Chapter 394

A click sounded as the doorknob turned; as Stark stepped inside, he momentarily dazed. When he came to, he found himself facing rippling lake water.

Stark realized he was sitting in a small boat, oar in hand… wait, hand?

Stark looked down at his hands and was astonished to find the deep creases gone—now smooth, as if returned to childhood.

Stark looked down and saw he wore a black robe, but the fit was wrong. He stood up and realized—he had truly returned to childhood, his body shrunk to about ten years old.

"What are you doing? Sit down and row!" A voice came from behind. He turned to see another child, dressed just like him, waving.

"Row? Why row?" Stark asked him.

The boy behind sighed. "Can't you see the castle ahead? That's our school—we have to row there!"

"School?" Stark turned—and the sight behind him froze him.

Above the shimmering lake, brilliant lights reflected; above that, a vast, majestic castle stood in the distance, its moonlit reflection dancing with the waves like banners fluttering at the gate of a fantasy world.

Stark stared, transfixed, at the castle. The light glowed in his brown eyes, reigniting the spark of a dream long buried beneath dusk.

"Beautiful, isn't it?" his classmate sighed. "Ever since I got my acceptance letter, I've dreamed of it dozens of times."

Stark slowly sat, gripping the oar, and began to row until the boat drifted shakily to shore. Dozens of children in black robes, like ducks herded ashore, were led up steps by a towering figure.

Stepping into the brilliantly lit hall, Stark looked up and saw endless stars and floating candles. All the children around him gazed upward, stunned by the wondrous, beautiful sight.

Then a man in a black robe, clearly a teacher, walked over, shouting: "Line up! Watch your step! Don't bump into anyone!"

Stark was jostled in the crowd, moving forward with them. Since he'd disembarked early, he stood near the front—just close enough to see the teacher organizing the line.

He wore a loose black robe, round spectacles, and what looked like a lightning-shaped scar on his forehead. Stark heard someone call him "Professor." He found it odd—the man seemed too young to be a professor.

He was about to ask, when the person seated at the head of the hall tapped his cup gently with a spoon. Stark looked up—and the candlelight blinded him.

He heard whispers beside him: "Is that the headmaster? He's so young."

"Yeah, I heard he used to teach Herbology. Just became headmaster recently."

"Shh, quiet! Sorting's about to begin!"

"Sorting? What's that?" Stark turned to ask. The student beside him blinked. "Are your parents Muggles too? But surely you read the notice in your acceptance letter?"

"This school has four houses. Which one you join depends on the Sorting Hat. I want Gryffindor—what about you?"

"Four houses? What's the difference?"

"Hmm, hard to say, but I heard Gryffindor's the best. Many famous wizards came from there. Their symbol's a lion—I love lions…"

Stark listened as the student chattered on about the four houses. He turned his head, scanning the surroundings—this place felt too real, too detailed to be a dream.

If this were a dream, it was a beautiful one. Stark stared at his palms—no wrinkles from time, only the vibrant pulse of youth in tender veins.

What was he doing at this age?

Stark thought—he certainly wasn't attending boarding school with these kids. He remembered: back then, he'd loved hanging out in Howard's lab, tinkering with mechanical parts, taking toys apart and putting them back together.

He wondered: had Shiler spent his childhood here? Did this reflect a memory—or the origin of some personality?

As he thought this, he heard the young teacher standing beside a chair, reading names from a list. Each time a name was called, a black-robed student hurried forward and sat down.

The teacher placed a hat on the student's head—and to Stark's shock, the hat spoke.

Okay, this is a dream. Anything can happen in a dream, right? Stark was thinking this when the hat suddenly shrieked: "Hufflepuff!"

Stark jumped at the shrill voice. Many students did too—whispers broke out across the hall, as if discussing Hufflepuff.

After listening a while, Stark realized they were calling names alphabetically. His turn would take a while—S names came late.

