Daphne chose to move towards calmness amidst horror and fear for the future.
The long table of Slytherin was instantly in chaos.
"She can’t be dead, can she!"
Some little wizards wanted to check Daphne’s breath, and other professors at the teacher’s table couldn’t help but stand up, which coincidentally made Snape’s abrupt rise seem less conspicuous.
"Let me see, children, all spread out a bit."
The head of Hufflepuff College, Professor Pomona Sprout, jogged down the stage and came to the Slytherin long table to check on Daphne’s condition.
"This child just fainted, probably due to emotional fluctuations being too intense." She also breathed a sigh of relief and glanced towards Dumbledore at the teacher’s table.
"The sorting ceremony is an unforgettable major event for every little wizard, perhaps Miss Greengrass was just overly excited because of it."
Professor McGonagall seemed to have remembered most of the little wizards’ names.
"Indeed."
Dumbledore nodded, pondering for a moment, "Let Professor Sprout take her to the school infirmary for a check, and later, I will go with Professor Snape."
The headmaster made arrangements.
Those present naturally wouldn’t object.
"Bobby will take good care of her." Professor Sprout immediately carried Daphne towards the door.
Only when their figures completely disappeared did the little wizards refocus their attention, and the professors returned to their seats at the teacher’s table.
Only Snape remained standing.
At this moment, the expression on this Slytherin head’s face was ever-changing, his piercing eyes steadfastly fixed on Ian sitting on the four-corner stool.
Or more accurately, he stared at the Sorting Hat, still not removed from Ian’s head.
"Professor Snape, mind your emotions."
Only when Dumbledore spoke softly did Snape sink back into his seat with a sullen face—no longer staring at the Sorting Hat, but glaring irritatedly at Dumbledore.
Dumbledore, feeling a bit awkward under his gaze, could only lower his voice to soothe, "The Sorting Hat has its own judgments, I believe it will provide you with a reasonable explanation."
This was evidently not the answer Snape wanted.
Yet.
In front of so many students, he couldn’t confront Dumbledore. He quickly regained control, positioning himself expressionlessly in his seat.
However.
The hand tucked into his black robe still gripped a flask of magic potion brewed last night, the force seemingly strong enough to shatter the glass container.
"What happened?"
Ian, having continued his conversation with the Sorting Hat and gossiped a bit about the former Lady Ravenclaw, found everything calm when he removed the hat.
He turned to the teachers’ table, where Dumbledore was smiling at him, while Snape kept his head down, lost in thought. The ambiance seemed entirely normal.
"Your sorting has ended, Mr. Prince, please return the Sorting Hat to its original position; the next little wizard is about to choose."
Professor McGonagall quietly reminded Ian.
"Okay, professor."
Ian immediately placed the Sorting Hat back and walked to the Ravenclaw long table, receiving a warm welcome from its students, including a handshake from a standing boy.
The boy wore a special badge, likely the Ravenclaw Prefect.
"Ditrik Wiggins."
The sixth-year Prefect introduced himself, and Ian nodded earnestly in response.
"Ian Prince, I hope in the future the seniors can care for me." He shook hands with every enthusiastic classmate, then settled in the little wizard’s area.
"Of course, no problem, haha, maybe we’ll lose fewer points in Magic Potion Class this year."
Prefect Ditrik seemed pleased. As the smartest at Hogwarts, Ravenclaw’s little wizards easily spotted interesting clues.
"Zorro Pajaro!"
Onstage, Professor McGonagall called out the next little wizard’s name.
The sorting continued continuously.
Unexpectedly.
Qiu Zhang, sorted at the end of the list, was ultimately placed in Ravenclaw, choosing to sit beside Ian.
Compared to other unfamiliar little wizards, companions who shared a boat were easier to communicate with.
"I bet Greengrass is regretting big time now."
Qiu Zhang whispered her sentiments to Ian.
"Gosh, who would’ve thought your friend had such... a notable background." Qiu Zhang, though of Chinese descent, was a child of a pure-blood family.
She was evidently aware of Grindelwald.
"Merlin will bless Miss Greengrass, don’t worry." Ian was just eager to start eating; he’d only had breakfast all day.
"I hope she properly apologizes to you; using that term is downright insulting." Qiu Zhang seemed unfamiliar with Daphne.
"Let’s give a round of applause for all the newcomers."
Upon completing the sorting, Dumbledore stood to commence the opening speech.
"Due to the unfortunate situation of Professor Hannibal last semester, he was forced to leave his post, so now, let me introduce the new term’s Defense Against the Dark Arts professor—Professor Ronnie Ehrlich."
Speaking.
Dumbledore turned to a stern-faced middle-aged wizard seated in the teachers’ table, marked by his slightly graying golden short hair.
Upon mention, the professor greeted the young wizards ahead, then maintained his stern silence.
"Despite the serious demeanor of our professor, he is an expert in Dark Arts defense, and I believe he will prove to be an outstanding professor and colleague."
Ian barely paid attention to Dumbledore’s introduction.
After all.
Such a name only likely lasts a year at Hogwarts, and it remains unclear how Dumbledore finds these expendable candidates annually.
Indeed.
Expendable.
Defense Against the Dark Arts Class was cursed by noseless Voldemort; professors daring to take the task often suffer misfortune or accidents within a year.
At best, severely injured.
At worst, shattered beyond recovery.
Events like the Goblet of Fire Tournament are just amusing distractions; these daring Dark Arts professors are the true warriors.
They are the real heroes.
"I imagine everyone is hungry; let’s enjoy the food together."
As Ian tied his napkin and wiped his plate, Dumbledore timely announced the imminent start of tonight’s feast.
He skipped the cryptic "Nitwit! Blubber! Oddment! Tweak!" phrase and simply clapped, magically filling the empty plates on the long table with delicacies.
Roast beefsteak, lamb leg, roast pork chop, roast chicken, potato chips, boiled potatoes, baked potatoes... a wide variety of ingredients cooked as primitively as Muggles.
Of course.
This wouldn’t prevent Ian from feasting enthusiastically.
He was truly starving.