Chapter 41: Echoes of Space and Supper
As the last of the first years settled into their seats, the Great Hall buzzed with anticipation. The golden plates on the long tables gleamed under the flickering candlelight, yet no food had appeared. Whispers flitted among the students, a quiet murmur of curiosity and hunger.
At the staff table, Professor Dumbledore stood up, his long silver beard catching the soft glow of floating candles. With a twinkle in his eye and arms spread wide, he called out cheerfully, "Before everything, Let the feast... begin!"
A moment later, with a series of soft popping sounds and a shimmer in the air, the tables filled with platters and bowls, bursting with delicious food. Roast chickens, steamed vegetables, golden roast potatoes, gravy boats, meat pies, jugs of pumpkin juice, fresh bread rolls, and even desserts like treacle tarts and jam-filled puddings all appeared in an instant.
Thomas blinked, startled. He hadn't even noticed any movement—no servers, no trolleys. It was as if the food had popped into existence.
Fred, sitting beside him, jabbed his elbow and muttered with a grin, "What was that line? 'Let the feast begin'? That was it?"
George, already stacking roast potatoes onto his plate, added, "Must be a genius thing. You know—strange words, grand results."
Thomas chuckled. "I guess geniuses don't need to explain themselves."
Lee Jordan, sitting across from them, leaned in. "Well, when you're as powerful as Dumbledore, I suppose you can say whatever you want and food obeys."
Maribel Knox, a tall, quiet girl with chestnut curls and an observant gaze, added, "He's supposed to be the greatest wizard alive, right? Invented over a dozen spells, beat Grindelwald, runs the school, and has a pet phoenix."
Thomas raised an eyebrow. "A phoenix?"
"Oh yeah," said Alicia Spinnet, grinning. "Lives in his office. They burst into flames and are reborn from ashes. Bit dramatic, really."
Angelina Johnson, with her confident demeanor and no-nonsense tone, reached for a chicken leg. "Dramatic or not, if he can make food appear like this, I'm sold."
As everyone dug in, Thomas kept smiling and nodding, joining in with the banter. But part of his attention was elsewhere.
He had activated his Echo ability the moment he'd entered the Great Hall. Echo had become second nature to him now—a soft, invisible pulse extending from his body and bouncing back spatial impressions, like magical sonar. It showed outlines of the room, the structures, and the way space folded—or rather, refused to fold.
Thomas frowned slightly as he chewed a bite of roasted lamb. Something about the way space functioned inside Hogwarts was strange. It wasn't like any other place he'd scanned before. Normally, Echo would give him a smooth spatial rendering. But within Hogwarts, there were distortions. Almost like a... static barrier embedded deep in the building's foundation. A magical resistance.
Then he caught something. When the food appeared, there had been a flicker—a minor ripple, almost imperceptible—but to Thomas, who had honed his magical sensitivity for years, it was noticeable.
He glanced down the table, caught the attention of a fourth-year girl who was casually buttering her bread. "Excuse me," he said politely, "do you know how the food appears here? Is it magic?"
She looked up and smiled. "Yeah. It's brought up by house-elves. They cook everything in the kitchens below and use magic to send it here."
"House-elves?" Thomas asked.
"Little magical creatures," she replied. "They do all the cooking, cleaning... Hogwarts wouldn't run without them. Most students never see them, though."
"Thanks," he said, offering a grateful nod. The fourth-year turned back to her meal.
Thomas stared down at the steaming dishes. So, not a conjuring spell—but a transfer. That explained the spatial ripple.
He focused again, letting his Echo penetrate the space between the floor of the Great Hall and what lay beneath it. A vast kitchen, filled with movement—there they were. Tiny figures darting around, working in coordinated motions. The food was not created from nothing. It was relocated with remarkable precision.
As his magical senses adjusted further, he caught the tail end of a transfer. He visualized it happening—food disappearing from trays in the kitchen and reappearing on the tables above.
The process was spatial in nature, but unlike his own "Reach" or "Switch" spells, the magic the house-elves used didn't fold space smoothly. Instead, it forced the object—food in this case—through a tunnel of compressed spatial current. Like pushing a plate through a rubber tube.
That compression—he recognized it. It was the same strain he'd felt when trying to use Echo across Hogwarts's grounds.
His thoughts spun. There was a kind of anti-spatial magic woven into Hogwarts itself. A protective layer, maybe. Perhaps a deterrent against teleportation or apparition. It didn't block Echo entirely, but it resisted it—muffled it, distorted it. Now, seeing the house-elves' magic, he realized they had a workaround. Their magic wasn't elegant, but it was functional and can bypass the barrier.
Thomas leaned back, staring at the enchanted ceiling. The stars twinkled above the floating candles, and the illusion of the open night sky shimmered with atmospheric detail.
He was both amazed and curious.
Could he bypass Hogwarts's spatial defenses? Would his own magic adapt to the layers of protection within the walls?
His abilities had grown, especially with Echo and Switch. But this... this was a challenge.
He smiled faintly.
A welcome challenge.
His thoughts were interrupted by a loud snort. Fred had just tried to drink pumpkin juice while laughing at one of George's jokes, and now he was coughing, juice trickling from his nose.
"You alright there?" asked Lee Jordan, grinning.
"Just peachy," Fred gasped, wiping his face.
"What were you even laughing at?" Angelina asked, raising an eyebrow.
Fred recovered and looked at Thomas. "We were planning our next holiday prank. For our dear baby brother Ron. We're thinking—early morning alarms made of enchanted chicken feathers."
"Or maybe after a few years, switching his wand with a rubber carrot," George offered.
Thomas laughed, the mystery of Hogwarts's wards slipping to the back of his mind. The warmth of food, friendly laughter, and good company grounded him again.
"So, what about you, Thomas?" asked Kenneth Towler. "Any brothers or sisters?"
"No," Thomas said, carefully choosing his words. "I grew up in a big orphanage. Lots of kids, so it felt like having dozens of siblings."
Maribel gave him a kind look. "That's nice. A big family in its own way."
"It is," Thomas nodded. "Chaotic, loud, and always someone stealing your last biscuit."
"Sounds like the Weasley house," Fred said cheerfully.
They ate for a while longer, laughter and stories filling the air. Thomas made mental notes of names and personalities. Lee Jordan was a jokester with a dramatic flair. Angelina was sharp and confident. Alicia was observant and funny. Maribel was quiet, but perceptive.
The food kept replenishing itself—empty dishes vanishing and being replaced with full ones. At every transition, Thomas paid attention. Another ripple. Another transfer. Every movement carried subtle traces of the house-elf magic.
He let Echo scan again.
What if... he could mimic their magical patterns?
His magic worked by folding space—creating a direct path through dimensional pressure. But the house-elves' technique even if move in brute force through spatial tunnels but it can bypass any barrier in hogwarts. Less graceful. But effective.
Maybe combining the two could allow a new kind of movement.
He leaned on the table, eyes distant.
If he adapted Echo to trace those pressure paths, then aligned Switch with the shape of house-elf displacement... it might work.
He'd need to experiment.
But not now. Not tonight.
Tonight, he'd enjoy the food, the magic, and the sense of belonging.
Fred elbowed him again. "You disappeared there for a moment. Plotting something?"
"Just thinking," Thomas replied.
George grinned. "Thinking leads to scheming, and scheming leads to trouble."
"Especially in Gryffindor," Angelina added.
"Well," Thomas said, lifting his goblet of pumpkin juice, "here's to trouble, then."
They all clinked goblets and laughed.
And for the first time in this world, Thomas felt like he belonged. Truly belonged.
Whatever challenges Hogwarts held—spatial or otherwise—he was ready.