Suddenly, someone screamed, and a group of ghastly ghosts emerged from the walls.
There were headless ghosts, ghosts with almost-severed heads, ghosts stained with blood, and some ghosts that looked perfectly presentable.
“Greetings, children,” a nearly headless ghost bowed towards the crowd, holding his skull in his hand, connected only by a thin layer of skin, quite terrifying.
“Come on, Nick, the feast is about to begin,” urged a ghost standing beside him.
A group of ghosts chatted and walked through the walls, entering the hall inside.
The young witches and wizards were scared white, standing there dumbfounded.
Harry saw this, his eyes gleaming with excitement, something unreal had just happened.
This is it, this is the magical world.
Trains, that's just too out of place.
They're similar to the level-3 ghost monsters from the Undead City in the game.
But these ghosts retained their own intelligence.
That's a difference.
If they retained human consciousness, then they wouldn't be monsters, would they?
Watching them one by one passing through the wall, Harry felt conflicted.
His leveling method, like the game, was through killing monsters, gaining experience points.
He had to kill countless fish to barely level up to level 1.
His level hasn't changed since then.
It seems that killing ordinary creatures yields very little experience points.
Then, according to the game, killing extraordinary creatures should yield higher experience points.
This is also one of the reasons he wanted to enter the wizarding world. Only by entering this world would he be able to encounter extraordinary creatures more easily.
Professor McGonagall opened the door. At this moment, everyone realized that Professor McGonagall was actually so kind and approachable.
“Children, follow me,” Professor McGonagall said.
Everyone followed her into the hall.
This was a hall that could not be described as anything less than magnificent and opulent.
Harry looked around. Thousands of candles floated in mid-air, illuminating the entire hall.
The tables were laden with glittering golden plates and goblets.
The hall was filled with students, and at the head table was another long table where the teachers sat.
Harry keenly realized that the space here was wrong, much larger than the castle should have.
Is this also achieved through magic?
Harry heard Hermione whispering to Neville, "Someone enchanted it to make it look more like the stars outside. I read that in Hogwarts, a History."
He raised his head slightly, looking towards the ceiling.
He saw a velvety beautiful night sky dotted with stars.
After bringing the first-years in, Professor McGonagall walked up to a tattered, dirty, old hat.
The Great Hall fell silent.
As the first-years felt uneasy, suddenly, the hat twitched and a mouth-like slit opened on its edge.
Then, the hat began to sing!
Listening to it was torture, Harry wished he could give his ears earplugs.
When the Sorting Hat finished its song, Professor McGonagall said to the first-years, “When I call out your name, come forward, put on the hat, and the Sorting Ceremony will begin.”
Everyone began to discuss, their nervousness eased.
“Hannah Abbott!” Professor McGonagall called out a name.
A rosy-cheeked girl with two golden braids walked out of the line. After putting on the hat that was so big it covered her eyes, she sat down quietly.
A moment later, "Hufflepuff!" the hat shouted.
“Damn, how long has it been since that hat last had a wash,” Harry looked at the Sorting Hat from below.
He glanced around at the students. Everyone went through this Sorting Ceremony.
Wasn't it dirty and greasy inside?
Harry's expression turned serious, and he clenched his fists.
This is a serious test.
After a while, almost only 4 or 5 people remained, and finally, Professor McGonagall called out, “Harry Potter!”
The Great Hall immediately filled with the sound of chattering.
“Is that Harry Potter? The Boy Who Lived?”
“My god, he looks so handsome.”
“He perfectly matches my impression of the Boy Who Lived.”
At the teacher's table, the greasy, seaweed-haired man stared intently at him.
His eyes were a little vacant, clearly lost in his thoughts.
McGonagall picked up the Sorting Hat and motioned for Harry to sit down and put it on.
Harry's fists tightened and loosened, loosened and tightened. He took a deep breath, sat down, and Professor McGonagall placed the Sorting Hat on his head.
The hat obscured his vision, and at the same time, a wave of indescribable hair oil scent wafted into Harry's nostrils.
Damn, this test is indeed serious.
“Oh, Mr. Potter, you should treat this scent as a historical testament,” the Sorting Hat’s voice echoed in his ears.
“Can you read minds?” Harry’s face changed. No one wanted to have their mind read by others.
“No, no, no. I'm just a hat. I can only vaguely sense your strong thoughts,” the Sorting Hat explained.
“After all, I'm not some dark magic artifact. I don't have Legilimency.”
