Ch: 45-50
Chapter 45: The Sorting Hat with a non-disclosure agreement
Even the bold Hermione felt this way, let alone the others.
The first-years had expected to immediately face the scrutiny of the older students, but instead, Professor McGonagall led them into a small, empty room at the other end.
This gave everyone a brief moment to catch their breath.
However, this "small room" was really a bit too small.
The space inside was narrow, with several yellowed old paintings hanging on the walls, their frame edges tinged with dark rust.
The first-years were packed inside, shoulder to shoulder, making it difficult even to turn around.
The air was thick with the sound of nervous breathing and a faint scent of sweat, making people feel inexplicably anxious.
Professor McGonagall stood at the front of the room, her expression as stern as ever.
Her gaze swept across them, and the room, which had been filled with whispers, immediately fell silent.
"Welcome to Hogwarts," said Professor McGonagall. "The start-of-term banquet is about to begin, but before you take your seats in the Great Hall, you must first be sorted into your respective houses."
She paused, letting these words sink into everyone's hearts.
"The Sorting is a very important ceremony," Professor McGonagall continued. "Because while you are at school, you will attend classes with your housemates, sleep in your house dormitory, and spend your spare time in your house common room."
"Therefore, choosing your house is very important. For instance, if your personality is one way but you are sorted into a different house, you might not be able to integrate into the collective."
"So, think carefully and choose your houses well."
At this point, Professor McGonagall gave a brief introduction to the four houses: "The school has four houses: Gryffindor, Hufflepuff, Ravenclaw, and Slytherin. Each house has produced outstanding Wizards. During your time at school, good behavior can earn points for your house, while rule-breaking will lose points. At the end of the year, the house with the most points is awarded the house cup."
"So, regardless of which house you are sorted into, I hope you will strive to win the house cup for your house."
After explaining the Sorting and the house cup, Professor McGonagall reminded the students to mind their appearance: "The Sorting Ceremony will begin shortly. Make sure your school robes are neat and your hair is properly combed."
Draco pulled a small silver mirror from his pocket, checked himself, and nodded with satisfaction, thinking to himself: My hairstyle must not be ruined.
Pansy immediately leaned in, using Draco's mirror to tidy her own hair and lightly patting down the wrinkles on her school robes.
Her movements were as elegant as if she were not in a crowded little room, but rather in front of her own dressing table.
Professor McGonagall looked at the group and said, "Wait here quietly. When they are ready for you, I will come and get you."
With that, she turned and left the room, the wooden door closing softly behind her, partially cutting off the outside noise but making the silence in the room even more pronounced.
Draco sighed helplessly; waiting while squeezed into such a small room was truly agonizing.
The air wasn't circulating, there were too many people, and even breathing felt stuffy.
Just then, a voice broke the silence.
"The Sorting Hat... how exactly does it decide where to put us?"
Harry asked, his voice slightly hesitant.
His voice was a bit louder than usual due to unease, drifting clearly into everyone's ears.
The question was like a pebble thrown into stagnant water, creating invisible ripples throughout the room.
The next second, a cold female voice, carrying undisguised mockery, sliced through the stagnant air like a blade:
"Merlin, has nobody told you?"
Pansy Parkinson turned sideways, her chin tilted at an angle high enough to look down on half the first-years in the room.
She didn't look at Harry, but her gaze was like a hawk's, piercing him accurately.
"The Sorting Hat is an ancient and powerful magical object with a mind of its own," Pansy said with a hint of sarcasm. "It can see through your mind, reading your essence, your ambition, and your heart's deepest desires."
The silence in the room suddenly changed flavor.
From a nervous quiet, it transformed into a tense, hostile silence.
"Shut up!"
Ron Weasley's face instantly turned the color of his hair; he spun around, his chest heaving with anger.
"Do you think everyone is like you, taught every day how to look down on people with their nostrils? Harry's question is a hundred times better than your disgusting, prejudiced 'essence theory'!"
And Hermione turned around almost the moment Pansy finished speaking.
She didn't look at Ron or Harry; her sharp brown eyes locked directly onto Pansy, her gaze like someone deconstructing a fallacious arithmetic problem.
"Miss," Hermione addressed her calmly first.
"Flaunting that you know a bit more common sense than others doesn't make you seem any more brilliant."
"Harry's question is perfectly reasonable."
"Besides, the Sorting Hat's criteria are far more complex than your simplified 'essence, ambition, and desire.' It takes into account courage, wisdom, loyalty, justice, and—"
"Oh, look," Pansy interrupted with a sneer, deliberately speaking to the Slytherin first-years around her. "This girl can't wait to give us a lecture. Too bad the hat doesn't look for who can memorize books the fastest."
At the doorway, Professor McGonagall's figure appeared more clearly, though no one knew exactly when she had returned.
She didn't speak, but her stern gaze swept over the center of the commotion like a searchlight.
After scanning the room, Professor McGonagall spoke in a commanding voice: "Keep quiet."
Her volume wasn't high, but it caused every bit of noise in the room to vanish instantly. "Wait for the Sorting."
Pansy immediately shut her mouth, but the cold, victorious smile on her face did not disappear.
She even elegantly smoothed her perfectly neat hair.
Then, from the corner of her eye, she cast a subtle glance toward the blond boy standing diagonally in front of her.
From the Great Hall behind the oak doors, the faint sounds of singing, applause, and the clinking of cutlery could be heard, forming a sharp contrast to the tense atmosphere in this small room.
But in this little room, the rift created by those few words had already been deeply etched into the hearts of many first-years.
The colors of the four houses had not yet been assigned, but invisible boundaries had already quietly formed in the shadows of the stone walls where the moonlight could not reach, born from that first burst of genuine malice.
The Sorting Hat's song had not yet begun, but some things had already been sorted.
Having stopped the commotion, Professor McGonagall turned and left the small room once more.
The wooden door closed softly, and the room returned to that oppressive quiet, though now it was tinged with several unidentifiable emotions.
After Professor McGonagall left, Goyle leaned toward Draco in fear and whispered, "Oh... seeing through minds... that sounds a bit scary."
He seemed terrified by Pansy's explanation just now.
Vincent also nervously touched his own head and said, "It... it won't just say anything, will it?"
Hearing this, Goyle was even more startled and hurriedly asked Draco, "Boss, is there any way to avoid it? I used to bully people all the time; won't it find out?"
"Pfft—"
Someone couldn't help but let out a laugh, and immediately following that, several others couldn't hold it in either; a wave of low laughter rippled through the room.
Draco was left speechless by Goyle's idiocy, and the others were equally dumbfounded.
Now that you've said it, everyone knows; what need is there for a Sorting Hat?
But thanks to Goyle's antics, the tense atmosphere from earlier relaxed considerably.
From time to time, someone would whisper, "It won't blurt out all my embarrassing childhood stories, will it?"
"If it tells everyone about me wetting the bed, I'm dropping out."
"I have a way," Draco suddenly spoke up.
Everyone's curiosity was instantly piqued, and they all turned their gazes toward him.
Vincent asked in shock, "Re-really? Boss, what is it..."
"Learn Occlumency," Draco said nonchalantly. "It's an advanced spell."
"Though I doubt anyone present has learned it."
"Tch—"
The crowd let out a chorus of dismissive boos.
"That's it? You're talking nonsense!"
"And here I thought you actually knew a way."
Most people had this reaction, but Hermione was different.
Her brow furrowed, and a flash of genuine surprise crossed her eyes.
She had seen that term before, in a book about advanced defensive magic.
Occlumency? The ultimate art of defending against Legilimency... how did he know about it? And speak of it so casually?
