 223
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After the feast concluded, Dumbledore, as he did every year, directed everyone to sing the school song.
“Even in the darkest of times, never forget to hold on to hope,” Dumbledore said, waving his hand before the candles. “But we can always find joy, and that is the quality we truly need.”
With that, he raised his hand and announced, “Now, let us sing the school song together!”
This was the moment most students dreaded—except for the Weasley twins.
Having just returned from a trip to Egypt, they’d picked up some peculiar tune from who-knows-where, and it made the students feel as though they were witnessing the green-clad Romans breaching the St. Romanus Gate. If any Turks were present, they’d have recognized the tune as their traditional song, Ancestors, Grandfathers.
“Really, the Slytherins should be the ones singing it,” the Weasley twins added with a snicker. “After all, Ottoman Turks are green, Slytherin’s green—surely they’d have something in common.”
The Slytherin students, overhearing the twins’ jab, shot them collective glares.
Hey, what nonsense are those copycats spouting?
Once the school song was over, Dumbledore instructed the prefects to lead the students back to their dormitories.
Percy immediately stood, puffing out his chest slightly, clearly wanting everyone to notice the Head Boy badge pinned to his robes.
“Bighead Boy,” the four Weasley siblings muttered in unison under their breath. The twins exchanged glances and burst into giggles.
Even Ginny joined in, utterly unbothered by Percy’s wounded expression.
The first-years and older students followed the prefects to their respective common rooms.
Each house’s common room was distinct: Gryffindor’s was located in a tower, like Ravenclaw’s; Slytherin’s was in the dungeons; and Hufflepuff’s was right by the kitchens.
Hufflepuffs were the luckiest, as their entrance was just a tickle away from the kitchens. By scratching the pear in the portrait at the kitchen door, it would giggle and transform into a doorknob, granting passage.
Hogwarts’ house-elves never turned away students sneaking into the kitchens for a snack, even if their visits weren’t exactly aboveboard.
To the Gryffindors’ surprise, the guardian at their common room entrance had changed. Gone was the Fat Lady’s portrait, replaced by a sphinx.
“It’s a sphinx!” the Weasley twins exclaimed in unison.
Judging by their expressions, they weren’t the least bit frightened—rather, they seemed thrilled.
“Welcome back to the Gryffindor common room,” the sphinx said in an elegant voice. “I am the new guardian of this entrance. You may call me Sphinx…”
“Isn’t ‘Sphinx’ the name of a species?” someone in the crowd interrupted.
The sphinx didn’t seem pleased, perhaps because it was cut off or for some other reason.
“I suggest you brush up on your knowledge, young lady,” the sphinx said sternly. “I won’t elaborate on that question. Now, to enter the common room, you must correctly answer my riddle.”
“Does everyone have to answer correctly?” someone called out.
“No, only one correct answer is needed,” the sphinx replied with a chuckle. “Once answered correctly, you’ll have ten minutes of free access.”
“Then what are you waiting for? Ask away!” Seamus shouted, always eager for a spectacle.
The sphinx gazed down at the students and asked, “Which letter is an animal?”
Which letter is an animal?
This riddle…
“The answer is bee,” Hermione answered swiftly. “Bee, the insect, sounds like the letter B, doesn’t it?”
“Correct, young lady,” the sphinx said, leaping aside to clear the path. “Remember, even if you can’t answer my riddle, I won’t strangle you.”
At the sphinx’s words, a collective shiver ran through the crowd.
Merlin’s beard, it can say things like that?
But the sphinx’s comment was directed at Harry, its eyes fixed on him as it spoke, making Harry feel a tad embarrassed under its gaze.
Once inside the common room, some Gryffindors began to grumble. “Merlin, at this rate, we’ll all turn into Ravenclaws! Imagine having to solve a sphinx’s riddle just to get into our own common room. What’s the difference between us and Ravenclaw now?”
“A bit more wisdom wouldn’t hurt,” Hermione whispered to Harry and Ron. “It’d make us both brave and clever.” Her voice was low, as she was wary of sparking a revolt.
But no one seemed to mind.
On such a cold, dark night, climbing into a warm bed was a delightful prospect. Harry had no plans for a nighttime wander and instead settled into bed to rest up for the Merlin’s Trial tomorrow.
September 1, 1993, was a Wednesday, and to the students’ surprise, classes didn’t start immediately. The first lesson of the term was scheduled for the following Monday, September 6.
Even so, Wednesday was the day to hand in assignments.
