Hogwarts Legacy Great Hall Novels & Stories

The doors swung open. The Great Hall was a cathedral of stone and fire. Massive chandeliers made of elk antlers hung from the ceiling, their candles casting a flickering, amber light over the hundreds of pack members seated at long wooden trestle tables. At the far end of the hall, on a raised dais, sat the Alpha’s table.

I was told to walk to the great hall and stand next to the other pledgers in a line awaiting the Supreme, just like I did only days before, but this time there was people everywhere both outside and inside the hall. I took a deep breath and walked through doors to the great hall. Today the great hall was stripped down to nothing but the floor, walls, roof and the Supreme’s throne like seating arrangement. No exquisite flower decorations or beautiful lighting arrangement, only the hard cold marble floors and the exposed brick wall and the wooden beams holding up the roof.

So, contrary to what I believed, we did not in fact have a team of super deep clean staff on hand. The main entrance to the building known as the Great Hall, which is all it was, a really really big hall, was securely chained and padlocked. Rust was even appearing at the edges of the padlock and I assumed that the inside of the padlock must be completely rusted since after a minute of trying to open the lock with its key, Damon just broke the padlock off with his hand.

“I was hoping that you could help me in finding something to eat.” “Of course. I believe the Omegas have just finished preparing everything. We will all be gathering and eating in the Great Hall at the end of the square.” “I’m sorry, it’s such a large square, do you think you could show me the way?” Andraste, confused once again, tilted her head. Was he blind or dumb? The Great Hall was by far the largest building in the capital that no matter where you stood even human eyes could see it. It was beyond her sheltered youth to understand the hidden invitation. As though realizing how naive she was, he grabbed her hand before she could pull away.

He stopped breathing. "Leela," Fennigan whispered, his voice suddenly thick and vibrating with a heavy, overwhelming realization. "Think about the room we were in last night. Think about the Great Room at the Packhouse." Leela paused. She closed her eyes. She pictured the massive, sprawling estate. The colossal, floor-to-ceiling stone fireplace. The heavy, dark timber beams crisscrossing the vaulted ceiling. The lingering scent of cedar and mountain rain that clung to everything Fennigan owned.

It was a secret not yet ready to be spoken aloud too many times, lest it lose its shape or turn against us. The Legacy Common Hall rose into view like a cathedral carved from ambition and fire. Gold-fluted pillars framed the entrance. A chandelier the size of a carriage loomed overhead, its crystal drops catching the warm light like the glint of watchful eyes. The moment we crossed the threshold, the air shifted. Heavier. Colder. Hungrier. This wasn’t just a place to study or socialize. This was the stage where legacies rehearsed their dominance. And there, beneath a cascade of amber light by the bay windows, sat Ingrid Marrow.

Seth had summoned him, and his grandfather, Clovis, had begged him to obey and come down. Lucas raced down to the mansion where his grandfather’s office was, and his brakes screeched as he halted in front of the door. Lucas took a deep breath before pushing the heavy oak door open, the familiar scent of cedar and leather greeting him as he stepped into the dimly lit office. Clovis sat behind the ornate desk, his expression tense and weary, as if he carried the weight of the world on his shoulders. “Lucas.”, Clovis greeted him sounding relieved, his voice tinged with exhaustion. “Thank you for coming.”

"I'm not going to wander off and pet the gargoyles, Armano." He led me inside. The Great Hall was cavernous. The ceiling was lost in shadows, held up by pillars as thick as redwoods. Torches burned in sconces along the walls, casting flickering, orange light that made the shadows dance. It smelled of dust, beeswax, and something metallic—old blood. There were people lining the hallway. Servants, guards, courtiers. They stood still as statues, watching me pass. Their eyes were wide, their faces pale. They didn't look welcoming. They looked like they were viewing a ghost.

The air in the grand hall was charged with anticipation as the final formality unfolded. Elena stood at the center, her breath caught in her chest, as the Callahan attorney approached her, holding a small, intricately designed key. The metallic gleam caught the light, and its ornate design was unmistakable—a crest bearing the Callahan family insignia. “This,” the attorney began solemnly, “is the key to the Callahan legacy. With it, you now hold access to everything your father left behind—his treasures, his wisdom, and the secrets only he trusted his heir to uncover. Congratulations, Elena Callahan.”

It made their bodies instinctively move to silence as they moved out of his way and lowered their gazes before him, even though most of them still wanted to peek at him all the same. The closer he got, the more they held their breaths overwhelmed by the air around him that made him seem like an immortal that had graced the presence of mere mortals. “Where is grandfather?” Morgan asked the butler. “The old master’s condition acted up, but he's fine now. He’s up in his room; please allow this servant to guide you to the old master,” he said and bowed deeply.