The Great Hall of Hogwarts was everything a first-year could dream of. Enchanted ceiling mimicking the night sky, floating candles, four long tables packed with students. The air buzzed with excitement and the smell of roast beef.
But Zhang Ming's attention was elsewhere.
Spatial projection magic on the ceiling? High-level. But the energy source is inefficient—drawing directly from ley lines with minimal conversion. Typical.His [Myriad Celestial Mechanism] was already whirring, analyzing everything.
[Scanning Great Hall…]
[Architectural Integrity: A- (Structurally sound, decent warding)]
[Ambient Magic Density: High (Inefficiently utilized. 80% leakage detected)]
[Notable Anomaly: Sentient artifact on stool (High-level consciousness imprint. Analysis recommended)]
His eyes fell upon the ragged, patched-up wizard's hat on a three-legged stool. So this is the 'Sorting Hat'. A consciousness housed in a textile medium. Crude, but impressive soul-binding work.
"When I call your name, you will come forth," Professor McGonagall announced, unrolling a long parchment. "Abbott, Hannah!"
The ceremony began. One by one, students were sorted with shouts of "Gryffindor!", "Hufflepuff!", "Ravenclaw!", and "Slytherin!".
Then came the moment the whole hall waited for.
"Potter, Harry!"
A hush fell. Zhang Ming watched with clinical interest as the Hat debated with Harry for a full minute before bellowing, "GRYFFINDOR!"
The red-and-gold table exploded. Harry stumbled towards them, looking relieved.
Finally…
"Zhang, Ming!"
A different kind of silence descended. Whispers spread. Who was this older, foreign-looking student? Zhang Ming walked forward calmly and sat on the stool. Professor McGonagall, looking slightly perplexed, lowered the Sorting Hat onto his head.
Ah, a new mind!a small, raspy voice echoed in Zhang Ming's consciousness. Let's see what we have here… AHA! A keen intellect! A thirst for knowledge unrivaled! Excellent! Clearly, RAVEN—
The voice screeched to a halt.
…Wait. What's this? Immense courage? The nerve to challenge reality itself! A true GRYFFINDOR spirit! But… wait, no… this cunning… this ambition to reshape the very world! SLYTHERIN, without a doubt! And yet… this loyalty to a code, this unwavering sense of fairness… My word, HUFFLEPUFF would be honored!
The Hat was silent for a long, long moment. In the Great Hall, students began to fidget.
…What… what ARE you?the Hat whispered, its voice full of awe and terror. Your mind… it's not a cupboard, or a room… it's a cosmos! I see stars being born and dying! I see rivers of knowledge flowing like galaxies! Your will is… is a fundamental force!
I am a student,Zhang Ming thought back, amused. Here to learn.
Learn?!the Hat shrieked internally. You possess power that makes the Founders look like toddlers! I've sorted thousands of years of witches and wizards! I've never felt a consciousness this vast! I can't sort you! You contain all houses! You transcend them!
Then I will choose,Zhang Ming replied simply. I require a quiet place with extensive resources. A place conducive to research and theoretical development.
…Ravenclaw,the Hat breathed. The eagle's aerie. The library. It is the only choice.
"Very well," Zhang Ming said aloud.
The Hat, after nearly two minutes of silence that had the whole hall holding its breath, suddenly jerked to life.
"RAVENCLAW!" it bellowed, sounding utterly exhausted.
The blue-and-bronze table erupted in polite, if confused, applause. Zhang Ming stood, gave a slight nod to Professor McGonagall, and walked calmly to the Ravenclaw table, ignoring the stares from every corner of the room, including a particularly intense one from the staff table where Albus Dumbledore sat, his blue eyes twinkling with profound interest.
The feast began. Food magically appeared on the golden plates. While others gorged themselves, Zhang Ming took small, polite portions, analyzing the molecular structure of the pumpkin juice.
Nutritional value: low. Sugar content: excessive. Magical residue: negligible. Edible, but suboptimal for cultivation.
"Not hungry?" asked a friendly-faced prefect named Penelope Clearwater.
"I ate earlier," Zhang Ming said. His gaze swept the staff table. His eyes lingered for a microsecond on Professor Quirrell's turban.
[High-priority alert: Malignant parasitic soul fragment detected on staff member.]
[Energy signature: Corrupted. High-level necromantic resonance. Designation: 'Voldemort/He-Who-Must-Not-Be-Named'.]
[Threat Level: Moderate (Currently weakened. Host body provides limited conduit.)]
[Recommendation: Monitor. Do not engage prematurely.]
So the so-called Dark Lord is a soul parasite clinging to the back of a coward's head,Zhang Ming mused. How… undignified.
Dumbledore stood to give the start-of-term speech, including the usual warnings about the Forbidden Forest and the third-floor corridor.
"—and finally," Dumbledore said, eyes twinkling, "I must tell you that this year, the third-floor corridor on the right-hand side is out of bounds to everyone who does not wish to die a very painful death."
The hall erupted in nervous laughter. Zhang Ming didn't laugh. He simply made a mental note.
Third-floor corridor. High-risk containment zone. Likely related to the ' Philosopher's Stone' mentioned in Nicolas Flamel's biography. A high-density energy source. Interesting. A potential objective.
After the feast, Penelope led the Ravenclaw first-years to their common room. They stopped before a door with a bronze eagle knocker.
No password?Zhang Ming noted. A puzzle-based entry. A step above the others.
The eagle came to life. "I speak without a mouth and hear without ears. I have no body, but I come alive with the wind. What am I?"
The first-years looked stumped. Zhang Ming answered without missing a beat. "An echo."
"Well reasoned," the eagle said, and the door swung open.
The Ravenclaw common room was a circular, airy space with bookshelves covering the walls and a statue of Rowena Ravenclaw. It was, in a word, perfect.
"This will do nicely," Zhang Ming said, a genuine smile touching his lips for the first time. He had found his laboratory.