Hogwarts: Chill, I'm Not That Riddle-Chapter 508: Let the Drama Begin!

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With Ilvermorny’s delegation received, no one wanted to keep standing around in the freezing night air. The crowd began filing back toward the castle.

Uagadou hadn’t made it due to their "incident," and Durmstrang’s situation was special as well.

No country was thrilled about a Dark Lord slipping in unnoticed. Since the last tournament, Durmstrang’s arrival had been handled by Astra Abyssum instead. Fudge and the Ministry were more than happy to pass off that hot potato. With extra procedures involved, Durmstrang would be arriving later.

As for Dumbledore and Grindelwald’s relationship, formalities were long irrelevant.

Besides, welcoming a Dark Lord with a full ceremonial reception was... not a great look. Best to skip it.

The moment they stepped into the warm Entrance Hall, many students let out relieved sighs. Fingers and toes that had gone stiff from the cold slowly thawed.

Inside the Great Hall, the house tables had been extended so far they nearly touched the main doors. The golden plates gleamed brightly enough to reflect faces. Hogwarts students entered first and took their seats.

The ceremony wasn’t over yet. The visiting schools would now enter one by one, and Albus Dumbledore would formally introduce each headmaster and their staff.

Beauxbatons came first.

As usual, there were far more girls than boys. Draped in pale blue silk robes, the young witches looked even more radiant. Many Hogwarts boys stared, dazzled and hopelessly smitten.

Beauxbatons once again chose the Slytherin table.

As they passed Tom, Gabrielle suddenly darted forward, leapt into his arms, and planted a kiss on his cheek.

Daphne’s murderous glare swung instantly toward Fleur.

Control your sister.

Fleur merely arched a brow, completely unbothered. She pointed lightly at Astoria.

Don’t you have a little sister too? Why not send her?

Daphne instinctively looked at Astoria.

The delicate girl stiffened. "Sister, don’t get any ideas."

"...Okay." Daphne sighed in disappointment.

After Beauxbatons settled, Castelobruxo and Ilvermorny entered in turn. The headmaster of Castelobruxo was formally introduced as Emmanuel Sanchez.

Castelobruxo took seats at Hufflepuff. Ilvermorny chose Ravenclaw.

"Let us welcome Headmaster Akihiko Kamiya of Mahoutokoro, along with his distinguished colleagues and students," Dumbledore announced. "They have traveled across the entirety of Eurasia. Such a journey is no small undertaking. Let us offer them our sincere admiration."

Warm applause filled the hall as the Mahoutokoro delegation entered.

Beginning with Headmaster Kamiya, every single one of them bowed deeply upon stepping inside. Not a polite nod, but a full bend past ninety degrees. The level of formality was almost startling.

Standing by the doors, McGonagall and Sprout looked momentarily flustered.

Was... were they supposed to bow back?

Thankfully, the Mahoutokoro group did not linger after bowing. They proceeded into the hall in orderly fashion, sparing the two professors further awkwardness.

Then the last girl straightened from her bow.

When her face was revealed, the Great Hall fell silent.

Applause died mid-clap. Conversations evaporated. People simply stared.

She was breathtaking.

Soft pink hair tied loosely into twin tails. Her bangs framed her face in a refined, traditional style. Golden eyes shimmered like fragments of sunlight, bright and lively, carrying a playful spark. Anyone who met her gaze flushed red and quickly looked away, yet her smiling face lingered in their minds, impossible to shake.

A large crimson bow was tied at her slender waist, clashing oddly with the wizard’s robe she wore.

Was she a shrine maiden... or a witch?

Fleur’s expression turned grave. Her gaze toward the girl was filled with unmistakable wariness.

"That face... no. Something’s wrong."

It was the scent of a kindred existence. Fleur was certain the girl was not half-Veela. And yet the magnetic pull surrounding her felt eerily similar to Veela charm.

Around the hall, boys were already succumbing. Faces flushed. Some even stood up without realizing it.

Tom watched her calmly.

So this was the source of that strange aura he’d sensed earlier.

Inside his study space, Rowena Ravenclaw observed through his vision.

"Is there something special about her?" Ravenclaw asked. She had clearly noticed both Tom’s reaction and the others’.

"Probably not human," Tom replied thoughtfully. "Most likely some kind of hybrid like Fleur. But her traits lean more toward the creature side."

Ravenclaw sounded intrigued. "Why not capture her and study her? That would answer everything."

Tom rolled his eyes. "If I grab her right now, I’ll give the headmaster a heart attack."

"Then do it quietly," Ravenclaw said, utterly serious. "Find time tonight."

Her nature had always tilted toward the morally indifferent. Once her curiosity was piqued, notions of right and wrong, law and reputation, faded into irrelevance. Knowledge came first.

Tom was still trying to talk her down.

And then, as if fate were amused—

The little white rabbit walked straight into the wolf’s den on her own.

