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"What do you mean, 'unless you're Dumbledore's favorite student'?"
Tom grumbled inwardly, but when he saw the serious look on Ariana's face, he hesitated and swallowed the complaint. Even if she might have mistaken the man's identity, she still knew more than he did right now.
While Tom and the others were debating the new professor's real identity, up at the staff table Dumbledore turned to the man beside him with a helpless expression. "I was hoping you'd at least try to keep a low profile. But this? This is your idea of subtle? Couldn't you have picked a different identity? What did Percival ever do to you? The man's been dead for years, and you're still dragging his name out as a cover.
Aren't you worried the students will look into you and figure out who you really are?"
"Why should I be worried?" the man calling himself Percival replied matter-of-factly. And in a twisted way, he wasn't lying. If Dumbledore hadn't asked him to come, he probably wouldn't have bothered with even this flimsy disguise.
But that wasn't the point.
"Using a Transfiguration spell is one thing—I wasn't expecting you to bother with Polyjuice anyway—but couldn't you have chosen someone else? What did Percival ever do to you? He's been dead for years, and you're still using his name as a mask! Aren't you afraid the students will dig around and find out the truth?"
"Why would I be afraid?"
"Percival's" face was the picture of innocence. "You're the one who asked me to come here, not the other way around. Besides, if the Austrian Ministry finds out I'm no longer in Nurmengard, don't you think they'll breathe a sigh of relief?"
"…"
Dumbledore fell silent.
Grindelwald really hadn't left Nurmengard on his own. After their duel all those years ago, he had kept his word and stayed inside the prison—right up until now. And knowing the people who ran the Austrian Ministry, discovering that Grindelwald had escaped would probably make them panic first… and then quietly celebrate.
Dumbledore sighed. "I should've just left you alone back then."
"Personally, I'm glad you thought of me first," Grindelwald said with a faint, genuine smile. "Even if it was only to ask me to deal with that junior dark lord's soul fragment."
Newt, sitting nearby and doing his best impression of an ostrich, still couldn't stop himself from muttering under his breath.
Grindelwald's eyes flicked toward him with open provocation, the message clear: See? Even if you stole our little token of affection, it didn't change anything between us. When Albus has a real problem, I'm still the first person he turns to.
Newt felt a headache coming on. Tina had been right—Dumbledore hadn't brought him back to Hogwarts out of the goodness of his heart.
But what could he do? He'd already stepped onto this ship. Getting off wasn't going to be easy.
At least Grindelwald wasn't the same ambitious dark lord he used to be. If Dumbledore was willing to let him teach here, then maybe he really had changed. Probably.
Still, seeing that familiar face made Newt uneasy. For the sake of keeping Hogwarts from becoming the next gathering place for fanatics, he decided he'd better keep an eye on the man. Honestly, the Headmaster could stand to be a little more considerate of his elderly colleagues.
While Newt was busy volunteering himself for extra work, the students below had mostly given up trying to figure out who the new professor really was. Whether he was actually an American Auror or had some hidden agenda didn't matter to them. They were just here to learn. As long as he could actually teach them something useful in Defense class, everything else was the Headmaster's problem.
And Grindelwald, being the first Dark Lord, was never one to disappoint when it came to making an impression. But that was a story for another time.
Down at the Ravenclaw table, Tom and Jerry had finally stopped their bickering. According to Harry, the feast was almost over, and once it ended, all the food would vanish. So cat and mouse had called a temporary truce.
Fighting could wait. Good food couldn't.
Tom was fine either way—he could always sneak into the kitchens later for a midnight snack. But Jerry didn't have that luxury. As a Ravenclaw, his dormitory was at the very top of the tower, a long way from the kitchens in the dungeons. He could go exploring at night, but once he heard that Filch's cat was on the prowl, he decided to play it safe for now. What if that cat was just as weird as Tom?
He'd only just gotten into Hogwarts. Getting expelled on the first night would be embarrassing.
(And if he didn't learn some magic to protect himself, he'd be completely at Tom's mercy every time they met. As a mouse with dignity, Jerry had decided he was going to beat Tom at his own game—without needing help from his relatives.)
So for the rest of the feast, Jerry behaved himself for once. Tom, now full and satisfied, turned his attention to studying the mouse beside him and the giant snake draped over Ginny at the Gryffindor table. Every so often the snake would glance back toward Jerry.
No matter how many times he looked, Tom couldn't shake the feeling that he'd seen that snake somewhere before. There was something oddly familiar about her. And there was a strange dissonance to her presence—like McGonagall when she was in her cat form.
"All right!"
Dumbledore suddenly stood and clapped his hands, drawing every student's attention. "I believe it's time to end the feast. But before that, there are a few important things I need to mention.
First, the usual warning about the Forbidden Forest. The wooded area on the school grounds is strictly off-limits to all students, whether you're a first-year or a seventh-year—unless you have a professor with you."
