At the same time, the Sorting Hat's low muttering suddenly sounded inside his head.
"Hmm… bloody hell! That name!"
Avada's eye twitched. He hurriedly murmured under his breath, "Not Azkaban, not Azkaban…"
"Not Azkaban?" the Sorting Hat asked in a faint voice. "Are you quite sure? You've got great potential, you know. With just a single thought, Azkaban could help lead you to glory—there's no doubt about that…"
"What the hell?!" Avada exclaimed in alarm and outrage.
"Hahaha, just kidding. Why are you so tense?" the Sorting Hat laughed. "Don't worry—I don't have the authority to send anyone to Azkaban, and I won't hold your name against you either…"
After the joke, the Sorting Hat grew serious and began its analysis.
"Not particularly brave—lacking a bit of courage and daring. Always looking ahead and behind… Gryffindor won't do."
"No great ambition, not much desire for control. Slytherin isn't suitable either…"
"But your curiosity is strong, an intense thirst for knowledge, and you've got your own clear way of thinking…"
"Kind-hearted, hardworking, valuing friendship and integrity… seems you even enjoy cooking."
"So which should it be? Which should it be…"
Avada's face twitched again. He desperately wanted to ask what on earth was going on.
The Sorting Hat hesitated for a full three minutes before finally calling out with difficulty, "Then… Hufflepuff!"
"That's fine."
Avada smiled faintly. This was more or less what he had expected.
He stood up and, amid cheers and applause, walked toward the Hufflepuff table. He chose a seat toward the back, next to a handsome young wizard with brown hair.
"Cedric Diggory, second year. Nice to meet you, Ken," the boy named Cedric said with a smile, extending his hand.
Avada returned the handshake, suddenly enlightened. So this was that Cedric Diggory—the pride of Hufflepuff in the original story, the man who died tragically at Voldemort's hands, was reborn as a vampire, and ultimately became Batman.
But with him here this time, Cedric wouldn't die.
"Um, if you don't mind me asking," Cedric said, nudging Avada and lowering his voice, "what's going on with your name? Why didn't even the professors read out your full name?"
"I'm afraid I can't," Avada said with a wry smile. "Professor Dumbledore told me not to reveal my name casually to others."
"Professor Dumbledore?!"
Cedric's reaction was exactly the same as Baron's and Cho's. "Alright then. I'll tell others not to ask about it either. Don't worry—it won't affect your life in Hufflepuff. No one really cares about things like that."
"Thank you," Avada said sincerely.
As they spoke, the Sorting Ceremony drew to a close. After the final first-year was sorted into Ravenclaw, Dumbledore stood up. He spread his arms wide toward the students, smiling broadly.
"Welcome! Welcome to Hogwarts!"
"I know you must all be terribly hungry and eager to tuck in. Alas, before we begin the feast, I have one important announcement to make. I would like to welcome a new professor to our staff this year."
He turned toward the staff table and indicated someone to stand, then continued:
"Professor Benjamin Baker will be taking up the post of Defense Against the Dark Arts. He is a council member of the International Dark Magic Defense Alliance and, in his younger years, traveled extensively through Greece, Eastern Europe, and Africa, defeating countless Dark wizards and dark creatures. He has unparalleled experience in combatting Dark Magic. I am certain that under his guidance, your skills in Defense Against the Dark Arts will greatly improve."
At the teachers' table, a handsome man in his thirties or forties stood up amid applause, smiling and waving to the students. Tall and slender, refined and scholarly, he looked every bit the gentleman—there was no trace of hardship about him at all.
"And now," Dumbledore said with a smile, raising his hand toward the students, "there are just three words left to say: Tuck in!"
The instant his words fell, the previously empty plates were suddenly piled high with food, giving off a warm, mouthwatering aroma. The variety was so overwhelming that even Avada, having lived two lives, couldn't recognize it all—British dishes, Italian, French, Turkish, Russian cuisine, and even several unmistakably Chinese and Japanese dishes…
Then again, considering the pitiful selection of traditional British mains, it would indeed be hard to fill a banquet table without outside help—aside from desserts, of course.
