RYANTHEGHOST
patreon
HP: Bloodraven Chapter 304 - Those Deemed Worthy (I)
🕑 Added 2026-01-12 14:57:17 +0000 UTCThe ancient stone corridors of Hogwarts Castle, silent and still throughout the summer months, burst back into life with excited chatter and hurried footsteps as students returned in droves.
After indulging in the comforts of the summer vacation, young witches and wizards were eager to reconnect with friends and exchange tales of their adventures, but many also found themselves struggling to readjust to early mornings and the return of rigid schedules.
As such, the first few weeks, as in every other year, quickly became notorious for a sudden surge in lateness. Panicked faces, flushed with exertion and anxiety, became a familiar sight as students burst into classrooms, gasping out breathless apologies to stern-faced professors who had seen the same scene play out countless times before.
For wide-eyed first-year students newly arrived at Hogwarts, the challenge was even greater. The enormous castle transformed into a labyrinth of confusion and wonder, and lost amid shifting staircases and endless hallways, they wandered in small, uncertain groups. Their young faces reflected equal parts awe and dismay as they tried to navigate their way to classrooms hidden somewhere within the chaos.
For the older students, however, the familiar routine of classroom to classroom, then to the Great Hall for meals, and finally back to their common rooms quickly settled in within just a few days.
The only notable difference was perhaps Defence Against the Dark Arts, though then again, that subject was almost always a new experience every year. This time, however, it proved particularly interesting, as their new professor turned out to be far more no-nonsense than anyone had expected.
Unlike most previous years, excluding perhaps the immediate last one, the students were actually learning something of substance. Instead of memorizing hollow theories, they were taught real defensive magic and practical combat skills.
Professor Alastor Moody had discarded the textbooks from the very first day and chose to teach directly from his own experiences as a veteran Auror, rather than following a rigid syllabus.
Of course, he did not completely neglect academic foundations. Having once been a student at Hogwarts himself, and remembering what was typically expected at each year level, Moody constructed his lessons with care.
Even in the original story, the counterfeit Moody’s lessons were notably unique, and here it was much the same. Although he did not begin by introducing the students directly to the three Unforgivable Curses, the material was still gripping in its own right. Suffice to say, the students became invested very quickly.
Meanwhile, behind the scenes of the everyday routines unfolding throughout the school, the castle itself was undergoing a great change during that time as well. Long-neglected corners were quietly restored as suits of armor were polished to a dull gleam, tapestries were mended thread by thread, and enchanted brooms glided through empty corridors at odd hours, sweeping away months of settled dust.
House-elves worked tirelessly in places rarely seen by students, scrubbing stone floors until they shone and coaxing life back into aging wood with careful magic. Staircases were realigned, torches burned brighter, and classrooms were subtly refreshed, all without ever disrupting the steady rhythm of lessons, meals, and common room gatherings.
To the students, Hogwarts felt much the same at first, though gradually they also began to notice that the ancient castle was quietly renewing itself.
It doesn't take a genius to guess why, after all, the school would soon be welcoming and hosting guests for the remainder of the year. And although they were long accustomed to the usual dusty corners scattered throughout the castle, the sight of a cleaner Hogwarts was certainly a welcome change.
The transformations caused no real disturbance, aside from a few occasional murmurs. Days passed, at least on the surface, without much fanfare, and life at the school continued on as it always had.
---
Time, like a wandering meteor slipping unnoticed through space, had passed without warning, and before anyone truly realized it, two months had vanished in the blink of an eye.
As the sun rose on yet another day, Mavrick slept on until he woke naturally. Soft morning light filtered through the enchanted windows of his quarters, easing him from slumber rather than tearing him from it.
There was no mad rush to dress, no frantic scramble to reach breakfast on time, and instead he stretched languidly, savoring the rare calm of what had so far been a peaceful new year.
So far, at least.
The crisp autumn air of late October had settled over Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry, bringing with it an electric sense of anticipation that had not been felt within the castle walls for a while now. The mood was reminiscent of the first interschool Quidditch competition when Hogwarts had hosted and welcomed delegations from foreign schools, and this time it felt even more exciting.
Perhaps it was because this was not purely a sports event. After all, while Quidditch was the most popular sport in the wizarding world, not everyone would be head over heels for just flying brooms and goalposts.
