“Of course, Mr. Potter!”
Not at all timid, Draco drew his wand with a sharp, practiced motion, gripping it in a proper stance as he declared loudly, “Lumos!”
As he cast the spell, a faint white light sprouted from the tip of his wand.
Tilting his head up, he looked around with an arrogant air, seemingly hoping to catch glimpses of envy and admiration on the faces of the other young wizards.
Before his eyes could settle on anyone, however, a voice rang out from another boat not far away.
“Lumos!”
The female voice was clear and crisp.
A far brilliant burst of white light flared up, easily outshining the illumination on Draco’s wand.
Harry looked over in surprise.
Standing at the prow of a nearby boat was the brown-haired girl he had seen earlier on the platform, holding her wand raised high.
She too held her head high, casting a defiant look over in their direction.
He recalled that her parents were both dressed in Muggle attire.
Draco’s face turned rather unsightly.
“Lumos!”
“Lumos—”
“Lu—Lumos…”
Voices floated up from one boat after another—some booming, some hesitant, others trembling with nerves.
More and more patches of white light sprouted across the fleet.
Evidently, the brown-haired girl and Draco were far from the only ones who had practiced their spellwork ahead of time.
“Potter, don’t you intend to put on a display?” Draco looked at him.
“One person providing light is enough for a single boat,” Harry replied casually.
“Are you willing to shoulder that important responsibility, Malfoy?”
“…….Of course,” Malfoy replied.
Among those attempting the magic, however, quite a few failed despite many succeeding.
After reciting the incantation, their wands showed no response whatsoever.
Some even experienced worse—
Bang!
A muted explosion echoed from one of the boats, though fortunately, the blast was contained to a small area.
In the dim light, Harry’s sharp vision caught the sight of a boy with a soot-blackened face and singed hair.
“Hey! Hey!” Hagrid called out in a panic.
“Put those wands away! Don’t go causing trouble for me!”
Shortly after, his low grumbles drifted across the water.
“Merlin’s beard… how does a young wizard manage to turn a Light Charm into an Explosion Charm?”
Following the mishap, a few eager students timidly lowered their wands.
Those who had already succeeded did not put theirs away, holding them lofted high instead.
One, two, three…
Even the brown-haired girl lowered her wand halfway through, despite hers having been the brightest of them all.
By the time they reached the shore, only Draco’s wand retained a tiny, flickering speck of light, faint though it was.
Proficiency, size of one’s magical reservoir, and…
Harry analyzed silently.
Meanwhile, Draco’s legs were trembling so badly as he stepped ashore that his face had gone terrifyingly pale.
His knees buckled, nearly sending him sprawling onto the stone pavement.
Crabbe and Goyle caught him by either arm, hauling him back to his feet.
“I’m—I’m done for. My father said the Sorting Ceremony is very dangerous, but I don’t have the energy left to cast a single spell,” Draco stammered through trembling lips as the two held him upright.
“…Perhaps you could use some assistance, Mr. Malfoy?” Harry looked at him with a subtle expression.
“Tell me, do you have any money?” he asked.
“What are you getting at?” Draco asked, while the other students were already following Hagrid toward the castle in the distance.
“Three gold Galleons, Mr. Malfoy, and you’ll have plenty of stamina to face the upcoming Sorting Ceremony,” Harry prompted, retrieving the glass phial Professor Snape had given him from his small pouch.
It was a Vigor Tonic.
He had already learned the name of this potion, along with its market value.
After his own use, only a tiny drop remained inside the bottle—roughly a single spoonful.
“A potion?” Draco stared intently at the slender glass phial.
“There’s barely anything left in there. It’s not worth three gold Galleons.”
“No, it is worth it. Without it, do you think you’ll have the energy to endure the trial?” Harry asked, adding a boast.
“Besides, the value of a potion lies in its quality. This is a master’s work; a single sip will tell you it’s genuine high-tier stock, fit only for aristocracy.”
Draco weighed his options.
In the end, he paid three gold Galleons to secure the last remaining bit of Vigor Tonic in Harry’s hand.
