Dhruv hadn’t seen themself teaching at Hogwarts for so long, particularly when they always somehow got pulled back towards the Ministry. Then again, they shouldn’t be surprised: Hogwarts had always felt like home to them, and they did love teaching. Another term of which they were about to devote to the students. As they stepped up to the Staff table, their gaze travelled to the Slytherin table which would soon be filled with new and returning serpents. Smiling happily at that thought - and of the School as a whole - they took their seat for their last Start-of-Term feast. However, this fact was not yet widely known. So for now, they would simply enjoy this particular moment.


Sarika was not far behind Dhruv. Having greeted her close friend a short time before, she simply tapped them on a shoulder playfully as she passed them on her way to her seat. “Don’t forget about our meditation session in the morning!” Oh, how she was going to miss those. Maybe she could rope Kraetos into meditating with her. Then again, he might end up sprinkling cheese dust on her constantly. Shoving the image of herself covered in cheese dust from head to toes to the back of her brain, Sari instead focused on settling in for the Feast.

Elara arrived without announcement, slipping into the Great Hall with the quiet certainty of someone who preferred to observe a room before becoming part of it. The staff table was only just beginning to gather life, which suited her well enough.

Her gaze moved across the length of it, taking in the current occupants before she approached. Two, for now. Familiar only by association, not by name.“Good evening,” she offered as she reached the table, her tone warm but measured, accompanied by a small, polite nod to each of them in turn. “I hope I’m not late to anything important.”

Smiling politely enough, she took her seat a moment later, smoothing an invisible crease along the table’s edge more out of habit than necessity before settling in properly. Though she was at one of the ends of the table, she didn't feel isolated. Instead, she appreciated how her seat allowed her to take in the room without being drawn into it too quickly.

For a brief moment, her attention lingered along the empty stretch of the table.Opposite ends, she had been told. Her gaze traced that length almost idly, as if mapping it out in advance, before she let the thought go just as easily as it had come. There was something quietly amusing in the certainty of it.

Lillian was not late, but she wasn’t the first at the table either. She was directly on time and arrived with some level of fanfare, considering the magically-enhanced, though still tasteful, tinkling of her jewelry and the way that her robes flared out behind her a tad more than necessary.

She would be noticed, thank you.

She found her seat easily. Before taking it, she set down a small pot containing a flowering fanged geranium. It was teething, and she did not trust it around her other plants unsupervised. She scooted the pot toward the back of the table so that she had space to eat, then finally took her own seat.

She noticed then that another someone had sat down a few seats from hers and inquired about missing anything important. “Not at all,” she said, “I just got here as well.”

Thank Budge for alphabetical order.

Prasad, as ever, provided a reliable buffer — both physical and conversational — between himself and the inevitable disturbances further down the line specifically in the form of Marion. Cox inclined his head once in quiet acknowledgement paired with a polite "Evening" whenever a colleague passed by before allowing his attention to drift, not outward to the students filtering in, but inward, where it had been far less cooperative of late.

The summer had not been… restful.

Chance encounters, it seemed, had a way of compounding at the most inconvenient of times. One could be dismissed. Two began to suggest a pattern. By the third, it became increasingly difficult to maintain the illusion of coincidence.

His jaw set slightly and his fingers rubbed along the tattoos on his knuckles.

He knew taking up this post would ensure that summer shopping in Diagon Alley would not be without its disturbances ― he had had plenty of that while a professor at Edinburgh ― but he had anticipated them being more palatable. Then there was that boy appearing at his flat. A particular variable had yet to resolve itself into anything clean ― for himself, at least ― and the proximity of term did little to simplify the matter. If anything, it ensured the opposite. He hated being burdened with personal information.

And then, professionally, there were… additional irritants.

Cox exhaled softly through his nose, gaze settling somewhere just past the center of the Hall as voices began to rise around him. He likely wouldn't even flinch when a familiar, overly enthusiastic tone carried the word 'studmuffin' down the table. His thoughts were much louder this evening.

