The steam train, which had been in service for over a century, came to a halt at Hogsmeade Station.
This wizarding village was slightly different from what Raven remembered; there was no telling how many times it had been renovated since then.
As the only all-wizard settlement in Great Britain, this place had seen its fair share of disasters and was a frequent fixture in History of Magic textbooks.
However, with the rise of Muggle megacities in the twentieth century, wizards living among Muggle society increasingly preferred to do their shopping in London’s Diagon Alley.
After all, Floo powder was an expense.
For wizards living in London, Apparating to the Leaky Cauldron was a much more time-and-effort-saving option.
Consequently, this pre-nineteenth-century wizarding trade hub looked somewhat dilapidated through Raven’s eyes, which now spanned a gap of one hundred years.
Beneath the pedestrian footbridge crossing the railway, a towering figure held up a kerosene lamp, calling out to the young wizards as they disembarked.
The figure was a staggering 12.7 feet tall—a mini-giant wearing a dark brown moleskin coat, his hair and beard a wild, tangled mess.
Since his height was slightly greater than the clearance of the footbridge, the giant had to stoop slightly.
This mildly comical sight did a little to dispel the anxiety in the young wizards’ hearts.
The giant was about to call out to the young wizards, lifting his lamp, when he seemed to remember something and lowered it again.
“Dunno why Dumbledore wanted me to shout it like this this year,” the giant muttered.
Reaching into one of his many pockets—he had far too many of them—the giant rummaged through several before finally pulling out a scrap of paper.
Holding it under the lamp, he read it while shouting to the young wizards, “First-years, this way please! To the boats, hurry along!”
“Hagrid! Good to see you again,” Harry greeted him warmly, walking quickly to Hagrid’s side.
“Ah, haha! Harry, you’re here! Sorry, because Professor Dumbledore added some last-minute arrangements, I didn’t get a chance to say hello beforehand,” Hagrid apologized.
Meanwhile, Raven, the culprit behind those arrangements, was currently explaining the Sorting ceremony to Ron Weasley.
“Where the troll’s weak point is, what attacks will drive it into a frenzy… The professors sort you based on your performance. The outstanding ones are fought over by the Heads of Houses to become their personal disciples. Those who just coast and go AFK get sorted into Hufflepuff, where they have to cook for the top Slytherin students every day and wash Professor Snape’s hair. And every year, some young wizards die at the hands of the trolls. Headmaster Dumbledore gathers their remains afterward and says to them, ‘I am so sorry.'”
Poor Ron, already eleven years old, was still constantly pranked by George and Fred.
As his older brother, Raven felt duty-bound to build up his resistance so he wouldn’t be fooled by the low-level tricks of those two troublemakers.
Humming a tune about the light of righteousness shining upon the earth, Raven walked over to Harry’s side with Ron.
They had reached the Black Lake.
Under Hagrid’s guidance, the young wizards boarded the boats in turn, each vessel equipped with a magical lantern.
Guided by the lanterns, the small boats glided across the water toward the Hogwarts boathouse.
As the [Hedwig’s Theme Variation] began to play, its melody gradually swelling into a magnificent, sweeping orchestral arrangement, Hogwarts Castle came into view.
With its towering, pointed turrets, the massive castle looked as though it had stepped right out of a fairy tale.
Discarding their pre-Sorting anxieties, every one of them cast looks of immense anticipation at the campus where they would live for the next seven years.
The boats docked in the boathouse, and Hagrid led the young wizards up the steps from the bottom of the cliff, climbing toward the main castle.
Professor McGonagall was already waiting at the top of the stairs.
Outside the Great Hall.
Seeing that Professor McGonagall had something to say, Raven lowered his wand, which had been humming all this time, and shut off the music.
“Thank you, Mr. Weasley,” Professor Minerva McGonagall said, nodding to Raven.
After all, Gryffindor practically specialized in adopting Weasleys, and this one seemed at least far more stable and reliable than his twin brothers.
Clearly, thanks to those two “sleeping dragons and fledgling phoenixes” in his family, this lady’s expectations for Raven were surprisingly low.
After briefly introducing the four Houses and the house points system to the first-years, the Deputy Headmistress had to arrange the Sorting ceremony.
Professor McGonagall then stepped into the Great Hall, leaving the little ones to wait at the entrance for further notice.
“Trevor!”
The silence was broken by a chubby, round-faced boy with blonde hair.
The toad he had been searching for the entire journey had just been kicked right onto his face by someone.
It seemed he really did love that toad.
With the tense atmosphere broken, the young wizards began to chatter excitedly.
After all, they were still just a bunch of eleven-year-old children.
A thin boy with pale blonde hair approached Raven alone, without his usual lackeys, and held out his hand.
“Hello, Brother Raven. My father asked me to send you his regards. I’m Draco—Draco Malfoy.”
Raven chose to accept the Malfoys’ goodwill.
He reached out to shake Draco’s hand, while also calling Ron and Harry over to introduce them.
“So the rumors on the train were true. Harry Potter has come to Hogwarts. Welcome back to the wizarding world, and welcome back to the sacred circle of pure-blood families, Potter.” Draco shook Harry’s hand as well.
