Ariana took her seat gracefully at the Gryffindor table to thunderous applause.
“I knew you’d make it here!” Hermione bustled over, shoving aside Harry, who was also trying to squeeze in.
She looked thrilled, yet fraught with worry.
“But you’re way too reckless!
How on earth did you dare lay a hand on the Sorting Hat?!” “Hey!
How did it feel to smack that hat?” One of the twins leaned over—he introduced himself as Fred—looking thoroughly intrigued.
“We never even imagined you could do that!” “An absolute masterpiece!” his brother piped up in sync.
Ron jumped off his high stool and ran over, out of breath, his face glowing with excitement from getting into Gryffindor.
“I think the Hat’s voice got quieter after you hit it—did you break the poor thing?” “Impossible!
Absolutely impossible!” Ariana denied adamantly.
Broken = unusable = the culprit has to pay = she would have to shell out cash.
Out of the question!
“That hat is clearly a magical artifact.
It can’t be that fragile.” She clutched her pockets tightly, speaking with solemn conviction.
“I’ve hit so many people in my life that I know the feel.
That amount of force wouldn’t even wring a chicken’s neck!” “…” *Why are you so experienced—both at beating people up and wringing chickens’ necks?!* Ron wanted to ask.
Ron didn’t dare ask.
Ron was terrified that if her temper flared up again, she might give him a smack too.
He didn’t think her slap was light at all—that hat had nearly flown straight into Dumbledore’s soup bowl!
“Besides, when it’s a student, how could you call it hitting?” Ariana’s face flushed red, the veins on her neck bulging.
“Communicating with the Sorting Hat doesn’t count as hitting!
This is called…
hands-on communication!” She followed up with a string of baffling jargon about a “welcoming ceremony” and a “friendly exchange,” sending the Gryffindors into bursts of laughter, filling the long table with a merry atmosphere.
Fortunately, food suddenly appeared on the serving platters, diverting everyone’s attention.
Without a doubt, the spread at Hogwarts was lavish: roasted beef and lamb, potatoes and carrots cooked in various ways, savory gravy, puddings, and pea shoots—the sole splash of green on the table.
Right now, however, Ariana was far more interested in something else.
She loaded her plate high with food and dug in, using the time to observe her future teachers.
The first person to catch her eye was Dumbledore, sitting dead center.
His long white beard practically glowed under the lights.
As if sensing her gaze, Dumbledore looked up and gave her a playful wink.
*Dumbledore didn’t rush down to beat me up or expel me.* *What I did just now wasn’t a big deal!* Ariana’s spine straightened instantly—she was convinced Dumbledore wasn’t angry!
*Hehe.* She rewarded herself with a massive bite of a lamb chop.
She also recognized the professor wearing a turban—she remembered seeing him leave the Leaky Cauldron the moment Dumbledore arrived.
It seemed that even with a mild-mannered boss like Dumbledore, subordinates still preferred not to bump into him during their time off.
If you asked her, though, her favorite was the hook-nosed professor sitting next to the turbaned one.
Black hair, dark eyes, sallow skin, and a scowling face that practically screamed danger.
Yet for some strange reason, Ariana felt a bizarre sense of warmth toward him.
She heard someone nearby whisper that he was Professor Snape.
Just at that moment, Professor Snape looked over.
Amid the sound of Harry sharp, painful hiss beside her, Ariana flashed the professor a sweet, dutiful smile.
*Hello, Teacher.* The teacher ignored her and turned his head away.
Ariana tilted her head and comforted herself with another giant mouthful of beef.
Snape turned his eyes away, expressionless.
*Hmph.
Potter.* *Hmph.
A classic, brainless Gryffindor cub who dared to strike the Sorting Hat on her very first day.
Who knows if she left her brain on the train with her luggage.* *The quality of Hogwarts applicants gets worse every year.
Irritating just to look at.* *The worst part is, he has to teach them every year.* *Even more irritating.* Out of the corner of his eye, he saw Dumbledore stand up, looking like he was about to speak—the old bumblebee was going to start buzzing again.
This was the most annoying part of all.
Under Snape’s dark scowl, Dumbledore thoughtfully waited until everyone finished eating before announcing a few reminders.
A bunch of school rules—no entering the Forbidden Forest, no going into the fourth-floor corridor, and so on.
Ariana registered them with her ears.
Of course, she was a very good child.
She wouldn’t break school rules just for the sake of breaking them.
Or so she rated herself.
However, she had rewarded herself a bit too much with food.
By the time she dragged her round belly and hauled herself through Gryffindor’s circular portrait hole, she felt like the mountain of food was about to spill back out of her throat.
*I need to watch it a bit in the future.* She lay on the soft, plush bed with her bloated belly sticking up, engaging in self-reflection.
Traveling all day had already made her sleepy, and combined with the post-feast lethargy, Ariana’s eyes began to heavy as she reflected.
A split second before falling asleep, she peered through her fluttering eyelashes at the deep crimson bed curtains.
*Since my bed is at the very end,* she thought drowsily, *maybe I could cut off the side facing the wall and send it back to the orphanage.
It would make four or five red hats for the kids.* *Or maybe a red dress for Mrs.
Brown.
Her clothes are all faded white.* *Anyway, once the outer drapes are drawn, no one will notice a missing side.* She was simply too exhausted.
The accumulated fatigue surged over her, and before she could formulate a detailed plan, she drifted off to sleep.
The pale moonlight spilled through the windowpanes, resting gently on her smiling face.