52: The Banquet! Dark Arts Defense!

Caught between sheer terror and dread for the future, Daphne chose to embrace a state of calm.

Chaos instantly erupted at the Slytherin long table.

"Is she dead?!"

A young wizard reached out, wanting to check Daphne's pulse, while professors at the staff table rose to their feet. Their movement conveniently made Severus's ungraceful ascent appear somewhat less conspicuous.

"Let me through, children, make some room."

Professor Pomona Sprout, Head of Hufflepuff House, trotted down the steps to the Slytherin table to inspect Daphne's condition.

"The child has merely fainted, likely due to excessive emotional agitation." She let out a sigh of relief, casting a glance at Dumbledore at the high table.

"The Sorting is an unforgettable milestone in the life of every young witch and wizard. Perhaps Miss Greengrass was simply overwhelmed by the excitement."

Professor McGonagall seemed to have already committed the names of most of the first-years to memory.

"Indeed so."

Dumbledore nodded, pondering for a moment. "Professor Sprout, please take her up to the hospital wing first. Later this evening, Professor Snape and I will visit as well."

With the Headmaster's arrangements settled, no one present dared to raise any objections.

"Poppy will take good care of her." Professor Sprout immediately scooped up Daphne and strode toward the heavy oak doors.

Not until she and Daphne vanished completely from sight did the young wizards lower their watchful gazes, and the professors resumed their seats at the staff table.

Only Snape remained standing.

At that moment, the expression on the Slytherin Head of House's face was utterly inscrutable, his dark, piercing eyes fixed unblinkingly upon Ian, who was still seated on the four-legged stool.

Or rather, fixed more precisely upon the Sorting Hat, which Ian had yet to lift from his head.

"Professor Snape, mind your emotions."

Not until Dumbledore spoke in a low voice did Snape sink back into his seat with a dark scowl—though he ceased staring at the Sorting Hat and instead turned his gaze upon Dumbledore, glaring at him with burning annoyance.

Looking somewhat awkward under this intense scrutiny, Dumbledore lowered his voice to soothe him. "The Sorting Hat has its own judgment. I believe it will provide you with a reasonable explanation in due time."

This was evidently not the answer Snape had hoped to receive.

However, with students of all years watching, this was hardly the time to cross-examine Dumbledore. He swiftly reined in his emotions and straightened his posture, maintaining a mask of utter indifference.

Even so, his dominant hand, thrust deep into the pocket of his black robes, was still clutching a vial of potion he had brewed just last night with a grip so fierce it seemed as though the glass container might shatter at any moment.

***

"What just happened?"

Because Ian had lingered to chat a bit longer with the Sorting Hat, gossiping about the legendary founder Ravenclaw, everything had returned to normal by the time he finally removed the hat.

He glanced toward the staff table. Dumbledore was smiling at him, while Snape sat with his head bowed low, deep in thought. The atmosphere in the Great Hall appeared entirely ordinary.

"Your sorting is complete, Mr. Prince. Please return the Sorting Hat to its place. It is almost time for the next student to come up and make their choice."

Professor McGonagall gently reminded Ian in a soft voice.

"Right away, Professor."

Ian immediately set the Sorting Hat down and walked toward the Ravenclaw table. He was once again greeted warmly by the Ravenclaw students, and one older boy even stood up to shake his hand.

Pinned to the boy's chest was a special badge, signifying that he was undoubtedly a Ravenclaw prefect.

"Dietrich Wiggins."

The sixth-year prefect introduced himself, and Ian responded with a rare, serious nod.

"Ian Prince. I look forward to your guidance in the future, senior." He shook hands with every enthusiastic classmate before taking a seat in the student section.

"No problem at all, hahaha! Perhaps we'll manage to lose fewer points in Potions class this year."

Prefect Dietrich seemed in high spirits. As some of the sharpest minds at Hogwarts, the young Ravenclaws had no trouble noticing certain intriguing peculiarities.

"Zoro Pagallor!"

On the platform, Professor McGonagall called out the name of the next student.

The sorting process continued in rapid succession.

Unsurprisingly, Cho Chang, whose name was near the end of the alphabet, remained unaffected by the ripples of history and was sorted into Ravenclaw just as she should have been. She chose to sit down right next to Ian.

Compared to other unfamiliar schoolmates, a fellow passenger from the boat ride was far easier to converse with.

"I bet Greengrass is kicking herself right now."

Cho Chang whispered her observation to Ian.

"Good heavens, I had no idea your friend hailed from such a... prominent background." Although of Chinese descent, Cho Chang was, after all, a child of a pure-blood family.

She was evidently well aware of Grindelwald.

"Merlin will look after Miss Greengrass, rest assured." Ian's primary concern at the moment was getting dinner started; he had eaten nothing all day except for breakfast that morning.

"I hope she offers you a proper apology. That kind of language was nothing short of insulting." Cho Chang did not appear particularly close to Daphne.

"Let us join in welcoming all of our new students."

***

Following the conclusion of the Sorting ceremony, Dumbledore rose to deliver his opening-term speech.

"Due to an unfortunate incident last term, Professor Hannibal was forced to cut short his tenure here at Hogwarts. Therefore, I would now like to introduce to you our new Defense Against the Dark Arts professor—Professor Ronnie Erich."

With that, Dumbledore turned his gaze toward a middle-aged wizard sitting at the staff table, who possessed a remarkably stern face and short, golden hair touched with silver at the temples.

At the mention of his name, the professor gave a polite nod to the young witches and wizards before resuming his silence with a deeply serious expression.

"Do not let our professor's lack of smiles fool you; he is unquestionably an expert in the field of Defense Against the Dark Arts. Furthermore, I am confident he will prove to be an exceptionally fine instructor and companion."

Ian paid little attention to Dumbledore's introduction.

After all, a stranger with such a name would likely only last a single year at Hogwarts. He wondered where Dumbledore managed to source these expendable faculty members every single time.

Yes, expendable.

The Defense Against the Dark Arts post had long been cursed by You-Know-Who, and any wizard daring enough to take up the position almost invariably met with misfortune or disaster within the span of a single year.

Injured severely at best.

Ripped to pieces or worse.

Tournaments like the Triwizard Tri-Wizard event were mere child's play by comparison. The teachers brave enough to step into the Defense Against the Dark Arts role were the true heroes.

They were the genuine brave-hearts.

"I imagine you are all feeling quite hungry, so let us partake of the feast."

Just as Ian had finished tying his napkin and was wiping his plate down with a tissue, Dumbledore on the raised platform timely announced the commencement of the evening banquet.

He skipped the enigmatic signature speech involving "Nitwit! Blubber! Oddment! Tweak!" and simply clapped his hands once. Instantly, the empty golden platters along the long tables heaped themselves high with countless dishes.

Roast beef, lamb chops, pork ribs, roast chicken, potato chips, boiled potatoes, baked potatoes... The variety of food was vast, even if the cooking methods remained as primitive as those of Muggles.

Naturally, this did not diminish Ian's enthusiasm for devouring the meal.

He was truly so hungry his eyes were practically burning red.