Just as Charlen was lost in thought gazing at the dim yellow flames, Dumbledore’s voice snapped him back.
“Glad to see you at the feast, Charlen.
I’ve barely seen you this past month,” Dumbledore said softly.
“How is the sanctuary coming along?” “It’s mostly complete.
Right now, nearly two hundred species of Pokémon inhabit it.
If you have time, feel free to drop by for a look,” Charlen said.
“I would be delighted.
By the way, after the feast, could you come with me to my office?
I have something to discuss with you.” His half-moon spectacles glinted.
Though he appeared to be looking at Charlen, Charlen knew his gaze was subtly fixed on Quirrell.
Right from the start, Dumbledore knew Quirrell was suspicious.
Charlen nodded.
He had already guessed why Dumbledore wanted him.
It was undoubtedly to set up a defensive obstacle for the Philosopher’s Stone to test his little Savior boy.
As for making life difficult for little Tommy, Charlen was naturally more than happy to help.
Before long, the returning students began filing into the Great Hall first, taking their seats at their respective house tables.
The new students had to travel by boat, so they would arrive a bit later.
McGonagall was already waiting for them at the entrance.
“George, look!
That guy over there—looks like our new professor.” Ever since sitting down, Fred had been squirming uncomfortably, as if ants were crawling all over him.
“He’s the guy from the *Daily Prophet*!
The paper said he took down several pureblood wizards single-handedly and refused to let them go until the Aurors arrived.
But—” As soon as Fred started speaking, George immediately chimed in: “—but Dad said the Aurors actually got beaten black and blue by him too!
And it wasn’t just a few pureblood wizards, but over twenty of them!
In the end, Dumbledore had to arrive before he finally let everyone go.
That’s incredible!
I hope he teaches us Defense Against the Dark Arts this year.” Lee Jordan was dumbfounded listening to them.
He had read the *Daily Prophet*, but he hadn’t believed a word of it, thinking the paper had degenerated into sensationalist trash like *The Quibbler*.
“Wait, what are you talking about?
Is that really true?” “Of course it’s true!
You know the papers don’t dare report the full truth out in the open,” Fred said.
“Didn’t you see how many people over at the Slytherin table turned pale the moment they saw him?” Lee Jordan immediately glanced over at the Slytherin table.
Sure enough, plenty of those insufferable gits looked thoroughly dark-faced—glaring toward the staff table with hateful eyes, yet not quite daring to look him directly in the face.
This gave Lee an immense sense of satisfaction.
“Did you know?
Charlie was in the same year as him.
Bill knows him too,” Fred added.
“Charlie said this guy challenged the entire Slytherin House to single combat back in his second year.
Not a single person could beat him.” “Wait, if he’s the same age as your brother Charlie, didn’t he just graduate?
How can he be sitting in a professor’s chair?” Lee Jordan asked.
“Why not?
If you could flatten over twenty Aurors, forget being a professor—even if you went off to become the next Dark Lord, nobody would object,” George joked.
“Though, if given the choice, being a professor is definitely better.
I hope he can teach us how to flatten those Slytherins.” “But how come I’ve never heard of him since I enrolled?” “Simple!
Charlie and Bill said he was expelled in his third year,” Fred explained.
“They also said the Ministry snapped his wand back then, and everyone thought he could never learn magic again.
But clearly, they were all dead wrong.” The twins exchanged a look and burst into laughter simultaneously.
“I reckon we could give it a try—” “Better not, Mum would kill us.” Lee Jordan had no idea what they were referring to and was about to ask when he saw their Head of House, McGonagall, leading a line of new students into the hall.
He immediately shut his mouth.
The young first-years looked terribly nervous, either whispering anxiously among themselves or staring around the Great Hall in wide-eyed wonder.
At that moment, Fred whispered again, “I told little Ronnikins they’d have to wrestle a troll for the Sorting.
Look at him—he looks completely terrified.” By now, McGonagall had stepped up to the front of the long tables.
She pulled out a stool, and under everyone’s watchful eyes, placed a filthy, battered old hat on it.
The hall suddenly fell silent.
Then, right before the astonished eyes of the young wizards, the hat suddenly opened its mouth and burst into song: *Oh you may not think I’m pretty,* *But don’t judge by what you see,* *I’ll eat myself if you can find* *A smarter hat than me.* *You can keep your top hats black…* Charlen suppressed the urge to cover his ears.
The Sorting Hat’s singing was hardly pleasant; he resolved to make these bumpkin wizards appreciate Jigglypuff’s singing next time.
When the song finished, the new students finally realized that tests, battling trolls, fighting dragons, or magical exams were all baseless rumors.
In reality, the so-called Sorting Ceremony merely required putting on this hat—nothing more.
“I’m going to kill Fred!
He made it sound like we had to fight a troll,” Ron muttered angrily into Harry’s ear.
Professor McGonagall stepped forward holding a scroll of parchment.
“When I call your name, you will step forward, put on the hat, and sit on the stool to be sorted,” she announced.
“Hannah Abbott!” A pink-faced girl with blonde pigtails stumbled out of line, put on the hat—which slid right down over her eyes—and sat down.
A moment’s pause— “Pureblood—HUFFLEPUFF!” The Sorting Hat shouted.
A loud cheer erupted from the Hufflepuff table instantly.
With the first student sorted, the process moved quickly.
The nervous anticipation among the first-years turned into eager excitement as they craned their necks to watch.
Harry, however, remained extremely anxious.
He wondered if he possessed any of the noble qualities the Sorting Hat sang about, terrified it would deem him unfit and send him straight back to Privet Drive.
Being expelled before school even started would be humiliating beyond belief.
Then he spotted that unpleasant boy he had met in Diagon Alley—the one they had just gotten into a fight with on the train.
The Sorting Hat had barely touched his hair before shouting out “SLYTHERIN,” which made Harry even more determined not to end up there.
Before long, McGonagall called out his name.
“Harry Potter!” Instantly, a silence fell over the hall, followed by a torrent of excited whispers.
It seemed as though every student in the school was craning their neck to get a look.
“Potter?
Did she say Potter?” “Is it *the* Harry Potter?” Charlen noticed Snape’s gaze lock onto Harry immediately, unable to pull away for even a second, as if his eyes were glued to the boy.