Goyle asked again, "Then Boss, do you know this Occlumency thing?"
Draco glanced at him. "What do you think?"
Goyle was completely stunned, his mouth hanging slightly open, his brain clearly jammed by this philosophical counter-question.
He looked at Draco, then at Vincent, trying to find an answer on his companion's face.
Finally, he could only clumsily and tentatively whisper, "I-I think... Boss... you definitely know?"
Vincent nodded vigorously. "Right, right, Boss knows everything!"
"He must know!" Lavender began her romantic fantasies again. "But he won't say, because it's secret knowledge that belongs only to the night and the shadows... it's so, so charming!"
Hearing Lavender start boasting about Draco again, Ron grumbled to Harry, "Did you hear that? 'What do you think?' Merlin's smelly socks! What does he know besides putting on airs? If he really knew some 'Brain Constipation Art,' he should use it right now to 'close off' those twisted, vain thoughts in his head so they don't leak out and scare people!"
Facing Ron's sarcasm, everyone wanted to see Draco's reaction.
But Draco, like Hermione, chose to ignore him.
Draco just shook his head and said slowly, "I'm just a first-year..."
His words trailed off, leaving room for everyone's imagination.
Ron wore a disdainful "just as I thought" expression and whispered to Harry, "See, I told you."
Draco continued, "It doesn't matter if you don't know Occlumency, because the Sorting Hat signed a non-disclosure agreement. It can't leak anything, otherwise it wouldn't be trusted. After so many generations, nothing has ever gone wrong."
"A non-disclosure agreement?"
The room went silent for a second, followed by a burst of laughter.
Pansy also let out a short, sharp, but delighted laugh, covering her mouth with her sleeve. "Oh, Draco! A non-disclosure agreement! Merlin, the things you come up with! But... it does make sense!"
Ron turned to Harry and said in an incredulous tone, "A non-disclosure agreement? Does he think the Sorting Hat is a Gringotts Goblin? Signing contracts?!"
Harry was also taken aback, then felt a bit like laughing.
The explanation was too absurd, too "Muggle," yet it carried a strange sort of persuasiveness.
With that, the tension dissipated quickly, like a punctured balloon.
Many people had expressions of confusion, amusement, or sudden realization on their faces.
"A non-disclosure agreement... it actually sounds plausible."
"No wonder nobody says anything."
"The hat's professional ethics are quite strong."
Low, relaxed giggles and discussions filled the small room, and the previous oppression was swept away.
Just then, the wooden door was pushed open again.
Professor McGonagall walked in, her expression still serious. "Now, form a single line and follow me."
Everyone's heart tightened—they all knew the Sorting was about to begin.
Everyone was slightly nervous, silently praying: Please don't let me be the first one picked.
Chapter 46: Hermione, Who Could Have Gone to Any of the Four Houses
The Young Wizards walked out of the room, crossed the entrance hall, and after passing through those two heavy Oak Doors, finally stepped into the Great Hall of Hogwarts.
Compared to the cramped little room from before, this place was like another world entirely.
The vaulted ceiling was so high the top was almost invisible, and countless lit candles floated in the air like suspended stars, illuminating the entire Great Hall.
The ceiling was enchanted to simulate the starry sky, with slowly shifting constellations dotting the deep night curtain, as if the true firmament had been moved into this stone-built hall.
Four long tables were arranged neatly along the sides of the hall, covered with colored tablecloths representing each house: scarlet and gold, blue and bronze, yellow and black, green and silver.
The Professors and upper-year students participating in the Sorting Ceremony were already seated.
On the high platform at the front was the Staff Table, with Headmaster Dumbledore sitting in the center, his silver-white beard glowing softly under the candlelight.
Hundreds of pairs of eyes stared in unison at the line of new students, leaving them nowhere to hide.
The freshmen formed a long line in the middle, standing on the vast expanse of stone flooring, their legs feeling a bit weak beneath them.
Professor McGonagall walked to the front of the platform and bowed slightly to Dumbledore for instructions.
Dumbledore nodded with a smile, a gentle expectation in his eyes behind the half-moon spectacles.
Professor McGonagall turned back to face the students, and with a wave of her hand, a Four-legged stool appeared out of thin air, landing between the line of freshmen and the Staff Table.
She raised her hand again and pointed, and a patched Wizard's hat slowly descended from the air, landing perfectly on the stool.
The hat looked old and dirty, with patch upon patch, its edges worn white, and the brim coated in years of dust.
To an ordinary person, the hat's raggedness spoke of its antiquity.
To someone with obsessive-compulsive disorder, they would likely only be thinking of throwing it into a washbasin for a good cleaning immediately.
However, in the next moment, this seemingly dilapidated hat suddenly moved.
The top of the hat slowly caved in, forming two hollow 'eyes,' and a jagged gap opened below like a wide mouth.
The hat shook slightly, as if it had just woken up from a long sleep.
Then that 'mouth' slowly opened, and a slightly raspy but clear voice echoed through the Great Hall.
It began to sing.
The song's lyrics roughly told the origins of the four houses, the sorting process, and the qualities cherished by each: the courage of Gryffindor, the wisdom of Ravenclaw, the loyalty of Hufflepuff, and the shrewdness and ambition of Slytherin.
Only when it reached the last few lines did Draco shake his head helplessly; the hat seemed to have some prejudice against Slytherin.
While other houses were praised without fault, Slytherin was repeatedly emphasized with words like 'insidious,' 'cunning,' 'ambitious,' and 'using any means to achieve an end.'
After finishing its song, the Sorting Hat gave a slight shudder.
It then returned to the appearance of an ordinary hat, though the two sunken 'eyes' and the cracked 'mouth' were still faintly visible.
Professor McGonagall clapped her hands lightly, and a roll of Parchment appeared out of thin air, slowly unfurling before her.
Rows of names and corresponding small portraits flickered on the Parchment, clearly displaying the information of every freshman.
"Now," Professor McGonagall's voice rang through the hall, "when I call your name, come forward, put on the hat, and sit on the stool to await your sorting."
She looked down at the Parchment and read out the first name: "Ron Weasley."
Ron's entire body gave a violent shudder, and he turned bright red from his neck to his ears in an instant.
He had a miserable look on his face, pointing at himself and waving his hands and shaking his head repeatedly, as if silently saying, "Not me, not me."
His expression was as desperate as could be.
"Why am I first?!" Ron wailed in his mind.
His eyes instinctively drifted toward the Gryffindor table, where his two older brothers, George and Fred, were sitting.
Unsurprisingly, an incident was about to occur.
Sure enough, the ones to publicly execute him would inevitably be the twins.
George pointed his wand at his own throat, whispered something, and then shouted at a volume that could be heard throughout the Great Hall: "Welcome our heroic pioneer—Ron Weasley!!!"
Fred immediately chimed in: "Will he be the first Gryffindor in Hogwarts history to faint on the Sorting Stool from nerves???"
"Let's wait and see!" George added, his tone full of excitement for the show.
Ron looked at them with a tearful face, wanting to roar in his heart: "For Merlin's sake... why can't they be normal like other people's brothers?!"
The upper-year students showed knowing smiles, clearly already accustomed to the Weasley Twins' style.
The Gryffindor table instantly became a whirlpool of joy, filled with the excitement of watching a show and good-natured mockery.
The freshmen were a bit dazed at first, but were soon infected by the lively atmosphere.
Many craned their necks, looking at Ron with curiosity and amusement, wondering if he really would faint.
This greatly relieved their own nervousness.
Not only were they not first, but someone was 'embarrassing' themselves before them, and it might be quite a big embarrassment.
