Chapter 267

The carriage creaked and swayed along the road, passing through the gates to the school grounds, where tall stone pillars on either side seemed to hold something unseen; in the distance, the towering towers of Hogwarts Castle loomed faintly against the night sky, windows glowing with crimson light.

The carriage clattered to a stop. Harry glanced at the dark grounds and suddenly remembered what had caught his attention: Hagrid's hut was dark.

Students surged into the entrance hall, where those in the Great Hall chatted merrily, exchanging summer news, inspecting each other's new hairstyles and outfits. Harry couldn't help but notice: every time he passed, people wore expressions of delight, many bowing or clapping. He smiled awkwardly, forcing himself to appear calm.

Harry and Ron headed toward Gryffindor's table; the crowd parted for them, revealing two empty seats at the center of the long table—Neville and Hermione sat beside them, near the end closest to the staff table; while Ivy and Ginny sat closer to the entrance hall.

"What's all this?" Harry sat down and looked around; the Weasley twins sat directly diagonally across from him, and directly opposite was Nearly Headless Nick.

"Prefects must sit in the most important central positions," Ivy said. "And Gryffindor has someone even more important than a prefect."

"If it's just about taking seats, fine," Harry shrugged, turning his gaze to the staff table.

Snape sat in the golden high-backed chair at the center of the staff table, wearing a sleek, glossy black robe with white buttons, no hat, his greasy hair hanging loose. He leaned slightly toward an elderly man beside him, wearing black-rimmed glasses, speaking elegantly. The man wore a well-tailored navy suit and a red-striped tie. His silver hair was neatly combed back, his chin cleanly shaven, a faint, elusive smile lingering at the corner of his mouth.

"Who is he?" Harry frowned. "If he's the Defense Against the Dark Arts professor, why is he sitting next to the headmaster?"

"Wait," Ron said casually. "Old Bat will introduce him soon enough."

"Why do you call Professor Snape 'Old Bat'?" Ivy asked.

"What's that? Neville calls Dumbledore 'Old Bee.'" Ron propped his chin on his hand, gazing toward the entrance hall. Harry followed his gaze: Professor McGonagall carried a stool upon which sat the filthy, tattered Sorting Hat.

First-years, tense and nervous, along with all other students and staff, waited for the Sorting Hat's action—then it began singing loudly.

"Years ago I met a genius; I considered placing him in Slytherin, for I saw his noble blood and lofty ideals; I thought of Ravenclaw, for his eyes sparkled with reason; I considered Gryffindor, for his unmatched courage and thirst for adventure; perhaps Hufflepuff, for his humility, diligence, and strength!"

"A genius sits beside you, and the Sorting Hat stands before you—I must place you in one of four houses. This is my duty, and my warning: if the four houses grow too united, perhaps there should be no sorting at all!"

As it continued describing the houses' traits, Hermione leaned over and whispered, "He's changed the tune—it's odd. Could he be praising Harry too?"

"Before you worry about this," Ron tapped the table, "don't assume the Sorting Hat's gender."

"I'm not joking!" Hermione snapped. "If the Sorting Hat is acting strangely, it means Hogwarts is in danger!"

"If it gave a warning, then yes," Nearly Headless Nick said. "But perhaps it's just feeling like a change of tune today? The Sorting Hat reads newspapers too."

"I think the newspapers are problematic, but I haven't found what's wrong yet," Harry said seriously; a persistent unease had lingered in his chest. "I'll stay alert."

The sorting line—from Yvonne Abercrombie to Rose Zeller—took a long time to pass; Ron's stomach had begun growling.

"Welcome new students, welcome back, returning students," Snape rose, reciting flatly. "I now declare the feast open."

Students clapped politely; Slytherin's applause lasted slightly longer, but soon faded. The hall filled with the clinking of cutlery.

"Do you think the Sorting Hat will give a warning?" Hermione asked Nick.

"Oh, yes," Nick was glad to look away from Ron's ravenous eating. "I've heard the Sorting Hat's warnings before—always much the same: the school is in danger, we must unite, all four houses stand together, that sort of thing."

"But did you hear what it said this time?" Ron set down his rib. "If the four houses grow too united, perhaps there should be no sorting at all."

"Indeed, it's completely reversed—but what does it mean?" Nick mused. "In the past, every warning came after some great external event."

"Isn't it obvious? Everyone's idolizing Harry," Hermione said without hesitation. "Perhaps the Sorting Hat sees that as a bad thing."

"Why isn't that a good thing?" Ron retorted immediately. "Maybe he just thinks students need more competition."

"Come on, enough," Ivy suddenly interjected. "Every little thing gets dragged back to Harry. Harry spends every day fighting Death Eaters, upholding justice..."

"Ivy!" Harry cut her off, then added apologetically, "Sorry, Hermione—I can't say your suspicion is baseless."

"Fine, let's drop it," Hermione seemed annoyed too. "I just hope you're truly on guard."

Harry shot Ivy a hard glare. He felt the greatest threat was his own friends arguing—what else could possibly be worth worrying about? The steak and kidney pie in front of him?

When the children were mostly full and drowsy, Snape rose and let out a loud, sharp cough. The hall's noise dimmed, then fell silent as everyone looked up at the headmaster.

"I must announce some rules: first, the Forbidden Forest is off-limits, for it harbors terrifying dark creatures; second, no magic is permitted in the corridors between classes—that is Mr. Filch's requirement." He spoke in a flat, lifeless tone. "Third, I announce changes to the teaching staff."

"Due to Mr. Rubeus Hagrid's need to represent Hogwarts on a continental mission, we are honored to welcome Mr. Bear Grylls as professor of Magical Creatures—note, at his request, the course has been renamed from Care of Magical Creatures to Magical Creatures."

The hall erupted in applause, though mostly accompanied by murmurs; some well-informed students mentioned that before teaching Magical Creatures, Grylls had served as an Auror for years.

"We are equally honored to welcome Professor Arnold Abinsson as our new Defense Against the Dark Arts instructor, and as the Ministry's official representative to conduct a year-long evaluation of our teaching system. Please, Professor Abinsson, deliver a brief address." Snape finished and sat down, his dead-fish eyes fixed on the elderly man beside him.

"Thank you, Headmaster," Arnold rose. "Thank you for the welcome."

His voice did not sound old, but carried an unusual steadiness, evoking the image of a reliable gentleman. Harry instantly warmed to him—perhaps because of his immaculate suit, or perhaps because his voice bore a faint resemblance to Sir Crowley's.

"I must say, returning to Hogwarts after so many years is truly delightful. Once, like all of you, I was a young man brimming with vigor—but now, in the blink of an eye, I have reached my seventies." His diction was refined. "I do not expect to become your friend across generations, but merely wish, as a trustworthy elder, to share my experiences and lessons, hoping they may aid your future growth."

"While teaching Defense Against the Dark Arts, I also wish, on behalf of the Ministry, to offer criticism and suggestions regarding certain teaching methods at this school—just as I once did as a student. For instance: why is magic forbidden in the corridors between classes?" He paused deliberately; students immediately understood and applauded.

"Children possess precious magical talent, but even more precious is their passion, fire, and imagination. When you reach middle age, will you regret not daring to choose the career you truly wanted? Will you regret never sending that heartfelt love letter as a student?" he said. "And the greatest killer of imagination is rigid, inflexible school rules."

"There is one point I would ask Headmaster Snape," he turned, politely and calmly. "If students are forbidden from entering the Forbidden Forest, why not simply install a fence—why instead repeat the rule every year with tedious insistence?"

"Oh, if you ask that," Snape replied without rising, "it's because we're actually encouraging students to sneak in anyway."