Chapter 75: Year-End Banquet
On the day of the year-end banquet, the Great Hall was adorned in Slytherin green and silver. House banners shimmered magically, and the air buzzed with anticipation, joy, and a tinge of tension.
With the holidays beginning the next day, the entire hall was brimming with excitement. Slytherin students, beaming with pride, held their heads high like peacocks. They were already imagining how they'd boast about their fifth consecutive House Cup victory.
In stark contrast, the Gryffindors wore long faces. From their perspective, even a win by Hufflepuff or Ravenclaw would have been more tolerable than yet another triumph by Slytherin. After all, Slytherin had claimed the Cup for four straight years. This year's fifth win only made them more insufferable in the eyes of other students. The more arrogant among them were particularly irritating. Gryffindors could only dread how much worse their boasting would be next year.
Phineas, aware of the tense atmosphere, tactfully avoided joining the Weasley twins or other Gryffindors at the moment. Even if George and Fred wouldn't have minded, it could easily be misinterpreted as him flaunting his success—something that would not sit well with his housemates.
Meanwhile, the Hufflepuffs were mostly indifferent. They hadn't won the House Cup in years and had long since stopped caring about it. Though they disliked Slytherin's win, they had no strong hopes or disappointments. Ravenclaw, however, was visibly disappointed—they had only lost by five points. So close, yet not enough.
In this mix of celebration, gloom, and quiet regret, Dumbledore swept into the hall and stepped up to the dais. With a simple raise of his hand, the murmurs and chatter quickly died down.
"Well, another year has come and gone," he began, a warm smile on his face.
He looked uncharacteristically cheerful—perhaps due to the prospect of a well-earned break free from the relentless demands of Professor McGonagall.
"Before you indulge in tonight's feast, I must ask you to spare a few moments for an old man's ramblings," he said with a twinkle in his eye. "This year has been extraordinary. Your minds must be full of thoughts, ideas, and questions. During the holidays, I encourage you to explore them—but I must remind you all that the Ministry of Magic strictly forbids underage magic outside of school. Even so, I hope you take the time to reflect and make room in your minds for what lies ahead."
"Now, let's begin the House Cup ceremony. The final scores are as follows:
Fourth place: Hufflepuff, with 250 points.
Third place: Gryffindor, with 395 points.
Second place: Ravenclaw, with 439 points.
And in first place—Slytherin, with 444 points!"
Applause erupted at the Slytherin table—cheers, stamping feet, even banging goblets on the table. A few goblets spilled their contents, including Phineas's own orange juice, which sloshed over the rim at the jostling.
From the rest of the hall, however, applause was scattered and subdued. It was clear how unpopular Slytherin had become.
Phineas glanced toward the staff table. Snape, still cold and composed, had the faintest upward curl at the corner of his lips. He was speaking quietly to Professor McGonagall, who looked distinctly sour. Watching her barely suppress her irritation, Phineas couldn't help but wonder: perhaps Slytherin students were so unpleasant because their Head of House was just as exasperating.
"Yes, well done, Slytherin," Dumbledore continued, raising his hands to still the lingering cheers. "But now, let's all quiet down."
The hall hushed again. The Slytherins' grins began to fade.
"The Ministry of Magic likely wouldn't approve of me saying this—but since some of you have been directly affected, and all of you deserve the truth, I must inform you of a growing concern."
He paused for effect.
"As some of you may know, Mr. Phineas Black was recently kidnapped by vampires. Fortunately, he returned safely and brought with him valuable information. Based on what he shared, we now believe the vampire clans may have betrayed wizardkind. There is a real risk they may launch attacks."
A ripple of shock ran through the room.
"I urge you, during the holidays, do not go out alone without your parents. Avoid alleys and areas known for dark creature activity. Though vampire bites don't always turn someone like a werewolf's would, the risk of transformation is still there."
The Great Hall went utterly silent.
Until now, many young witches and wizards had grown up viewing vampires as little more than pathetic, shadowy beings—creatures of folklore who lurked in the corners of society, barely surviving. The idea that they might organize and rise against wizardkind was laughable.
But the words had come from Albus Dumbledore—the greatest living wizard, the one even Voldemort had feared. No one dared to laugh.
And none of the professors contradicted him. Their solemn expressions only confirmed the truth.
The magical world was not as safe as it had seemed.
If Phineas had known what the others were thinking, he might have scoffed and told them flatly: the magical world has never been peaceful.
Though the feast that followed was as lavish as ever—roast meats, steaming vegetables, golden pies, and glittering goblets—the students' mood was subdued. The earlier excitement had faded, replaced by unease and hushed murmurs.
Later, Professor McGonagall was heard grumbling quietly to Dumbledore, annoyed that he had chosen to share such unsettling news during what should have been a cheerful evening.
But perhaps, Dumbledore thought, the truth was more important than comfort.
And perhaps it was time the students began to understand that.