By the end, many freshmen even evolved into having the same feeling as Harry and the others: sympathy.
Pansy, on the other hand, showed an undisguised sneer, watching this 'vulgar Gryffindor farce' with a full sense of superiority, and whispered to Draco: "A barbarian's carnival."
These two, George and Fred, whether it's friends or enemies, they really stick to their principles—indiscriminate attacks.
Draco thought to himself.
Seeing Ron dawdling and refusing to step forward, Percy finally couldn't sit still.
He stood up and shouted with a stern face: "Ron! Get moving! Don't dawdle! Don't embarrass the whole family!"
Ron had no choice but to bite the bullet and walk toward the stool.
This short distance felt as long as a light-year to him.
With every step, he could feel hundreds of eyes on him, making him wish he could dig a hole and crawl into it on the spot.
Arriving at the stool, Ron took a deep breath and practically 'threw' himself onto it.
He sat down, his whole body still trembling slightly.
Professor McGonagall expressionlessly picked up the Sorting Hat, gave it a light shake, and then placed it firmly on his head.
The moment the hat was placed on him, Ron squeezed his eyes shut as if he could escape reality that way.
"Gryffindor Gryffindor Gryffindor Gryffindor..." he screamed frantically in his mind, "Anything but Slytherin, anything but Slytherin... please, Mr. Hat, for Merlin's sake..."
The hat moved slightly on his head, seemingly rummaging through something.
After a few seconds, a tiny voice sounded in his ear, with a bit of teasing: "Hmm... Weasley? Another Weasley. Most of your family has gone to Gryffindor, haven't they?"
Ron's heart rose to his throat.
The next moment, the hat suddenly drew out its voice and shouted at a volume loud enough to reach the entire Great Hall: "Gryffindor!"
Ron felt like his bones had been removed, slumped on the stool for a fraction of a second, and then suddenly sprang up.
A huge, relieved, even somewhat silly smile appeared on his face, but his ears were still intensely red.
He hurriedly took off the hat, almost failing to hold it steady, and then practically scrambled toward the Gryffindor table.
The Gryffindor students burst into loud applause and cheers.
Fred clapped his hands wildly and whistled at the long table, shouting: "Good job, Ron!"
George immediately followed: "The first one! You've made the family proud!"
Ron immediately lowered his head deeply, wishing he could bury his entire face into the empty plate in front of him.
His ears and neck under his red hair turned a deep shade of purple, almost blending in with the scarlet house tablecloth.
"Shut up... you two... I hate you..." he squeezed these words out through his teeth.
Professor McGonagall continued to read the next name with an expressionless face, but if one looked closely, they would notice a nearly imperceptible softening at the corners of her mouth.
She seemed to be thinking: Another Weasley, safely landed.
Next, two more freshmen had their names called.
Hannah Abbott was sorted into Hufflepuff, and Terry Boot went to Ravenclaw.
With every name called, cheers from the corresponding house would ring through the hall, and the atmosphere gradually became more heated.
Soon, Professor McGonagall read out the name that made many people look over: "Pansy Parkinson."
Pansy tilted her head slightly, first glancing at Draco with obvious pride and expectation in her eyes, before walking toward the stool with elegant and confident steps.
Her movements were clean and decisive, without a hint of hesitation, as if she had known long ago where she would be sorted.
Professor McGonagall placed the hat on her head.
Almost instantly, the hat made its decision: "Slytherin!"
The second table on the right immediately erupted in intense cheers, the green and silver tassels swaying under the candlelight.
Pansy's face broke into a haughty smile; she straightened her school robes and stepped toward the Slytherin table, each step like walking on the marble stairs of her own manor.
Professor McGonagall looked down and continued to read the next name: "Hermione Granger."
Hermione was startled, clearly not expecting to be called so soon.
She froze for less than a second, then took a deep breath, ran quickly to the stool, and almost eagerly pulled the hat over her head.
The moment the hat touched her hair, it gave a slight shudder, as if startled by some kind of force.
"Hmm..." a tiny voice sounded in her ear, "Very interesting. It's so obvious, isn't it? Ravenclaw would welcome you with open arms; you have a vast amount of knowledge here, a pure love for logic, a thirst for seeking the truth... You would become a star of Ravenclaw, without a doubt."
Hermione's heart rate accelerated instantly.
Ravenclaw, the hall of wisdom and learning.
It sounded both reasonable and glorious.
She could almost imagine herself sitting in the Ravenclaw tower, surrounded by books and clever classmates, immersed in the ocean of knowledge every day.
But the hat did not announce it immediately.
It continued to dig deep into her thoughts, as if flipping through a massive Library.
"Wait... there's more than that." The hat's voice became serious, "I see a strong sense of purpose; you don't hoard knowledge for the sake of knowledge itself, you do it to... apply it."
"To prove something, to change something."
"Ah... there is fire here, a fire of drive. Yes, this is an ambition, a determination to leave a mark. This is very Slytherin!"
"Shrewd, goal-oriented, and can be very... resolute to achieve an end. Slytherin can help you toward greatness; you could distinguish yourself there."
"Slytherin?" Hermione's heart sank suddenly.
No, Malfoy was there, and those people who looked down on muggle-borns and worshipped the Dark Arts.
She instinctively rejected that place.
"Oh, you reject it?" The hat seemed to perceive her emotions, "Because of their methods? Because of their... prejudices?"
"Interesting."
"Then look at this: endless diligence, a near-stubborn insistence on fairness, loyalty to friends. Hufflepuff would prize these qualities; you would find a true sense of belonging there, where it is kind and just."
Hufflepuffs were good people, Hermione knew that of course.
But a corner of her heart quietly felt that it might not be dazzling enough, not enough for her to display her full ambitions.
She didn't want to be buried in the gentle comfort of being a 'nice person'; what she wanted was a stage where she could shine and burn.
The Sorting Hat remained silent for a longer while, as if weaving these shining threads together.
It saw her wisdom, her diligence, her ambition, but peeling back the layers, it touched the most core, the most fiery thing.
"Ah... found it." The hat's voice suddenly became soft and certain, "This is the key, isn't it? Your wisdom is your most powerful weapon, but you are always ready to throw it into battle."
"Your diligence is so that you can be prepared when the trial comes."
"Your ambition is to make the world better, not to seek power for yourself."
"Beneath your orderly Library of thoughts is a volcano of courage ready to erupt at any time."
"You long to prove yourself, yes, but more importantly, you long to protect, you long to fight injustice, you long to stand up for what you believe is right, even if it means breaking all the rules."
Hermione's heart gave a fierce tremor.
The hat's voice gradually rose, filled with an unmistakable conclusion: "Ravenclaw would enrich your mind, but Gryffindor will ignite your soul. That is where the fire of your courage belongs, where you can have a stage to turn your wisdom into a sword. What you cherish most deep down is not cold truth, but burning conviction. So, better be— JUSTICE!"
It paused for a moment, as if gathering strength for this moment.
"Gryffindor!"
The hat shouted out the last word loudly.
The Great Hall immediately erupted into a burst of warm cheers, especially the Gryffindor table, which practically boiled over.
Ron was so excited he almost jumped from his seat; Gryffindor had finally welcomed its second student, and it was someone they were relatively familiar with.
Harry also clapped his hands wildly, his face written with sincere joy.
Hermione let out a long breath, a strange, fiery sense of identity surging in her heart.
She took off the hat and walked toward the Gryffindor table with steps that felt a bit light.
Her eyes were incredibly bright, as if she had just completed a rediscovery of herself.