His fingers adjusted the cuff of his rich navy sleeve as his thoughts attempted to return to more immediate concerns. Namely his newly, and now formally, appointed position as Ravenclaw Head of House. A responsibility he had neither sought nor anticipated ever falling into its lap, which seemed, in retrospect, to be precisely why it had been given to him.

Past him, a scoundrel in every sense of the word, would have taken one look at this future of returning to Hogwarts, of all places, and not only as a professor but as Head of House to the very institution he had once held most responsible for his… dissatisfaction... and wondered if he had drank an entire cauldron's worth of Essence of Insanity.

Life, clearly, possessed a rather dry sense of humor.

His gaze shifted briefly along the table, catching, for a moment, the new Herbology professor and her curious choice of companion. The plant snapped idly at the air for something to chew on. He'd gladly defang it for her ― he could always use surplus in his supplies.

And beyond, well, he would not permit his gaze to linger. Not when there was surely a fork or spoon flippantly being nudged out of its parallel alignment for no reason other than to spite him.

Ean himself couldn't believe how much time had passed with this being his eleventh year teaching at Hogwarts. "Evening, good summer?" He greeted everyone on his way towards his usual seat. There definitely a warmer feeling now that he was cozy in the chair. It was too bad some of the staff were no longer around. Jasmine had some interesting conversations with him over sports and Marcus moved onto to fulfill some additional duties that took them from the school. Aurora was also lovely in providing updates to a certain Lion's ambitions. Which... he could see right through the field of yellow. But he found the new additions of Lillian, Elara, and Edgar quite nice and welcome additions to the team.

"Well... we're getting a grand set of new students all around." Ean commented. He loved to see the extra lions join in. Perhaps he should give them a grand welcome later. The returning students would have a lovely surprise in store for them.


Kraetos was here, his hair was slightly dishelved from the nap earlier. One of the Fwoopers had escaped and it took most of the night before he found them. But with 3 hour sleep, he needed to take a quick nap before the feast began, hence his appearance and lack of snacks. "Evening, all." He said, adjusting his robes a bit more before he settled in.

Luckily, his ears and eyes didn't need the extra time to keep up with everything. "Is this meditation a closed session?" He might be interested in joining if so. "Can even open one of the Sanctuary pens incase some of the kneazles are interested in joining." Just a little offer.

When Ean mentioned the students, Dhruv nodded. “That’s for certain. There are a lot of colorful personalities amongst the first years.” Ean, and the others, would see what they meant by that as the school year progressed. Speaking of colourful… they spotted the fluffy haired Lion as well. It seemed like it was no time before their colleagues began arriving. Though he really couldn’t call it ‘arriving’ when it was clear that Sari was stalking them. Joking, Dhruv was joking. “You know I won’t,’’ the said, lips twitching in a smile. “Otherwise, it means me risking my life when I have to face your wrath.” Again… those were jokes. For one thing, the Divination professor had no wrath but their friendship was such that they both knew when the other wasn’t being serious.

“Good evening, Elara,’’ they greeted the next arrival. Dhruv shook his head. “You’re right on time. Are you settling in well?” For some, transitioning to Hogwarts as a professor may be a challenge.

Why did those pleasant tinkling sounds remind them of paayals? {translation: anklets}. They took Dhruv back to a time when their mother was alive, particularly just before her demise. He had gotten a pair of silver anklets for her sometime around then. The source of the sound was identified as Lillian, who didn’t know it, but the fanged geranium distracted them enough from falling into the feels of missing family members. Other presences were noted: Cox’s, Kraetos' and others. Dhruv raised an eyebrow at the CoMC’s physical appearance. “Hello, Kraetos. Rough afternoon?”


Dhruv had all the jokes, didn’t they? Sari gave them her best and glariest of glares which wasn’t saying much as she had limited practise with those, before shaking her head in amusement at Ean. Eventually, she went on to settle into her seat. With meditation sessions to look forward to, in addition to lessons, the woman was very content. “Good evening,’’ Sarika chirped to Elara, swinging her feet slightly since they inevitably continued to dangle just above the floor. “Welcome to this side of the table.” Just because Elara was at the very end meant that Sari would want to chat with her any less.