Before Harry could ask what a pure-blood family meant, Professor McGonagall walked back out and tapped Draco lightly on the back of the neck with a roll of parchment.
The first-years filed into the Great Hall.
Thousands of floating candles illuminated the lower half of the hall as bright as day, while the enchanted ceiling above mirrored the starry night sky outside.
The students of the four Houses, wearing pointed hats of black velvet, sat at four long tables.
From left to right, they were:
Slytherin, with its green-and-silver crest depicting a serpent.
Hufflepuff, with its yellow crest depicting a badger.
Gryffindor, with its red crest depicting a lion.
Ravenclaw, with its blue crest depicting an eagle.
A set of exquisite tableware lay before every student, yet at this moment, no one was paying attention to the upcoming feast.
All eyes were fixed on the arriving first-years.
Professor McGonagall gathered the first-years in front of the staff table and told them to wait a moment.
The Headmaster was about to address the students regarding the start-of-term notices.
Raven took this time to observe the professors at the high table: the greasy-haired Severus Snape; Voldemort, riding his mount named Quirinus Quirrell, staring at Harry with a turban-wrapped head; the goblin-blooded Professor Filius Flitwick…
By the time Raven tuned back into Dumbledore’s speech, he only caught the words “…the corridor on the right-hand side of the third floor.”
Good, he would definitely go have a look.
Professor McGonagall then stepped forward with her scroll, calling out the first-years’ names alphabetically by surname to begin the Sorting.
“Hannah Abbott!”
“Hufflepuff!” After all, her surname started with an ‘A’—unless one put a punctuation mark before their name, there was no escaping being first.
…
“Hermione Granger!”
“Gryffindor!”
Every time a House claimed a new student, the older years at their table would erupt in cheers to welcome them.
“Draco Malfoy!”
“Slytherin!” This time, the Sorting Hat didn’t even pause before declaring Malfoy’s house.
“Ron Weasley!”
The brim of the hat slid over Ron’s forehead, the crown enveloping his red hair.
“Another Weasley! Well, I know just what to do with you—Gryffindor!”
Raven was preparing to step up next, but the next name called was not his.
In fact, he wasn’t even the last one on the standard list.
Once the first-year Sorting was complete, Dumbledore tapped his goblet and stood up to speak.
“This year, we have a very special student with us: a second-year transfer student from Beauxbatons. The last time we admitted a student mid-course was a hundred years ago. In accordance with tradition, he will first be sorted and then placed in the year corresponding to his age. However, his end-of-term results must meet the satisfaction of his Head of House. Now, would Mr. Raven Nicholas Weasley please step forward for his Sorting.” Find the original chapter at novelping.com.
Under the watchful eyes of the Weasley family, Raven walked up to the dais.
He sat [obediently] on the stool, allowing Professor McGonagall to place the dirty hat upon his head.
The old hat was panicking—utterly terrified.
Because right in front of its eyes stood a man.
But it was just a hat; it had no eyes, and it certainly shouldn’t be able to “see” anyone.
Yet here in its inner mindscape, a black-haired man stood before it.
He wore round sunglasses, khaki trousers, and a dark red waistcoat.
His outer garment was a black cloak made of fabric adorned with intricate, grayish-white vine-and-leaf patterns.
The main body of the cloak was embroidered with gold thread, its hem detailed with a broad band of golden leaves and a single acorn.
On his back was a badger standing in the center of the leaf pattern.
This was none other than the Hufflepuff Relic House Uniform.
The old hat knew this man.
The transfer student from a hundred years ago whom Dumbledore had just mentioned was him.
He was also the one whom certain magical races later dubbed [The Ancient Dark Lord], all because he had monopolized ancient magic—and Hogwarts itself was a bastion built on ancient magic.
The old hat had once fallen victim to his cruel hands.
That man…
that monster had actually thrown it into a Muggle washing machine!
And washed it for what felt like nine hundred times?
Or maybe a thousand?
The old hat couldn’t quite remember; no one would ever want to keep such horrifying memories.
The old hat didn’t know why it was hallucinating like this today, of all days, or why it was remembering that fellow.
Believing it was just a glitch in its memory bank, the old hat shook its brim, attempting to leave this mindscape.
It remembered there was still a young wizard waiting to be sorted.
But then, it felt its tip being grabbed in a vice-like grip.
A familiar voice rang out, sounding exactly as it had when throwing it into the washing machine:
“Me. Sorting. You. Play nice. Keep your mouth shut afterward. Got it?” the black-haired man growled at the Sorting Hat.
The old hat understood.
It understood completely.
This scourge was back!
Inside the Great Hall of Hogwarts, not much time had passed.
Raven was still waiting for Professor McGonagall to place the Sorting Hat on his head.
This time, resting atop his red hair, the Sorting Hat seemed far less decisive, its tone carrying a distinct hint of inquiry.
“H… Hufflepuff?”
Raven gave an almost imperceptible nod.
Only then did the old hat safely fall silent.
It was too terrifying!
The shock was far too great!
It needed some quiet, solitary time to cope.