Ron, realizing that morning that he’d only half-finished his Potions essay, panicked and started tugging at his hair.
Thankfully, with Hermione’s help, he managed to submit his paper just before the deadline.
“Merlin, I thought I was done for,” Ron gasped, sounding half-choked. “I can’t even imagine what Snape would’ve done if I hadn’t turned it in.”
“Don’t worry, he wouldn’t kill you,” Hermione said, suppressing a laugh. “For you, detention’s probably just a sauna, right?”
Ron puffed out his cheeks but said nothing.
Meanwhile, the Ravenclaws were abuzz about Gryffindor’s new guardian. They couldn’t believe the school had assigned a sphinx to guard Gryffindor’s entrance.
“That should’ve been ours,” Cho Chang said indignantly.
The other Ravenclaws nodded, seemingly fed up with their own door knocker. A sphinx asking riddles would be far more tolerable.
At least a sphinx was a living, breathing creature, not some cold, lifeless knocker.
Luna sat at the Ravenclaw table, her gaze drifting between the Gryffindor and Slytherin tables—or perhaps nowhere at all.
Nearby, a group of girls whispered about her, pointing and clearly saying nothing kind.
Harry, with his sharp ears, caught their words—things like “Loony” and warnings to first-years to steer clear of Luna.
He glanced at Luna with concern, but she seemed utterly unfazed by the verbal barbs, as if they were talking about someone else entirely.
That girl’s got nerves of steel. Anyone else would’ve snapped at those backstabbing gossips.
“They’re disgusting,” Hermione whispered to Ron. “What did Luna ever do to them? Why treat her like that?”
“Being different is a crime, Hermione,” Harry replied softly.
Hermione nodded and stood, walking over to the Ravenclaw table to approach Luna.
“Luna, want to join us for breakfast?”
Luna looked up, slightly dazed, but smiled serenely when she saw Hermione. “Sure.”
Her voice was as ethereal as her presence, though her slightly puffy eyes were hard to ignore.
When Luna joined the Gryffindor table, Hermione asked quietly, “Is it always like this for you in Ravenclaw?”
The whispers from the Ravenclaw table grew louder, now including Hermione in their gossip—criticizing her for meddling or even maliciously speculating about her and Harry’s relationship.
“I’m sorry for causing you trouble,” Luna said apologetically. “But I noticed—there seem to be Wrackspurts around Harry’s head. Are you worried about something, Harry?”
“It’s no trouble, Luna,” Hermione said with a dismissive smile. “I don’t care what a few irrelevant people say behind my back. Wrackspurts? What are those? Is Harry worried?”
“Wrackspurts… they’re buzzing things,” Luna said softly. “When they’re around you, it means you’re troubled.”
“I’m worried about a friend, but it’s fine,” Harry said, smiling at Luna. “She’ll be back soon.”
“Is it Veratia?” Hermione asked, her curiosity piqued. “Is she finally finishing her studies in the Muggle world?”
“No,” Harry said, shaking his head.
But Hermione’s mention of Veratia jogged Harry’s memory. Back in the Austro-Hungarian Empire, Veratia had faced similar treatment—girls whispering behind her back, tripping her up, even hiding her diadem…
If Veratia met Luna, who shared a similar experience, perhaps they’d become good friends?
“Who, then?” Hermione pressed, ever the gossip.
Harry smirked. “I have the right to remain silent.”
“I know you’re hiding something, Harry. You’re acting guilty,” Hermione said, narrowing her eyes as if trying to spot a crack in his facade.
But Harry just shrugged and went back to his breakfast.
Breakfast was important, after all. A king’s breakfast, a prince’s lunch, and a beggar’s dinner—that was the proper way to eat.
After breakfast, Harry headed to Professor Sprout’s greenhouse.
Sprout was dressed as plainly as ever, with a few wilted leaves still clinging to her hair.
“Harry,” she said, unsurprised by his arrival. “Here for the mallowsweet leaves? I’ve prepared a bag for you over there.”
“Thanks, Professor,” Harry said, picking up the parcel she’d indicated.
“Be sure to tell Mr. Longbottom to stop by,” Sprout added. “I need to speak with him.”
“Will do, Professor,” Harry nodded and left the greenhouse.
On his way past the dining hall, he relayed the message to Veratia, then climbed the stairs to the Headmaster’s office.
This time, the gargoyle didn’t even spoken before leaping aside.
Harry gave it a surprised glance. Well, that’s unexpected.
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