Because Newt was now on staff and because he knew Tom and his friends kept a few pets in the forest, Dumbledore had softened the restriction slightly.
Not that it would've stopped them anyway. Tom and the others never used the front door when they went into the woods, and with Draco in their group now, no one was likely to go running to the professors to tattle.
"Also, as usual, Quidditch tryouts will be held in the second week. Anyone interested in joining their House team should speak with Madam Hooch."
"Quidditch?"
Jerry looked puzzled. He'd heard Ron and the others talk about it plenty of times at the Burrow, but he'd never actually looked into the sport.
"It's basically a bunch of people flying around on brooms hitting balls at each other," Tom explained with a shrug. "Personally, I find it pretty boring. Nobody flies fast enough, their eyesight is average, and their reflexes are nothing special. Not much fun."
He waved a paw. "If you want to know more, ask Harry. I gave him a recording of a Quidditch match last year—you'll understand after watching a couple of games. But even if you're interested, it doesn't matter. First-years aren't allowed to try out."
Jerry's brief spark of interest died instantly. What was the point if he couldn't even participate? Still, when he heard Ron's next words, his ears perked up again.
"Not completely true," Ron said. "Harry was a first-year last year, and he still made Seeker."
"So first-years can play?"
"Technically, yeah. But only if your Head of House is willing to bend the rules for you."
Jerry nodded thoughtfully, his gaze drifting toward Tom.
Thanks to magic, Tom had beaten him once already. Normally, Jerry would've waited until he learned some magic of his own before trying to get even. But Jerry held grudges, and waiting that long felt unacceptable.
Magic gave Tom the advantage in most things. But Quidditch? That was different.
Tom felt a sudden prickle of unease under Jerry's stare. He'd only been trying to discourage the mouse from getting ideas about Quidditch. Instead, he seemed to have done the opposite.
Was the little rat seriously considering this? What the hell was so fun about chasing balls on a broom? This was all Ron's fault.
Still, Tom sighed. "If you want me to play against you, wait until you actually make the Ravenclaw team."
"What do you mean, 'play against you'? I'm going to beat you fair and square!"
Jerry looked offended. Being told Tom would just "play with him" made him feel like he was being treated like a child. Then the rest of what Tom said sank in. "Wait—Ravenclaw's team?"
"Quidditch is played between the Houses," Ron explained. He loved the sport deeply—probably why Harry had gotten so into it in the first place.
"So that means—"
"Don't worry, I'm not in Ravenclaw."
Tom yawned before Jerry could finish. "I'm a Hufflepuff."
"Then why were you—"
"Because of Luna~"
Tom grinned and leaned closer to the quiet girl who had been watching their argument with amusement. "As a cat, is it really that strange for me to hang out with my own owner?"
Jerry suddenly understood why the Sorting Hat had suggested Hufflepuff for him—and why it had warned him he might regret choosing Ravenclaw.
He was already regretting it. If he'd known Tom wasn't in Ravenclaw, he never would've picked this House. And now he was hearing that the Ravenclaw dorms were at the very top of a tower—
The thought of climbing all those stairs every single day with his tiny legs made Jerry's soul visibly leave his body.
"Ohohohoho!"
Tom burst out laughing at the sight of Jerry turning gray and despondent.
"Since Tom seems so eager to show off," Dumbledore's voice suddenly rang out, cutting through the laughter, "why don't you lead us in the school song?"
Tom's laughter died in his throat.
He turned slowly to look at the Headmaster. Seriously? After everything last year, you're still pulling this? In front of the entire school? Do you think I have no pride?
Dumbledore just smiled pleasantly from the staff table. The surrounding students were watching with bright, expectant eyes. Even Jerry had perked up, clearly looking forward to watching Tom make a fool of himself.
Tom took a deep breath.
Fine. It's just singing. I'll show you all what a real showstopper looks like.
He cleared his throat, picked up the tune from Vitas, and launched straight into a soaring dolphin note.
Dumbledore, who had just cast a Sonorus on him, went very still. The students who had been ready to join in with last year's funeral march looked equally horrified. Who started a school song at that pitch?
Especially the Weasley twins—they had been planning to revive their funeral dirge, but Tom's opening note was so loud it shook the windows. How were they supposed to compete with that?
Fortunately for everyone's eardrums, Tom wasn't singing alone. After two lines, Jerry's eyes lit up with mischief. He joined in at the exact same ear-splitting pitch. Tom, never one to miss an opportunity to cause chaos, casually cast Sonorus on the mouse as well.
(He also threw a Silencing Charm on Luna, just in case.)
Together, cat and mouse belted out the school song at a volume that finally proved too much for the Great Hall's ancient glass. With a spectacular crash, every window shattered.
Dumbledore reacted just in time, throwing a wide Silencing Charm over both of them.
He stared at the sea of broken glass on the floor and sighed, the corner of his mouth twitching.
For some reason, this scene felt oddly familiar.