"What's with the Dementors? What are they doing here?"
Panic swept through the Great Hall, hitting the younger students hardest. First- and second-years looked terrified, while older students turned to the professors, who in turn looked to Dumbledore at the center of the high table.
Dumbledore's face was thunderous.
Fudge had promised him the Dementors would only patrol outside the castle, never stepping foot inside Hogwarts.
Yet, no sooner had Fudge left than the Dementors barged in.
At the entrance to the Great Hall, their sickening presence materialized—one, two, three… fifty Dementors, crowding the passageway with their nauseating aura.
Dumbledore rose to his feet. He removed his half-moon glasses, revealing piercing blue eyes that gleamed like sharpened swords. A formidable aura radiated from him, commanding the room.
For the first time, he drew his wand.
It was a slender, 15-inch wand with subtle bulges along its length, unremarkable in appearance.
But that was the Elder Wand, one of the Deathly Hallows.
"Out," Dumbledore said, his voice low but firm.
With a slight lift of his hand, he flicked the wand. A brilliant white light, bright yet not blinding, erupted, forming a whirlwind of radiance. It roared through the hall, sweeping all fifty Dementors up like rubbish and hurling them out of Hogwarts.
A deafening boom echoed as the castle doors slammed shut. (Hogwarts, a magical fortress, forms a protective barrier when its gates close, warding off intruders to an extent.)
The entire display took less than two seconds.
Unrivaled, peerless, towering above all.
Those words flashed through Dudley's mind.
This was his first time witnessing Dumbledore in action, the first time he'd seen the pinnacle of wizarding power.
The gap between Dumbledore and ordinary wizards was a chasm impossible to cross. To put it simply, Dumbledore's magic was on a different level entirely—like a different art form.
This is a true spellcaster. The kind I aspire to be. One day, I'll reach that level.
Calm, composed, invincible.
Dudley stared at Dumbledore, his eyes blazing with determination.
In Dumbledore's presence, other wizards might as well be street performers pulling rabbits out of hats.
Dudley didn't know how much power Dumbledore had used, but this was the strength he dreamed of achieving.
For the Hogwarts students, it was also their first time seeing Dumbledore wield his magic.
That suffocating, awe-inspiring power left an indelible mark on their minds.
Fifty Dementors weren't some random goblins. Taking down even one Dementor marked you as an elite wizard.
And Dumbledore had dispatched fifty with a single, casual flick of his wand.
The Slytherin students paled, exchanging glances as if rethinking their entire approach to Dumbledore.
"Is my dad an idiot? Why does he keep provoking someone this powerful?"
Draco Malfoy's face was the grimmest. He recalled his father's reckless confrontations with Dumbledore—especially last year's direct challenge—and mentally cursed Lucius's foolishness. If Dumbledore ever decided to stop playing by the rules and flip the table, the Malfoy family would be the first to suffer.
It wasn't impossible. Wizarding history was littered with examples of such events.
The deeper one delved into magic, the more they revered those at its peak.
That was Draco's reality check.
This family head can't stay in Father's hands—he's too reckless!
Truth be told, it had been years since Dumbledore last showed his power. Most students, even older graduates, had never seen it. Time had dulled his reputation, and many now saw him as a quirky, illogical old man.
But this was the wizard who had defeated Grindelwald in single combat, who made Death Eaters quake and even Voldemort tread carefully—the greatest white wizard of the twentieth century.
"I think we can continue," Dumbledore said, his tone softening to its usual warmth as he addressed the hall.
Having witnessed his power, the students listened intently to his speech.
"First, allow me to introduce Professor Lupin, who has kindly agreed to fill the vacancy for Defence Against the Dark Arts."
This was the man Dudley had seen on the Hogwarts Express, the one who'd driven off a Dementor with a wolf-shaped Patronus.
The hall erupted in applause, with the Slytherin table clapping loudest. They might not care for Lupin, but they'd give Dumbledore face.
There was no shame in admiring strength.
"As for our second appointment," Dumbledore continued, "I regret to inform you that Professor Kettleburn, our Care of Magical Creatures teacher, retired last year. His position will be filled by Rubeus Hagrid, who has agreed to take on the role in addition to his duties as gamekeeper."
This announcement caught the students off guard.
Hagrid's name was familiar to most, especially anyone who'd ever ventured near the Forbidden Forest. While some students doubted his qualifications, with Dumbledore calling the shots, they weren't about to argue.
The applause was thunderous, lingering in the air.
Hagrid, overwhelmed by the response, teared up, his eyes red with emotion.
"I declare the feast begun!" Dumbledore announced.
The long tables filled with mouthwatering dishes, and the famished students dove in.
Question: When does food taste best?
Answer: When you're starving—especially after a whole day without eating.
At the Slytherin table, plates of meat vanished at an alarming rate, mostly into Dudley's stomach. Even Draco, usually so refined, was wolfing down food faster than usual. Spending so much time with Dudley—and his intense training—had tripled Draco's appetite.
Crabbe and Goyle exchanged a look, realizing Draco was out-eating even them.
Over at the Gryffindor table, a few big eaters stood out, none more so than Ron, dual-wielding chicken drumsticks with grease smeared across his face, grinning like he'd won the Quidditch Cup.