"First-years, first-years over here."
The massive Hagrid, holding a lantern as usual, called out at the disembarkation point.
Tom silently blended into the first-year line, but Hagrid spotted him instantly.
"Tom, you're in the wrong place. Second-years don't go this way; you should go the other way."
Caught red-handed, Tom reluctantly left the first-year line and headed in the other direction.
Cassandra, who had been waiting for Tom, couldn't suppress her curiosity and asked, "What stunt are you trying to pull now?"
Tom said to Cassandra with a sigh, "You know what my biggest regret was when school started last year?"
Cassandra shook her head, "No."
"It was that on the way to the Castle last year, I used Lumos for illumination instead of Fiery Path. This year, I originally wanted to perform a Fiery Path for those first-year juniors, to light their way forward, but unfortunately, Hagrid didn't give me the chance."
"?"
This time, Cassandra truly couldn't follow Tom's train of thought. Was Tom sure he wanted to use Fiery Path for illumination, and not take the opportunity to send all the first-year juniors away at once?
Because it was so outrageous, Cassandra didn't know what to say for a moment.
Thus, the two walked in silence, gradually catching up with the large group ahead, where Draco had already chosen a carriage and was waiting for them.
"What a beautiful creature," Tom exclaimed, looking at Thestrals in front of the carriage.
Look at that black fur, look at that dragon head and horse body, look at those huge bat-like wings. Tom felt he had to find a way to get two of them. One to taste, and one to keep as a flying pet to show off. Tom had even thought of the name in an instant: B'T-X.
"Tom, what are you looking at?" Draco asked, seeing Tom hesitate to get into the carriage, his eyes fixed on the empty space in front of it.
"Thestrals, beautiful magical creatures. Only those who have seen death can see them," Tom explained slowly as he boarded the carriage, educating Draco.
"No wonder you can see them, after all, you've witnessed too much death."
Draco's words brought a flamboyant smile to Tom's face.
"Yes, Draco, and not only have I witnessed death, I have even flown beyond it."
One has to say, at 12 years old, it's truly the age of chuunibyou.
Sitting at the Slytherin long table again after several months, Tom looked at the people chatting freely in the magnificent Great Hall and once again felt how great it was to be a second-year. The Thestral carriages went directly, and he felt a sense of smugness thinking about those poor first-year children still trekking through mountains and rivers.
The lively atmosphere in the Great Hall reached its peak as Professor McGonagall entered, carrying the Sorting Hat.
"Hahahahaha, I can't take it anymore."
"What is this? Is this still the Sorting Hat?"
"This is hilarious, who did this? Can I say well done?"
Looking at the Sorting Hat, which was placed on a high stool, scrubbed clean, and adorned with a beautiful little red flower, the students of Hogwarts burst into laughter on the spot.
Cassandra looked at Draco and the others laughing uncontrollably and without inhibition, then glanced at Tom, whose expression was normal and calm as if he had already known, and asked curiously, "The Sorting Hat became like this, was it your doing?"
"Of course, this is my masterpiece," Tom said proudly, after all, it was the result of his hard work.
Cassandra was silent for a moment before speaking, but what she said nearly made the usually calm Tom choke on his own saliva.
"Your design taste is as bad as ever. How about I design it next year, and you re-decorate the Sorting Hat according to my design?"
Tom finally recovered, looking at Cassandra with a complicated expression, which finally turned into a long sigh: "Cassandra, you've become naughty."
Meanwhile, the first-year Young Wizards waiting outside the Great Hall were not in as good a mood as their seniors inside. After 6 or 7 hours of comprehensive indoctrination from unscrupulous seniors on the train, the idea of having to fight Dumbledore had deeply ingrained itself in the hearts of these Young Wizards. The loud laughter coming from inside the Great Hall further intensified their nervousness.
When the Great Hall doors opened and Professor McGonagall led the Young Wizards inside, the Young Wizards gripped their wands, instinctively forming the battle formation they had been temporarily trained in by the unscrupulous seniors on the train.
As they walked towards the teachers' table, Dumbledore, seated in the central position, was the first to catch their eye. The immense pressure of several hours snapped the taut nerves of these 11-year-old Young Wizards.
It was unclear which brave Young Wizard chose to follow the unscrupulous seniors' advice to strike first, shouting: "Dumbledore, I'm coming for you!"
With someone leading the way, the first-year Young Wizards present all raised their wands and hurled the temporary curses they had learned at Dumbledore.
Professor McGonagall was stunned, the students of Hogwarts were stunned, the Professors at the teachers' table were stunned, and Dumbledore was even more stunned.
Although these minor curses couldn't harm Dumbledore, they caused zero damage but were full of insult.
The glorious feat of this year's incoming Young Wizards directly confronting the White Wizard, the final boss, on their first day of school was destined to be passed down in the history of Hogwarts.
As for what the Sorting Hat was doing, it was still sulking with its head down. The annual fixed Sorting Song segment hadn't even been sung yet, so these newly admitted Young Wizards still hadn't figured out what the actual sorting process was.
Finally, Professor McGonagall stepped forward to stop the farce, sternly asking, "Stop, what are you doing?"
"Professor, we really want to study at Hogwarts. Every senior said that this year's sorting theme is to confront Headmaster Dumbledore's Fiery Path. If, if we don't strike first, we will definitely, definitely be expelled."
As they spoke, a few emotional Little Witches in the group secretly wiped away tears.
Dumbledore's forehead was full of black lines, and Professor McGonagall's veins were throbbing on her forehead.
'Here we go again, these annoying things are endless, aren't they? This Deputy Principal doesn't want to do this anymore, whoever wants to can go do it.'
The senior cat-girl was online and furious.
Professor McGonagall, who finally calmed her anger and knew that the fault wasn't with the Young Wizards in front of her, tried to force a kind smile and patiently explained: "No one will make you fight Dumbledore during the sorting. Come here, children, line up. Just put this Sorting Hat on your head, and it will help you choose the right house."
But when Professor McGonagall looked at the still lifeless Sorting Hat, her anger flared up unconsciously, and the grip on the hat tightened by a few points, startling the Sorting Hat.
'This Professor is not to be trifled with.'
At this moment, the first-year Young Wizards reached a consensus and quickly lined up, trembling.
The long-delayed true Sorting Ceremony finally officially began.