Richard had no intention of letting such acquaintances slip away. However, a minor complication arose when the twins were sorted into different Houses: Parvati was sent to Gryffindor, while Padma went to the Ravenclaw table.
What surprised Richard the most was Harry Potter's Sorting. He sat on the stool for quite some time, but in the end, the hat cried out:
"GRYFFINDOR!"
Harry Potter cast a guilty glance towards the Hufflepuff table. Thunderous applause erupted in the hall — no one before him had been applauded so loudly.
Upon reflection, Richard realised there had been every indication of such an outcome. Even back when Harry was buying his wand, and the shopkeeper described its owner as a stubborn adventurer, one could already tell where he would end up.
Ron Weasley's Sorting, on the other hand, came as no surprise to anyone — he was almost immediately sent to Gryffindor, much to the delight of his brothers Fred, George, and the lanky, red-haired fifteen-year-old Percy.
"It's a shame Harry and Ron went to Gryffindor instead of joining us," Justin said regretfully.
"It happens," Richard remained composed. "If even twins are sorted into different Houses, what can you expect from acquaintances?"
Dumbledore's speech passed Richard by entirely. He had sunk too deeply into his thoughts, mentally drafting letters — to his father, to Mr Blade, to Arthur Weasley, and to Scott Potter.
The easiest letter was to his father. All it required was a brief note that his admission to the school of magic had gone well, along with a few details.
The letter to Arthur Weasley proved more complicated. It required clear instructions regarding the development of new magical devices, based on enchantments Richard had observed during the journey. There were plans for quantum transmitters, a magical AI, a generator producing free energy, and even something akin to a perpetual motion engine for spacecraft. Using such a system for anything else would be sacrilege. Putting it into cars, of all things? You'd never have enough wizards!
Richard understood that thirty wizards were far too few for the full scope of the tasks at hand. He would have to find room in the letter to instruct an expansion of the staff and an increase in the budget. At the same time, he was wary of creating additional complications for everyone involved. After all, Arthur Weasley was already struggling to juggle his position at the Ministry of Magic—where he was very much needed—with managing the workshop. That meant a new supervisor would have to be found — someone honest and responsible — and it would have to be done without offending Arthur.
Scott Potter was a different matter entirely. Firstly, Richard was one hundred percent certain that Harry Potter would forget to write to his uncle. Scott was deeply attached to his nephew and would undoubtedly be worried. It would be necessary to describe their journey, where they had been sorted, and reassure him that everything was fine. Secondly, the detective should be tasked with uncovering the full background of Hermione Granger's family and the Patil sisters — whether they were truly the daughters of a relatively obscure millionaire. Ideally, Richard would obtain dossiers on all his classmates — better yet, on all of Hogwarts' students. But for now, he only knew the names of the first-years, so that could be postponed.
As for Blade, the situation was clear enough. He served as a liaison from an intelligence agency, from whom Richard required specialists capable of helping wizards understand how to merge magic and technology. This proved even more complicated than dealing with wizards, because here you need to explain precisely what needed to be achieved without delving into technical jargon, quantum physics, or higher mathematics.
When your mind is filled with quantum physics formulae — a subject the transmigrator had despised during his university years in his previous life, yet had painstakingly memorised due to a strict old professor — there's little room left for such trivialities as ghosts drifting about, chattering children, and a table laden with all manner of dishes.
Richie ate automatically, without tasting the food. Naturally, he handled his utensils with impeccable manners, using fork and knife flawlessly, yet he resembled a soulless machine, his thoughts far removed from reality, his gaze empty and cold — like that of a Terminator. Such behaviour discouraged most of the children, and they avoided approaching him, instead chatting animatedly amongst themselves.
Richard only realised dinner had ended when Justin nudged him with his elbow and said:
"Richie, get up — we're about to sing the Hogwarts school song."
"The school song? Right, I'm getting up."
What followed could hardly be called a song. Everyone sang at the top of their lungs, completely out of sync, creating the impression of a madhouse. At last, the "singing" ended, and the students were dismissed to their common rooms.
A broad-shouldered boy with brown hair, a heavy jaw, and grey eyes drew attention to himself:
"First-years, over here! I'm your prefect, Gabriel Truman. Follow me. Try to remember the route and don't fall behind."
The first-years followed him in a disorganised cluster. Fortunately, the walk was short — they only needed to pass through large double doors, descend a staircase, and proceed along a wide corridor until they reached enormous oak barrels.
"Watch closely," the prefect said, drawing their attention.
Truman rapped his knuckles against the second barrel from the bottom in the second row, producing a simple rhythm. The lid of the barrel slid aside.
"That's how you open the entrance to our common room. We don't keep our knocking pattern secret, and you may bring guests from other Houses into our dormitory. However, try not to abuse this privilege. If you knock on the wrong barrel or get the rhythm wrong, you'll be drenched in vinegar."
(End of Chapter)
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