The Sorting Ceremony continued. Names were read from the parchment one after another, and the hat's voice echoed through the Great Hall as it assigned the new students to their houses.
Yet what truly held everyone's eyes and thoughts was no longer that battered old hat, but the blond boy who had just been sorted into Gryffindor.
Even when the hat loudly announced "Slytherin!" for the last new student, Blaise Zabini,
the whispers in the Great Hall still had not died down.
The discussions invariably revolved around one name: Draco Malfoy.
Most of the remaining new students sorted into Gryffindor did not know the full story.
But judging by the older students' reactions-
shock, disbelief, and a faint undercurrent of rejection-
they, too, instinctively realized that this new blond classmate was an extremely dangerous person.
I'd better stay away from him.
We don't have anything to do with each other anyway. If I get caught up in it, I'll suffer for nothing.
Similar thoughts quietly arose in many of the new students' minds.
And so, unfortunately, George and Fred's prediction came true. No one dared sit between Draco and Harry.
That empty seat was like an invisible gulf, separating the "Chosen One" and the "Fallen Prince" at opposite ends of the same long table.
The Sorting finally ended.
Professor McGonagall put away the parchment, and the Great Hall gradually fell quiet.
Everyone's eyes involuntarily turned toward the center of the High Table-Albus Dumbledore.
Dumbledore slowly rose. His movements were unhurried, yet carried an invisible authority that instantly silenced the noisy Great Hall.
Beaming at the students, he spread his arms toward them, his voice gentle yet clear as it carried throughout the hall:
"Welcome to Hogwarts, and the start of a new school year!"
A round of polite applause sounded through the Great Hall.
"First, let me say this," Dumbledore continued. "The Sorting Hat's decisions are the reason Hogwarts has endured for so long. So I must once again emphasize-do not bully or ostracize any student sorted into your house."
His gaze slowly swept the hall, pausing briefly at the Gryffindor table, then lingering at the Slytherin table, as though reminding certain people to remember those words.
"Now, the feast is about to begin." Dumbledore smiled faintly. "Before that, I would like to say-"
He cleared his throat and spoke in an exceedingly solemn tone, enunciating every word:
"Nitwit! Blubber! Oddment! Tweak!"
The Great Hall fell deathly silent.
The students looked at one another, wondering whether they had misheard.
It was hard to imagine that this was a headmaster's welcome speech to his new students.
"Is he mad?" Ron could not help muttering.
But then Percy lowered his voice and solemnly explained to the new students around him, "Dumbledore is the greatest wizard of this century."
After that, everyone's attitude immediately underwent a subtle change. Since he was a great wizard, his words naturally held profound meaning.
Could he be offering us guidance?
For a time, quiet discussions filled the Great Hall as everyone began pondering the meaning of those four words.
Draco nearly laughed aloud. Once someone had power, there really would be "great scholars" ready to argue his case no matter what he did.
Even if he said something utterly inexplicable in public, people would take it for profound philosophy.
Once Dumbledore finished speaking, the long tables instantly filled with all kinds of food.
Roast chicken, roast beef, roast lamb, roast pork, and potatoes prepared in every way: mashed potatoes, roast potatoes, fried potatoes, potato cakes... Everything steamed, filling the air with delicious aromas.
The famished students immediately dug in, the clatter of knives and forks rising all around.
Those who liked pondering things, like Hermione, continued thinking about the deeper meaning of Dumbledore's four words as they ate.
Yet the vast majority still had their attention on Draco.
Since they're all watching me, I'll let them watch me eat, Draco thought.
And so he began eating at a leisurely pace.
His movements were slow, like rusty clockwork beginning to turn again.
Elegance never went out of style.
He reached out with his right hand, his fingers perfectly steady, and picked up his silver fork.
Then he extended his left hand and took hold of his knife.
Draco finally lowered his gaze to the untouched piece of roast beef before him.
The tip of his knife pressed against the meat, cutting.
His movements were precise, adhering to strict table manners.
He speared it and brought it to his lips.
Chewed.
Swallowed.
The entire process was silent, without a single unnecessary sound, and his expression did not change at all.
"Merlin," Ron stopped chewing, his eyes wide as he whispered breathily, "he... he's eating? I thought he'd keep his heart with Slytherin even if he was sitting here."
From her "observation post" diagonally behind him, Hermione Granger keenly picked up on this change.
No longer sparing a thought for Dumbledore's words, she reached a clear conclusion: this meant that Young Master Malfoy, from a pure-blood family, had accepted his identity as a Gryffindor.
"Ladies and gentlemen!" George Weasley's voice rang out at just the right moment, neither too loud nor too quiet, just enough for those in front to hear. "A historic moment! Our little lost lion has finally faced reality. At Hogwarts, you have to fill your stomach before you have the strength to work out who you are!"
Several older students chuckled quietly, and the atmosphere eased a little.
Draco showed no reaction to any of it.
He cut into his second piece of beef, his movements still proper, slow, and cold.
