Harry Potter: The Golden Viper

0457 Return

Creak—

The ancient, weathered hinges of Hogwarts' massive wrought iron gates emitted a piercing creak that reverberated through the misty Scottish Highlands and across the dark, rippling waters of the Black Lake. Perched majestically atop a rugged cliff, the castle of Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry stood against the gloomy, overcast sky. Its imposing stone towers and walls, adorned with countless flickering windows, were shrouded in a fine, persistent drizzle that spoke of summer's gradual surrender to the encroaching autumn.

Bryan made his way along the slick, moss-covered cobblestone path that looped through the campus grounds. His keen eyes, sharp despite the dampness that clung to his travel-worn robes, roamed over the familiar sights he hadn't laid eyes upon in two long months.

As Bryan's gaze lingered on the towering golden hoops of the Quidditch pitch, a booming voice cut through the pitter-patter of raindrops:

"Oi! Professor Watson, yer back!"

From the edge of the Forbidden Forest, now deep greens and shadowy browns in the gloomy weather, an enormous figure emerged from a stone hut. Hagrid lumbered across the soaked lawn with surprising agility for a man of his stature. His wild, tangled beard and hair were dotted with raindrops, and his moleskin overcoat flapped wildly in the gusts sweeping in from the lake.

Bryan turned at the familiar voice, a warm smile spreading across his face. "Hagrid! How wonderful to see you. How did your summer treat you?"

"Blimey, it was brilliant, Professor! Right fulfillin', if I do say so meself!" Hagrid exclaimed, his beetle-black eyes twinkling with barely contained excitement. He closed the distance between them in a few giant strides, his massive form creating a makeshift windbreak that shielded Bryan from the wind and rain blowing in from the Black Lake.

"Spent the whole summer creatin' an interestin' little creature." Hagrid continued, lowering his voice despite the lack of other listeners. "Can' wait fer the little ones ter meet 'em. Say, Professor Watson, would yeh like a sneak peek? Even Dumbledore couldn' stop praisin' those adorable little blighters!"

Hagrid's craggy face was lit with childlike anticipation, his eyes shining like polished onyx. Bryan's lips twitched at the thought of Hagrid's latest "interesting creature."

"I'd be delighted to meet your new... friend, Hagrid," Bryan replied diplomatically, subtly quickening his pace towards the castle. "But perhaps not at this precise moment. I've had quite the journey today, and I'm afraid my stomach is currently making more persuasive arguments than my curiosity. Some of Hogwarts' famous dishes would hit the spot right about now."

"Ah, I was just about to head to the Great Hall for dinner myself—"

Hagrid said, sounding a bit disappointed, but his mood quickly lifted again.

"I saw about the Quidditch final in the Daily Prophet, Professor Watson. It was incredible! When I went to Hogsmeade, all the villagers were talking about it. Everyone was saying that if you hadn't saved so many people from that dark witch, the Ministry would have surely fallen this time!"

In Hagrid's eyes, Bryan quelling a riot seemed far less important than the hybrid creature he had concocted.

"I merely chased those dark wizards away from the stadium, Hagrid. It was the Ministry who tracked down these audacious fellows and sent them back to Azkaban."

As they conversed, Bryan swiftly navigated the slippery marble steps leading into the cavernous entrance hall of Hogwarts.

Without the young witches and wizards, the Great Hall wasn't as grand as usual. The enchanted ceiling reflecting the night sky outside hadn't been activated, and a thousand brightly lit candles weren't floating in mid-air. However, the floor and the long tables against the walls had been polished spotless, apparently in preparation for the new school year.

Bryan's footsteps echoed in the vast space as he carefully made his way across the polished floor. His eyes were drawn to an unexpected sight: a sixteen-seat dining table placed in the center of the hall, around which most of the Hogwarts faculty and staff were already gathered. A smile tugged at the corners of his mouth as he approached, calling out with a hint of feigned indignation:

"I say, why wasn't I informed of this sumptuous feast? I would have hurried back with far more swiftness had I known such a welcome awaited me!"

The table was a veritable who's who of Hogwarts' finest: At the head sat Dumbledore, in robes of midnight blue glittering with twinkling stars. To his right was the ever-stern Professor McGonagall, Professor Filius Flitwick, the Charms Master, was perched on top of a stack of cushions, while the caring Professor Sprout's hat was decorated with what appeared to be a miniature Venomous Tentacula.

Professor Snape, Bryan's former Head of House, sat with his characteristic scowl, dark eyes glittering in the candlelight. Aurora Sinistra of Astronomy, Sybill Trelawney of Divination (looking as usual like an oversized, glittering insect), as well as Professors Vector, Burbage, and Babbling all were present.

Even the support staff had been included in this gathering: Madam Pince from the library sat rigidly, as if afraid to relax for fear that a book somewhere be mishandled, while Madam Pomfrey from the hospital wing chatted animatedly with her neighbor. Most surprisingly, even Filch had managed to secure a seat, looking almost respectable in a suit that had seen better days.

"Perhaps someone did inform you," Dumbledore replied, his eyes twinkling with humor as he scooped out a strand of his long silver beard from a bowl of creamy mushroom soup. "But in the excitement of your recent heroics, it may have slipped your mind. Come, join us! There's always room for one more at Hogwarts."

Most people showed kind smiles, which was exactly what Bryan had hoped to see.

