“My god, he actually did what we’ve always wanted to do but never had the courage to!” “Is there really something wrong with the Sorting Hat?
A warrior like that belongs in Gryffindor!” The little lions of Gryffindor were the most enthusiastic and excited about Leon’s actions, showering him with praise while questioning the Sorting Hat’s decision.
Unfortunately, this wave of noise was cut short by a single glance from Professor McGonagall.
Leon, paying no mind to the Sorting Hat—which currently looked no different from any other hat—nodded at Professor McGonagall with a smile.
“Professor, the hat was a bit dirty.
I just tidied it up a little; that shouldn’t be against school rules, should it?” “Of course not.” Professor McGonagall looked at Leon with a complex expression, then at the Sorting Hat, and finally let her gaze drift over Dumbledore, who was smiling unabashedly.
Ultimately, she decided to act as if nothing had happened.
Having received Professor McGonagall’s affirmation, Leon stopped wasting time.
He glanced at Hermione and Neville, who were casting concerned looks his way from the Gryffindor table, gave them a wave, and then turned to walk toward the Slytherin table.
Was Leon angry that the final result of the Sorting ceremony was Slytherin?
Not really.
As he had said, the four houses were the same; the content taught was identical, and there were no special advantages regarding academics in any house.
Entering Slytherin was, for Leon, nothing more than a bit of extra trouble.
But looking at it from another angle, it might not be a bad thing.
For starters, standing in the Slytherin ranks meant his “favorability” with Snape would passively increase by +1.
With this protective Head of House, there would be room to maneuver when dealing with future troubles, provided they didn’t involve matters of principle.
As for the mindless sycophants of pure-blood supremacy and their arrogant discrimination?
That was even less of an issue.
Leon had his own advantages: he was a half-blood—which meant Snape’s favorability would increase by another +1—and he already mastered several spells applicable to real combat.
They might be insignificant against upperclassmen, but against fellow freshmen, he could likely crush them.
By the nature of Slytherin, as long as your fist is hard enough, you can live quite comfortably.
Not to mention, Dumbledore’s indulgence during the earlier testing convinced Leon that the old man held no prejudice against him.
Therefore, joining Slytherin wouldn’t result in a -1 to Dumbledore’s favorability.
When all conditions were weighed, the Slytherin result was actually a high-quality choice.
“Draco Malfoy!” While he was lost in thought, Leon had reached the Slytherin table.
The little blond boy, whose hair was combed in an adult style, immediately extended his right hand to introduce himself.
“Leon John.” Leon reached out to shake Draco’s hand and stated his name.
“Pure-blood?
Or half-blood?” After the brief greeting, Draco asked impatiently.
“Half-blood.” Leon didn’t hide it.
Upon hearing this answer, Draco’s enthusiasm diminished significantly.
He didn’t give him a cold shoulder, however; he just nodded politely, shifted his seat, and chose to squeeze in next to his two lackeys.
Leon merely smiled indifferently and sat down in the spot Malfoy had vacated.
He nodded and smiled to those around him, and although no words were exchanged, his display of goodwill was met with nods from several people.
It was fairly harmonious; there was no exclusion as Leon had anticipated.
Having determined that he wouldn’t need to resort to physical force for the time being, Leon turned his gaze toward the staff table.
Although their appearances differed significantly from the actors in the movies, the distinct personal characteristics of each famous professor allowed Leon to identify them.
The smallest was Professor Flitwick, the Charms master.
The slightly plump woman with a constant smile on her face must be Professor Sprout, who taught Herbology.
His own Head of House, Professor Snape, was the easiest to recognize.
His greasy, clumping long black hair, gloomy face, and the “stay away” aura radiating from his entire being made him stand out strikingly at the staff table.
And compared to his powerful presence, the small, frail-looking fellow next to him, wrapped in a turban and exuding a weak, submissive aura, had to be this year’s final boss—Professor Quirrell, who was possessed by the soul remnant of Voldemort.
Of course, the most conspicuous of all was the old man sitting in the very center of the staff table with a white beard and hair: the famous Albus Dumbledore.
The seemingly kind old man possessed a sharpness beyond the ordinary.
The moment Leon’s gaze landed on him, he sensed its source.
He smiled and met Leon’s eyes, even playfully winking and making a gesture for him to wait a moment.
Just then, the Sorting ceremony concluded.
As Professor McGonagall returned to the staff table with the Sorting Hat, Dumbledore stood up impatiently.
With an unstoppable, enthusiastic smile, he spread his arms and shouted aloud: “Welcome to Hogwarts for the start of the new school year!
Before we begin our feast, I would like to say a few words: Nitwit!
Blubber!
Oddment!
Tweak!
Thank you!” After finishing this strange, incoherent, and confusing preamble, Dumbledore sat back down.
As he did, the tables for the four houses and the staff were instantly filled with a variety of delicacies.
Roast beef, roast chicken, pork chops, lamb chops, sausages, boiled potatoes, roast potatoes, potato chips, puddings, carrots—the spread included both meat and vegetables.
Leon even saw a large pile of crystal-clear candies that gave off a scent of peppermint.
Judging by this arrangement, Leon knew that the person in charge of the Hogwarts banquet must be a true connoisseur.
The presence of mints at this occasion was meant to cleanse any lingering pungent flavors from the palate, providing diners with a more refined experience to appreciate the true taste of the food.
Once the food was served, everyone’s attention focused on it, with only one thought in their minds: filling their stomachs.
Leon was no exception.
Although he didn’t care much for British cuisine, the food here didn’t fall into that category.
While the cooking methods were limited to roasting, steaming, boiling, and cold tossing, there was no denying that every ingredient had reached its full potential and released its proper flavor, ensuring the ingredients didn’t die in vain.
Leon knew that the Hogwarts kitchen was run by hundreds of house-elves, and he knew how to enter it.
Originally, if he were a Hufflepuff badger, the kitchen would have been his regular haunt.
Now, as a little snake in Slytherin, he was a bit further from the entrance, but given the nature of house-elves, Leon didn’t think he would be turned away just because of his house.
To Leon, that was a wonderful place.
Even if he couldn’t make use of the ingredients, materials like seasonings weren’t limited by his system.
With the Hogwarts kitchen, at the very least, he wouldn’t need to figure out how to get spices on his own, and he could even borrow the kitchen’s cookware and stoves to cook for himself.
Thinking of this, Leon swallowed a piece of charred, fragrant lamb and made up his mind.
He would make a trip to the kitchen in his spare time to scout the location and get familiar with the staff.