Next, Draco began eating the roast potatoes served on the side, followed by the carrots.
He took a little of each in an orderly sequence, even the number of times he chewed seemingly calculated.
Lavender's eyes shone with excitement as she clutched Parvati's hand. "Did you see that? He's eating... In a place where everyone rejects him, he still maintains his poise and strength! This is his way of telling the world he won't be beaten! It's so dignified!"
At the Slytherin table, several older students who had been watching out of the corners of their eyes exchanged looks of contempt, then turned away and began discussing Quidditch with even more exaggerated laughter, as though what was happening over here was beneath notice.
Pansy's shoulders gave an almost imperceptible shudder, but she still did not look up.
The dessert in front of her remained untouched, as though it had lost all flavor.
At the High Table, Professor McGonagall's stern gaze swept the hall. When she saw Draco begin to eat, she gave an imperceptible nod.
Professor Snape's gaze, meanwhile, was like an icy bat, lingering briefly on Draco's hands as they held his knife and fork before shifting away in disgust, as though he had seen something unclean.
Dumbledore, who was happily savoring a Sherbet Lemon, glanced at the blond boy eating in silence, then at the puzzled dark-haired boy beside him.
It was as though he were admiring a suspenseful oil painting to which fresh brushstrokes had just been added.
After eating the last pea on his main-course plate, Draco set down his knife and fork and looked back at those watching him.
They all averted their eyes, then lowered their heads and dug into their food.
Once everyone had filled their stomachs, all the remaining food vanished from the plates at once, leaving the plates and cutlery spotless again.
With his hunger and thirst satisfied, Draco felt that the number of eyes on him had finally diminished somewhat.
After the main course came the inevitable assortment of desserts.
Pudding, ice cream, apple pie, chocolate cake... The dazzling spread filled the air with sweet aromas.
Draco did not particularly like these things, as they were too rich.
He took a token spoonful of pudding, tasted it, then put down his spoon.
The new students were also beginning to get acquainted, talking quietly about their hometowns, wands, and hopes for their upcoming classes.
At the Gryffindor table, Ron was enthusiastically telling Harry all sorts of Hogwarts legends, while Hermione occasionally interjected to correct his mistakes.
Seeing that no one was still eating, Dumbledore stood again and said with a smile, "Well, now that everyone has had their fill, I would like to say a few more words."
The students stopped talking and turned toward the front.
"Before the new term begins," Dumbledore said, "I would like to remind everyone of a few things. First years, please note that the Forbidden Forest on the grounds is strictly off-limits. Older students should remember this as well."
"Also, our caretaker, Filch, has asked me to remind you not to perform magic in the corridors between classes. Quidditch trials will take place in the second week of term. Anyone wishing to play for their house team should contact Madam Hooch. Finally-"
He paused. The smile on his face briefly vanished, and his tone became exceptionally grave:
"I must tell you that anyone who does not wish to suffer an accidental, painful death should stay out of the right-hand corridor on the fourth floor."
A brief silence fell over the Great Hall.
Harry, however, could not help laughing aloud at that final remark.
He had not expected a headmaster, who ought to have been solemn, to finish with something like that, as though telling an absurd joke.
Few people laughed.
Most of the new students thought little of it. After all, reminders about rules were perfectly normal.
Only the more sensitive older students vaguely sensed something amiss.
The last two warnings had never been mentioned in previous years.
Still, they did not pay much attention, merely assuming that Dumbledore had taken a sudden whim to add a few extra words this year.
Only Draco knew that all of this was meant for Harry.
Because in the original story, he had not obeyed a single one: entering the Forbidden Forest, performing magic in the corridors, and breaking into the right-hand corridor on the fourth floor.
After finishing his reminders, Dumbledore began leading everyone in the school song.
The school song really did make Draco laugh-an awkward laugh.
Dumbledore said they could sing however they liked: fast if they wanted, slow if they wanted, and off-key if they wanted.
So none of the new students felt too embarrassed to sing, and they all joined in with the older students.
Some sang haphazardly, some sang nonsense, and some simply did not sing at all-Draco being one of them.
Hermione did a little better than Draco. Her lips matched the words, but she made no sound, or her voice was so quiet it was almost inaudible.
Harry, however, sang earnestly, his face serious. Together with the students gesticulating around him, he really did help create something of an atmosphere.
Dumbledore conducted the final two bars with his wand like a true orchestra conductor, bringing the atmosphere to its peak.
The excited students looked as though they would not need to sleep all night and would probably be dragging themselves to class with dark circles under their eyes tomorrow.
When the singing ended, Dumbledore applauded loudest of all.
He smiled and said, "Music has more magic than anything we do here."
Then he announced that everyone should follow their respective prefects back to the dormitories to rest.
After so much speculation about Dumbledore's intentions, Draco had grown suspicious of everything he said, wondering whether he was hinting that the three-headed hellhound would fall asleep when it heard music.
With the school song over, the excitement gradually faded, and everyone grew tired.
The prefects of each house stood and began organizing the new students to return to their dormitories.