Beyond the oak doors lay a spacious Entrance Hall, with a marble staircase directly ahead.
It was almost half as clean as Harry.
The floor was so polished that Ron's freckles were reflected in it. House-elves really were terrifying.
[Quest [Honor Battle] (10 experience points, Household Magic: Silver · 1)]
[How could mere house-elves rival the Savior Lord? Show them that compared to you in the art of housekeeping, they are like frogs in a well gazing at the moon, like mayflies facing the sky!]
—What the hell was this "art of housekeeping"?
Harry's steps faltered for a moment.
"Fred and George said we'd have to face a hag this year, a monster that could swallow ten kids in one bite!" Ron mistook Harry's hesitation for worry about being sorted. "Charge straight at it and you're a Gryffindor; beg for mercy and sneak-attack it, and you're a Slytherin; use a targeted spell, and you're a Ravenclaw; get swallowed whole, and you're a Hufflepuff."
"Harry, you don't need to worry at all!"
They had entered a small room, where Professor McGonagall told them to wait.
"I'm definitely going to be a Hufflepuff," Neville said sadly.
"We're definitely not going to die," Draco said, putting on a brave face. "I've never heard of anyone dying during the Sorting. I swear it on the Malfoy name!"
Neville let out a sigh of relief.
"Just close your eyes and charge forward when the time comes," Ron reassured him. "That way, you're sure to get into Gryffindor!"
"Perhaps Ravenclaw would be a good choice." Hermione, a relentless swot, refused to get through this like some reckless brute. She would at least use more than ten of the spells she had memorized.
She began muttering to herself, her right hand tracing what seemed to be the path of a wand.
The incantations for the Levitation Charm, the Severing Charm, even the Unlocking Charm, all tumbled from her little mouth.
"What do I do? I don't know a single spell!"
Seeing Hermione, a little girl with two golden braids began to pale.
"Maybe you don't have to cast it. Just saying the incantation might be enough," said a boy with a head full of curls. "A hag sounds like some kind of dark creature, like a vampire. 'Lumos Solem'—add 'Solem' after 'Lumos,' and you get the Sunlight Charm, a variation of the Lumos spell. It shoots out a dazzling ray of sunlight to defeat creatures that fear the sun."
"When you cast it, make a slight clockwise circle with your wrist. Say 'Solem' after one rotation."
His words inspired many of the students.
Hermione, who had been memorizing the Fire-Making Spell, hurriedly began memorizing the Sunlight Charm too. And, just to avoid losing, she added a Severing Charm as well.
Ron, who had been insisting that he could win with a single sliding tackle, also turned away and secretly started reciting spells.
As for Harry...
He was standing on his hands, balancing on one finger. He kept lifting himself off the ground and switching fingers.
"Child, what are you doing?"
The ghosts had been filing through the wall and hadn't noticed the new students below, so Harry startled them.
One of them, dressed in a tight-fitting doublet with a ruff collar, was so startled that his head fell off, hanging on only by a strip of skin.
If ghosts weren't pearly white and translucent as mist, the cross-section of his neck would probably have terrified most of the new students.
"Nearly Headless Nick!" Ron cried.
"Impolite boy. You should call me Sir Nicholas de Mimsy-Porpington," Nick snapped. "When are you going to forget that nickname?"
He promptly collided with the opposite wall, and the other ghosts filed through after him.
"Fred and George told me. Everyone calls him that. He's Gryffindor's resident ghost," Ron hurriedly explained.
"The Sorting is about to begin." Harry spun around and landed lightly.
[...[Eye Poke] proficiency +1, incorporated into [Potter Combat]... proficiency +0.1]
The white-skinned book appeared before him again, along with its glowing screen.
—So I have to raise a band of thieves just to justify my own authority?
[The Savior Lord has displayed exceptional wisdom. This path will no longer grant experience points.]
"What?" Ron finally caught on.
Just then, Professor McGonagall entered the room. "Now, follow me and line up in single file."
Everyone automatically fell in behind Harry.
Without the height advantage of the stairs, Professor McGonagall looked up at Harry, who was a head taller than her, and her breath caught.
"Follow me."
She quickly turned around.
As soon as Harry entered the Great Hall, he was met by a buzzing murmur of conversation.
Beneath the ceiling, enchanted to reflect the night sky, faces lit by floating candles like pale lanterns all turned to look at Harry.
"Harry Potter."
"That's him."
"Professor Flitwick isn't even as tall as his legs."
"I heard he crushed Peter Pettigrew's throat with his bare hands."
"And he used the Cruciatus Curse on Flint and the others, then walked away without a scratch."
At the High Table, Professor Flitwick nearly fell off the high-backed chair, which had several cushions stacked on it, as he watched Harry's back.
He realized that he really wasn't even as tall as Harry's legs.
His goblin heritage had stunted his growth!
—Too late.
Harry sighed.
He couldn't sense Dumbledore's magic behind him, and there was nothing on Quirrell to make the Metal Wand tremble anymore.
Snape hadn't kept an eye on Quirrell after all. Voldemort had already escaped.
With Dumbledore away, he had moved the Horcrux hidden in the Room of Requirement—the Ravenclaw's Diadem.
At the High Table, Quirrell, his face now rosy and no longer looking as though a breeze might blow him away, raised his glass in a toast to Dumbledore, who had appeared in a burst of fire.
The amusement in Dumbledore's eyes faded. He had also realized that Voldemort was gone.
"Now that Dumbledore is back, let the Sorting begin!"
As Professor McGonagall appeared before them, a stool came into view with a hat on top.
The hat was patched, dirty, and old.
"There isn't any hag!" Draco couldn't help nudging Ron. The other first-years glared at him too.
"Wait, I haven't sung the Sorting Song yet!" The Sorting Hat twisted, splitting open a seam like a mouth.
"Sorry." Harry suddenly stepped forward. "You should have a bath first."
"Cleaning Fist!" He raised his fist and punched the Sorting Hat, to everyone's astonishment.
The next moment, the grime vanished from the hat. It gleamed brilliantly, as if it had been waxed.
It was as clean as the Hogwarts Express had been that day—and as clean as most of the first-years here.
"That didn't hurt at all! I'm glowing!" the Sorting Hat cried excitedly.
"It was you, Mr. Potter!" Professor McGonagall realized.
"Perhaps our Savior merely wanted to show off his abilities, just as he had brutalized the innocent residents of Knockturn Alley." Snape had somehow drifted down from the High Table, his eyes shining with excitement.
"Obsessive-compulsive disorder, a mental illness." As Harry listened to the Dogskin Book's congratulatory voice announcing that the quest was complete, he continued, "Dumbledore knows about it too. To put it simply, I can't stand dirty things, whether physically or..."
"Magically." He looked at Snape's arm.
Harry's gaze was like a branding iron, and Snape hurriedly avoided it.
There... was where the Dark Mark lay, an imprint that would never fade as long as Voldemort remained in this world.
"Lies!" Snape snapped furiously. "If that were true, why didn't you punch Quirrell?"
"My back was turned to Professor Quirrell, wasn't it?" Harry said mildly.
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