Chapter 15: Azkaban
Stepping onto the stone floors of Hogwarts and passing through the elegant, ancient corridors, the young wizards were led by Professor McGonagall into a room to wait.
"I thought you'd go and tattle to a teacher."
Ezio spoke to Draco, who was standing in front of him. The words made Draco shudder. He wasn't an idiot; he knew who he could afford to provoke and who he couldn't.
Telling a teacher would certainly have an effect. His family was well-acquainted with the school's Potions Master, Severus Snape, who was in contact with his father. Moreover, Snape was the Head of Slytherin House. If he told on Ezio, Snape would definitely stand up for him.
But the consequences of tattling? He could figure out with the nail on his little pinky what a terrible choice that would be. Although Ezio hadn't actually used the Killing Curse, whether he had used it or not was no longer the issue. The issue was that this boy knew the spell and even dared to joke about it. He really didn't dare to gamble on whether Ezio had the guts to actually use it.
"I don't know anything, I don't know anything," Draco muttered under his breath, shaking his head slightly, trying to convince himself that everything that had just happened was a hallucination, a nightmare.
"Don't be so nervous. We're going to be housemates, after all," Ezio said in a friendly tone, which made the hairs on the back of Draco's neck stand on end.
'This guy can't possibly go to Slytherin! Impossible! Only pure-bloods can go to Slytherin! But… but he… he can't possibly be Muggle-born, right?' A thousand thoughts flashed through Draco's mind in that instant. After much consideration, he ruled out the most impossible option: 'Muggle-born'.
In the eyes of someone from a traditional wizarding family like Draco, 'Muggle' was practically synonymous with 'idiot'. The sense of superiority that wizards felt over non-magical Muggles was practically engraved in their DNA and passed down through generations. He would never in a million years believe that such a… crazed monster could emerge from among those foolish Muggles.
You couldn't blame Draco for this; you could only blame prejudice and his own lack of experience.
If wizards had ever read a Muggle history book and understood the world outside their own, they certainly wouldn't have PTSD over the name 'Voldemort'.
After all, Voldemort's evil, when compared not even to the whole world but just to Great Britain, was laughable. The inhuman things the British Empire had done were truly too numerous to count. Compared to those leaders, Voldemort's evil deeds were as pure as a little white flower.
Voldemort massacred a few hundred people? The British killed a million in the Irish Famine alone, not to mention the large-scale genocides of the indigenous peoples of North America and Australia.
The instances of mass death numbering less than a million were too many to even count. You could call the British Empire incompetent, but you could never say it wasn't evil. Thrown into the mix of Great Britain's finest historical figures, Voldemort wouldn't even make a ripple.
It was just that the wizards of the magical world paid no attention to such things.
At this moment, Draco, his palms slick with nervous sweat, didn't even notice the Hogwarts ghosts passing through the room. He only slowly came back to his senses when Professor McGonagall reappeared.
"Now, form a single line," Professor McGonagall said in a clear voice, "and follow me."
A group of apprehensive young wizards walked out of the small waiting room and into a corner of a magnificent Great Hall. The older students were already seated at four long tables. Harry, dazzled by the sight, let out a gasp of "Whoa."
Just as everyone's imagination was running wild, the tattered hat placed on a four-legged stool suddenly split open a seam and began to sing:
"Oh, you may not think I'm pretty,
But don't judge on what you see,
I'll eat myself if you can find
A smarter hat than me."
…
The Sorting Hat sang the song it had painstakingly composed over the past year with a rhythmic cadence. After the song ended, the young wizards below gave it a round of enthusiastic applause.
"When I call your name, you will put on the hat and sit on the stool to be sorted," Professor McGonagall announced, pulling out a long roll of parchment. "Abbott, Hannah!"
A little girl with blonde pigtails stumbled out of the line. After a moment's pause—
"HUFFLEPUFF!" the hat shouted.
"Ezio, aren't you nervous?" Harry whispered, turning his head to the side, his hand slick with sweat.
"If this were the guillotine, I might give it a bit more thought."
"Think about what?"
"About how many ways I'd need to eliminate all the witnesses."
"That is indeed worth thinking about." Harry rolled his eyes, and suddenly, he wasn't so nervous anymore. After all, this just involved wearing a hat, not waiting for his head to be chopped off.
It wasn't long before Professor McGonagall looked up at the line of young wizards.
"Firenze, Ezio."
When the black-haired, grey-eyed Ezio walked to the front, a slight murmur broke out in the previously quiet Great Hall. The girls whispered among themselves; among this year's new students, Ezio was rather conspicuous.