Of course, there were exceptions. For instance, a certain Potions professor with greasy hair and a hooked nose glanced sideways, his lips curled in sneer.

"Perhaps, Headmaster, you forgot to mention the price of admission. Dining with the most celebrated wizard of our time doesn't come cheaply, after all. I'm sure Professor Watson's autograph would fetch a tidy sum these days."

"Oh, do be quiet, Professor," Bryan retorted good-naturedly, "A man who's failed to secure the Defense Against the Dark Arts position after applying for fourteen consecutive years is in no position to criticize me—"

A ripple of laughter swept around the table, noticeably warmer than the polite chuckles that had greeted Snape's jab. Even Dumbledore's beard twitched suspiciously.

With a wave of wands and a general shuffling of chairs, space was made for both Bryan and Hagrid – the latter requiring an entire side of the table to himself. Bryan set down his travel case with a relieved sigh, hung his rain-spattered cloak on the back of his chair, and settled himself between Snape and Dumbledore.

The table itself was a sight to behold, groaning under the weight of Hogwarts' finest cuisine. Golden platters held mountains of roast beef, Yorkshire puddings, and crisp roast potatoes. Tureens of rich gravies and savory sauces steamed invitingly, while platters of colorful vegetables added splashes of vibrant color to the spread. At the center of it all stood an enormous, elegant candelabra, its flickering flames casting a warm, intimate glow over the assembled company.

At Dumbledore's gracious invitation, Bryan reached for a crystal flask of golden honey mead. As he poured himself a modest measure, the rich aroma of the wine mingled with the savory scents of the feast, instantly made his mouth water. He took an appreciative sip, feeling the smooth liquor warm him from within, seeming to wash away two months' worth of accumulated tension in a single swallow.

With a contented sigh, Bryan set down his goblet and asked lightly, "So, what exciting topics of conversation have I interrupted? Surely you haven't spent the entire evening singing my praises?"

"As a matter of fact, Bryan," squeaked Professor Flitwick, practically bouncing in his seat with excitement, "we were just discussing that remarkable Fiendfyre curse you used at the Quidditch World Cup final! Simply extraordinary spellwork!"

"You've mispronounced the name of the spell, Filius," Snape interjected silkily, his dark eyes glittering. "It's the 'Spirit Fire' charm. Using actual Fiendfyre would land even our esteemed colleague in Azkaban. More... clever individuals have long since identified this particular loophole."

'What! has the Ministry cordoned off the Potter cottage in Godric's Hollow and prevented people from entering?'

Bryan glared at Snape in exasperation.

"I must say, Bryan, this iteration of the spell was quite different from the one you used in the Forbidden Forest years ago,"

Perhaps because the two-month summer holiday had finally given her some time to recuperate, Professor McGonagall looked in fairly good spirits, even her gaunt cheeks seemed fuller. She said with her Scottish accent appearing more distinct in her enthusiasm.

"While I regrettably couldn't attend the match myself," Professor McGonagall continued, "the Daily Prophet published many photographs of your spell. The academic community has been abuzz, analyzing every detail in those photos. The editorial board of 'Today's Transfiguration' and I have been discussing extensively on the subject through letters. We've reached a consensus that there are certain elements of advanced Transfiguration in this spell.

Only the most meticulous magical control could possibly constrain Fiendfyre – oh, pardon me, Bryan – 'Spirit Fire,' such a notoriously volatile and powerful fire spell, into such a stable form and display a marvelous dual nature, causing high-temperature damage to enemies while showing a gentle side to oneself!"

The assembled Hogwarts staff, all outstanding figures in their respective magical fields, leaned in with rapt attention. Even those less versed in combat magic couldn't help but be drawn into the discussion of such an impressive feat of spellcraft. Dumbledore, his blue eyes twinkling with undisguised interest, stroked his long beard thoughtfully before adding his own observations.

"A truly brilliant piece of magic, Bryan," Dumbledore said with great interest. "I've encountered numerous wizards over the years who have sought to maximize the raw destructive potential of Fiendfyre, but you've charted an entirely different course in your reimagining of this spell. You prioritized stability and precise control over sheer power – a choice that requires incredibly bold innovation in the theoretical configuration of this spell. Most crucially, it demands a level of mental fortitude and concentration that few wizards could hope to maintain in the heat of battle."

The table had transformed into an impromptu seminar on advanced magical theory. Except for Filch, who looked utterly lost but seemed to be enjoying his roast beef nonetheless, everyone clamored to offer their perspective on Bryan's spell. Even Hagrid, between enormous mouthfuls of mashed potatoes, managed to contribute a muffled, "Looked a fair sight more powerful than any dragon's flame I've ever seen!"

As the discussion of his spellwork continued persistently, Bryan found himself experiencing a curious mix of pride and mild discomfort at being the center of such intense scrutiny. Seeking to change the main subject of conversation, he raised his voice slightly to be heard over the excited chatter:

"While I'm deeply flattered by your interest in my little parlor trick, perhaps we might turn our attention to the rather more significant challenge looming on our horizon? The Triwizard Tournament is no small responsibility, after all."

"Oh, Bryan!" Madam Pomfrey exclaimed, her cheeks flushed from several glasses of wine. She hiccupped softly before continuing, her words slightly slurred. "For two consecutive school years, you've sent dozens of young witches and wizards to my hospital wing en masse. I implore you – please, for the love of Merlin, don't let it happen again this year! I don't want to lose face in front of the foreigners!"

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