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Dinner time.
The students in the Great Hall weren't rushing to eat as usual. Instead, they sat in small groups around the long tables, whispering and speculating about why Dumbledore was so late in appearing.
At the Hufflepuff table, Lynn was buried in a plate of roasted lamb chops. The juices overflowed, crispy on the outside and tender on the inside; he had already devoured three pieces in one breath and was preparing to charge at the fourth.
Edgar sat beside him, listlessly poking the mashed potatoes on his plate with a fork.
"What do you think the Principal wants to say by gathering all the teachers and students?" he asked curiously, nudging Lynn's arm. "Could it be related to the second task?"
Lynn's mouth was stuffed full as he replied indistinctly, "Probably not..."
"Hmm?" Edgar didn't hear clearly.
Lynn swallowed the meat in his mouth and took a sip of Pumpkin Juice to wash it down before speaking unhurriedly.
"If it were related to the Tournament, the Principals of the other schools should all be here. No matter how reluctant Karkaroff is, he'd have to attend a dinner where important matters are being announced, right?"
Edgar nodded thoughtfully.
"That makes sense."
"And look at the staff table." Lynn pointed his fork toward the high table. "Madame Maxime, Piquery—none of them are here. That shows it has nothing to do with the Tournament; it's an internal Hogwarts matter."
William chimed in from the side.
"Is it possible it's about the Yule Ball?"
"The Yule Ball?" Lynn turned his head in confusion.
William was just about to explain—
Dumbledore walked in through the side door.
The old Principal wore a set of deep purple robes embroidered with stars and moons, his silvery-white beard neatly groomed.
He appeared to be in a good mood, chatting with Professor Moody beside him with a kind smile on his face.
Moody walked beside him. Even without his magical eye, it didn't stop his remaining eye from darting around, his expression as vigilant as ever.
The two walked to the high table and sat in their respective seats.
Dumbledore picked up a napkin and wiped the corners of his mouth—even though he hadn't eaten anything—and then slowly poured himself a cup of tea.
He showed no intention of standing up to speak at all.
The students in the Great Hall began to grow restless.
"What on earth is he going to say?"
"Why hasn't it started yet?"
"I'm almost falling asleep..."
Edgar nudged Lynn again.
"When do you think he'll speak?"
Lynn shrugged.
"Just wait. It's not like we're in a hurry anyway."
He picked up another lamb chop.
At the high table, Dumbledore and Moody were still chatting. Moody's expression was serious as he spoke, while Dumbledore nodded frequently, occasionally interjecting a word or two.
Several more minutes passed.
Finally, Dumbledore set down his teacup and stood up.
He cleared his throat, his gaze slowly sweeping across the entire Great Hall.
"You must all be very curious," he said with a smile, "as to why I requested everyone come to the Great Hall for dinner."
A chorus of agreement rose from below.
"Exactly!"
"Hurry up and tell us, Principal!"
"I'm getting sleepy from waiting!"
Dumbledore's smile deepened.
"You've guessed correctly," he said. "It's the Yule Ball."
The Great Hall erupted instantly.
"The Yule Ball!"
"Really?!"
"Merlin! Finally!"
Dumbledore raised his hand, signaling for everyone to quiet down.
"This is a traditional part of the Tri...Tournament," he continued. "It's also a wonderful opportunity for us to socialize with our foreign guests. At that time, teachers and students from the six schools will gather together to spend this beautiful evening."
Cheers rose one after another.
Lynn didn't know if it was his imagination, but he felt as though someone was staring at him.
He didn't dare turn around—didn't dare turn around at all.
Edgar was still excitedly muttering beside him.
"A ball! My God! I need to get some new robes! What do you think of dark blue? Or dark green?"
Lynn ignored him and continued eating his lamb chops with his head down.
Pretending he hadn't noticed anything.
After finishing his opening remarks, Dumbledore thought about the "restrictions" he had to mention next and turned his gaze toward Professor McGonagall.
He winked.
Professor McGonagall: "..."
She looked at Dumbledore expressionlessly, her gaze clearly saying: You started this, so you finish it.
Dumbledore winked again.
That look clearly said: For such a killjoy task, it's not easy for an old man like me to speak up.
The corner of Professor McGonagall's mouth twitched slightly. She took a deep breath and stood up.
A cough—not loud, yet it instantly suppressed all the noise in the Great Hall.
"Listen to the Principal finish."
Dumbledore's smile froze for a moment.
A sneak attack?!
But he quickly regained his composure, gave a sheepish laugh, and continued.
"So... next are the requirements for the ball."
The Great Hall fell silent instantly, and the students immediately had an ominous premonition.
"The ball is only open to students in the fourth year and above," Dumbledore said, "but—"
He paused deliberately, his gaze sweeping over the disappointed faces of the younger students below.
"—if you wish, you may also choose a younger student as a partner. Provided that the younger student agrees."
The younger students' eyes lit up instantly.
"The time is 8:00 PM on Christmas night, and it will be held in the Great Hall. By then, the Great Hall will be newly decorated, and there will be a live band performing."
Dumbledore paused and added:
"Remember to wear your Dress Robes then. This is a rare opportunity, and I hope everyone can enjoy the evening."
After saying this, he didn't care about the students' reactions.
He simply raised his hand—
Snap.
Fawkes appeared out of thin air and landed on his shoulder.
Dumbledore waved to everyone, and then the man and bird turned into a ball of fire, vanishing instantly.
His speed in slipping away was astonishing.
...
The dinner ended.
Students began standing up one after another, walking toward the doors in small groups. The chairs by the long tables made piercing sounds as they scraped against the floor. The tableware was quietly cleared away by House-elves, and the lingering scent of food still drifted through the air.
Lynn sat at the Hufflepuff table, unmoving.
For some reason, he felt more and more eyes staring at him.
Not just one or two, but many.
Coming from all directions—some curious, some appraising, some meaningful, and a few clearly carrying a hint of amusement.
He didn't dare turn his head to confirm the source of those gazes and could only keep his head down, pretending to study the wood grain of the tabletop.
This table sure is a table~ Oh! This floor sure is a floor~
Edgar stretched beside him.
"Let's go, back to the common room. I'm tired. I need to get a good night's sleep today—"
Lynn was just about to get up when a familiar voice came from the direction of the high table.
"Hogwarts champions, please stay behind for a moment."
Professor McGonagall's voice rang out, and Lynn's movements paused.
He was about to turn his head when he heard Edgar's faint voice beside him.
"You are the Champion of Azkaban."
Lynn turned his head and glared at him.
Edgar shrugged with an innocent look.
"I'm just stating the facts."
Lynn took a deep breath, just about to snap back—
Professor McGonagall saw Lynn standing still and felt there was a slight problem with her previous call.
Her voice rang out again.
"The champion of the Azkaban, please stay behind as well."
Lynn: "..."
Edgar nodded with satisfaction, a smile he couldn't hide on his face.
"Yes, yes, yes. This time she's actually calling you."
Lynn's mouth twitched as he pointed at Edgar.
"You beep-beep-beep—"