"Wow!"
Someone shouted in astonishment, but not because of the food. Dozens of translucent, pearly-white ghosts suddenly emerged from the walls and beneath the tables, drifting lazily about the Great Hall with various expressions.
"Oi, first-years?"
A plump friar drifted past Avada and the other Hufflepuff students. "Welcome to Hufflepuff—and may you have a pleasant seven years of study here."
"Thank you. May I ask who—"
"That's the Fat Friar, Hufflepuff's House ghost," explained a burly student built like a rugby player. "He was a clergyman in life. Later, senior church officials suspected his methods of curing smallpox amounted to poking peasants with a stick—and since he had a habit of pulling rabbits out of the Communion chalice, he was ultimately executed."
"Ahem—some things are best left in the past, Truman," the Fat Friar said with mild irritation.
Cedric added, "Most of Hufflepuff's History of Magic revision relies on him, actually—after all, Professor Binns's classes are really…"
As he spoke, Cedric picked up something he'd never seen before and took a bite, then exclaimed in delight, "What is this? It tastes amazing—and so unusual!"
Avada recognized the dish at a glance and tried a bite himself, raising an eyebrow slightly.
"Chinese roast goose. Pretty authentic, too."
"Seems the house-elves have greatly expanded their recipe collection," Cedric said, unable to resist spearing another piece. After swallowing, he smacked his lips appreciatively. "The Start-of-Term Feast is always the most lavish meal of the year—that's why you get dishes you don't usually see. Who knows when we'll get to eat something like this again… roast goose, was it?"
"If you really crave it, you could try getting on good terms with Cho—the Chinese girl who was just sorted into Ravenclaw," Avada suggested while dealing with a chicken pie. "I chatted with her on the train. Her family's from Jiangnan—she might know how to make it."
As soon as he said that, Avada froze.
In the original story, weren't Cedric and Cho a couple?
If that casual remark of his really ended up bringing Cedric and Cho together, then was that coincidence—or the so-called hand of fate, like one of Professor Trelawney's prophecies?
…
Once everyone had eaten their fill, the remaining food vanished from the plates in an instant, which returned to their original spotless state along with the cutlery. Dumbledore stood up again, and the Great Hall fell silent.
"Now that we're all well fed, I have a few more words. At the start of term, there are some important notices I must share."
"First-years should note that the forest on the grounds is strictly forbidden to all students. Some of our older students would do well to remember this too. Additionally, our caretaker, Mr. Filch, has asked me to remind you that no magic is to be used in the corridors between classes."
"Furthermore, Quidditch team trials will take place during the second week of term. Any student wishing to try out for their House team should see Madam Hooch."
"And finally…"
Avada keenly noticed the professors' collective wince.
"Before bedtime, let us all sing the school song!" Dumbledore said brightly, waving his hand. Lines of glowing lyrics appeared in the air. "Everyone choose their favorite tune. Ready—sing!"
That night, Avada truly witnessed what chaos looked like.
"Hogwarts, Hogwarts, Hogwarts, Hogwarts, teach us something please—"
"Whether we be bald old men or young boys with scabby knees—"
From every corner of the Great Hall, voices burst out at once. Some students sang loudly and proudly, others muttered along without enthusiasm, and every single person seemed to be using a completely different melody.
Lyrics about Hogwarts teaching wisdom, about students young and old alike, about empty minds yearning to be filled with knowledge overlapped and collided, sung too fast, too slow, impossibly cheerful or unbearably solemn.
The sounds piled on top of each other, rising and falling in discordant waves, until the Great Hall resembled a battlefield of competing tunes rather than a school choir.
Avada sat there in stunned silence, bearing witness to what could only be described as musical anarchy.
This… this must be what they mean by "creative freedom."
Then, abruptly, a realization struck him.
Wait a second…
Which little menace was using the Ilvermorny school song's tune?!
(End of Chapter)