The line of young wizards waiting to be sorted had grown very short. Harley was standing at the very front of the queue.
She had been craning her neck in anticipation for a long time, but her name still hadn't been called, which was making her feel a bit flustered.
Fortunately, her anxious wait finally received a response.
On the platform, Professor McGonagall read out one of the names at the end of the list: "Harley Potter!"
The Great Hall, which had been somewhat noisy as the Sorting Ceremony neared its end, fell silent in an instant.
If one were to say "Harley" on its own, it wouldn't be that remarkable. After all, the pronunciation of "Harry" and "Harley" is slightly different.
But when attached to the surname, the Potter family was unique in the wizarding world. Even in the Muggle world, it was a moderately uncommon surname, accounting for about 0.02% of the total population in the UK.
"Harley... shouldn't it be Harry Potter?"
The young wizards broke into whispers. They had all heard the news that Harry Potter was coming to Hogwarts; the Daily Prophet had broken the story during the holidays. But from start to finish, they had believed Harry Potter was a boy—the Boy Who Lived, a name they had heard for ten years.
But today, everything from the past was overturned. Unless there was another boy named Harry Potter behind her, then—
Hundreds of pairs of eyes stared dead at Harley, making her feel overwhelmingly nervous.
But when she timidly looked toward the crowd, she caught sight of Lynn's black eyes, which held a calm look of encouragement.
They seemed to say to her, Don't worry about what those people think. You can do this, Harley.
Mustering courage in her heart, Harley looked ahead, walked steadily up to Professor McGonagall, picked up the Sorting Hat, and placed it on her head.
Just like with the young wizards before her, the Sorting Hat seemed to fall into a difficult dilemma. Its silence lasted longer than ever before. Nearly three to five minutes passed before the Sorting Hat finally twisted its body and opened its brim.
The eager crowd held their breath, nervously awaiting the Sorting Hat's decision.
"Gryffindor!"
When the voice rang out, an excited cheer erupted from the Gryffindor table.
Even if this Harley wasn't Harry, having such a beautiful girl join them was still a fantastic thing. Among this year's freshmen, Harley's looks didn't need much comparison to squeeze into the top tier. The only ones who could compete with her were the previously sorted Parvati Patil and Padma Patil, the twin sisters with their exotic charm.
"Lynn!"
Harley put down the hat and trotted over to the Gryffindor long table, immediately throwing herself at Lynn.
"I almost couldn't walk just now. So, so many people were looking at me. I was scared to death."
"Thank you!"
Harley spoke sweetly, her smile as bright as sunshine.
It was at this exact moment that Lynn suddenly felt as if a knife were pressed against his head. The illusionary sensation was cold, like actual ice, causing him to look toward the staff table in confusion.
The next second, he met a pair of pitch-black eyes—void of any warmth or emotion, like a bottomless abyss.
Severus Snape's death stare was currently focused right on him.
Although he had anticipated this, the level of terror Snape displayed still exceeded Lynn's expectations. He didn't even have time to examine Snape's face carefully before that gaze—sharp as a bullet, keen as a blade—forced him to turn his head away.
But after averting his gaze, Lynn raised his left hand and, as he usually did, patted Harley's hair, just like petting a cute little cat.
It sounded as if someone had shattered their teeth, or perhaps crushed something else equally hard.
"What is the matter, Severus?"
Professor Flitwick, sitting next to Snape, looked at him strangely. "Did something go wrong with a potion experiment? Why do I feel your magical fluctuations spiking? Is it a side effect of a potion?"
"I..." Snape squeezed a syllable through his gritted teeth. "I am fine. Just fine, Filius."
"Is that so?" Professor Flitwick was slightly puzzled, but when he looked up and saw Snape's hair, he spoke with surprise, "You washed your hair today, Severus. Actually, you should wash it more often like this; it looks much more refreshing, doesn't it?"
"If you are hungry," Snape said icily, "why not eat something first?"
Seeing Snape nearly bending his silver fork out of shape, Professor Flitwick finally took the hint. He let out an "Oh," then immediately turned his head to chat with Professor Sprout on his other side.
"Pomona, did you see that child just now? Harley looks almost exactly like her mother. Lily was such a little angel back then, you remember, don't you?"
"Of course." As the Herbology professor and Head of Hufflepuff House, Professor Sprout looked in Harley's direction and recalled the past. "Lily was a good child. I remember clearly."
Most of the professors at Hogwarts were quite advanced in years. Professor Sprout had been teaching Herbology at Hogwarts since 1920, making her older than both Professor Flitwick and Professor McGonagall.
