From the Black Lake to the castle gates, Hagrid handed over the young witches and wizards behind him to an old witch waiting on the steps.
She wore square glasses, her black hair neatly tied back, and was dressed in dark green robes, looking very stern.
The two exchanged nods, and then she looked at the young witches and wizards. "Hogwarts first-years, follow me!"
She led the young witches and wizards into the castle.
Along the way, Draco held his head high, constantly recounting experiences he felt were impressive enough to show off in front of his peers.
In reality, however, Harry was not interested in Quidditch and did not care much about the magical creatures Draco mentioned; he only found him very talkative, which gave him a headache.
Harry glanced ahead at Professor McGonagall, who was leading the way, and was just about to help Draco shut up manually when he suddenly sensed a faint but cold energy within the walls on either side of the corridor.
Harry silently lowered his hand and, while listening to Draco's incessant chatter, moved a step to the side without a word.
Amid a series of startled cries, a large group of ghosts emerged from the walls, causing the young witches and wizards to scream, and Draco, because he was standing in a very unfortunate spot, had a ghost pass right through him.
"Oh!" Draco suddenly shuddered violently, jumping back a couple of steps in terror, feeling as if a bucket of ice water had been poured over him, shivering uncontrollably.
A fat friar stopped to greet the first-years amicably, while a headless curiously looked around the young witches and wizards.
Professor McGonagall pointed her wand at a ghost ahead and shouted sternly, "Peeves! Leave here!"
The scolded ghost shook its head in displeasure, stuck out its tongue at the young witches and wizards, made a face, and floated away with its arms crossed.
Harry wanted to laugh, but a voice beat him to it.
It was a tall, thin boy with red hair and scattered freckles on his face; his eyes were curved, giving off a distinct sense of schadenfreude.
Draco immediately turned his head to look at him, his eyes practically blazing with fury.
The boy abruptly stopped laughing and instinctively raised a hand to cover his mouth, but after recognizing Draco's platinum blond hair, he lowered his hand again and laughed openly.
Draco let out a cold, mocking laugh. "You don't need to laugh. I know who you are."
"Red hair, freckled face. You're that famous poor Weasley." Draco drawled arrogantly, raising his chin to look at him, clearly trying to convey his contempt.
"Look at your tattered robes. Why don't you make yourself look a bit more presentable?" Draco sneered. "Do you even have a wand to use for your studies?"
Stung by the insults, the boy was absolutely furious, his face turning bright red, his freckles seeming to stand out even more.
He roared, "Malfoy! You stinking weasel!"
Draco's voice turned shrill. "Damn it! You blood traitor! How dare you curse me?!"
The two were at odds, and Crabbe and Goyle silently moved to stand beside Draco, their stocky figures providing a formidable deterrent.
Tsk, tsk, tsk.
Harry clicked his tongue in amazement, his gaze sweeping over the two boys. Agatha had already handed over all the relevant intelligence on them to him.
Ronald Weasley, but people around him usually called him Ron; he came from the pure-blood Weasley family, which was referred to as blood traitors by Slytherin nobles because of their affinity for Muggles.
The Weasley family was known for their distinctive red hair, and they had many children, leading to financial difficulties.
It was worth noting that the current Malfoy patriarch, Lucius Malfoy, and the current Weasley family patriarch, Arthur Weasley, were mortal enemies.
At that thought, Harry's eyes lit up with interest as he watched the two boys, red-faced and with their necks strained: were they going to come to blows right there?
Most young witches and wizards knew very little magic at that age; if they really wanted to teach each other a lesson, the only option would be to get into a physical fight.
Harry perked up.
…Fight, fight!
They ultimately did not come to blows, as Professor McGonagall turned around just in time to stop the impending small brawl.
She glared at Draco and Ron with displeasure. "Mr. Malfoy, and Mr. Weasley, please remain quiet!"
The two immediately fell silent like chickens with their necks wrung, but they still maintained their combat-ready stances, glaring fiercely at each other.
They didn't fight, much to Harry's disappointment.
Then, Professor McGonagall led the young witches and wizards into the Great Hall. Four long tables were arranged in the hall, with a stool placed at the front. On the stool sat a ragged old hat, and behind it was the staff table.
Harry spotted a familiar face at the staff table, although it was familiar only on his end.
Quirinus Quirrell, the strange man with the purple turban. According to Agatha's intelligence, this man had been perfectly normal for a long time after graduating from Hogwarts.
His eccentric decision to wear a turban began after a trip to the Albanian forest.
Agatha judged that either he had genuinely been terrified by vampires or some of the local specialties in the Albanian forest, or something else was going on.
When he saw him, Harry felt a brief moment of dizziness again.
He shook his head and looked beside Quirrell.
Coincidentally, sitting next to him was Severus Snape, the odd fellow from Spinner's End, whom Aunt Petunia had mentioned, and also his mother's friend.
Harry met those dark, hollow eyes, and after a moment, they both averted their gazes.
Harry looked confused: but he seems to dislike me.
He had previously instructed the intelligence team to focus their gathering efforts around the name "Harry Potter," but now it seemed that a thorough investigation into his parents' social connections back then was also quite important.
Thinking this, Harry calmly pressed Conti's mark, contacted him, and relayed his request.
He didn't contact Agatha directly because he had recruited so many people under him that only Conti and Hubert were the ones he could accurately remember.
Harry glanced at Snape again; he only hoped that this man would be easy to get along with, otherwise, his future at school might be far from peaceful.
Harry didn't consider himself someone who would just take abuse.
Just then, Professor McGonagall stood by the hat with a parchment scroll, ready.
Then, a rip suddenly opened in the ragged old hat, like a giant mouth.
It then began to sing loudly, its voice so piercing it was nothing short of spiritual pollution, capable of randomly killing off listeners.
Harry's face went blank.
Even though the intelligence he had received included information about the Sorting Hat, naturally including the news that this ragged hat sang terribly,
Harry still hadn't prepared himself enough. Listening to the piercing song, there was a moment he even felt like randomly firing a green curse at the hat.
But after calming down, Harry sensed a magical fluctuation within the hat's song and stared at it with slight surprise: could it be that this ragged hat had a unique activation mechanism?
After the ragged hat finished expressing its sentiments through song, Professor McGonagall spoke up. "Very well, now, when I call your name, please come forward. The Sorting Hat will sort you."
"Hannah Abbott!"