10, Eagles and Snakes

Sure enough, a dozen seconds later.

"Silence."

At the sound of the thin, aged voice, all the whispering children around them fell quiet. It was as if someone had switched the volume to OFF.

A thin old man with graying hair slowly emerged from behind the flaming entrance hall. He wore bronze robes, his hands clasped behind his back, his sharp gaze like that of a hawk.

He was some unknown teacher at the school.

Hoffa's breathing grew slightly suppressed. He did not know why, but the instant he saw the old man, he felt that Hogwarts might have been much stricter now than it would be fifty years later.

With his hands behind his back, the old man slowly walked past the new students. "At Hogwarts, you will learn many things. But the first thing you must learn is not magic, but discipline."

Wherever the old man's gaze passed, every new student lowered their head.

"The Sorting Ceremony will begin shortly. Whatever House you are sorted into is your House. There will be no argument. Follow me."

The old man spoke with great brevity, showing no intention of explaining anything further.

With one hand behind his back, he turned toward the entrance hall. His gait was remarkably domineering.

Led by the old man, the new students passed through a Gothic corridor dozens of meters high, with blazing flames burning along the walls every ten meters.

Several students nearby whispered.

"Is that Vice Headmaster Adebe?"

"He's so fierce. Even fiercer than the rumors said."

"Shh!!"

After only two sentences, someone hurriedly told them to be quiet. Their faces were full of fear, and they even seemed to shrink back.

Adebe Goshawk. So it was him.

Hoffa glanced at Miranda, whose face remained calm.

So this old man was her grandfather. He really did look strict.

As he thought, Hoffa examined his surroundings. There were no ghosts wandering about. The only sound was the footsteps of the new students. The eyes in the paintings on the walls slowly turned to follow them, but most remained silent.

After passing through the corridor, the new students arrived at the Hogwarts Great Hall.

The solemn, dim hall was carpeted in deep blue.

The voices around them grew slightly louder, but they were still restrained whispers. It was nothing like the train, where everyone had chatted and laughed freely.

There was none of the romance described in later novels—no hundreds or thousands of blazing candles, no prefects offering a warm welcome.

The lighting here all came from braziers.

Braziers lined the surrounding walls. Whenever the new students walked another stretch, the braziers ahead lit up, making the hall a little brighter.

Above the vaulted ceiling, thousands of brilliant stars slowly revolved through the darkness.

Like ancient, obscure astrology—profound, inscrutable, stern, and rigid.

From within the crowd, Hoffa looked toward the teachers' table. At its center sat a white-bearded old man with a gloomy gaze, a thin frame, and hair gone half bald.

Armando Dippet, the current headmaster of Hogwarts.

With one glance, Hoffa knew this man was nothing like a headmaster such as Dumbledore.

There was no kindness in his eyes, only scrutiny.

A new ruler brought a new court. No wonder the entire school seemed steeped in rules and order.

Of course, Hoffa also saw Dumbledore. At that moment, he sat on the left side of the teachers' table, speaking quietly with a fat, dark-haired man beside him.

The moment Hoffa saw the fat man, he understood who he was.

Slughorn, Head of Slytherin House.

The man who would teach Voldemort the secret of splitting the soul. More than fifty years later, he would return to the very same position.

Beneath a giant eagle statue before the teachers' table, Vice Headmaster Adebe Goshawk turned around. Beside him stood a tall stool with a blue cushion.

On it lay a dusty, wrinkled hat.

"Line up."

Professor Goshawk said coldly.

His voice was flat, but all the new students immediately obeyed, arranging themselves into a line.

Only then did Professor Goshawk pull a long scroll of parchment from his sleeve.

"When your name is called, come up and put on the Sorting Hat."

"Aikalan Mitt."

A boy jogged over, fumbling as he placed the hat on his head. The Sorting Hat immediately cried out.

"Gryffindor!"

A table to the left gave a light round of applause. Even their clapping was remarkably restrained. It was nothing like the enthusiastic scene described in later books.

"Alphard Black." Goshawk continued reading names.

Hoffa was very familiar with that surname.

Black.

A member of Sirius's family.

He looked up and saw a cold-faced boy in black robes part the crowd and sit on the stool.

The Sorting Hat hesitated over his head for a long time before placing him in Slytherin. This Black frowned, seeming somewhat unhappy.

Watching the boy, who was about his own age, walk past, Hoffa wondered what relationship he had to the future Sirius Black.

Not long after Alphard left, Hoffa heard another familiar name.

"Eileen Prince."

Prince? Eileen Prince?

Snape's mother, the Half-Blood Prince?

Hoffa immediately lifted his head.

She was a black-haired girl with a pale face, greasy hair, many freckles around her nose, and a troubled expression.

Nervously, she jogged up to the Sorting Hat, which quickly placed her in Slytherin.