Oh, a fanged geranium! Sari did love those, despite the danger they could pose. The plant had been one of her favourite topics to tutor about back in India. So, perhaps Lillian would forgive her for gazing too fondly at the plant that now sat upon the table. However, it was Kraetos’ voice that drilled into her moment of serenity. Did he lose a wrestling match to a bag of flaming hot cheetos or something, looking like that? “No, it’s not. You’re more than welcome to join. And I’m certainly open to having a session among your kneazles. Catpuccino would love that too.” For a moment her gaze trailed away, noting the others who had joined, including Cox. “I can’t promise that she wouldn’t be a huge distraction to you as she can be very playful.”

He had, in fact, been at the dais earlier, but an urgent summons from Algamus had drawn him away. Meaning that, by the time he was able to return, the table had settled and his colleague's seats neatly filled.

There had, after all, been… a situation.

The kitchens—usually a place of industrious harmony—had descended into a rather spirited disagreement involving three house elves, a wobbling tower of profiteroles, and what Algamus had described (with admirable restraint while clutching his broom) as “a philosophical divide regarding custard integrity.” Somewhere along the way, a Piping Charm had misfired, a tray had taken to the air with alarming enthusiasm, and he had found himself in the delicate position of mediator, referee, and acrobat all at once.

It turned out that juggling for pocket money all those years ago had been less a youthful indulgence and more a long-term investment in crisis management.

But, alas, he had not emerged entirely unscathed. A rather determined profiterole—or possibly several acting in tandem—had seen to that in what could only be described as a most discourteous run-by creaming.

As he moved through the Great Hall, two Hufflepuff students passed him on their way out—one of them, in particular, with an expression troubled in a way that sat ill with the bright promise of a new term. Pausing beside Vashti on his way to his own seat, he rested a steady hand upon her shoulder and leaned down just enough to murmur the observation. There was no need for alarm, of course, but perhaps a kindness offered early might spare a heavier heart later. It would be a terrible shame, he thought, for worry to take root so soon, when there were still so many delightful things waiting to unfold. Straightening once more, he gave her shoulder the faintest reassuring pat before continuing on.

It was only as he approached his seat at the center of the table that he became dimly aware of his current state. A faint smear of cream lingered at the corner of his cheek, and traces of caramel clung stubbornly to his fingers. Hopefully he had not left any remnants of it on Vashti’s robes just now.

“Oh,” he murmured to himself, mildly intrigued.

He dabbed absently at the corner of his cheek with his thumb, gathering the last of the cream, and regarded it for a moment with thoughtful consideration before, without the slightest hesitation, licking it clean.

“Waste not,” he chortled warmly, settling at last into his chair at the middle of the table.

He glanced along the table, eyes bright with quiet amusement.

“Would anyone happen to have a handkerchief to spare?” he inquired pleasantly. “Earl appears to have borrowed mine again this evening. I fear he has developed a rather unwavering fondness for florals.”

It occurred to him, not without a flicker of quiet amusement, that he was perhaps not the only one to have endured a slightly eventful start to the feast—Kraetos, in particular, appearing a touch more disheveled than one might expect for so early an hour.

“Seems to me as though you may be in the need for a bit of meditation, my boy,” Wilber observed lightly, tone bright with grandfatherly cheer, casting a small, knowing wink toward Sarika and Dhruv respectfully. “Perhaps bring Elliot along with you as well,” he added, almost as an afterthought. “All the charm of a freshly roused Blast-Ended Skrewt this evening."

Wilber offered Ean a warm, knowing smile and a small nod in greeting before he swiveled slightly in his seat, leaning just enough over the table to catch sight of them down the line on his left.