Chapter 47: The Outcome Everyone Took for Granted
Ron watched blankly as Hermione sat down at the Gryffindor table, the loud cry of "Gryffindor!" still echoing in his ears.
A complex mix of emotions welled up in his heart.
On one hand, he didn't much like this person who always loved bossing others around and constantly cited heaps of books to pressure people.
On the other hand, he had to admit that Hermione's abilities were beyond doubt; she was like a sharp sword—a bit prickly to handle, but absolutely effective.
"At least for the house cup," Ron muttered to himself. "It's much better that she came to our house than going to Ravenclaw or Slytherin."
Thinking of this, he subconsciously looked at Harry in the line and silently added, "If Harry could be sorted here too, it would be perfect."
After Hermione, the next name called was Lavender Brown.
As expected, the hat hardly hesitated before announcing loudly, "Gryffindor!"
An excited Lavender nearly jumped for joy.
Just then, Goyle suddenly leaned toward Draco and whispered, "Boss, where are you going?"
There was a clear sense of unease in his voice.
Before Draco could answer, Professor McGonagall had already read out the next name: "Gregory Goyle."
Goyle froze, as if he hadn't realized his name was being called.
It wasn't until Vincent nudged him with his elbow that he walked toward the stool as if waking from a dream.
The moment the Sorting Hat was placed on his head, it shouted the result almost instantly: "Slytherin!"
The Slytherin table erupted in applause even more enthusiastic than before, as if trying to use this cheer to drown out Gryffindor's previous momentum.
Goyle was big and tall, standing there like a mobile wall of flesh, exuding an air of intimidation no matter how you looked at him.
The older Slytherin students looked at him and nodded with satisfaction.
A brute like this would be excellent "combat power" in the future, whether for dueling or fighting.
Goyle didn't seem to have fully grasped the situation yet, walking toward the Slytherin table in a daze, nearly tripping over his own feet along the way.
Immediately after, Professor McGonagall read, "Vincent Crabbe."
Vincent swallowed nervously and walked to the stool to sit down.
The hat stayed on his head for a few seconds before announcing: "Slytherin!"
Another cheer rose from Slytherin.
Vincent grinned, waved at Draco, and then walked quickly toward his house table.
The next three or four names were sorted into Hufflepuff and Ravenclaw respectively.
The atmosphere in the Great Hall grew warmer, and the nervousness of the new students slowly dissipated with each sorting.
Until...
"Harry Potter."
The moment Professor McGonagall's voice rang through the Great Hall, the entire room seemed to have been muted.
Everyone's gaze shot toward the thin, black-haired boy; whispers were swept away like by a gale, leaving only the faint crackle of burning candles.
"Is that the Harry Potter?"
"The Boy Who Lived?"
"It's him, it's him! I've seen his picture in books!"
Various speculations surged silently through the air.
Harry took a deep breath, trying hard to keep his legs from shaking.
He walked to the stool and sat down; the moment the Sorting Hat dropped over his eyes, his heart rate nearly burst out of his chest.
The hat remained silent on his head for a long time, longer than for any of the previous new students.
People in the Great Hall gradually couldn't help but whisper, "As expected of Harry Potter, even the Sorting Hat can't make up its mind."
During this long silence, the Sorting Hat was constantly weighing options in Harry's mind: Slytherin or Gryffindor?
"You are very brave," the hat's voice spoke in his ear, "but you also have great ambition and great decisiveness."
"Slytherin can give you power, give you resources, and give you a shortcut to authority. You know, many great Wizards have come from there, and also... well, some less than honorable figures. But power itself has no good or evil; the key lies in the user."
Harry's heart tightened suddenly: "No, I'm not going to Slytherin."
"Are you sure?" the Sorting Hat asked with some surprise. "Slytherin would welcome you; you would become a leader there, and your name would be carved on their Wall of Glory."
"I'm not going," Harry shouted in his mind with almost all his strength.
The Sorting Hat fell silent for a moment, seemingly weighing his persistence against his nature.
Finally, it sighed. "Well, since you are so persistent... then I shall respect your choice."
The next moment, it shouted in a booming voice: "Gryffindor!"
The words fell.
The entire Great Hall seemed to be set on fire.
The Gryffindor table erupted in the most enthusiastic cheers and applause ever seen; the clapping, whistling, and screaming nearly blew the roof off.
Only this boy could receive such an honor.
Harry was startled by the display, his face written with a look of being overwhelmed by the favor.
He got down from the stool and was almost pushed toward the Gryffindor table by the wave of cheers.
Ron was so excited his tears were almost coming out, giving him a hug: "Harry! You're here! This is great!"
Hermione was also happy that Harry had come to Gryffindor, a heartfelt smile appearing on her face.
But in the brief interval as the applause died down slightly, her gaze involuntarily drifted toward Draco.
That dazzling blond youth standing in the line.
As if in response to her gaze, Professor McGonagall read out the next name: "Draco Malfoy."
The entire Great Hall fell silent once again.
But this time, the silence carried a sense of natural expectation.
Over at Slytherin, they had already begun to cheer in advance, the green tablecloths swaying slightly under the candlelight.
The older Slytherin students whispered among themselves, smiles of certain victory in their eyes.
The heir of the House of Malfoy was, of course, one of theirs.
Others who knew the Malfoy family also nodded, having already concluded the answer in their hearts: Draco Malfoy would definitely go to Slytherin.
Pansy clenched her hands tightly, her eyes fixed intently on Draco, her breathing becoming a bit hurried.
She was waiting in anticipation.
If Draco were sorted into Slytherin, she would have a better chance to be close to him and secure a place by his side.
At the staff table, the Professors also had no doubts about Draco's sorting result.
A cold smile even flickered at the corner of Snape's mouth.
A new Malfoy was about to join his house.
Just when everyone thought the result was set in stone, Draco stepped forward and sat on the stool.
Chapter 48: The Birth of the Lion King
The moment the Sorting Hat covered his head, Draco felt a familiar force probing his consciousness.
But it quickly crashed into an invisible wall.
The hat paused.
"Hmm?" Its voice sounded in my mind, clearly astonished. "You, boy... interesting."
The Sorting Hat instinctively wanted to announce the answer that best fit his "bloodline" and "family tradition": "Slyther—"
"Sort me into Gryffindor," Draco said calmly in his mind.
The hat's voice stopped abruptly, as if someone had choked it.
The word "Slytherin" was forcefully caught in its "throat."
"You want Gryffindor, Young Wizard?" The hat's voice became serious. "This might not turn out well for you."
"Old Hat," Draco replied lazily, "Isn't the sorting result your decision? Why are you asking me?"
"I can't see your nature, Young Wizard!" The hat sounded exasperated. "Your mind is locked inside a safe!"
"Old Hat, you're not up to par," Draco teased deliberately. "The Sorting Hat, rumored to see into hearts, can't see through a child?"
"Did you already learn Occlumency at home?" the hat asked suspiciously.
"Guess."
The hat nearly swore aloud: "I guess you—"
It forcefully swallowed a curse. "You didn't specifically learn Occlumency just to guard against me, did you?"
"You guessed a little bit right," Draco smiled innocently.
The Sorting Hat fell into deeper confusion: "What do you mean, 'guessed a little bit right'?"
"Literal meaning." Draco didn't bother explaining the system and transmigration to it.
"Since you don't want me to see your nature—wait, no, since you refuse to let me see your nature, that means you have your own ideas." The hat circled around the thought in his mind and finally became assertive.
"Tell me, Young Wizard, which House do you want?"
"What if I said I had no preference?" Draco deliberately gave it trouble.