Harry tucked the three gold Galleons into his small pouch with a pleasant smile, following the crowd toward the castle interior.
Accompanied by a loud —Slurp!, Draco quickly caught up with a spring in his step.
“Hey! What potion was that? The effect is astonishing!”
He had returned to his haughty, noble young master persona—his stride steady, his cheeks flushed with healthy color.
“Worth every knut, Mr. Malfoy,” Harry replied with a smile.
“Should you ever need more in the future, you’re welcome to purchase other potions from me.”
This was a major prospective client.
From the looks of it, though this boy was as foolish as Dudley, he was at least wealthy and thoroughly willing to spend his money.
He had value after all.
“…Did you brew that potion yourself?” Draco asked, somewhat stunned.
“No, but I will have the ability to brew potions of that quality in the future, trust me,” Harry replied confidently.
“Unless, of course, you’d prefer buying those cheap, low-grade potions of inconsistent quality on the open market.”
“…….Naturally, if you can brew potions of this caliber, I’d be more than happy to buy from you,” Draco replied. Get faster updates on g.com.
“A wise decision, though the price will have to be fair,” Harry reminded him.
“High-quality potions yield far superior results. You understand, of course—they’ll run slightly higher than market price…”
He gestured with his fingers, “Just a few extra Galleons—say, five or six.”
Hogwarts was even grander than Harry had imagined, featuring living portraits and roaming ghosts floating through the halls.
The divide between life and death seemed far less absolute to wizards.
Moreover, the appearance of the ghosts brought back a few unpleasant memories for Harry—such as Salazar the ‘Butcher of the Sea’ and the Silent Mary!
That damned, bloodthirsty brute had wrecked the maritime order he had established!
Having lingered behind to strike a deal with Draco, the group arrived in a hurry, only to find the other young wizards already lined up.
They had no choice but to fall in at the very back of the line.
“Welcome to Hogwarts. The start-of-term feast will begin shortly, but before you take your seats in the Great Hall, you must first be sorted into your houses…”
A tall, dark-haired witch clad in emerald-green robes stood before the main doors, sternly explaining the upcoming procedures to them.
Professor McGonagall—Deputy Headmistress of the school, Head of Gryffindor, Transfiguration Professor, and the exceptionally strict, fair witch Cedric had described.
Once finished with her explanation, she led the group out of the chamber, across the entrance hall, and through a set of double doors into the Great Hall.
The first thing that caught Harry’s eye were four long tables extending from the entrance all the way to the far end of the hall.
Covered in dark tablecloths, golden plates and goblets gleamed with a warm luster beneath thousands of floating candles.
Hmph.
His eyes dimmed slightly—they were fake, not real gold.
Though he had only spared them a passing glance without touching them, he could already tell they were merely ordinary brass.
At the high table sat the staff, including Hagrid, Professor Snape, and Dumbledore seated in the middle.
The rest of the professors were unfamiliar to him for the time being.
Professor McGonagall took her stand before the line of first-years, unrolled a scroll of parchment, and cleared her throat.
Through her introduction, Harry finally understood that the so-called Sorting Ceremony was nothing more than a hat.
A talking hat.
Putting on the hat would determine which house suited a young wizard best.
Sounds like it can read minds, just like Dumbledore and Snape, Harry thought to himself as the hat inexplicably broke into song.
Suddenly, he froze mid-thought, his frame tensing as his eyes subtly scanned their surroundings.
Harry sensed danger.
An indescribable intuition—an instinct he had relied upon for survival during his years as a pirate.
It was like the sudden jolt that hit Harry in the dead of night whenever someone tried to sneak aboard under cover of darkness, prompting a sudden urge to patrol the deck.
He had always acted on those instincts, and he had indeed caught those sneaky intruders every single time.
The high windows, the professors at the staff table, the shadows behind the side pillars, even the gaps between the floating candles overhead…
There was nothing.
That killer intent had flared up abruptly and vanished just as quickly.
Yet years of adventurous experience told Harry that he needed to be far more cautious.
He needed power.