He was more than half a head taller than the other young wizards. His posture was straight but not stiff as he walked. Each step seemed to have been precisely measured, creating a pleasing sense of comfort for the eye. His handsome profile was mostly expressionless, giving him the look of a cool, aloof boy. This type of boy had quite an audience.
For an ordinary assassin, being handsome and noticeable was a drawback. But for the type of assassin Ezio was, there were no such strict requirements. It all came down to 'perfect stealth' where he wouldn't be discovered anyway.
Ezio liked to be clean, but he wasn't a neat freak. He had crawled through muddy pits for ambushes before. He calmly picked up the hat and placed it on his head, his eyes narrowing slightly.
"Hmm…" the Sorting Hat grumbled in a low voice.
"Fascinating… truly fascinating… I see that your mind is completely empty right now, but even the kind Helga Hufflepuff isn't interested in students with empty heads."
"If you're not a born idiot, shall we have a chat?"
"So you don't determine the sorting by reading memories?" Ezio raised an eyebrow. He knew about the Sorting Hat and had made several preparations.
"Read memories?" The hat sounded as if it had been offended, its voice growing a little louder. "My purpose is to sort students into their proper houses, not to be a memory thief, furtively prying into privacy! The four great founders of Hogwarts imbued me with a part of their minds, and not even Slytherin would stoop to such snooping."
"I can perceive your thought-traits. That is something a person can never fake. It can be changed, but it cannot be feigned. But you… you have somehow managed to cleverly hide them, so that old me can't see a single thing."
"I just emptied my mind. You can think of it as a form of meditation."
"Oh, yes, meditation. Rowena Ravenclaw was fond of meditation. Her wisdom was a great burden to her, and she needed to empty her mind to relieve the stress. But this is the first time I've encountered a case like yours," the hat said slowly, as if it understood. "So, are you also someone troubled by a wise mind?"
"I don't think so. But I can let go of my thoughts a little."
"That's exactly what I want to see. To be honest, I'm very curious about you. In over a thousand years, I've met countless young wizards who have come to Hogwarts, but cases similar to yours are practically none existing."
"Meaning, there have been others?"
"Aha, yes. A long time ago, there was a very special fifth-year transfer student. I nearly sorted him into Azkaban back then. I don't know how to describe his thought-traits. I can only say he was a bit too… unrestrained."
"That fellow must have been fun."
"Of course! He caused a lot of trouble at Hogwarts. The headmaster at the time was Phineas Nigellus Black, a terrible fellow. But even a headmaster as terrible as him was driven by that student to lock himself in the headmaster's office for a long time." The hat recounted some interesting old stories. "And now, it's your turn."
Ezio released the state of 'Assassin's Focus' he had long maintained. It was an instinct honed through countless killings, allowing him to discard distracting thoughts at any time and maintain the highest level of concentration. It enabled him to react instantly to any unexpected situation, single-minded and multi-tasking at the same time. This contradictory description was perfectly embodied in a qualified assassin.
And in that instant, the Sorting Hat, after a moment of silence, opened its brim wide—
"AZKABAN!!!" the hat roared in Ezio's mind, its voice tinged with frantic energy. "Everyone else's thought-traits are images of their aspirations for the future! Merlin's beard! Why is Death kicking a ball made of skulls inside your head? And what in Merlin's name is this evil number, a score of 1,001,135?!"
If it had legs, the Sorting Hat would have jumped off and run, scrambling and crawling its way to Dumbledore.
"Could it be because my thoughts are a bit more… unconventional? Also, what color is the Death you're seeing?"
"Oh, for goodness sake, why is this thing so pink and a little bit cute?" The hat's voice suddenly became uncertain. "Old me must be seeing things. The style of Azkaban is much scarier than this. Dementors are just awful. The more I look at your Death, the more… uh… moe it seems?"
"However… ambition, yes, ambition. And an unprecedentedly firm will. A search for thrilling adventure, a rebellion against rules and constraints. A keen mind and a thirst for knowledge. You even have a bit of gentleness and kindness, though not much of it. Alright, alright, this old hat owes you an apology. You're not a bad kid."
The Sorting Hat muttered to itself, but soon made its final decision.
"Go to Slytherin. You'll find room to realize your ambitions there. Of course, Gryffindor and Ravenclaw wouldn't be bad either. As for Hufflepuff, your purpose is a bit too strong."
"Slytherin it is," Ezio told the hat.
"Then—SLYTHERIN!"
The Sorting Hat shouted its decision, and welcoming applause rose from below.
******
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