Hoffa thought that his eyes had truly been opened today. Everyone sitting here was an ancestor of some future famous figure! He even wondered whether, if he managed to win over that Eileen Prince, he could become Snape's father...

Hoffa quickly shook his head. It did not seem right to be thinking such deranged thoughts in such a solemn hall.

Besides, Eileen was not exactly pretty...

Sometimes the Sorting Hat was quick, and sometimes it was slow.

For the quick ones, it took only a few seconds.

For the slow ones, the wait could last as long as a minute. During that time, everyone in the hall waited silently, with hardly a sound.

One student after another stepped forward. Naturally, aside from the surnames of some great families from later generations, Hoffa found it difficult to hear any familiar names during this Sorting Ceremony.

Suddenly, Goshawk called out, "Aglaia S. Delaces."

A silver-haired, blue-eyed girl stepped out of the crowd and sat on the stool without expression.

Hoffa's eyes widened.

So her name was Aglaia S. Delaces. What a ridiculously long name.

The moment the Sorting Hat touched her silver hair, it shouted, "Ravenclaw!"

Damn it, Hoffa secretly shook his head. If he were the Sorting Hat, he would definitely have put that girl in Slytherin.

Aglaia took off the Sorting Hat and walked down the steps. As she passed Hoffa, she gave him a mocking smile, as if laughing at his judgment on the train.

Hoffa thought that if he were Harry Potter, this girl would definitely be the Malfoy-type character.

"Tom Marvolo Riddle..."

A name from the vice headmaster's mouth interrupted Hoffa's thoughts.

He raised his head, wanting to witness this historic moment.

The tall Tom parted the crowd and slowly walked toward the Sorting Hat. He appeared calm, but Hoffa keenly noticed that his hands were tightly clenched, the veins on the backs of them bulging. He was clearly extremely excited inside.

Just one second.

The Sorting Hat declared, "Slytherin!"

The table farthest to the right erupted into applause, noticeably warmer than the others. In such a solemn atmosphere, that was already no small thing.

In less than one afternoon on the train, Tom Riddle had won the favor of most of Slytherin.

The boy removed the Sorting Hat, and Hoffa actually saw a trace of relief on his face.

How strange. Voldemort had emotions like that too.

After another dozen or so people were sorted, Vice Headmaster Goshawk finally called out another name expressionlessly.

"Hoffa Bach."

Miranda gave Hoffa a slight push, and he stepped out from the crowd.

No one else reacted. To them, it was simply an utterly ordinary name.

But one person's eyes widened.

Aglaia, sitting in the corner of the Ravenclaw table, had originally been expressionless and uninterested.

But when she saw Hoffa step out, she was initially puzzled.

Then her face immediately turned livid. Furious at having been humiliated, she slammed a fist down on the table, drawing glances from the Ravenclaws beside her.

"Bastard."

Aglaia ground out the two words through clenched teeth. Only then did she realize that this boy was not Miller Goshawk at all. His name was Hoffa Bach.

To her, this Bach boy's disregard for her on the train had been the greatest humiliation.

Of course, Hoffa had no idea that his actions on the train had offended a Ravenclaw. He sat on the stool and put on the hat with some apprehension.

It sounded casual enough, but when the moment truly came, he could not help feeling nervous.

The instant he put it on, the Sorting Hat sighed softly in his ear.

"Difficult. Very difficult. It's been a long time since I've encountered a student this hard to sort. You have courage. Your heart isn't bad either, and you're quite intelligent. Nor do you lack ambition. Well-balanced, hmm... it seems all four Houses would suit you rather well."

Hoffa was speechless. Was that its roundabout way of calling me unremarkable, just another face in the crowd?

Second by second, time passed. He took longer than anyone else. A full three minutes went by, yet Hoffa was still sitting on the stool.

Standing nearby, Professor Goshawk gave Hoffa another glance.

The Sorting Hat kept muttering in Hoffa's ear.

"...First, Hufflepuff can be ruled out. You aren't particularly suited for that place. Next, I'd also like to rule out Slytherin. Though you have ambition, it isn't enough. Not enough by Slytherin's standards."

Hoffa's breathing quickened slightly.

The Sorting Hat said, "That leaves Gryffindor and Ravenclaw. Hmm, let me think."

Hoffa grew a little nervous. Ravenclaw would normally have been fine, but ever since meeting that silver-haired girl, he truly did not want to stay in the same House as someone like her.

Suddenly, inspiration struck him. He remembered that when Harry Potter wore the Sorting Hat, it had also struggled to choose between Gryffindor and Slytherin. But in the end, Harry Potter had made the choice himself and chosen Gryffindor.

So Hoffa followed his example, chanting in his mind.

Not Ravenclaw. Not Ravenclaw. Not Ravenclaw.

Then the Sorting Hat shouted in a voice that seemed to split the sky.

"Ravenclaw!"