Sheep Bar Their Fangs at the "Dragon"

Perhaps because they had finally arrived at the "safe" castle, with an imposing professor standing before them, he felt he had a "backer" and his courage had grown considerably. Or perhaps he simply could not stand the sight of it; in a fit of impulse, his mouth moved faster than his thoughts.

While Hagrid was briefly handing the students over to Professor McGonagall—Hagrid rumbled, "They're all here, Minerva"—the group was still somewhat scattered, and the professor's attention was slightly divided.

He cleared his throat and muttered sarcastically at Harry—though really toward the opposite side of the entranceway—in what he considered a "not too loud, not too quiet" voice:

"Tch, some people just have no sense of rules. They arrive and still don't know how to keep order. They see a professor and can't even stand properly, only know how to lead little cliques around, acting all high and mighty..."

"Hmph, with eyes that red, who knows whether they've been hit by some Dark magic curse, or maybe they're simply..." His voice deliberately trailed off, but the word "curse" and his pointed tone were already clear and grating enough.

The air instantly froze!

Professor McGonagall sharply turned her head, her stern gaze shooting toward Ron like icy spikes. Her brows drew tightly together; there was not only displeasure on her face, but a trace of concern as well—

The last thing she wanted was trouble before the Sorting Ceremony began, especially trouble involving Uchiha Madara, whose background was complicated and whose power remained unknown!

Across from them, Draco Malfoy and the others reacted far more directly—and far more fiercely!

"Shut up! You brainless red-haired poor bastard!"

Draco was the first to jump out. His pale face had flushed red from anger and eagerness to show off. He stepped forward, his finger nearly poking Ron in the face, his voice shrill.

"You dare curse Lord Madara?! Apologize at once! Apologize to Lord Madara for your filthy words! Otherwise... otherwise, right here and now, I challenge you to a wizard's duel! I'll let you taste the might of the Malfoy Family!" Several pure-blood first-years behind him also began to clamor, gathering around with unfriendly expressions and creating considerable pressure.

Crabbe and Goyle, the two hulking boys who had only just recovered, also instinctively shuffled forward like two walls.

The conflict was on the verge of erupting!

Quite a few first-years shrank back in fright. Hermione anxiously tried to pull Ron away, while Harry tensed his body, ready to respond at any moment.

"What do you think you are doing?!"

A furious bark rang out like a clap of thunder!

A powerful, condensed magical pressure belonging to an experienced witch suddenly burst from Professor McGonagall! Like an invisible wall, it instantly stood between the two groups!

She stepped forward, the hem of her emerald-green robes stirring without wind. Her eyes behind her glasses burned with fury. "Separate immediately! Return to where you should be standing! This is the entrance to Hogwarts Castle, not a place for you to run wild and duel!"

Her voice was firm and decisive, resonating with magic and making their eardrums buzz. "Whoever dares to make a move here, no matter who it is, I guarantee you in my capacity as Deputy Headmistress and Head of Gryffindor House that your detention will begin tonight and continue until you learn what rules are! Now, get in—line!"

Under Professor McGonagall's undisguised fury and the absolute intimidation of her strength, both sides of the conflict felt as if they had been doused with cold water.

Unwillingness and fear flashed across Draco and the others' faces. They backed away resentfully and regrouped around Madara, though they continued glaring furiously at Ron. Hermione held Ron tightly as well. Although he was still muttering under his breath, he did not dare provoke them loudly again.

The two groups stood on opposite sides of the entranceway, as though divided by an invisible boundary, the atmosphere stiff to the extreme.

From beginning to end, Uchiha Madara had not moved an inch. He had not even fully opened his eyes.

Only now, as the uproar temporarily subsided, did he slowly lift his eyelids all the way.

Those black eyes, especially deep in the dim yellow light—not revealing the Sharingan—first swept lightly over the flushed and still unconvinced Ron Weasley. Then his gaze shifted slightly, locking with precision onto Harry Potter beside Ron, whose lips were pressed tightly together and whose green eyes held both wariness and defiance.

