Ron wasn't particularly fussed about house points anymore.
After all, he was no longer the wide-eyed first-year Gryffindor who'd been utterly overwhelmed by the allure of house glory. Now, he'd practically transformed into a seasoned veteran.
As long as they weren't docking his points, whether they added any or not didn't really matter much to him.
They made their way through the entrance hall and into the Great Hall of Hogwarts.
At the start of a new term, everyone gathered together in the Great Hall for one of Hogwarts' grandest traditions since its founding—the Sorting Ceremony.
The Great Hall was as magnificent as ever, decked out even more elaborately for the new term's feast.
Hundreds of candles floated in midair above the tables, casting a shimmering glow on the golden plates and goblets below.
The four long house tables were already filled with chattering students, who, while shaking out their rain-soaked hair, shared stories of their summer holidays with those around them.
From snippets of their conversations, it was clear they were still caught up in the lingering excitement of the Quidditch World Cup.
And that was understandable. After all, a Quidditch World Cup final where the Seeker caught the Golden Snitch yet still lost the match wasn't something you saw every day.
At the far end of the hall stood a fifth table, where the staff sat in a row, facing their students.
Harry and his friends passed by students from Slytherin, Ravenclaw, and Hufflepuff. Cassandra peeled off to join the Slytherin table, while Harry and the others settled with the Gryffindors at the table at the far end of the hall.
It was warmer here, perhaps because of the proximity to the fireplace, or maybe for some other reason.
Beside them was the Gryffindor house ghost, Nearly Headless Nick.
His translucent, pearly-white form glimmered faintly. Tonight, he wore his usual doublet but had added an exceptionally large ruffled collar.
The collar served a dual purpose: it gave him a festive air, and it helped keep his partially severed head from wobbling too much on his half-cut neck.
"Good evening," he said, smiling at them.
"Good evening, Sir Nicholas," Harry greeted him. "You seem in high spirits tonight?"
"Welcoming new students is always a joyous occasion," Nearly Headless Nick said with a hearty laugh before floating off.
"I seriously doubt that's the reason," Ron whispered to Harry and Hermione. "He's probably just looking forward to scaring the first-years witless, isn't he?"
"That's not a very polite thing to say," Harry replied in an equally low voice.
"Well, I nearly jumped out of my skin when I saw the ghosts in first year," Ron said with a shrug, turning to Hermione. "What about you? Were you scared when you first saw them?"
"It was fine," Hermione answered vaguely.
At that moment, the staff table began to fill with professors.
All four Heads of House were present except for Professor McGonagall, who was still occupied with sorting the new students and hadn't yet taken her seat.
Harry's eyes immediately found Snape. It was hard not to notice him—he stood out like a firefly in the dead of night.
It was clear Snape still didn't care much for personal grooming. Despite Lily's comments, his hair remained as greasy as ever.
His style hadn't changed either—always that same black cloak, as if the night itself were his shield.
"When's dinner starting?" Ron muttered. "I'm starving. If I'd gone with Charlie to Romania, I reckon I could've eaten an entire Hungarian Horntail by now."
The Hungarian Horntail was a fire-breathing dragon, which showed just how ravenous Ron was.
"That depends on when the Sorting Ceremony finishes," Harry said.
With that, he turned his attention back to the staff table.
At the head of the table sat Dumbledore.
His flowing silver hair and beard gleamed in the candlelight, and his splendid robe, embroidered with stars and moons, shimmered faintly.
Harry couldn't help but wonder why Dumbledore still wore that robe, knowing it had been enchanted with ancient magic by Veratia Grindelwald…
Could it really be just because it was a gift from Gellert?
Catching Harry's gaze, Dumbledore gave him a playful wink.
Harry: …
Tch, an old man like him—did he really think winking was cute?
After the wink, Dumbledore pressed the tips of his long fingers together, resting his chin on them. His eyes, peering through half-moon spectacles, gazed up at the ceiling as if lost in thought.
