Upon hearing Silas’s name, Dumbledore and Severus Snape exchanged a brief whisper.
“Professor Snape, do you know anything about this child’s situation?” “I do not.” Snape stared intently at Caelan.
“Professor McGonagall handled his case.
All I know is that he lived in an orphanage before this.” Hearing this, Dumbledore looked at Caelan with a tinge of anxiety in his eyes.
He had not expected the Prewett family to still have an heir remaining.
The other teachers gasped at the surname “Prewett,” whispering hushedly to one another.
“Prewett?
Is it *that* Prewett?” “It’s been years since anyone’s seen a Prewett.” “Oh, my goodness, that’s unbelievable…” Even George and Fred, sitting at the Gryffindor table, stared at Caelan in utter shock.
Though usually irresponsible, they were deeply sensitive to the name “Prewett.” Prewett was not only one of the Sacred Twenty-Eight, but also their mother’s maiden name.
Which meant the Weasleys and Prewetts were bound by marriage starting from their parents’ generation.
Fabian Prewett and Gideon Prewett, who had fallen in the Wizarding War, were their biological uncles.
“Fred.” “George.” The two called out each other’s names, exchanged a look, and said in unison, “He couldn’t be our uncle’s kid, could he?” “Then he’d be our cousin,” George noted.
“But we’ve never heard of Uncle having a child.
Mum never mentioned it,” Fred chimed in.
“I think we’d better write home and ask.” Beside Harry, Ron looked equally astonished, his gaze fixed on Caelan with doubt and confusion.
Seeing his expression, Harry nudged him with an elbow and asked softly: “Do you know him?” “No, but I know the surname Prewett.
That’s my uncles’ family.” “Which house do you think he’ll be sorted into?” “Gryffindor, probably.
Both my uncles were Gryffindors.
Almost everyone named Prewett goes to Gryffindor—even my mum.” Beside them, Hermione perked up her ears at Caelan’s name, hoping in her heart that Caelan would be sorted into Gryffindor.
At the staff table, Hagrid said to McGonagall, “Looks like another one’s joining Gryffindor, Professor McGonagall.” Watching Caelan walk toward her, McGonagall felt deeply gratified as well.
Though there was no concrete proof yet, she had already decided in her heart that Caelan was Fabian’s child.
Prewetts were always Gryffindors—there was no doubt about that.
Caelan first bowed politely to the staff table, then thanked Professor McGonagall, who was officiating the ceremony.
“Thank you, Professor McGonagall.” This polite and elegant demeanor pleased Professor McGonagall even more.
Look at that—a model student!
Gryffindor needed students like this.
With him around, Gryffindor would surely earn plenty of points and put an end to Slytherin’s seven-year House Cup winning streak.
At the thought, McGonagall’s usually stern face softened, and she even patted the dust off the Sorting Hat.
“Come, child.
Don’t be nervous.” Caelan sat on the four-legged stool and put on the Sorting Hat.
McGonagall prayed silently that the hat would sort Caelan into Gryffindor, failing to notice Dumbledore behind her looking hesitant.
The moment the Sorting Hat touched Caelan’s head, its brim and tip snapped straight up.
“Ha!
A Prewett…
How long has it been since I last heard that name?
Oh, you are quite strange…” A tiny voice murmured in Caelan’s ear.
The Sorting Hat seemed troubled, muttering repeatedly, “Difficult, difficult.” “How about…” Seeing the Sorting Hat in such a dilemma, Caelan offered his suggestion, “let me go to Hufflepuff.” Hufflepuff had the largest student body.
While it might not seem prominent during school years, once you graduated, you’d realize your seniors were scattered across the entire wizarding world.
Even Newt Scamander, author of *Fantastic Beasts and Where to Find Them*, the essential textbook for Hogwarts first-years, was a Hufflepuff.
That was a massive network of connections.
“Don’t be ridiculous,” the Sorting Hat scoffed.
“Hufflepuff is the least suitable place for you.” “Don’t you take the student’s preference into account?” “Yes, yes, but that only applies when your traits are balanced and you could fit into any house.
If every young wizard just picked whatever house they wanted, what would be the point of me?” the Sorting Hat grumbled.
“Your courage is decent, and your heart…
well, quite interesting.
Gryffindor might be fine.
Oh, you also appreciate knowledge and possess wisdom—and, of course, you know how to leverage that wisdom, so Ravenclaw fits you too.
But that’s not enough.
Let me look deeper…” Time ticked by, second by second.
“Aha!
Found it!” The Sorting Hat twitched its tip happily.
“Ambition.” “You thirst for knowledge and power only because they will help fulfill your ambition.
Slytherin will grant you opportunity—glory and victory are yours for the taking.” Perhaps thrilled to have solved a tough challenge, the Sorting Hat sounded lighthearted as it added, “You wanted Hufflepuff earlier for connections, didn’t you?
You’ll gain far more in Slytherin.” Put that way, it was true.
Caelan never considered himself mediocre, nor did he shrink from using lies, deception, knowledge, or brute force.
These were merely stepping stones and means to reach the top.
Was he to blame?
Of course not.
As an orphan in London, he knew better than anyone how brutal survival was.
Losing his father early and his mother in childhood, the harshness of life had gnawed at his flesh and blood like an invisible beast, while simultaneously nourishing his ambition.
He lied, cheated, and orchestrated schemes all to climb higher step by step.
He liked possessing; he loathed losing.
“Yes, yes!
That’s the way.” The Sorting Hat bellowed: “SLYTHERIN!” Sparse applause broke out at the Slytherin table.
In stark contrast to the lukewarm reaction, many students were stunned, looking utterly incredulous.
How could Caelan be sorted into Slytherin?!
Hermione and Neville stood mouth agape.
They couldn’t comprehend how the Sorting Hat could make such a decision.
He was such a kind, gentle person, nothing like those Slytherin students!
McGonagall picked up the Sorting Hat in disbelief, inspecting it as if wondering if the old hat had grown senile.
Fred and George let out loud boos.
How could a Prewett end up in Slytherin?
Dumbledore’s expression grew even graver.
An orphanage…
Slytherin House…
and if he turned out to be a half-blood…
Didn’t this scene seem eerily familiar?