The corner of his mouth lifted ever so slightly, forming a cold, amused curve so faint it was almost an illusion.

Then a hoarse, low voice with an unusual cadence rang out clearly. It was not loud, yet it seemed to drill directly into everyone's ears—especially Harry's:

"Go ahead and huddle together for warmth, little sheep."

"When the night grows still..."

He paused, and his voice took on a faint, almost chanting premonition of malice:

"You'd better watch out... for the dragon's greeting."

After delivering those metaphorical yet vaguely threatening words, Uchiha Madara looked at no one else.

He straightened up lightly, adjusted his perfectly unwrinkled sleeve, then stepped forward and naturally took his place at the front of the small cluster of pure-blood first-years led by Draco, as if he had always been their leader.

With his back to most of the first-years and his face toward the castle's half-open doors, he left only a straight, aloof silhouette as he quietly waited for the Sorting Ceremony to officially begin.

Professor McGonagall looked deeply at Madara's back, her gaze incomparably complicated—

Wariness, scrutiny, a trace of helplessness, and the deeply buried concern of an educator.

She said no more. She merely waved her hand forcefully, her voice returning to its usual calm, penetrating steadiness, carrying undeniable authority:

"Now, line up and follow me."

She took out her wand and, with elegant precision, lightly tapped the heavy brass door knocker.

"Creeeak—screeeech—"

Accompanied by the heavy groan of ancient wooden hinges, the two enormous oak doors seemed to be slowly pushed open from within by an invisible giant hand. In an instant, a tide of warm, brilliant light, a wave of noisy voices, and the complex scent of food mixed with ancient wood surged out like a burst dam and washed over them!

The sight beyond the doors made every first-year—especially children like Harry, who came from the purely Muggle world—hold their breath and forget the tense confrontation outside.

It was huge! That was Harry's first impression.

The Entrance Hall beyond the doors had a ceiling so high it seemed to reach directly into the night sky. Hundreds of candles burned in the enormous wrought-iron chandeliers overhead, illuminating the entire space as brightly as day.

Beneath their feet lay polished black stone flooring, gleaming like a mirror and reflecting the dancing firelight and the shadows of towering stone pillars.

On either side were enormous arcades stretching into the depths of darkness. The walls were covered with moving portraits, their subjects curiously craning their heads out, pointing at the line of first-years and whispering among themselves.

The air was filled with the heavy, mysterious scent of old stone, burning beeswax, and a faint hint of aged parchment.

Harry felt that the entire living room the Dursleys were so proud of was probably not even as large as one corner of this hall.

"Keep up. Don't fall behind." Professor McGonagall's voice sounded from ahead, pulling the first-years back from their amazement.

Like a flock of clumsy ducklings, they followed closely behind Professor McGonagall's emerald-green figure and passed through a corridor carpeted with magnificent heraldic rugs.

Harry could clearly hear the clamor of thousands gathered together coming from behind a huge arched doorway on the right—laughter, conversation, the clinking of cups and plates...

The students from the other years must have already gathered in the Great Hall, waiting for the opening feast and the Sorting Ceremony to begin.

The sound was so vivid and full of life that Harry's heart began beating faster as well.

However, Professor McGonagall did not lead them toward the source of the noise. Instead, she turned a corner and guided the first-years toward an inconspicuous, comparatively low wooden door beside the hall.

When she pushed it open, they found a small, old-fashioned room inside. Its walls were rough stone, several torches burned within it, and the light was much dimmer than outside. The room was empty except for several ancient-looking chairs placed against the walls.

"Everyone inside. Don't crowd around the door." Professor McGonagall directed them. The first-years filed in, quickly cramming the little antechamber full.

Everyone looked around nervously, straightened their wrinkled robes, or soothed their restless pets—Neville's Trevor had once again started trying to jump out of his cage. The atmosphere was even more tense and expectant than it had been outside.

[Mouse updates ten thousand words daily. Don't you readers have any thoughts or opinions? Not even one comment, boohoohoo.]