8 Chapter 8

"All bark," Mike commented, his voice tinged with scorn as he shook his head. "So, who's going to fill me in on what really went down?"

Harry and Ron came closer, sharing the story of Draco Malfoy's encounter in turns.

Mike let out a laugh, having already guessed Malfoy's motives.

Malfoy's approach, under the guise of friendliness, betrayed his true nature as a pampered child. He acknowledged Harry yet dismissed Ron with disdain. Crucially, he assumed Harry, raised away from the wizarding world, might sympathize with his elitist views on pure-blood superiority—a laughable notion considering Harry's own parents were victims of Voldemort, the epitome of such bigotry.

Their paths were destined to diverge. The idea that Harry could be persuaded by Malfoy's ideology was nothing short of fanciful.

"Should he trouble you again, seek me out. I've handled my fair share of his kind during my days on the streets," Mike advised them with a grave tone.

"You're so cool!" That was Ron and Harry.

Hermione, however, was focused on a different detail.

"What, you've lived on the streets?"

"Yes, I'm an orphan."

"I'm sorry, I didn't mean..." Hermione caught herself and offered a swift apology for her oversight.

Mike interjected before she could continue, "Now's not the time for that discussion. We're nearing Hogwarts. Time to get into our robes. It might be best for you to wait outside, miss. And Neville, your courage earlier was impressive. Gryffindor will surely welcome someone like you."

With a flush of embarrassment, Hermione quickly excused herself.

Harry and his companions swiftly donned their wizarding robes, naturally turning to Mike as if he were their leader.

Mike slipped into the second-hand robes that Hogwarts had supplied him with.

The robes were a poor fit for Mike, ending awkwardly above his calves, unlike Harry's, which were precisely fitted and elegantly draped over his shoes.

Ron, clad in robes that were evidently pre-worn and showing more signs of wear, couldn't help but feel a touch of envy seeing Harry in his pristine attire.

Mike, however, was indifferent to whether his worn robe would draw disdainful looks. He confidently led Harry and Ron off the train.

As they disembarked, a tall figure captured their attention among the crowd of young wizards. Hagrid's size made it hard not to notice him.

"First years! First years this way, please! Hey Harry how are you?" Hagrid finally spotted the trio.

Guided by Hagrid, they were greeted by the sight of a dark lake, beyond which Hogwarts Castle rose majestically on a hill, its silhouette sparkling under the stars, rivaling the brilliance of the moon itself.

"No more than four to a boat!" Hagrid announced as he ushered the new students towards the boats.

Harry and Ron were among the first to climb into a boat, with Mike and Hermione not far behind. Neville, who had hoped to join Mike, was left to find another boat when Hermione took the spot, his expression falling slightly.

With Hagrid at the oars of his boat, which dipped precariously under his considerable size, they set off. As they drew nearer, the grandeur of Hogwarts truly unfolded before Mike's eyes.

Different from afar, the interior of Hogwarts was brightly lit, the castle's spires a stunning sight.

"Duck!"

Mike and the others were snapped out of their awe-struck state by Hagrid's booming voice.

They followed a dark tunnel to the castle's underground dock and, under Hagrid's lead, finally gathered in front of a massive oak door.

During their journey, Neville was unexpectedly reunited with his toad, an event that visibly moved him to tears.

Catching sight of the stir, Mike offered Neville a reassuring glance, their eyes locking in a moment of mutual understanding.

Then, the door swung open, revealing a tall witch clad in emerald green, her face set in a severe expression, lips pursed in seriousness. Her eyes momentarily paused on Mike and Harry, then continued scanning the room; it was Professor McGonagall who stood before them.

"Thank you, Hagrid. I'll take it from here."

She offered Hagrid a parting nod and guided the young wizards into the castle. Her commanding aura silenced the students' murmurs, and they trailed behind her, much like chicks tailing after a hen.

Navigating through the majestic entrance hall of the castle, they came to a halt in a cozy room.

