Punching the Sorting Hat

After passing through the oak doors, they entered the spacious entrance hall, facing the grand marble staircase.

Its cleanliness was almost half of Harry's level.

The floor was so polished you could see the freckles on Ron's face—house-elves were terrifyingly effective.

[Quest [Honor Battle] (10 EXP, Household Magic Silver·1)]

[How could a mere elf rival the Savior Lord? Make them understand that in the art of housekeeping, they are but frogs at the bottom of a well gazing at the moon, mayflies glimpsing the vast sky!]

—What the hell is the "art of housekeeping."

Harry's steps paused for a moment.

"Fred and George said this year we'll face a hag, a monster that can swallow ten kids in one bite!" Ron mistakenly thought Harry was worried about the Sorting. "Charging straight ahead is Gryffindor, begging or sneaking is Slytherin, using a targeted spell is Ravenclaw, and getting swallowed into its stomach is Hufflepuff."

"Harry, you don't need to worry at all!"

Now they entered a small room, where Professor McGonagall told them to wait.

"I'll definitely be Hufflepuff," Neville said sadly.

"We definitely won't die," Draco forced himself to say. "I haven't heard of anyone getting hurt from the Sorting. I swear on the Malfoy name!"

Neville breathed a sigh of relief.

"Just close your eyes and charge forward," Ron comforted him. "That way, you'll definitely get into Gryffindor too!"

"Maybe Ravenclaw isn't a bad choice," the overachiever Hermione refused to let herself pass like some brute. She planned to use at least ten spells she'd memorized.

She began muttering to herself, her right hand moving as if tracing a wand's trajectory.

The incantations for the Levitation Charm, Severing Charm, and even the Unlocking Charm tumbled from her chattering lips.

"What do I do? I don't know a single spell!"

Seeing Hermione's actions, a little girl with two golden braids turned pale.

"Maybe you don't need to actually cast it—just reciting the incantation is enough," a boy with curly hair said. "A hag sounds like a dark creature similar to a vampire, right? Lumos Solem—just add Solem after Lumos, a variation of the Wand-Lighting Charm, the Sunlight Charm. It emits a blinding ray of sunlight to defeat creatures afraid of light."

"When casting, note a slight clockwise circle with your wrist, then say Solem after one rotation."

His words inspired many students.

Hermione, who had been memorizing the Fire-Making Spell, quickly switched to the Sunlight Charm, but just to not be outdone, she added the Severing Charm.

Ron, who had been insisting he could win with a single slide tackle, turned around and secretly muttered incantations too.

As for Harry...

He was doing handstands, balancing on one finger, rising and lowering repeatedly, switching fingers.

"Boy, what are you doing!"

This startled the ghosts who were passing through the wall, not paying attention to the first-years below.

One of them, wearing a ruffled doublet, was so shocked his head fell off, barely hanging on by a strip of skin.

If not for the ghosts' bodies being pearl-white and mist-like, allowing sight through them, the cross-section of his neck would have terrified most of the first-years.

"Nearly Headless Nick!" Ron exclaimed.

"Rude. You should call me Sir Nicholas de Mimsy-Porpington," Nick said angrily. "When will you all forget that nickname?"

He slammed into the opposite wall, and the other ghosts filed through after him.

"That's what Fred and George told me—everyone calls him that. He's the Gryffindor tower ghost," Ron quickly explained.

"The Sorting's about to start." Harry spun around and landed lightly.

[...[Eye Poke] proficiency +1, merged into [Potter Combat]... proficiency +0.1]

Before him, the white book appeared again with its glowing screen.

—So I'm supposed to let the enemy grow strong to keep myself in power?

[The Savior Lord has displayed great wisdom. This path no longer grants experience points.]

"What?" Ron only just reacted.

Then Professor McGonagall entered the room. "Now, follow me in a single file."

Everyone automatically lined up behind Harry.

Having lost the height advantage from the stairs, and facing Harry, who was a head taller than her, Professor McGonagall's breath caught.

"Follow me."

She quickly turned.

As soon as Harry entered the Great Hall, a buzz of discussion arose.

Beneath the enchanted ceiling reflecting the night sky, faces lit like pale lanterns by the floating candles all turned to look at Harry.

"Harry Potter."

"It's him."

"Professor Flitwick isn't as tall as his leg."

"They say he snapped Peter Pettigrew's throat with his bare hands."

"And he used the Cruciatus Curse on Flint and the others, then walked away scot-free."

At the staff table, Professor Flitwick, watching Harry's retreating back, nearly toppled off his high-backed chair, which had been padded with several cushions.

He realized he was indeed shorter than Harry's leg.

Goblin blood had dragged down his height!

—Too late.

Harry sighed.

There was no trace of Dumbledore's magical fluctuation behind him, and nothing on Quirrell that made the metal wand tremble anymore.

Snape had still failed to keep an eye on Quirrell; Voldemort had already fled.

Taking advantage of Dumbledore's absence, he had moved the Horcrux hidden in the Room of Requirement—Ravenclaw's Diadem.

At the staff table, Quirrell, whose ruddy complexion no longer made him look like a gust of wind could knock him over, raised a glass in a distant toast to Dumbledore, who had just appeared from the flames.

The warmth in Dumbledore's eyes cooled; he too had sensed Voldemort's disappearance.

"Since Dumbledore has returned, the Sorting shall begin!"

As Professor McGonagall stepped forward, a three-legged stool appeared before them, bearing a hat.

The hat was patched, dirty, and old.

"There's no hag at all!" Draco couldn't help but jab Ron, and the other first-years glared at him.

"Wait, I haven't sung my Sorting song yet!" The Sorting Hat wriggled, splitting open a slit like a mouth.

"Sorry," Harry suddenly stepped forward. "You'd better take a bath first."

"Cleaning Fist!" He raised his fist high and, under everyone's astonished gaze, struck the Sorting Hat.

In the next moment, the grime on the hat vanished, and it gleamed and sparkled as if waxed.

As clean as the Hogwarts Express today, and most of the first-years present.

"It doesn't hurt at all! I'm glowing!" The Sorting Hat exclaimed excitedly.

"It's you! Mr. Potter!" Professor McGonagall realized.

"Perhaps our Savior just wanted to show off his skills, the same way he brutalized innocent Knockturn Alley." Snape had somehow drifted down from the staff table, a gleam of excitement in his eyes.

"Obsessive-compulsive personality disorder, a mental illness," Harry said, listening to the sycophantic voice praising the completion of the dog-skin book task. "Dumbledore knows it too. In layman's terms, I can't stand seeing dirty things, whether physical or..."

"Magical." He looked at Snape's arm.

Harry's gaze was like a branding iron, making Snape flinch away.

There... was where the Dark Mark lay, a mark that would never fade as long as Voldemort existed in this world.

"Nonsense!" Snape snapped, flustered. "If that were true, why didn't you punch Quirrell!"

"I had my back to Professor Quirrell, didn't I?" Harry said mildly.