Harry followed his gaze to the enchanted ceiling, which mirrored the stormy sky outside. He'd never seen it so tempestuous before.
Black and purple clouds churned above, and as another clap of thunder rumbled outside, a jagged bolt of lightning streaked across the ceiling.
"Look at that," Hermione said, pointing upward. "It's really quite remarkable, isn't it?"
"That's magic for you," Ron said, raising an eyebrow. "We used to have something like that on our ceiling at home, but Mum thought it was too flashy and got rid of it."
"I think it's lovely," Hermione replied.
Just then, the Great Hall's doors swung open again.
Professor McGonagall led in a group of drenched first-years, who looked like a flock of shivering, sopping-wet chicks.
Hagrid, towering over the group, brought up the rear. His hair and beard were soaked, and his moleskin coat was nowhere to be seen.
But he didn't seem bothered by the dampness—or the cold, for that matter.
When he caught Harry's eye, Hagrid waved enthusiastically, mouthing and pointing at one of the first-years, "This little fella!"
Oh.
Harry noticed the first-year Hagrid was pointing to, who was wearing Hagrid's moleskin coat.
The coat was comically oversized, dwarfing the boy even more than his robes did.
This kid stood out starkly from his trembling classmates, who looked like quails caught in a storm. He even had the cheek to wave at the Gryffindor table, probably some relative of someone there.
From the boy's mouthed words, Harry could make out: "I fell in the lake."
Talk about carefree.
It wasn't hard to guess why Hagrid was soaked and why he'd given his coat to the boy.
Professor McGonagall, meanwhile, placed the Sorting Hat on its stool in front of the staff table. The hat promptly burst into its usual improvised song.
Clearly, the Sorting Hat came up with new lyrics every year. Stuck in the Headmaster's office with little to do, it probably needed some creative outlet to keep from going mad.
After the song, the Sorting began.
When it came to the boy who'd fallen in the lake, everyone finally learned his identity.
It was Dennis Creevey, Colin Creevey's younger brother.
This kid was unbelievably outgoing. The moment he joined the Gryffindor table, his mouth didn't stop moving. He was practically a carbon copy of Colin.
"He's awfully chipper," Ron whispered to Harry. "Let's see if he's still this cheerful after his first Potions class."
Harry tried to imagine what Snape could possibly do to turn the exuberant Dennis into a withdrawn shell of a boy.
But no matter how hard he tried, he couldn't picture it. After all, Colin was still the same sunny, boundary-less boy he'd always been.
Once the Sorting was complete, Professor McGonagall carried the hat away.
At the same time, Dumbledore rose to his feet.
"Looks like it's time to eat," Ron said eagerly. "What's he going on about? Just bring out the food already!"
But Ron's hopes were dashed, as Dumbledore hadn't stood to start the feast.
"Welcome," Dumbledore said, raising his hands in a gesture reminiscent of a French military salute. "As we begin the new term, we welcome new students. Before we dine, allow me to share some important news."
"For the next few months, we will have the great honor of hosting a truly spectacular event—one that hasn't taken place in over a century."
"It is my great pleasure to announce that the Triwizard Tournament will be held at Hogwarts this year."
Dumbledore paused, as if expecting a wave of applause.
A smattering of claps echoed from the students' tables, but most were far more concerned with when dinner would be served than with some tournament.
Unfazed, Dumbledore continued, "The Triwizard Tournament was established some seven hundred years ago as a friendly competition between the three largest wizarding schools in Europe: Hogwarts, Beauxbatons, and Durmstrang. Each school selects a champion, and the three champions compete in three magical tasks."
"The tournament is held every five years, with the schools taking turns to host. It was widely regarded as an excellent way for young witches and wizards from different countries to build friendships—until the death toll became too high, and the tournament was discontinued."
The students in the hall didn't seem fazed by the mention of death. They whispered excitedly to one another, showing little interest in the unfortunate souls who'd perished over a century ago.
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