The Triwizard Tournament, on the other hand, was something far beyond a simple sport. It was a legendary event steeped in danger and prestige, where magic itself was pushed to its limits and champions were tested in ways no ordinary sport could ever hope to match.
And so, from devoted Quidditch fans to those who rarely spared the sport a glance, nearly all the students buzzed with excitement for the day. Even the professors, many of whom had spent decades teaching at Hogwarts, found themselves swept up in the growing anticipation.
With the coming occasion drawing near, aside from the castle as a whole feeling noticeably cleaner, subtle yet unmistakable changes began to manifest among the students as well.
The most apparent transformation could be seen in the demeanor and appearance of their female classmates, though it was by no means limited to them. Even the male students, particularly those in the upper years, were not immune to the change.
Where once simple hair ties and practical styles had been sufficient, now elaborate braids, enchanted hair accessories, and meticulously crafted hairstyles adorned many of the upper-year witches throughout the school.
Likewise, the older wizards could be spotted paying far more attention to their appearance than usual, with neatly styled hair, freshly pressed robes, and an unspoken effort to appear more confident and composed than they truly felt.
The professors, too, seemed to have undergone a transformation of their own, delivering their lessons with renewed vigor and passion, as though wary of the scrutiny that might come from visiting students, a prospect that would have been deeply embarrassing indeed.
After a pleasant shower and an unhurried breakfast, Maverick made his way to his first class of the day. Throughout the lesson, the mounting excitement was evident among the students, with nearly all of them, including those usually focused, struggling to keep their attention on the material.
He could hardly blame them. Letting out a wry exhale, he chose not to press the lesson too hard that day and instead allowed the students some breathing room. And much like his own class, attention was lacking elsewhere as well, with thoughts drifting endlessly toward the arrival of the Beauxbatons and Durmstrang students that evening.
Even the normally dreaded Potions class felt less oppressive than usual, as though the anticipation of the coming celebrations had softened even Snape’s brooding demeanor.
And when the final bell of the afternoon classes finally rang, its sound triggered an immediate flurry of activity throughout the castle. Students were seen practically sprinting as they hastily dropped off their bags and books in their dormitories, donned their cloaks against the evening chill, and then hurried back down the staircases to join the growing crowd in the entrance hall.
There, the students lined up in neat rows before leaving the hall under the guidance of their respective heads of house, making their way toward the open grounds in front of the castle.
The cold wind of late October did nothing to dampen their enthusiasm. Excited chatter rippled through the crowd, blending talk of handsome boys and beautiful witches from other schools with wild guesses about how the visiting delegations might arrive.
Speculation, laughter, and hurried whispers overlapped in every direction, and even the sharp reprimands of the prefects proved useless in quieting the restless excitement.
Hearing McGonagall reprimand one of her house’s students for what felt like the nth time, Maverick, who stood with Dumbledore a short distance away, could not help but let out a quiet chuckle.
“She really is thorough to the core,” he murmured. “An out-and-out professor, through and through.”
Dumbledore nodded, a soft chuckle escaping him as well, his eyes twinkling behind his half-moon spectacles. “Indeed. Were the school ever left in her capable hands, I would have not a single worry to trouble my mind.”
At those words, Maverick turned slightly, one brow lifting in mild surprise. Before he could comment, however, the old wizard continued.
“Ah, do not misunderstand me, Maverick,” Dumbledore said gently. “I have no intention of retiring anytime soon. I am merely speaking from the heart. Hogwarts is my home, and knowing it could be entrusted to someone like Minerva brings me great comfor—”
He paused then, his gaze drifting toward the Great Lake, then lifting to the sky, half filled with the crimson clouds of sunset, as his eyes gleamed faintly and a knowing smile curved his lips.
“It seems,” he added softly, “our guests have arrived.”
By now, the entire staff had assembled in an impressive line behind the students, their formal robes and solemn expressions lending the occasion a sense of gravity.
Even the old caretaker Filch had dressed for the event, sporting a trimmed beard, polished boots, and what could almost be called a properly ironed outfit. Presentable, at least by Filch’s standards.
Comments
QuantumServer
Thanks for the chapter