"Damn it," the hat couldn't help but curse, "Are you here specifically to crash the party?"
"Don't be like that, Old Hat," Draco quickly soothed. "How old are you? Why argue with a child? I was just joking. Think about it, you've only done one job for so many years, how boring! I'm just keeping you company."
"I don't need it!" The hat flatly refused. "This is my job, and clocking out on time is my lifelong dream. Boy, if you dare waste your Hat Grandpa's time again, I'll just draw lots and sort you randomly!"
"No, no, no," Draco quickly conceded. "Can't I just choose now? I'll reluctantly go to Gryffindor."
The Sorting Hat didn't want to talk to this "Diao Mao" for another second, afraid that two more sentences would ruin its reputation. It immediately shouted at the top of its volume:
"Gryffindor!"
[Ding—Altered original plot, luck value +10]
Dead silence.
Absolute, all-consuming silence, as if even the candle flames had frozen.
Draco did not rush to step down from the stool.
He knew these people needed time to process the result.
After all, a Malfoy going to Gryffindor was more outrageous than Harry going to Slytherin.
"No..." Pansy Parkinson let out a strangled whimper, covering her mouth tightly, her whole body beginning to tremble.
She couldn't believe that the blonde boy she had always assumed would enter Slytherin with her and dominate the Hogwarts social scene had been chosen for Gryffindor.
Goyle and Vincent synchronously gaped, their mountainous bodies turning blankly toward the Gryffindor table, then back to their petrified boss, their brains completely crashing.
The Slytherin table looked like it had been hit by a mass Freezing Charm.
The older students' faces were so grim they could drip water, their gazes like poisoned daggers stabbing fiercely at the blonde back.
Whispers rose among them, not of welcome, but an angry, humiliated buzzing.
"Traitor."
"A disgrace to the Malfoy family."
"He actually went to Gryffindor?!"
After the dead silence, the Gryffindor table instantly erupted.
"Merlin's pants!" Ron Weasley's shriek cracked. He grabbed Harry's arm next to him. "Harry! Did you hear that?! Malfoy?! With us?! Did a Troll's snot clog that hat?!"
Hermione Granger sharply inhaled, her brows knitted into a knot.
Her gaze was sharp as a knife, darting between Draco and the Sorting Hat, her brain analyzing all possibilities at a mile a second: a mistake? A conspiracy? Or did the hat see some deep, hidden essence?
"Ladies and gentlemen!" George Weasley jumped directly onto the bench.
"Get down!" Percy snapped, but it was completely ineffective.
"A historic moment! Welcome our newest, brightest, most unexpected... Little Lion!!!"
Fred immediately blew a sharp whistle, and a few older students who loved trouble followed suit, but most people were still in shock and didn't know whether to cheer or curse.
At the staff table, the silence was also broken, but in a completely different way.
Professor McGonagall's hand, holding the Parchment, trembled almost imperceptibly.
Her usual sternness was shattered by shock, but years of discipline quickly glued the fragments back together.
She took a deep breath and said in a voice clearer, firmer, and even carrying a trace of an undetectable tremor: "Go, Mr. Malfoy! Take a seat at your House table."
Professor Severus Snape's face turned from sallow to ashen gray.
He stared fixedly at Draco, the depths of his black eyes churning with fury, the coldness of betrayal, and a hint of almost painful disbelief.
Snape immediately tore his gaze away, as if looking for another moment would defile him.
The chill emanating from him made Professor Quirrell next to him tremble even harder.
Professor Flitwick shot up from his chair, squeaking: "Merlin! This is truly... unprecedented!"
Professor Sprout worriedly wrung her hands, looking at Draco, then at the livid Professor Snape, and finally toward the end of the long table.
There, Dumbledore slowly and gracefully began to clap.
His applause wasn't loud, but steady and firm, like a kettle drum beating in everyone's heart amid the gradually rising chaotic clamor.
The blue eyes behind his half-moon spectacles shone with deep, all-knowing light.
His gaze swept past Draco and focused on the void, as if he saw another marvelous intertwining of the threads of fate that ordinary people could not perceive.
Draco finally moved.
He stood up from the stool and gently placed the Sorting Hat back on the table.
The hat landed, its creases smoothing out, lying quietly as if it had completed a masterpiece.
The history of Hogwarts, at this moment, was split by a sudden "Gryffindor," creating an unforeseen crack.
The feast had not yet begun, but everyone's appetite had been completely ruined by this astonishing "appetizer."
Draco strode toward the Gryffindor table.
Along the way, countless eyes followed him like searchlights.
There was shock, anger, curiosity, disgust, and... a little bit of indescribable expectation.
"Look at our new little friend," Fred said, grinning as Draco approached. "He looks like he swallowed an ice rat whole."
"What do you think he's thinking?" George chimed in. "Calculating when his father will send an Owl to snatch him away?"
Other older Gryffindors were also discussing him endlessly:
"Is he really a Malfoy?"
"Why is he here?"
"Snape must be furious..."
Unlike the constant chatter at the Gryffindor table, the murmurs from the other three Houses suddenly dropped, turning into a suffocating silence of intense focus.
Everyone stopped moving, their eyes glued to the pale blonde figure.
The Slytherin table was already a collective, cold sidelong glance and dismissal.
From this moment on, the name "Draco Malfoy" would be silently crossed out of Slytherin's roll of honor, as if he had never existed.
Pansy never looked up. She stared fixedly at the silver goblet in front of her, her fingers white-knuckled, her shoulders slightly trembling.
With complete silence and avoidance, she performed the most decisive severance.
If Draco was no longer Slytherin, he was no longer "her Draco."
Goyle and Vincent, however, were completely frozen, like two abandoned statues.
They sat in the corner of the Slytherin table, staring blankly at Draco, unsure whether to cry or laugh.
He chose neither the back row nor the edge.
Draco walked straight to the front row of the Gryffindor table, paused at the empty seat next to Harry, and then
sat down beside him, separated only by one empty seat.
Lavender was so excited she nearly fainted, her voice trembling as she cried out: "Did you see that?! Do you understand?!"
"Gryffindor!" she was practically screaming. "I knew it! I always thought he was different! That coldness was just his armor; he has something in his eyes that other Slytherins don't... it's pain, and a repressed light!"
"Think about it!" she grew more agitated. "In front of everyone, including his awful friends—"
She glanced distastefully at the stiff Pansy,
—to be publicly declared 'Gryffindor'! The courage that must take! He tore off his mask in front of the world and declared war! Oh... it's so tragic and so romantic!"
"He's sitting there, all alone..."
She looked at Draco's slightly lonely figure at the Gryffindor table, her voice thick with emotion:
"Everyone is avoiding him, Slytherin hates him, and our own people don't understand him... He's like an exiled prince, shouldering the world's misunderstanding and weight by himself... This is more moving than any novel!"
All the Gryffindors looked at Lavender like she was crazy.
But George and Fred didn't care; they were immersed in their own world.
"Whoa!" George let out a loud whistle. "Looks like our Little Lion not only has special coloring but also especially fat guts! Sitting right next to the Savior!"
"Silence! Silence!" Fred pretended to be serious. "A historic meeting is about to begin! The first intimate contact between the Golden Boy and the Fallen Prince—separated by a universe! I bet a Galleon that no one dares to sit in that empty seat for the next ten minutes!"
"More than ten minutes," George quipped with a smile, "I doubt anyone will sit there the entire feast."
The candlelight in the Great Hall flickered gently in the night breeze, illuminating complex faces.
In this moment, unknown to anyone, a new Lion King was quietly born amidst everyone's shock and confusion.
