Ravenclaw

When the Sorting Hat shouted "Ravenclaw," the Great Hall erupted in applause, especially from the Ravenclaw table. However, the atmosphere at the staff table was somewhat subtle.

Professor Severus Snape, whose sallow face rarely showed expression, grew even more somber the moment he heard the result, as if ink could drip from it. His cold, dark eyes were fixed on the reluctant figure in the red cloak walking towards the Ravenclaw table, his thin lips pressed into a stern, straight line.

An aura of low pressure seemed to spread from him, causing even Professor Quirrell, sitting beside him, to instinctively shrink his neck.

He uttered a question through gritted teeth, in a voice that was almost a whisper but filled with suppressed annoyance and confusion, as if asking himself or fate: "Why... not Slytherin..."

Despite his outward criticism and dismissal of this "arrogant and rude," "talented yet troublesome" boy, Snape had to admit deep down that over the past four years, this "special student" whom Dumbledore had insisted on keeping in the castle had indeed displayed astonishing talent in Potions (though his methods often deviated from convention, causing his blood pressure to soar). That almost instinctive grasp of ingredient properties, the meticulously precise control over dosage, and even the occasional unconventional yet surprisingly effective approaches, had shown him a potential prodigy capable of truly understanding and mastering the intricate art of Potions. And such a prodigy, he believed, should belong to Slytherin, a house that pursued power, ambition, and pure bloodlines (though Silas's Muggle-born status only made his talent more remarkable)!

Albus Dumbledore, seated at the head table, took in Snape's reaction. A flicker of understanding and a barely perceptible hint of mischief flashed in the blue eyes behind his half-moon spectacles. He turned his head slightly and spoke in a low, gentle tone, audible only to Snape, yet with a hint of revealing the truth:

"Severus, it seems... you actually care about him quite a bit. And rightly so, after all, for the past four years, you've been his half-Potions tutor, albeit in an informal manner."

This remark pierced Snape's cold facade like a needle. Snape abruptly turned his head, glaring fiercely at Dumbledore, his dark eyes burning with the anger of being seen through and provoked. He almost gritted his teeth and retorted in the lowest, coldest voice, filled with warning and annoyance:

"Shut up, Dumbledore."

With that, he sharply turned his head back, no longer looking at Dumbledore or the center of the hall, but staring intently at the empty golden plate before him, as if trying to burn two holes through it. For the rest of the Sorting Ceremony, he remained in this petrified state, exuding an aura of "do not approach."

Dumbledore merely smiled dismissively, turned back, and continued to watch with pleasure as the first-years were sorted into their respective houses, as if the brief interlude had never happened. He knew that Severus Snape's inner world was far more complex than he let on. And the addition of Silas Cyril as a variable would undoubtedly make Hogwarts' future Potions classes even more... interesting.

Silas shuffled his way to the Ravenclaw table and, amidst enthusiastic welcomes, found an empty seat next to a senior student with long black hair and a gentle demeanor, who appeared to be of East Asian descent. He slumped onto the bench as if boneless, weakly turning his head to ask:

"Senior... is the academic competition in Ravenclaw particularly fierce? I heard everyone here is a top student, constantly striving..." His tone was filled with "fear" of his future studies (mainly fear of trouble).

The senior student next to him turned, revealing a delicate face and a gentle smile, and replied in fluent English, "It's alright, everyone is mainly interested in knowledge itself, and the atmosphere is quite good. There's no need to be too anxious, just do your best." She was Cho Chang, a Seeker for Ravenclaw, and very popular in the school.

Listening to her standard British accent and observing her features, Silas curiously asked, "Are you Chinese?"

Cho nodded, her smile becoming even warmer, "Yes, my parents are from Guangzhou."

"Oh," Silas replied, not showing much reaction to this information (after all, he was Chinese in his previous life). His attention was quickly drawn to something else. His gaze swept across the table and landed on Albus Dumbledore, who was slowly rising from the head of the staff table.

