Twas Always Thus And Always Thus Shall Be

I

Inside the towering stone hall of Hogwarts Academy, nestled deep within the misty, craggy Highlands of Scotland, more than three hundred students sat in anticipation. Their academy blazers gleamed in the flickering candlelight, the crest on their chests catching the soft glow. On either side of the long aisle, parents sat with pride etched on their faces, their gazes fixed ahead, but occasionally flicking over their children as they adjusted their blazers, smoothed their hair, and tried to quiet their excited whispers. A hushed reverence filled the room, punctuated only by the soft rustle of robes and the creak of the ancient wooden pews.

The distant, haunting call of bagpipes began to echo through the stone walls, the sound resonating off the high arched ceilings. It was a melody that spoke of tradition and history, a tune that seemed to rise from the very heart of the Scottish landscape outside. All eyes turned as a short, elderly man, swathed in voluminous, flowing robes of deep burgundy, appeared at the entrance of the hall. His hands trembled ever so slightly as he lit a tall candle, its flame flickering before him like a beacon. With measured steps, he led a solemn procession of students carrying banners, their faces set in expressions of grave importance, followed closely by robed teachers and distinguished alumnae.

The procession moved down the long, slate-tiled hallway, their footsteps echoing faintly in time with the music. The four banner bearers, each a boy dressed in ceremonial robes, marched with deliberate precision, their banners catching the light. They approached the grand dais at the front of the chapel, where Headmaster Albus Dumbledore stood, his tall, thin frame seeming to command the room effortlessly. His long silver hair flowed down to his shoulders, and his matching beard glinted faintly in the candlelight as he watched the approaching students with a look of deep contemplation.

The elderly man with the candle reached the dais last, moving with the slow dignity of age. The room fell into a profound silence, broken only by the rhythmic steps of the lone bagpiper, who now stood at attention in the corner, still playing softly. The banner carriers marched solemnly to their places, lowering their flags in unison. The banners, emblazoned with bold letters reading:

"Tradition," "Honor," "Discipline," and "Excellence," fluttered for a moment before the boys took their seats quietly among the audience.

Dumbledore, his voice rich and steady, spoke with dramatic flair. "Ladies and gentlemen, boys and girls," he intoned, his eyes sweeping across the gathered crowd before pointing toward the man holding the candle. "The light of knowledge."

A soft ripple of polite applause followed as the elderly gentleman, his back straightened with pride, stepped forward, raising the candle higher. The flames reflected in the eyes of the students seated in the front rows, their faces glowing in awe as they watched him approach. One by one, the younger students held out their unlit candles, waiting breathlessly for the sacred flame to be passed.

Dumbledore stepped forward, his tall frame bending slightly as he took the candle from the elderly man and lit the first student's candle. The small flicker of light seemed to take on a life of its own, casting a warm golden glow over the boy's wide-eyed face as he stared at the flame in wonder. The flame was passed along the row, each student delicately tipping their candle to the next, creating a slow-moving wave of light that spread through the room, soft and glowing, like a gentle breeze stirring the air.

"The light of knowledge," Dumbledore continued solemnly, his voice resonating through the hall, "shall be passed from generation to generation." His words hung in the air as the audience watched the flames spread, the atmosphere heavy with reverence.

As the last candle was lit, Dumbledore straightened, his gaze sweeping over the rows of students and alumni alike.

"Ladies and gentlemen, esteemed alumni, and students," he began, his tone shifting to one of anticipation, "this year, 1976, marks the fourth centennial of Hogwarts Academy's founding. Four hundred years ago, in 1576, students just like you sat where you sit now, listening to these very same words."