The Sorting Hat, at Dumbledore's head, shouted, somewhat reluctantly, "Gryffindor."
Dumbledore stood up contentedly and handed the Sorting Hat to Professor McGonagall, who looked annoyed. Felix, Grindelwald, and Snape were pensive, despite their different thoughts.
Felix became more intrigued by Dumbledore's post-dinner speech. What would he say? Would he support school reforms? Grindelwald's lesson plans for this year were very targeted. Without Dumbledore's consent, that outrageous book list wouldn't exist.
Dumbledore had returned to his seat, arms open wide, and said with a radiant smile, "Nothing represents my current mood better than a hearty meal. Let's dig in!"
Then he sat down, and the feast descended from the ceiling.
Grindelwald stared wide-eyed, slightly surprised. He thought Dumbledore would at least say something.
"The headmaster never disappoints in this regard, does he, Miller?" Felix said, happily scooping ribs onto his plate. "Maybe we should establish a rule: speeches before meals shouldn't exceed ten words."
Professor McGonagall, who had just sat down, hummed softly, her eyes fixed on Dumbledore.
"Better add another one, no sudden madness allowed."
Unfortunately, they didn't exchange many words. Mr. Lovegood seemed to have upset his stomach and urgently needed to find a restroom.
Wonder if his failed interview is related to this...
"Well... new students, welcome to Hogwarts; returning students, welcome back!" Dumbledore emotionally wiped the corner of his eye. "What awaits you is another year of magical education..."
"Administrator Felch asked me to convey... Quidditch tryouts will be... Spell assessment and retest personnel list..."
Students lazily listened, half-drowsy; these were all old and familiar topics.
"This year, the school welcomed two new professors, and there were some minor changes in the existing faculty. First, let's welcome Professor Slughorn, who has worked with me and is an experienced professor in Potions..."
"Potions?" The students widened their eyes, staring at the elderly wizard who stood up, enthusiastically waving to them. He was dressed in a fine vest, his belly too large to button, and his bald head reflected light from above as he turned.
"Exactly—" Hermione lightly tapped the table with her fist.
"Exactly what?" Ron asked puzzled. Like most students, his gaze shifted between the new professor and Snape, wearing an expression of anticipation.
"Didn't you notice there's one more professor this year? I originally thought—"
"At the same time, Professor Bathsheda and Professor Snape," Dumbledore said with his usual expression, just slightly raising his volume, "will jointly teach Defense Against the Dark Arts."
Hermione took a breath. For original chapters go to novel•fire.net
"Indeed arranged ! Well, Professor Snape has gotten what he wished for."
The students' discussions grew louder. "I'm only concerned about who will teach the sixth year," Ron said. At this point, Professor Bathsheda politely stood up to acknowledge, while Snape lazily extended a hand and won cheers from Slytherin students.
Ron gritted his teeth. "Such a disparity. Though I dislike Snape too, but compared to a mute—"
"Ron!" Hermione warned.
Ron shrugged, "Okay... I won't say it, but the problem is there, can't pretend not to see it, everyone knows how to choose..."
Dumbledore waited for Grindelwald to sit down before continuing, "The two professors will collaborate, Professor Snape will be responsible for teaching first to fifth years, and Professor Bathsheda will handle the advanced class..."
Slytherin House erupted in loud boos, expressing their dissatisfaction with their head of house.
Even Harry was quite surprised. Currently, only Slytherin students were clearly opposing, the other three houses had a mediocre response. That was because they didn't know that Mr. Bathsheda was mute; if they did, it would probably cause a commotion.
Harry looked towards the professors' table, couldn't help but worry for Mr. Bathsheda, but his expression remained unchanged.
In some corner of his mind, Harry breathed a sigh of relief. Although he hadn't taken a class with Mr. Bathsheda yet, at least there wouldn't be many opportunities to interact with Snape this year.
A sudden thought crossed his mind; perhaps Snape also chose to teach first to fifth years for this reason.
After announcing the staff changes, Dumbledore still stood in place, apparently having something to say. The buzzing in the hall gradually subsided as students involuntarily thought about the Sorting Hat's song and Dumbledore's peculiar actions. Maybe they could find answers in his words.
"In the past year, Voldemort and his followers caused chaos, and people suffered greatly. Fortunately, we don't have to sacrifice as much of what we cherish as we did in the last war that lasted for a decade. I hope that, amidst the celebration, each of you can take even a minute—like now—to reflect on what the war brought to us."
What followed was an extremely long minute.
"I believe each of you has your own experiences. Remember the thoughts at this moment; it will help you grow, discern right from wrong. A person's thoughts change with their experiences; it's normal. I still vividly remember the Sorting Hat scene when I entered school: the Sorting Hat almost immediately made a decision. But at that moment, I didn't know where it would place me... However, one thing is certain: prejudice leads people to extremes, sparking disputes."
Dumbledore's words abruptly stopped.
"Well, you'll have enough time to ponder these troublesome questions in the future, but for now, get a good rest. I see some yawning, so... good night."
Chairs were pushed back, and Harry and the others stood up together. Their minds seemed to have already returned to warm and comfortable beds; then Harry saw Professor Snape waving to him with a serious expression.
He woke up instantly.
"What's wrong, Harry?" Ron, who was yawning endlessly, asked. By now, Hermione had already gone to guide the first-year students.
Harry looked at him deeply.
"If... um, I mean, if I don't come back, I left something in the trunk..."
"What are you talking about?" Ron rubbed his stomach.
"...Remember, the trunk." The Sorting Hat song wasn't easy; the author made it up and lost quite a few brain cells in the process.
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