Harry was doubtful.
“Alright, let me see… ”
“Brave, righteous, full of talent, truly the Boy Who Lived in prophecy...”
“It's so difficult to choose. All four houses are suitable for you. How can I choose?” The hat sounded troubled.
“Which house is good at Transfiguration?” Harry asked.
“Professor McGonagall, the Head of Gryffindor, is the Transfiguration teacher, and Dumbledore is also very good at Transfiguration. He's also a Gryffindor graduate,” the hat blurted out its knowledge.
【Gryffindor equals Transfiguration house?】 Hearing the hat’s words, Harry had an equivalent idea.
“Then Gryffindor. I'm very interested in Transfiguration.” Harry said.
“Then, Gryffindor!!!” It shouted the final sentence with force.
“We've got Potter!”
“We've got Potter.”
The Gryffindor table erupted in cheers.
The title of "Boy Who Lived," for young witches and wizards who grew up in the wizarding world, has a special halo, and everyone has their own imagination of the Boy Who Lived.
Handsome, strong, imposing.
Harry perfectly matched the image in their minds.
Only a certain otter girl curled her lips. She had a deep understanding of this Boy Who Lived, and he was completely different from what she imagined.
Next was Malfoy. Professor McGonagall deliberately glanced at his nose.
There was no nosebleed, but it was still slightly red and swollen.
Harry calmly nodded at them and sat down next to Percy, who pulled him to this seat.
Suddenly, he sensed a malicious gaze, sharp as a knife.
He looked up abruptly, following the gaze, greasy hair, seaweed head, hooked nose, staring straight at him.
Only when Harry looked at him did he shift his gaze.
“Mr. Weasley, Head Boy,” Harry called out to Percy next to him.
Hearing Harry address him like that, Percy’s lips curled up, unable to suppress his smile.
“Is something the matter, Harry?” Percy asked kindly.
“Who is that greasy seaweed?” Harry pointed to the teacher's table.
Percy didn't understand who Harry was referring to, so he looked over his shoulder.
The twins' eyes lit up.
“Greasy seaweed! What a beautiful and accurate description!”
“Harry, you are so talented.”
“With you here, we'll definitely make a splash in the house, again and again.”
Harry couldn’t understand what they meant by making a splash.
He felt that Gryffindor wasn’t really a good match for his personality.
He was a quiet person, after all.
But after all, the Headmistress specialized in Transfiguration. Since she was his Headmistress, she should take special care of her students, right? Asking her about Transfiguration, she wouldn't refuse.
Professor McGonagall, who was talking to Dumbledore, suddenly shivered, like a startled cat, looking around in alarm.
“What is it, Minerva?” Dumbledore asked with concern.
“Nothing,” Professor McGonagall shook her head.
Percy lowered his voice, as if afraid of being heard by the teacher's table, even though the surrounding voices were noisy.
“That’s Professor Snape. He’s also the Head of Slytherin House, Potions Professor, um… he doesn't have the best impression of us Gryffindors.”
Impression, Harry understood what he meant.
It's better not to speak definitively, after all, it's not a good thing to say.
“It feels like Professor Snape doesn’t really like you, Harry.” Ron, who had already been sorted, sat down next to Harry.
“You’re not wrong, he doesn't like me, it's obvious,” Harry said calmly.
He wasn’t looking at Harry, but was talking to the professor next to him.
Harry felt a sharp pain in his scar.
He instinctively reached out and touched it.
It was an even more powerful, blatant malice.
If Snape's malice towards him was 1, then the malice he felt now was 100.
Harry carefully sensed the malice and looked over.
He made eye contact with Snape... and the professor next to him!
He quickly looked away, as if he had just casually glanced at Harry.
The scar hurts!
This is the first time.
This scar was left to him by Voldemort.
Only Voldemort could cause such a strong reaction.
It's a simple deduction.
Any normal person can draw this conclusion after thinking about it.
“Who’s the professor next to Snape?” Harry asked Percy again.
Percy looked at him. This time, he didn’t lower his voice.
“That’s Professor Quirrell. Last year, he was the Muggle Studies Professor, but this year, he became the Defence Against the Dark Arts Professor.” Percy said.
He's the Head Boy. He can get some news in advance.
He enjoyed this feeling of being ahead of everyone else.
“He’s interesting,” Harry said with a smile.
Percy looked at him questioningly, not understanding what was interesting about him.