Chapter 49: Dumbledore's Hint
The Sorting Ceremony continued, names on the Parchment were called out one after another, and the Hat's voice echoed through the Great Hall, assigning the new students to their respective Houses.
However, what truly captured everyone's attention and thoughts was no longer the tattered old Hat, but the blonde boy who had just been sorted into Gryffindor.
Until the last new student, Blaise Chabney, was loudly announced by the Hat: "Slytherin!"
The whispers in the Great Hall had yet to subside.
The topic of discussion constantly revolved around one name: Draco Malfoy.
Most of the remaining new students sorted into Gryffindor did not understand the true situation.
But looking at the reactions of the older students
Shock, disbelief, and subtle exclusion.
They instinctively realized that this new blonde classmate was an extremely dangerous person.
"It's better to stay away from him."
"We don't have any connection anyway; if we get caught up in his business, it would be an unwarranted disaster."
Similar thoughts quietly arose in the hearts of many new students.
Thus, George and Fred's prediction unfortunately came true: absolutely no one dared to sit between Draco and Harry.
That single empty seat was like an invisible chasm, separating the "Savior" and the "Fallen Prince" at opposite ends of the same long table.
The Sorting was finally over.
Professor McGonagall put away the Parchment, and the Great Hall gradually quieted down.
Everyone's gaze involuntarily turned to the center of the staff table—Albus Dumbledore.
Dumbledore slowly stood up. His movements were not fast, but they carried an invisible majesty that instantly silenced the noisy Great Hall.
He looked at the students with a smile, spread his arms toward the crowd, and his voice, gentle yet clear, carried throughout the entire hall:
"Welcome everyone to Hogwarts, for the start of a new school year!"
A round of polite applause sounded in the Great Hall.
"Before we proceed, I would like to say this," Dumbledore continued, "the Sorting Hat's decisions are the reason Hogwarts has endured. Therefore, I solemnly emphasize again—do not bully or ostracize any student sorted into your House."
His gaze slowly swept over the entire hall, pausing for a moment at the Gryffindor table, and then lingering briefly at the Slytherin table, as if reminding certain people to remember that statement.
"Now, the feast is about to begin." Dumbledore smiled slightly. "But before that, I want to say—"
He cleared his throat and spoke slowly, word by word, in an extremely serious tone:
"Nitwit! Blubber! Oddment! Tweak!"
The Great Hall fell into dead silence.
The students looked at each other, wondering if they had misheard.
It was hard to imagine that this was a speech given by a Principal at the new student welcoming ceremony.
"Is he crazy?" Ron couldn't help but whisper.
However, when Percy lowered his voice and solemnly explained to the surrounding new students: "Dumbledore is the greatest Wizard of this century."
After that, everyone's attitude immediately underwent a subtle change. Since he was a great Wizard, his words naturally held profound meaning.
Maybe he was giving us guidance?
For a time, low murmurs of discussion sounded in the Great Hall, and everyone began to ponder the meaning of those four words.
Draco almost laughed out loud. Truly, when a person has power, there will always be "Great Scholars" to interpret their actions.
Even if he said something nonsensical in public, people would treat it as profound philosophy.
Immediately after Dumbledore finished speaking, the long tables were instantly covered with a variety of foods.
Roast chicken, roast beef, roast lamb, roast pork, and potatoes prepared in various ways: mashed potatoes, roasted potatoes, fried potatoes, potato cakes... All steaming hot and fragrant.
The famished students immediately started eating, and the clatter of knives and forks rose and fell.
People who liked to ponder, like Hermione, continued to think about the profound meaning of Dumbledore's four words while they ate.
However, the attention of most people still had not left Draco.
Since everyone is watching me, I'll eat for them to see, Draco thought.
So he began to eat unhurriedly.
His movements were slow, like a rusted clockwork mechanism starting to turn again.
Elegance is timeless.
He extended his right hand, his fingers steady without a hint of tremor, and picked up the silver fork.
He then extended his left hand and grasped the dinner knife.
Draco's gaze finally dropped, resting on the untouched piece of roast beef in front of him.
The tip of the knife pressed against the meat, cutting it.
His movements were precise, conforming to strict table etiquette.
He forked it and brought it to his lips.
Chewing.
Swallowing.
The entire process was silent, without a single extraneous sound, and his expression remained unchanged.
"Merlin," Ron stopped chewing, his eyes wide, and whispered breathlessly, "He... he ate? I thought he'd refuse to eat, like 'being in Cao's camp but loyal to Han.'"
Hermione Granger keenly observed this change from her "observation post" diagonally behind him.
She momentarily forgot about Dumbledore's words, and a clear conclusion flashed in her mind: this meant that the Young Master of the Pure-blood families Malfoy had accepted his Gryffindor identity.
"Ladies and gentlemen!" George Weasley's voice rang out at the opportune moment, not too loud, but just loud enough for the front rows to hear. "A historic moment! Our stray Little Lion has finally recognized reality. At Hogwarts, you only have the strength to figure out who you really are after you've eaten your fill!"
Several older students let out low chuckles, and the atmosphere eased slightly.
Draco was completely unresponsive to all of this.
He cut the second piece of beef, his movements still standard, slow, and cold.
Next, Draco started eating the roasted potatoes from the side dishes, followed by the carrots.
He took a little of everything, in perfect order, and the number of times he chewed seemed calculated.
Lavender's eyes shone with excitement, and she tightly gripped Parvati's hand: "Did you see that? He's eating... In a place where everyone is rejecting him, he still maintains his composure and strength! He is using this method to tell the world that he will not be defeated! That is so dignified!"
Over at the Slytherin table, several older students who had been watching this side out of the corner of their eyes exchanged looks of contempt, then turned their heads and began discussing Quidditch with exaggerated laughter, as if what was happening here was insignificant.
Pansy's shoulders shrank almost imperceptibly, and she still did not look up.
The dessert in front of her remained untouched, as if it had lost all flavor.
At the staff table, Professor McGonagall's stern gaze swept across the hall. After seeing Draco begin to eat, she nodded imperceptibly.
Professor Snape's gaze, like a cold bat, briefly lingered on Draco's hand holding the knife and fork, then moved away in disgust, as if he had seen something unclean.
Dumbledore, who was happily enjoying a Lemon Sherbet, glanced at the blonde boy eating in silence, and then looked at the confused black-haired boy beside him.
It was as if he were appreciating a suspenseful oil painting that had just received a new brushstroke.
After finishing the last pea on his main course plate, Draco put down his knife and fork, and his gaze returned to those who were watching him.
Those people quickly averted their eyes, then began to bury their heads and shovel food into their mouths.
Once everyone was full, the remaining food vanished from the plates all at once, and the dinnerware and cutlery became sparkling clean again.
After eating their fill, Draco felt the gazes fixed upon him finally lessen.
After the main course, various desserts were indispensable.
Puddings, ice cream, apple tarts, chocolate cakes... A dazzling array, sweet and fragrant.
Draco didn't particularly like eating these, as they were too rich.
He symbolically scooped up a spoonful of pudding, tasted it, and then put the spoon down.
The new students also began to get acquainted, quietly discussing their respective hometowns, wands, and expectations for future classes.
At the Gryffindor table, Ron was excitedly telling Harry about the various legends of Hogwarts, while Hermione occasionally interjected to correct his mistakes.
Seeing that no one was continuing to eat, Dumbledore stood up again and said with a smile, "Well, now that everyone has eaten their fill, I'd like to say a few more words to you."
The students stopped talking and looked towards the front.