“And ah—welcome to your first feast as professors, Lillian, Elara,” he added, his smile brightening as he inclined his head in a small, genial greeting. “I do hope you’re finding everything to your liking now that matters have been… properly whipped into shape. There should be no further creaming incidents to report, I assure you. Though... I cannot promise the kitchens will remain entirely un-whisked in their enthusiasm for the rest of the evening.”

He just needed another moment or two of reprieve before he rose to give his speech—ideally enough time for any remaining echoes of culinary overexertion to be properly whisked away.

Elara inclined her head in quiet acknowledgment as more of the table filled, the rhythm of greetings and familiar exchanges settling into place around her. It was easy enough to step into, to let it pass through without needing to claim too much of it.

“I’m settling in well,” she answered Dhruv, her tone easy, a small, polite warmth threading through it. “Still deciding what belongs where.” A faint glance downward the table followed, brief, almost incidental.

“Some arrangements seem to have a mind of their own.”

Sarika’s welcome drew a softer shift in her expression, something closer to genuine ease. “Thank you,” she said. “I’ll take that as a good sign.”

Her attention drifted then, momentarily caught by the fanged geranium. The plant’s quiet, toothy snapping earned the smallest lift of her brow, not quite surprise, not quite concern. “Confident choice,” she remarked to Lillian, voice mild, though the faint edge of amusement was difficult to miss. “I assume it’s well fed.”

The table continued to fill, conversation layering over itself, and Elara let it. Observed, rather than inserted herself into every thread. It suited her.

Wilber’s arrival, however, was… harder to ignore. Her gaze followed him just long enough to take in the remnants of whatever battle he had apparently fought and survived on the way in. Cream, caramel, and all.

There was a pause.

Then, very deliberately, she reached into the sleeve of her robes and produced a neatly folded handkerchief, setting it within his reach without ceremony. “Here you go. You might find this useful,” she said, tone composed, though the quiet amusement sat just beneath it. “Before the kitchens attempt a second round.” she added, smiling, “And thank you, definitely looking forward to the feast. It's certainly been a while since I had one here”

His gaze dipped to the handkerchief, and a soft, grateful sigh escaped him. “Ah—my dear, a true lifesaver,” he murmured, accepting it with gentle care. He dabbed at his cheek and fingers. “The kitchens do have a flair for encores,” he added lightly, a glimmer of amusement returning to his eyes. With that, he gave a small, habitual wiggle as he rose from his seat before offering her a warm nod. “I’m very glad you’re here to enjoy it.”

And with that, moved to stand behind the podium at last, hands folded neatly before him as he took a moment to simply breathe in the beginning of term.

His gaze wandered over across the Great Hall with all its expectant faces. Bright-eyed first years craning to see everything at once, returning students slouched in varying degrees of enthusiasm, and the steadfast faculty behind him. For a moment, he simply took it in, as though framing a mental photograph of this single breath of time — click. The candles overhead flickered gently in their endless hover, and the hall hummed with that particular living expectancy that only Hogwarts ever seemed to manage.

Wilber rolled his shoulders once before raising both arms, the cheer of the Great Hall dissolving into a hushed murmur before quieting entirely.

“My dear, dear students… and my ever patient colleagues,” he began, voice warm and carrying, “welcome back to Hogwarts.” A small smile crept in at the corners of his mouth; despite seeing this moment numerous times now, he still found something new to enjoy each time. “Another year,” he continued, “another opportunity to learn something new, to make something meaningful… and, if we are particularly fortunate, to avoid setting anything on fire that was not intended to be on fire.”

A few ripples of laughter moved through the hall, nervous or otherwise, and Wilber’s eyes twinkled as if he had been personally pleased by each one.

“It is my great pleasure to begin by thanking former professors, Jasmine Springer, Marcus Cole, and Aurora Stone, whose guidance and dedication have left an enduring imprint on the evolving direction of our esteemed subjects. With that said, we have several new members to our faculty,” he went on, turning slightly so his hand could gesture towards his colleagues behind him with theatrical grace. “Each of whom brings with them not only considerable expertise, but a commendable willingness to join us in the beautifully unpredictable rhythm of life at Hogwarts.”