Mahoutokoro hailed from Japan, and it surprised no one that they chose the bloodline-obsessed Slytherin table.

"Mr. Riddle."

The girl’s voice was soft and syrupy, gentle to the ear. Yet just like her aura, it carried an unmistakable charm. Zabini, Malfoy, and a few others nearby looked ready to float off the ground.

Then they saw Tom’s face.

Instant sobriety.

"Do we know each other?" Tom asked calmly.

On the surface, he looked unaffected.

Internally, he felt like he was about to die.

Multiple gazes shot toward him from different tables. Hermione. Ginny. Penelope. Cassandra. Fleur. The Greengrass sisters.

Hold on. Gabrielle, why are you angry too?

"Allow me to introduce myself. My name is Kamio Hozumi." The girl dipped in a small bow. "We have not met before, but I have long admired you. I’ve read all your papers. I’ve benefited greatly from them. I hope you will guide me in the future."

"Kamio Hozumi..." Tom looked at her with a faint smile. "Is that your real name? Since you’ve read my work, you should know I’ve studied true-name magic. I can say with certainty that this is not your real name."

Her expression shifted, just for a fraction of a second.

Tom didn’t let it go.

He pulled out the Marauder’s Map.

"I solemnly swear that I am up to no good."

Ink spread across the parchment, forming a detailed map. Tom zoomed in on his current location. The surrounding names appeared clearly.

Everyone’s name showed up.

Except hers.

"Very mysterious," Tom commented mildly.

Kamio Hozumi pouted in a coquettish way. "Mr. Riddle, surely a beautiful girl is allowed a few secrets? Why dig so deeply?"

"Then I won’t." Tom waved a hand lightly. "But I dislike two kinds of people most. Those who won’t let me lie, and those who lie to me. When you’re ready to be honest, come find me again."

She didn’t get angry.

She bowed slightly once more and moved to the far end of the Slytherin table.

The moment she left, Tom turned to Daphne.

"You saw that, right? I don’t even know her. If that’s not suspicious, I don’t know what is."

Daphne nodded vigorously, her doubts dissolving. She had heard every word. "You’d better stay far away from her."

After that, she shot a warning look toward several other tables as well. Only then did Tom quietly exhale.

Crisis temporarily averted.

Once everyone was seated, Dumbledore swept a hand through the air. Plates instantly filled with food, as abundant as at the start-of-term feast, with a few foreign dishes added for flair.

The students were starving. The Great Hall filled with the sound of enthusiastic eating.

Tom ladled himself a bowl of bouillabaisse and paired it with rice, eating calmly while simultaneously urging Grindelwald in the space.

He was here for the drama. Where was the main act?

At the High Table, only two seats remained empty. Dumbledore chatted frequently with the visiting headmasters. Hagrid sat at the far end, his eyes practically glued to Madame Maxime, not shifting even once.

Halfway through the meal, Dumbledore leaned down and murmured something to McGonagall. She nodded and briskly left the hall.

Soon after the plates cleared themselves, the Great Hall doors swung open.

Gellert Grindelwald strode in first, two neat lines of Durmstrang students and staff behind him. They wore heavy fur cloaks, making them look broad and imposing.

"Professor Wilkinson?!"

A student recognized a familiar face among the professors and blurted it out.

Laos gave everyone a bright wave.

At the High Table, Hogwarts professors wore complicated expressions. Their former colleague had somehow ended up in Grindelwald’s ranks?

Even Dumbledore allowed a flicker of surprise to cross his face, as though he had just learned of it himself.

But besides Laos, there was someone else who drew even more attention.

A petite figure wrapped entirely in a black cloak walked just half a step behind Grindelwald. They were almost shoulder to shoulder. Even Rosier, the nominal headmaster of Durmstrang, kept a full meter’s distance.

Whispers rippled through the hall.

Who was the hooded figure?

Judging by the slim frame and the occasional flash of golden hair beneath the cloak, it was a girl. A student?

"My dear Dumbledore," Grindelwald called out with a brilliant smile, spreading his arms wide even from a distance. "It’s been too long. I’m delighted to see you’re still alive."

"Thank you, Mr. Grindelwald," Dumbledore replied smoothly. "My health should hold for several more decades. Long enough, at least, to see the next Nurmengard completed."

Grindelwald’s hearty laughter echoed across the hall. "Wonderful. This world would be far less interesting without you."

He glanced around. "Scotland’s weather is dreadful. Northern Europe is cold, yes, but at least it’s honest about it. Here it’s damp and biting. Hardly uplifting."

He turned to the hooded figure beside him.

"It’s warm enough in here. You don’t need to bundle yourself up so tightly."

"Like you care."

The voice that came from under the hood was crisp and distinctly feminine.

Eyes widened all over the hall.

Bold enough to speak to Grindelwald like that? Was there no one left in her family tree she cared about?

Dumbledore’s gaze locked onto her, curiosity undisguised. As the hood slowly lifted, the old wizard’s bright blue pupils expanded.

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