Snape could do absolutely nothing about Flitwick, who was the same age as his grandfather and had once taught him. As a part-goblin wizard, although Flitwick was over seventy, he was in his prime. If they were to actually fight, Snape might not necessarily be able to beat this Charms professor who was once a Duelist Champion.
For Flitwick, living to two hundred would be child's play; wishing him a "long life of a hundred years" would actually be cursing him to a short life. This was a tough character who had fought his way out of hundreds of elite duelists to win the title, convincing everyone of his skill. If he had gone to Gryffindor instead of Ravenclaw back in the day, he might have even inherited the Sword of Gryffindor from the Sorting Hat—after all, Godric Gryffindor had made his name through dueling.
Snape lowered his eyes slightly, pursing his lips without saying another word.
Soon, the Sorting Ceremony concluded. The famished students watched as Dumbledore stood up from his seat.
"Welcome!" Dumbledore beamed at the students below. "Welcome to a new year at Hogwarts! Before we begin our banquet, I would like to say a few words. And here they are: Nitwit! Blubber! Oddment! Tweak!"
"What does that mean, Lynn?"
Although delicious dishes immediately appeared on the plates in front of them as the voice faded, Harley's curiosity compelled her to ask.
Holding a meat pie in one hand and chewing, while not forgetting to feed a piece to Lynn, Harley tilted her head and looked at him.
"Well..." Lynn took the pie and took a bite. The house elves' cooking was excellent; the meat filling was juicy, crispy on the outside and tender on the inside.
"Nitwit comes from the Middle English combination of 'nit' (louse egg) and 'wit' (intelligence). Literally, it means as stupid as a louse egg. It alludes to the impulsiveness behind Gryffindor's bravery. Bravery is not foolishly charging headfirst; on the contrary, reckless impulse leads to the worst situations. Being brave and resourceful is the quality a true Gryffindor should possess."
"Blubber is a double entendre. As a verb, it refers to sobbing. Hufflepuff is a very united house, but they also have an emotionally overflowing side. When facing setbacks, they might unconsciously reveal excessive emotion due to the difficulties. However, the inclusiveness and unity within the house, combined with their own resilient qualities, allow them to wear down difficulties bit by bit. The other meaning of the word is whale blubber, implying they have enough energy inside them to continuously use their efforts to overcome obstacles, echoing their tenacity."
"Oddment (leftovers/scraps) might seem unrelated to Ravenclaw. As smart and clever students, they should be outstanding elites. But the truth is, their clever minds often lead them to focus on impractical ideas with no basis in reality. These things imagined out of thin air are 'useless knowledge.' Excessive curiosity detaches them from reality, drowning them in their own woven fantasies. Being down-to-earth and uniting knowledge with action—this is the Ravenclaw Dumbledore hopes for."
"As for Tweak, this word also means to 'adjust.' What Slytherin reveres is success and achieving goals, but they are very good at, and very accustomed to, using the simplest and fastest ways to achieve those goals. To complete this method, they will actively adjust their 'moral baseline,' or even destroy existing rules, making the rules convenient for them to accomplish certain things. Doing whatever it takes is the greatest retribution Slytherin will face."
"Oh, that's amazing."
Harley clapped her small hands. The Gryffindor students nearby who heard Lynn's words also couldn't help but feel a little impressed. Whether it was correct or not, at least it sounded reasonable—great food for thought to go with the meal.
"So that Malfoy just now," Harley whispered in Lynn's ear, "he encountered the retribution of 'doing whatever it takes,' right?"
"Maybe it was just because he didn't fasten his belt tight enough."
Lynn shrugged and picked up a bowl of creamy mushroom soup; it was so fresh it made him raise an eyebrow.
After a while, the last piece of pudding vanished from the plates.
"Ahem—just a few more words now that we are all fed and watered."
Dumbledore stood up again, and the hall returned to silence.
"I have a few start-of-term notices to give you."
"First years should note that the forest on the grounds is forbidden to all pupils. And a few of our older students would do well to remember that as well."
Low laughter rippled from the Gryffindor table.
"I have also been asked by Mr. Filch, the caretaker, to remind you all that no magic should be used between classes in the corridors. Quidditch trials will be held in the second week of the term. Anyone interested in playing for their house teams should contact Madam Hooch."
"And finally, I must tell you that this year, the third-floor corridor on the right-hand side is out of bounds to everyone who does not wish to die a very painful death."
"And now!" Dumbledore's voice suddenly rose a notch, while the professors behind him wore somewhat stiff expressions.
"Before we go to bed, let us sing the school song!"
With a wave of his wand, a golden ribbon flew from the tip, transforming into glittering words in mid-air.