His gaze lingered there fondly, as though introducing them to an extended family rather than a professional appointment.

“Professor Lillian Hawkins joins us as your new Herbology professor,” he introduced, nodding gently in her direction. “I trust you will find her lessons both… grounding and, I suspect, occasionally sprouting with surprises.” Another brief, respectful nod followed. “Professor Elara Voss will be guiding you through the intricacies of Transfiguration, a discipline that reminds us, perhaps more than any other, that change is not only possible, but essential.” A small, knowing lift of his brows accompanied the faintest smile. “And overseeing your flights, we welcome Edgar Cloggs, who will serve as both Flying Instructor and Quidditch official this term,” the Headmaster continued, turning slightly to gesture down the table with an open palm. “A role, I am told, he has taken to with admirable spirit, if early reports from the pitch are to be believed.”

A soft ripple of amusement touched his expression before he drew his hands back in, fingertips brushing together as though collecting his thoughts for the next turn.

“And with the turning of the term comes a few further adjustments,” he continued, his tone smoothing into something formal once more. “Professor Amstern has very kindly agreed to add Librarian to her already considerable list of talents, and Professor Cox steps into the role of Ravenclaw Head of House, where his clarity of thought will no doubt serve the house splendidly.”

He paused just long enough to allow the applause to bloom and fade, his hands resting lightly on either side of the podium, and simply enjoyed the sound for a couple more moments.

“Now,” he said, voice lowering just slightly in tone rather than volume, “in addition to your usual studies, I am pleased to share that Professor Berry has been quietly preparing something rather special for both students and staff this term.” A faint and almost playful pause followed. “I am told it will invite us to capture not just images… but moments.”

His fingers flexed gently against the wood of the podium, soothing a persistent ache along his knuckles.

“And, should whispers prove true—and they often do, though I advise taking them with a pinch of skepticism—we may even find ourselves visited, toward the end of term, by a professional whose expertise may help bring this particular endeavor to a most memorable conclusion.”

He paused there, fingers smoothing idly along the edge of the podium as though polishing the thought ― and that one random smudge ― before casting a warm look across the Great Hall.

“In that same spirit of reflection—and perhaps a touch of legacy—I am delighted to introduce the Hogwarts Time Capsule.”

With a gentle flourish of his hands, a subtle enchantment seemed to respond: faint golden outlines appearing in the air behind him for just a moment, like a memory just on the cusp of becoming something real and solid—until, at last, it did. A capsule took shape, its surface a smooth metallic frame bearing the Hogwarts crest and with fastening points alternating between shimmering ruby, glistening gold, burnished sapphire, and lustrous emerald.

“Throughout the term, you will find designated submission points not only within the castle, but also in Hogsmeade,” he continued, his tone softening into something deeply sentimental, “so that those who have walked these halls before you may add their voices alongside yours.” His eyes swept across the students again, slower now, more thoughtful. Recalling how he had sat along these very same benches once upon a time. “Letters, sketches, photographs, small tokens—pieces of yourselves, preserved for a future generation of students who will one day sit where you now sit and wonder who came before them.”

A gentle breath escaped him, almost like a quiet laugh.

“It is, I think, a rather lovely reminder… that while our time here may be fleeting, what we leave behind need not be.” His eyes twinkling, reflecting the stars of the enchanted ceiling above. “So,” he said, brightening once more, “as we begin this new term, I encourage you to be curious. Be kind. Be just a little bit brave—especially in the quieter moments where it matters most.” A faint glimmer of mischief returned to his eyes. “And, as much as possible… do try to keep the castle in one piece. It has only just forgiven us for the last time.”

A final sweep of his gaze moved slowly across the students, over bright eyes, nervous fidgets, easy laughter, and the familiar faces that had grown just a little older since last term, committing each of them to memory as best he could.

“Welcome home, my dears,” he concluded. “Let the feast begin!”

He brought his hands together in a single, cheerful clap, and the tables sprang to life in a flourish of color, warmth, and wonderfully well-behaved food.