The Throne Descends, Bloodline Sublimates!

"Quiet down, the new students are coming!"

After some prefect shouted that, the hall instantly fell silent—probably the only time all year a prefect's order was so effective.

Under the gaze of the older students, the black oak doors slowly swung open. First came Professor McGonagall, the deputy headmistress, in her emerald-green robes, followed by a flood of pearly-white ghosts surging in like mist and quickly filling the entire ceiling of the hall.

Then the first-years filed in, lined up neatly. Most of them wore expressions of extreme nervousness, their legs as heavy as lead, their steps slow and labored. The moment they entered, the first thing they did was look up at the strange ceiling, which mirrored the night sky and was dotted with hundreds of floating candles. They whispered to each other, marveling and discussing.

McGonagall walked to the front of the hall, took out the grimy Sorting Hat, and placed it on a stool just like last year. The professors and older students at the staff table, well-versed in the routine, cast a muffling charm on their ears with fingers or wands. Then the Sorting Hat burst into song:

You might think I'm not much to look at, but don't judge by what you see;

If you can find a finer hat, I'll eat myself, you'll agree;

You can make your bowlers black and sleek, your top hats smooth and tall;

But I'm the Hogwarts Sorting Hat, and I outshine them all;

Any thought that hides inside your head, I'll see it clear and true;

Just try me on, and I'll tell you which House is right for you...

As the song ended, thunderous applause erupted from the entire hall. Everyone quietly lifted the charms from their ears and turned their gazes to the first-year line—they looked much more relaxed after hearing the Hat's song, though a few wore indignant expressions, probably the ones whose families had fed them tall tales.

Then McGonagall pulled out a parchment scroll and announced to the new students: "When I call your name, you will put on the hat and sit on the stool to be sorted."

"Hannah Abbott!"

The pure-blooded, steel-like girl, rosy-cheeked with two golden braids, stumbled out of the line, put on the hat, which drooped down to cover her eyes. She sat down. A pause—

"HUFFLEPUFF!"

the Sorting Hat shouted.

The Hufflepuff table erupted in cheers, with Avada especially excited, warmly welcoming the girl who symbolized pure blood.

"Susan Bones!"

"HUFFLEPUFF!"

"Terry Boot!"

"RAVENCLAW!"

"Hermione Granger!"

Here it comes.

Avada focused intently on the girl with the bushy brown hair, who sat down nervously and put on the hat. She originally had the qualities for both Gryffindor and Ravenclaw. With his slight interference, would history change now?

"GRYFFINDOR!"

The Gryffindor table burst into applause, and Avada breathed a small sigh of relief.

"Neville Longbottom!"

The Sorting Hat hesitated for a long time before shouting, "GRYFFINDOR!"

"Draco Malfoy!"

"SLYTHERIN!"

"Harry Potter!"

As the name stirred a low buzz of whispers through the hall, Harry walked forward, his mind almost blank, seeing the sea of faces craning to get a look at him. Then the wide brim of the hat blocked his view entirely, plunging him into darkness and waiting.

"Hmm,"

the Sorting Hat's whisper sounded in his mind. "Difficult. Very difficult. Plenty of courage, I see. Not a bad heart. Talent, oh my, yes—a strong desire to prove yourself. Interesting... I think Slytherin could help you achieve greatness, become something big..."

Slytherin?

Harry recalled Hagrid's warning from that day, and the sneering face of Draco Malfoy, who had just been sorted into Slytherin from the line. But then he thought of Baron Shafiq, the polite and gentle one beside K—maybe it wasn't so bad?

No, better not go to Slytherin.

In the end, Hagrid's warning and his latest impression of Slytherin won out in his mind.

"Not Slytherin?"

the Hat asked softly. "Are you sure? You know, Slytherin will help you achieve greatness, no doubt about it... Not keen? Well then, if you're set—better be GRYFFINDOR!"

"GRYFFINDOR!"

The loudest cheers and applause erupted from the Gryffindor table, nearly startling Harry. Percy Weasley, the Gryffindor prefect, jumped up excitedly and shook Harry's hand tightly as he approached, interspersed with someone shouting, "We've got Potter! We've got Potter!"

Finally, after Ron Weasley was sorted into Gryffindor, this year's Sorting Ceremony came to an end.

Nothing changed.

Avada let out a relieved sigh, then turned his gaze to the staff table, where Professor Quirrell sat with his large turban, looking somewhat nervous. His eyes hardened.

Then there's no reason to fail!

After McGonagall rolled up the parchment, took the Sorting Hat, and returned empty-handed to sit at the staff table, Albus Dumbledore stood up. He beamed at the students, spreading his arms wide, as if nothing made him happier than seeing them all gathered together.

"Welcome!" he said. "Welcome to Hogwarts for the new school year! Before the feast begins, I'd like to say a few words. And here they are: Nitwit! Blubber! Oddment! Tweak!"

Avada silently rolled his eyes.

"Thank you!"

Dumbledore sat down with a chuckle, waving a hand. "Let the feast begin!"

The next moment, just like last year, a dazzling array of food instantly filled the empty plates on the long tables, and for some reason, a small dish of peppermint hard candies appeared before each person.

So the students, who had been waiting for ages and were ravenous, immediately began wolfing down the food before them, chatting with those nearby and the new first-years as they ate.

"Truman, I heard you made prefect? Congratulations!"

"Thanks, thanks. You're not bad yourself, Cedric—top of your year last term... By the way, you're a third-year now, right? What classes did you pick?"

"Me? Care of Magical Creatures, Muggle Studies, Ancient Runes, and Divination."

"Four classes? That makes eleven with the required ones—quite the pressure!"

"That's nothing. Don't forget Percy from Gryffindor is taking twelve... Heaven knows how he manages it."

Avada shot a glance at Cedric. Too bad he didn't go for a full course load—no chance to show him a Time-Turner early.

Speaking of which, Percy must have used the Time-Turner frequently last year, yet Avada had never sensed even a trace of time-related magical reaction from him. That had always puzzled him—was time actually part of magic? Its sibling, "space," was crystal clear in his Magic Sense.

But if it wasn't magic, how was the Time-Turner even made?

He shook his head, letting the thought go. He had enough to deal with this year.