The Great Hall was unusually silent, the usual hum of chatter replaced by an eerie stillness. Every student and professor sat at their tables, their eyes fixed on the staff table, where Dumbledore conversed with a newcomer. The stranger was a young man, barely older than nineteen, yet his presence commanded the room in a way that unsettled even the bravest.

He stood tall, his silver hair catching the light of the enchanted ceiling, his cat-like eyes scanning the room with a disconcerting calm. His dark attire—a mixture of armor and robes—was adorned with symbols no one recognized, and the twin swords strapped to his back hinted at battles fought far beyond their imagination. Whispers had already begun to ripple through the hall.

“Harbinger of Chaos,” a Hufflepuff murmured. “Master of the Mystic Arts,” another added from Ravenclaw. “A Dark Magic prodigy,” a Slytherin muttered in awe.

Severus Snape, however, was unfazed. He leaned back in his chair, his dark eyes narrowing as he observed the boy. Unlike the rest of the staff, whose expressions ranged from curiosity to unease, Severus maintained his usual cold, unreadable demeanor. He was no stranger to dangerous individuals, and while the boy exuded power, Snape’s mind was already analyzing him with precision.

As Dumbledore gestured for the Witcher to take a seat at the staff table, the boy inclined his head politely, his movements fluid and precise. He turned, his gaze sweeping the hall before landing briefly on Severus. The contact was electric—two minds assessing one another in the span of a second.