"Quiet, quiet," Dumbledore's gentle voice was not loud but carried clearly throughout the noisy hall, instantly silencing everyone and drawing all eyes to him.

"Welcome!" Dumbledore spread his arms, his face beaming with a kind smile, "Welcome back to Hogwarts for a new school year! And a special welcome to our new students!" He nodded slightly in the direction of the first-years.

"Before the feast begins," he continued, a mischievous glint in his eyes, "I have a few words to say. That is—fools! Whiners! Scum! Twisted!"

He uttered these four words loudly, with a peculiar rhythm.

Most of the first-years and some of the younger students in the hall wore expressions of bewildered confusion. However, Silas, sitting nearby, quietly and clearly explained to Cho Chang (and any nearby students who could hear him), with an air of bored insight:

"I get it. This old bee is playing word games. 'Fools'—perhaps Ravenclaw thinks other houses aren't smart enough; 'Whiners'—Gryffindor thinks others are too sentimental, not brave enough; 'Scum'—Slytherin's classic pure-blood superiority complex, looking down on 'Mudbloods' and 'blood traitors'; 'Twisted'—Hufflepuff thinks other houses are too scheming, not straightforward, awkward..."

His explanation was clear and incisive, earning surprised and appreciative glances from several senior Ravenclaws nearby. Cho Chang's eyes widened slightly; she hadn't expected this new junior student to react so quickly.

After explaining, Silas let out a big yawn, rubbed his eyes, and slumped further into his chair, muttering softly, "...I want to sleep, but I'm too hungry to sleep... Can this old man hurry up and finish so we can eat..."

His focus had completely shifted from house rivalries and the Headmaster's speech to the most basic physiological needs. For Silas Cyril, no house spirit or test of wisdom could compare to the imminent feast.

Dumbledore's metaphorical opening remarks finally concluded amidst gazes of confusion, understanding, or contemplation. With his announcement, "Let the feast begin!", the previously empty golden plates and goblets on the tables were instantly filled with mountains of food and various beverages.

Roast beef, roast chicken, pork chops, sausages, bacon, steaks... all sorts of roasted meats emitted tempting aromas; boiled potatoes, roast potatoes, French fries, mashed potatoes... various potato dishes occupied half the spread; there were also traditional British dishes like Yorkshire pudding, haggis, and black pudding.

For most of the hungry first-years and returning students, it was pure heaven! The hall was immediately filled with the clinking of cutlery and cheerful conversations.

However, Silas Cyril looked at the dazzling array of steaming food before him, his face contorted in an expression of despair as if he had witnessed the end of the world.

"Finally finished..." he first breathed a sigh of relief, but as his gaze swept over the familiar dishes that, in his past life, he considered "culinary disasters," he couldn't help but curse softly, "...shit."

The roasted meat looked dry and tough, the boiled potatoes had lost all their soul, and the black pudding brought back some unpleasant memories. He felt his taste buds screaming and his stomach churning.

"I'm going to die..." he lamented, aimlessly poking a piece of roast beef that looked reasonably juicy with his fork, but ultimately losing the courage to try it. "Forget it, I'll wait for dessert... I hope the puddings and cakes are more normal."

With that, he buried his face in his arms, slumped directly onto the table covered with a blue tablecloth, and closed his eyes, trying to resist the temptation of hunger and (questionable) delicacies through sleep. The surrounding Ravenclaw students were enthusiastically enjoying their dinner, and seeing him like this, they found it amusing and strange. Cho Chang kindly nudged him and whispered, "Silas, aren't you eating? It tastes pretty good."

Silas didn't lift his head, his muffled voice coming from under his arms, "No... thank you, senior... I... I'm motion sick from British food..."

And then, amidst the symphony of cutlery and laughter, he stubbornly... fell asleep. Perhaps, in his dreams, a steaming hot pot, stir-fried dishes bursting with flavor and aroma, or even just a simple bowl of plain noodles awaited him. The Hogwarts Welcome Feast continued amidst the sleeping form of this newly sorted Ravenclaw student, who seemed to be staging a "hunger strike."

