Chapter 337: A Gaze from the Shadows
In July, countless great snowy owls swept out from the castle and fanned across all of Middle‑earth.
They carried not only supply lists for those about to enter their second year, but also acceptance letters for the new first‑years.
Under the eager gazes of children from every corner of north and south, the white owls flew like messengers of good fortune, bearing the long‑awaited envelopes.
This year's intake was larger than last year's.
Besides the young wizards from Kael's own lands, the Elves from various realms, and the northern Dúnedain, several children of the southern Dúnedain in Gondor also received letters.
Among the nobles of Gondor, just like the northern Dúnedain, many were descended from the Númenóreans of old.
Through generations of marriage with other peoples, their blood had slowly thinned, and their lifespans had dwindled close to those of ordinary Men.
Even so, there were sometimes throwbacks, in whom Númenórean blood resurfaced strongly. The children who received acceptance letters this time were such cases. Because they possessed magical talent, their names had been written by the Quill of Acceptance and recorded in the Book of Admittance.
The news that children of Gondor itself had been accepted to Hogwarts delighted Steward Ecthelion II. He even granted these few children and their parents an in-person audience.
Ecthelion had long known of Hogwarts and its recruitment of students to study magic.
What he regretted most was that his own son, Denethor II, was already of age and no longer eligible for admission.
The line of the Stewards, as direct Númenórean heirs, was second only to the royal house in nobility of blood. Though their lifespans had shortened through marriages to outlanders, they retained traces of Númenórean gifts
Denethor's own sons, Boromir and Faramir, both possessed the gift of foresight. Before the War of the Ring, they dreamed prophetic dreams, catching vague glimpses and messages about the One Ring.
As their father, Denethor II, also had magical ability. He had gone early to the wand shop in Diagon Alley, purchased a wand that suited him, and bought every magic book he could find.
Steward Ecthelion, wealthy and generous, went further and hired at great cost a graduate of one of Kael's accelerated training courses as a private tutor to instruct Denethor in magic.
Though his progress was nothing remarkable, Denethor had at least mastered a number of basic spells and could barely be counted as an ordinary wizard.
To learn deeper and more advanced magic, however, there was no other way but Hogwarts.
Denethor was content. Magic was only an interest; he had neither the time nor energy to pursue it too far.
As the son of the Steward of Gondor, he was destined to inherit that office in the future. What he needed most to learn was how to bear the fate of a realm.
Returning to the matter at hand, once all the students had received their letters from Hogwarts, time slipped quickly into August.
Families of new students who lived far afield all came by Portkey enclosed with the acceptance letters, travelling to Diagon Alley to buy school supplies.
The rising second‑years were smart enough to avoid the day when the new intake descended on Diagon Alley. They came later, either arranging to meet friends or travelling with their parents, to buy their second‑year books and other equipment.
After a lively August, the first of September arrived almost before anyone realised.
First‑years and second‑years alike gathered in Hogsmeade. After farewells to their parents, they boarded the waiting carriages one after another.
The second‑years, seeing the wide‑eyed newcomers, felt as if they were looking at their own reflections from a year before. Now considering themselves senior students, they stepped forward of their own accord to help the nervous and awkward first‑years.
In the glow of the setting sun, the carriages rolled in good order across the bridge and up toward the castle.
They passed through the gates and halted before the great doors.
"First‑years, over here please," Deputy Headmaster Edward called, having waited there for some time.
The lost and uncertain first‑years hurried together at the sound of his voice, shuffling over to follow his instructions.
As for the second‑years, the moment they caught sight of Professor Edward, they became instantly well‑behaved, scurrying into the Great Hall as fast as they could, eager not to attract his attention.
"Phew, that scared the life out of me. Professor Edward is terrifying when he looks serious," Adam Bailey said with exaggerated relief as he flopped onto a Phoenix House bench.
His dorm‑mates and friends, Aranil the elf and Anlomire the Dúnedain, could not help smiling at his cat‑before‑a‑cat situation.
"Professor Edward is strict, but he is not that frightening," Anlomire said, amused.
Adam slumped over the table, utterly deflated. "Your Transfiguration marks are good; of course, you are not afraid of him. My mark last term was only an A, just Acceptable, how could I not be?"
On top of that, Edward was their Head of House.
It felt exactly like being the worst student in class whenever the form master walked by. All Adam could do was pray that the professor's gaze would slide right past him.
Not that Adam was truly a poor student. Apart from Transfiguration, his results in other subjects were all O for Outstanding or E for Exceeds Expectations.
Transfiguration, however, was another story entirely.
In the end‑of‑year exam, Professor Edward had asked him to turn a rat into a snuffbox.
Adam did, in fact, succeed in transforming the rat into a very fine snuff bottle.
But at the same time, every other object nearby turned into rats.
A rat plague erupted in Professor Edward's office.
He managed to catch and revert most of them, but some escaped into the corridor. Students queuing outside for their exams shrieked as the rats scurried past, and a handful vanished into holes only they knew, never to be seen again.
Edward had lost a shoe, a teacup, and a pocket watch in that accident. He had written the "A" on Adam's report card with particular force.
The story had since become one of the school's favourite jokes.
As the second-year students took their seats in the hall, the professors also returned to the high table.
Once everyone was in place, the closed doors of the Great Hall swung open again.
Professor Edward strode in first. Behind him, the first‑years followed in two neat lines like ducklings after their dam, staring around the hall with nervous awe.
The professors and the second‑years watched them, waiting for the Sorting Ceremony to begin.
There were more first‑years this time than the year before, one hundred and twenty‑four in all.
After the Sorting Hat sang its newly composed song, the ceremony began in earnest.
Each time a student was placed in a house, the table in question erupted into applause.
Once all were sorted, Kael rose and briefly repeated the important notices, then declared the feast begun.
With only half a year left until Arwen's expected confinement, most of his attention was on her.
Yet even as he turned toward her, Kael suddenly sensed a malicious gaze upon him.
He looked up at once, tracing the source of that hostile intent, but saw only the students below. The gaze scattered and was gone, like a mirage.
For a moment, it was as if he had imagined it.