Can a student's business be called fighting?

Eliana sat down gracefully at the Gryffindor table amid enthusiastic applause.

"I knew you'd make it." Hermione scooted over, shoving Harry aside as he tried to do the same, excitement mingling with worry in her voice. "But you're way too bold—how did you dare lay hands on the Sorting Hat!"

"Hey! What did it feel like to punch that hat?" One of the twins leaned in—he introduced himself as Fred—looking thoroughly intrigued. "None of us ever thought of that!"

"A true masterpiece!" his brother chimed in.

Ron, still panting, jumped down from the stool and ran over, his face lit up with the thrill of being sorted into Gryffindor. "I think, after you hit it, the hat's voice got quieter—did you break it or something?"

"Impossible, absolutely impossible!"

Eliana denied it outright.

Broken = unusable = the culprit pays compensation = she has to fork over money.

No way!

"This hat is obviously a magical item; it can't be that fragile." She clutched her pocket tightly and declared with absolute conviction, "I've hit plenty of people before, I know the feel—this much force couldn't even kill a chicken!"

"..."

How are you this experienced—whether it's hitting people or wringing chickens' necks?

Ron wanted to ask.

Ron didn't dare ask.

Ron was afraid this girl might get worked up and land one on him too—he didn't think her slap was light; that hat nearly flew into Dumbledore's bowl.

"Besides, how can you call what a student does 'hitting'?" Eliana's face flushed red, veins bulging on her neck. "Communicating with the Sorting Hat isn't hitting! This is called... hands-on exchange!"

Then came a string of hard-to-follow phrases, like "welcoming ceremony" and "friendly interaction," which set the Gryffindors all laughing, the long table filled with a cheerful atmosphere.

Fortunately, the sudden appearance of food on the plates shifted everyone's attention.

Without a doubt, Hogwarts' spread was incredibly rich: roasted beef and lamb, potatoes and carrots prepared in various ways, gravy and pudding, and the only splash of green on the table—pea shoots.

But at this moment, Eliana had something more interesting to focus on. She piled her plate high with a full serving of food and, while eating, observed her future teachers.

The first thing she noticed was Dumbledore sitting right in the middle, his long white beard even more striking under the light. As if sensing her gaze, he looked up and gave her a playful wink.

Dumbledore hadn't charged down to kill her or expel her.

What she did wasn't a big deal!

Eliana's back straightened instantly—she felt Dumbledore wasn't angry!

Hehe.

She rewarded herself with a big bite of lamb chop.

She also recognized the man with the turban—she remembered seeing him at the Leaky Cauldron, leaving as soon as he spotted Dumbledore.

Seems like even a seemingly gentle boss like Dumbledore doesn't stop his subordinates from not wanting to run into him during their holidays.

But if you asked her, she liked the hook-nosed professor next to the turbaned one the most.

Black hair, black eyes, yellow skin, and a face so dark he clearly wasn't someone to mess with—but for some reason, Eliana felt a strange sense of familiarity toward a teacher like that.

She heard someone nearby call him Professor Snape.

Just then, Professor Snape looked over, and amid Harry's sharp hiss of breath beside her, she flashed him a sweet smile.

Hello, teacher.

The teacher ignored her and turned his head away.

Eliana tilted her head, consoling herself with a big bite of beef.

Snape expressionlessly looked away.

Hmph. Potter.

Hmph. A typical Gryffindor lion cub, bold enough to punch the Sorting Hat on her first day—probably left her brain on the train with her luggage.

The quality of Hogwarts students really declines every year.

Annoying to look at.

And the worst part is, he has to teach them every single year.

Even more annoying.

Out of the corner of his eye, he saw Dumbledore stand up as if to speak—the old bee was about to start buzzing again, the most annoying of all.

Under his sour-faced stare, Dumbledore considerately waited until everyone had finished eating before announcing the rules.

Things like not entering the Forbidden Forest, not going to the fourth-floor corridor, and a series of other school regulations—Eliana indicated that her ears had heard them.

Of course, she was still a very good kid; she wouldn't break school rules just for the sake of breaking them.

That was her self-assessment.

But she had rewarded herself a bit too much, because when she crawled through Gryffindor's circular entrance on all fours, she felt like the overflowing food might come right back up her throat.

She'd have to be a little more careful from now on.

Lying on the soft bed with her round belly puffed out, she reflected on herself.

But after sitting in the carriage all day, she was naturally drowsy, and with the languid fullness of a good meal, Eliana's reflections trailed off as her eyes closed.

In the second before sleep took her, she peered through the slit of her eyelids at the deep red bed curtains and thought hazily—since her bed was at the very edge, maybe she could cut off the side against the wall and mail it back to the orphanage. It would be enough to make red hats for four or five children.

Or making Mrs. Brown a red skirt wouldn't be bad either; all her clothes were worn white.

After all, once the outer drapery was drawn, no one would see that one side was missing inside.

But she was far too tired. The accumulated fatigue exploded all at once, and before she could form a detailed plan, she fell asleep.

The bright moonlight streamed in through the window lattice, landing on her face, still carrying a hint of a smile.

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