Just as Silas was slumped at the table, battling the psychological shadow cast by hunger and British cuisine, and successfully entering a light sleep, a slightly excited voice sounded in his ear, accompanied by a gentle nudge on his shoulder.

"Hey! Wake up! Kirill! Dessert is here!"

Silas groggily lifted his head, rubbed his eyes, and saw that the long table before him had been replaced with a new spread of food: puddings of various flavors, ice cream, apple pie, treacle tart, chocolate muffins... colorful and indeed more appealing than the main course.

He looked at the person who had woken him up – a rather clever-looking Ravenclaw boy with slightly messy hair, whom he hadn't seen before.

"Oh... thank you. You are...?" Silas said, unceremoniously picking up a chocolate muffin and popping it into his mouth.

"Eddie Camilleche," the boy introduced himself with a smile, appearing very friendly.

Silas's chewing slowed slightly. (Eddie Camilleche? Was there such a person in the original work? I seem to vaguely recall... wasn't he the one who later dealt in magical trinkets?) He quickly scanned his memory but didn't dwell on it, merely nodding, "Thank you for waking me up, Eddie." He then let out another big yawn, clearly not fully awake yet.

Finally, after Silas had grudgingly filled his stomach with dessert, the banquet ended. Dumbledore stood up again, announced the pre-sleep instructions (mainly warnings against entering the Forbidden Forest and a list of contraband items compiled by Filch), and then had everyone sing the school song (Silas mouthed the words throughout).

Prefects from each house began leading the first-years back to their common rooms.

Walking up the spiral staircase towards the Ravenclaw Tower, Silas rubbed his still somewhat hungry stomach (dessert wasn't filling) and muttered quietly to Eddie beside him, his tone resolute: "I've made up my mind, Eddie. I'm sneaking out tonight... or opening a door, going to Hogsmeade to buy some fresh ingredients, and then making a proper meal in the dormitory with my Potions cauldron! I can't stand it anymore, I'll become malnourished if I keep eating castle food!"

Eddie Camilleche's eyes widened upon hearing this, and he exclaimed in a hushed voice, "Cooking with a cauldron?! In the dormitory?! Merlin's beard! Silas, you're insane! If Professor Snape finds out you're using his precious Potions equipment to cook... he'll kill you! He'll definitely give you detention for life, or even throw you to those... things in his dungeon!"

Silas imagined Snape's gloomy face and venomous words, a chill running down his spine, and he retorted stubbornly, "...Ahem, I'll clean it up thoroughly, so he won't find out."

Finally, they arrived at the entrance to the Ravenclaw common room—a smooth oak door with no handle, only an eagle-shaped bronze knocker.

The prefect signaled for quiet and knocked on the door. The eagle on the knocker came to life and asked in a clear, calm voice:

"What is it that the more you take, the less you have?"

The first-year students exchanged glances, whispering amongst themselves. "Time?" "Money?" "Patience?"

Silas was so drowsy his eyelids felt heavy, all he wanted was to get inside and find a bed to sleep. He heard the question and, almost without thinking, blurted out with a hint of impatience in his tone:

"A hole."

The surroundings fell silent. Everyone looked at him in surprise, including the prefect and Eddie. The answer was simple, yet seemed to hold a profound philosophy.

The knocker remained silent for a moment, then the oak door slid open soundlessly.

Silas yawned, not bothering to look at the astonished gazes around him. He muttered as he walked inside, "Was that hard? Isn't this question quite simple..."

He walked straight through the common room (without even bothering to admire the starry ceiling or elegant decor), relying on his four years of familiarity with the place to head straight for a vacant dormitory he had already chosen. He mumbled as he went:

"So sleepy... I'll worry about dinner tomorrow... ZZZ..."

Behind him, a group of first-year students were still pondering the seemingly simple yet perfectly accurate answer, as well as this new classmate's unconventional style. Life in Ravenclaw, from the very first night, was destined to be anything but ordinary.