But the waiting crowd wasn't large. Soon, it was his turn. The teacher ahead called out: "Anthony Stark!"

Curious, Stark stepped forward, sat on the chair. The moment the dusty hat settled on his head, he felt a jolt—like electricity.

"Oh… oh…"

A theatrical, slightly comical voice echoed in his mind: "Another brilliant little mind… let's see…"

"Hey, wait! What's this? And this? My goodness! What have you got stuffed in your head?!"

"…"

"…Little Tony, you know the teacher standing next to you? He used to be an Auror at the Ministry of Magic—elite Auror. If I screamed, he'd arrest you on the spot!"

"Look at your brain!" the Sorting Hat suddenly raised its voice. "Flooded with Muggle nonsense! Too much… Good heavens, is your skull made of machinery? Needs oil?"

"Why are you talking so much?" Stark asked in his mind.

The hat fell silent. It had never met such a blunt student. After a pause, it said: "Which house do you want?"

Stark opened his mouth to answer, but the hat went on: "If I didn't put you in Ravenclaw, I'd tarnish my reputation. But I also see Gryffindor's courage and Hufflepuff's kindness in your heart. Where do you want to go?"

Stark hesitated. "I heard Gryffindor's the best house. Is that true?"

"No, no, no—it's just the most famous. No house is better or worse here. Only what suits you."

"Do you think Ravenclaw suits me?"

"Its founder once said a famous saying: 'Wit beyond measure is man's greatest treasure.'"

"I choose Ravenclaw," Stark said without hesitation.

"Very good!" The Sorting Hat raised its voice again—but this time, it didn't shout the name outright. Instead, it gave a long, flowing description:

"A fortunate house shall welcome once more a genius unparalleled—"

The crowd erupted in cheers, shouting their house names, eager for the next great name to come. Then the hat roared: "Wit belongs to Ravenclaw!"

As Stark rose from the chair, the teacher beside him smiled. When he returned to his seat, older students approached and said: "You'll love it here. We have the best common room, the best library, and the best minds."

The candles flickered. The festive mood continued. Laughter rang through the brilliantly lit hall. Only when Stark felt tired did the older students lead them back to their common room.

Stark had never attended boarding school, but he'd heard rumors about Catholic ones. He expected strict rules, everyone rigidly following the Bible. But he soon realized this school's magic went far beyond that.

My Ice Mountain Beauty Wife

"This is the entrance to the common room. I'm sure you've all seen it—notice the door knocker? It's our guardian. You must answer its question to enter."

The senior girl at the front lifted her chin. "The Sorting Hat recognized your wit. But every year, some fools get locked out because they can't answer. I hope that's not you."

"Today, I'll demonstrate. After this, you'll open the door yourselves."

When the door knocker spoke, Stark wasn't shocked. He convinced himself: this is a dream. That explained everything.

Once he accepted that, he found it all fascinating. Answering a door knocker's riddle seriously? That was rare.

Stepping inside, the opulence startled Stark—not because he lacked exposure, but because he'd never seen this style before. It looked like something from a novel or film.

Blue silk draped from the walls. Rows of bookshelves lined them. A large arched window spilled moonlight onto the blue carpet. Everything was wondrous, beautiful.

Thus, Stark dreamed a dream within a dream—where he went to school, attended classes, did homework. What he once saw as dull, wasteful tasks now felt enchanting, shaped by this school's spirit.

When morning light spilled into his dorm, Stark sat up, feeling a long-absent sense of ease. His otherwise monotonous childhood now held new memories. He knew it was only a dream—but even a long-missed beautiful dream could lift the heart.

Sadly, that joy lasted only until the first class. Stark heard the teacher say:

"As you know, the first lesson of the term is Charms. Here, you'll learn to cast spells with your wands. Of course, first-years study only the simplest spells."

"The powerful magic celebrated in legend—you have seven years to learn them slowly."

"So now, take out your wands…"

Stark froze at his desk.

Wand?

Magic???