"Before the new school term begins," Dumbledore said, "I want to remind everyone of a few points. First-year students, please note that the Forbidden Forest on the school grounds is strictly prohibited, and older students must remember this as well."
"Furthermore, the Caretaker, Filch, also asked me to remind you not to cast spells in the corridors between classes. Tryouts for Quidditch players will be held during the second week of this term. Anyone wishing to join their House team should contact Madam Hooch. Finally—"
He paused, the smile on his face suddenly vanished for a moment, and his tone became extremely serious:
"I must tell you that anyone who does not wish to suffer a painful, agonizing death should not enter the third-floor corridor on the right-hand side."
There was a brief silence in the Great Hall.
Harry, however, couldn't help but burst into laughter; he was laughing at the last sentence.
He hadn't expected the usually solemn Principal to end with such a line, sounding like he was telling an absurd joke.
Not many people laughed.
Most of the new students were dismissive, as reminding them of precautions was a perfectly normal thing to do.
Only the more perceptive older students vaguely sensed that something was amiss.
The last two warnings had never been mentioned in previous years.
But they didn't pay much attention, assuming Dumbledore had simply decided to say a couple of extra words on a whim this year.
Only Draco knew that these warnings were all meant for Harry.
Because in the original story, he had obeyed none of them: entering the Forbidden Forest, casting spells in the corridors, and breaking into the third-floor corridor on the right-hand side.
After reminding them of the precautions, Dumbledore began to lead everyone in singing the school song.
This school song truly made Draco laugh, the kind of awkward laugh.
Dumbledore said they could sing however they liked—fast if they wanted, slow if they wanted, and off-key if they wanted.
So none of the new students felt embarrassed to sing; they all followed the older students' lead.
Some sang randomly, some sang poorly, and some didn't sing at all—the latter being Draco.
Hermione was slightly better than Draco; her mouth movements matched, but there was no sound, or the sound was so quiet it was barely audible.
Harry, however, sang very earnestly, looking serious, and together with the classmates waving their arms around him, it created quite an atmosphere.
Dumbledore conducted the last two verses with his wand, like a true orchestra conductor, building the atmosphere to its climax.
The excited students looked as if they wouldn't need to sleep that night, and would likely go to class tomorrow with dark circles under their eyes.
After the singing ended, Dumbledore's applause was the loudest.
He smiled and said, "Music is a magic beyond all we do here."
He then announced that everyone should return to their dormitories under the guidance of their respective prefects.
Having speculated too much about Dumbledore's intentions, Draco became paranoid by his words, suspecting he was hinting that the Cerberus would fall asleep if it heard music.
After the school song, the excitement gradually faded, and everyone was tired.
The prefects of each House stood up and began organizing the new students to return to their dormitories.
Chapter 50: Some People Can't Wait
Once the excitement from singing the school song faded, the clamor in the Great Hall receded like a tide, leaving only weariness slowly settling in the air.
The new students rubbed their aching faces, yawned a few times, and then, at the summons of their respective prefects, slowly left their seats.
Over in Gryffindor, Percy was already standing at the end of the long table.
He struck a standard "prefect pose," cleared his throat, and said, "First-year Gryffindors, follow me! Make sure not to fall behind!"
As he walked, he didn't forget his duties, his voice echoing between the stone walls: "Everyone, keep up with me, especially Mr. Malfoy. Please don't look around, and certainly don't tell anyone the location of the Gryffindor passage."
When he uttered the words "Mr. Malfoy," the air in the line visibly stiffened.
The first few new students instinctively shifted sideways, as if keeping a distance from Draco would somehow distance them from this "ticking time bomb."
"I will, Senior Percy," Draco replied indifferently, his politeness impeccable.
Percy seemed not to have expected Draco to be so straightforward; he paused, then sternly resumed leading the way.
Draco was left at the very end, a few steps behind the crowd in front of him.
This not-so-short distance acted like an invisible force field, isolating him.
Ahead were a group of chattering Little Lions, behind was an empty corridor.
And Draco walked between the two.
He walked steadily, back straight, his footsteps on the flagstones making faint, regular sounds, out of sync with the noisy footsteps ahead.
His school robe swayed gently behind him, and his blonde hair gleamed with a cool light under the torchlight.
The Weasley Twins walked a short distance behind Draco, one on each side, like guards, or perhaps like escorts.
They claimed to be "watching the show," but their footsteps unconsciously maintained a subtle distance from Draco, neither too far nor too close.
Passing through the entrance hall, the marble floor stretched beneath their feet, reflecting the Young Wizards' shadows.
Distant suits of armor glowed eerily in the torchlight, like silent guardians.
At first, everything was relatively calm.
Only a few older Ravenclaw and Hufflepuff students cast curious glances, exchanged a few whispered words, and then quickly looked away.
No one wanted to stir up trouble on the first night.
But when a group of Slytherin students, whose robes were edged with silver thread, appeared ahead, climbing the stairs, the air instantly turned cold.
It was Marcus Flint and several members of the Slytherin Quidditch team, along with a few older female students.
They had clearly "just happened" to be passing by at this time.
The two groups met at the turn of the staircase.
Percy frowned and stepped aside to let them pass: "Please move aside."
Flint, however, stopped.
His large frame almost blocked half the staircase.
His gaze swept over Percy's shoulder, precisely fixing on the blonde figure at the end of the line.
"Well, look who it is," Flint's voice was coarse, his undisguised mockery echoing through the stone walls, "Our little lost darling. Do you still remember the way to your new home? Do you need... directions?"
The Slytherin students around him immediately let out a low, malicious snicker, like a pack of jackals smelling blood.
Draco's steps didn't falter in the slightest, nor did he even look up.
He seemed to hear nothing, simply continuing forward, like a fish gliding through water, oblivious to the ripples on the surface.
"Flint, please move aside. Don't obstruct students from other houses," Percy's voice was stiff.
Adhering to his official duties, he gestured for the Gryffindor line to continue, "We still have a long way to go."
"Of course, prefect," Flint bowed exaggeratedly, creating a barely passable gap, but his gaze remained fixed on Draco.
As Draco passed him, he suddenly tilted his head slightly and, in a voice so low that only a few nearby could hear, said: "I hope Gryffindor mattresses don't have fleas, Malfoy! After all, you look quite bug-attracting."
A Slytherin girl beside him let out a "pfft" of laughter, then immediately covered her mouth with her hand, her eyes full of schadenfreude.
Without looking back, without speeding up, Draco didn't even change his breathing rhythm.
He walked past Flint like a moving wax figure, calmly leaving the venomous glares and whispers behind him.
Flint's brow furrowed slightly, seemingly displeased.
He wanted anger, rebuttal, a loss of composure, not this complete disregard.
However, the attacks did not stop.
The path to Gryffindor Tower required passing through several corridors and then ascending the famous, "wandering" moving staircase.
The staircase, like a winding stone snake, slowly rotated between the walls, connecting to another section of the passage.
As the Wizards stepped onto the stairs, the flagstones beneath their feet suddenly swayed slightly, emitting a low scraping sound.
"Hold on!" Percy instinctively shouted.
Just as the staircase was about to complete its turn, Draco's left foot was about to step onto a riser when the surface of that stone step suddenly twisted eerily!
Draco's pupils contracted sharply, his right leg muscles tensed instantly, abruptly halting his downward momentum, and his body leaned back slightly.
At the same time, he casually drew his wand and lightly tapped above the "illusory" step, softly uttering a Spell Stasis.
After casting the spell, Draco tested the solidity of the staircase with his foot, and once he felt it was safe, he landed steadily on the solid stone slab above.
The entire process was so fluid it seemed as if he had intended to walk that way all along.