"Greetings, and welcome to Hogwarts," announced Professor McGonagall. "Before your admission is finalized, you will participate in the Sorting Ceremony, which will decide your house affiliation for your tenure here."

"The houses are Gryffindor, Hufflepuff, Ravenclaw, and Slytherin. Each has produced many outstanding wizards who have made significant contributions to the wizarding world. Additionally, the school hosts the House Cup competition annually, and I hope you all will perform well and bring honor to your house."

"In a few minutes, the Sorting Ceremony will begin in front of the entire school. I suggest you take this time to tidy yourselves up." Professor McGonagall glanced at a smudge on Ron's nose before turning to leave.

Upon receiving a glance from Professor McGonagall, Mike promptly drew his wand and directed it toward Ron's nose, effortlessly performing a cleaning spell. The mark disappeared in an instant.

Hermione, witnessing Mike's adept use of magic, couldn't hide her astonishment.

"You've mastered the cleaning spell already! I'm still trying to get it right; it's not easy at all!"

With a courteous smile, Mike acknowledged her comment but quickly shifted his focus to the spectral figures phasing through the walls behind them, fascinated by their ethereal presence and pondering their essence.

Shortly after, Professor McGonagall reappeared, ushering the newcomers into the majestic Great Hall.

For Mike, the hall was nothing short of magical.

Robed students were seated along four expansive tables, illuminated by candles that hovered in the air. Above, the ceiling appeared to dissolve into the night sky, letting the moonlight and stars cast a bewitching glow over the room.

"Hmm!" Professor McGonagall coughed to regain the freshmen's attention. A battered old wizard's hat sat on a stool in front of her. "I will now begin the roll call. When I call your name, please sit on the stool and put on the Sorting Hat."

Mike was surprised; the hat didn't sing, contrary to his expectations.

There was little time to dwell on this surprise, though, as Professor McGonagall commenced with the roll call, calling out Mike's name first.

"Mike Tully!"

Mike stepped forward, already determined to be sorted into Ravenclaw.

Based on information from the original work and recent intelligence gathered in Diagon Alley, Slytherin is a gathering place for pure-blood families, so it's a pass. Hufflepuff, on the other hand, is a gathering place for mediocrity, also a pass.

This leaves Ravenclaw and Gryffindor, and Mike chooses Ravenclaw.

Firstly, the combat power of Ravenclaw students clearly overwhelms Gryffindor; the "Academic Overachievers Camp" isn't just for show.

The second reason is that, like Slytherin, Ravenclaw also produces dark wizards. You see, the literal translation of Ravenclaw is "the claw of the raven," implying "greedy plunderer." Where do you think all those books in the Hogwarts library come from? Most of them have been plundered by Ravenclaw and its students from elsewhere. Therefore, Ravenclaw students are adept at combat and don't shy away from plundering.

This becomes clear when considering their head of house, Filius Flitwick. The notion that an academy primarily composed of scholars could have a combat champion as its head challenges the stereotype that Ravenclaw is merely a haven for bookworms.

In short, Ravenclaw is practically a paradise for Mike to nurture his own faction.

Back in the Great Hall, Mike picked up the Sorting Hat. Despite its dirtiness, he didn't mind and silently repeated, "Ravenclaw, Ravenclaw, let me go to Ravenclaw."

The moment he put on the Sorting Hat, a somewhat quirky voice sounded in his mind.

"Wow, a peculiar little wizard. Ambitious and exceptionally talented in magic. If not for your lineage, Slytherin would undoubtedly be the best fit for you." The Sorting Hat paused. "What? You want to go to Ravenclaw? Well, it's not out of the question, but perhaps Gryffindor would suit you better. Have you made up your mind? Very well then."

"RAVENCLAW!"

The Sorting Hat proclaimed loudly.

Instantly, the students at the second table on the left erupted into enthusiastic applause. They had their first new student of the year, a great omen indeed.