"The stairs are old; some steps aren't very steady," a slow voice came from the Slytherin crowd below, laced with malicious concern.
Draco didn't look down to find the source of the voice; he simply continued upwards.
But at the illusory step Draco had just trod on, a trace of almost imperceptible magical disturbance lingered in the air.
George's eyes lit up, and he nudged Fred with his elbow: "Hey, did you see that? Illusionary Step, standard probe."
Stroking his chin, Fred analyzed seriously: "Reaction speed... B+. Used 'Spell Stasis'? Subtle technique, bonus points, but facial expression control... A+, completely unfazed, like he just ate a booger-flavored Every Flavor Bean."
Harry's ears immediately perked up.
He had also glimpsed something unusual with the step earlier, but wasn't sure.
The word "Spell Stasis" was like a small stone tossed into his heart, stirring up ripples.
"Don't listen to their nonsense!" Ron impatiently pulled Harry, "George and Fred just love to make things sound mysterious!"
Hermione, however, quickly turned to glance at the Twins, her brown eyes flashing sharply.
Then she looked back at where Draco had been standing, her lips silently moving as if muttering spell principles.
An excited Lavender clutched Parvati's arm, her eyes shining: "Did you hear that, Parvati! In such a critical moment! He was still so calm! That's—that's true courage!"
"I heard it," Parvati didn't know how many times Lavender had told her this.
Percy reminded them and then led the group forward.
As the group passed an ancient suit of armor, the helmet of the armor suddenly creaked and sharply tilted towards Draco, its rusted visor almost brushing his hair.
At the same time, the torch in the nearby alcove
Draco was prepared.
The moment the helmet made a strange noise, he had already tilted his body slightly, while his right hand naturally emerged from his robe sleeve, his wand cutting through the air in front of him.
An invisible, thin, cicada-wing-like barrier of vapor instantly condensed; the Aguamenti he learned before school came in handy.
The sparks hit the vapor with a faint hiss, turning into a few wisps of choking black smoke.
A few stray sparks grazed Draco's shoulder, leaving a few scorch marks on his robe, but he himself was unharmed.
Stopping, Draco slowly turned his head, his gaze sweeping over the still-swaying armor and the still "normally" burning torch, like he was assessing a defective product.
Then he looked at a Slytherin senior a few steps away who was pretending to chat and laugh with a companion, but whose wand tip still held a trace of distorted heat.
Draco's gaze lingered on that person's face for exactly one second.
Long enough for the other person to realize they had "been seen," yet brief enough not to constitute a provocation.
Then, as if merely confirming the source of the noise, he turned back indifferently, shook his head, and continued forward.
The smile on the Slytherin's face froze.
George whistled softly: "Beautiful! Instantaneous Mist Barrier! Fine magic control! Does he have an automatic defensive spell calculator in his head?"
Fred pulled out a small notebook and quickly jotted down: "Note: Has layered defensive awareness for complex environmental attacks. And... he glanced at Kent, just one glance, and Kent went pale. Psychological deterrence, effective!"
Harry's green eyes widened slightly the moment the sparks were blocked.
He instinctively looked at the Slytherin spellcaster who Draco had coldly glanced at.
The other person's face was pale, and they avoided his gaze.
"A trick!" Ron scoffed, but his laugh was a little dry, "Maybe some kind portrait helped him!"
Hermione nodded slightly, her lips moving silently: "It seems to be a spell like Aguamenti, with excellent range control... The response strategy is systematic."
At this moment, Lavender leaned on Parvati almost swooning: "Psychological deterrence! With just a glance... he made that Slytherin afraid! That's—that's the majesty of a Lion!"
Several new students around them let out low "woahs" in unison.
Seamus Finnigan grinned at Dean Thomas, saying, "That was cool! How'd he do that?"
Dean scratched his head: "I don't know either."
Percy couldn't help but urge the Young Wizards to quicken their pace; if Draco got hurt, it would count as his dereliction of duty.
But passing through a narrow arched passage, the crowd inevitably became congested.
A Slytherin student carrying a thick magic dictionary "accidentally" slipped, and the heavy corner of the book struck Draco's ribs hard.
Draco seemed to be jostled and stumbled half a step sideways, his elbow "unintentionally" raising, precisely hitting the nerve in the other's book-holding arm.
The student grunted, and the book slipped from their grasp, crashing to the ground with a "clatter."
"Sorry," Draco's icy voice rang out, but there was not a hint of apology in his words.
He even slightly turned sideways in the crowd, as if to make space for the other to pick up the book, "It seems today's corridor is a bit unfriendly to everyone. Perhaps I should suggest Mr. Filch add a few more lights, or... remind everyone to hold onto their belongings firmly."
As he spoke, Draco's gaze was fixed on a portrait of The Fat Friar dozing at the top of the passage, as if talking to himself.
After speaking, he ignored the grimacing Slytherin rubbing his arm and walked straight ahead.
Only the scorch marks on his shoulder and the frayed edge of his robe where the book corner had scraped it were clearly visible in the flickering torchlight.
But the whispers and glances never ceased.
"Look at that robe... burned by the Lion's den fire, wasn't it?"
"Traitor..."
"He's quite good at pretending..."
Draco's response to all this was to raise his chin by an almost imperceptible degree, his gaze fixed on a blurry darkness at the far end of the corridor.
When particularly malicious words reached his ears, the corner of his mouth would curl into an extremely faint, cold, fleeting arc, as if he had heard something foolishly amusing.
When the words "disgrace to the Malfoy family" drifted into his ears, Draco even uttered a word at a volume just loud enough for a few nearby people to hear:
"Boring!"
The word was like an ice bead, shattering on the stone floor.
The surrounding whispers paused briefly.
[Ding, original plot added, luck value increased by 20!]
George grinned: "'Hold onto your belongings firmly'... Oh, I like that line. Sarcastic, but from the moral high ground, it has our old style!"
Fred also laughed: "Elbowing the nerve, tripping them in passing... Clean and neat physical counter-attack, and it can be argued as an accident. This kid has practiced fighting, or he's just a little rascal by nature—I mean that in a good way!"
Harry's mouth twitched slightly uncontrollably, as if he wanted to laugh but forced himself to hold it in.
He saw the Slytherin's discomfited expression.
"Like them?!" Ron's face flushed red, "George, are you crazy! Malfoy can't compare to you guys!"
Lavender clasped her hands to her heart, almost shedding tears of emotion: "'Has our old style'... This is mutual appreciation between heroes!"
Seamus and Dean couldn't hold back their laughter, then quickly covered their mouths.
Neville hugged Trevor even tighter, stealing a glance at the grimacing Slytherin rubbing his arm, a faint, almost imperceptible sense of satisfaction flitting through his heart.
"Watch your step!" Percy returned quickly, his face ashen.
He looked at the scorch marks on Draco's shoulder and the tear in his robe, his frown deepening.
"Are you alright? Can you continue?" Percy's tone was entirely businesslike.
He glared fiercely at the Twins, mouthing: "Shut up."
Draco shook his head, and Percy returned to leading the group forward.
The next section was a place Slytherin could not enter.
So the danger was temporarily lifted.
Third time's the charm, but the threats had exceeded three.
It seemed these people were quite resentful of his choice to join Gryffindor.
Draco hadn't expected these people to be so impatient, with their targeting of him coming so quickly, even before the night was over.
It seemed he would have to think of a solution, otherwise, let alone studying, even self-preservation would be difficult.
Fortunately, when he didn't have luck value to exchange for new spells, he had strengthened the spells he already knew, otherwise, he might have been embarrassed tonight.