Chapter 44
'What is happening to me' Harry thought as he gritted his teeth. The only reason anyone didn't notice his rapidly reddening face and his winces of pain was because they were all focused on was Zabini, Blaise, whose sorting was taking more than five minutes.
Quickly thinking of a plan that was sketchy at best and downright suicidal at worst, Harry pooled most of his magic into his hands, whipping up a small windblast under the table to extinguish his mana levels a bit, and focused on the feeling of pain.
'Runic Burnout!' he thought with all his might.
Suddenly his sight cleared, the weight on his head subsided, his vision cleared up, his mana filled back up, and his mind was filled with knowledge that wasn't there before.
Ping!
Due to successfully surviving a mental attack from an ancient artifact and later surviving its whiplash, your skill has leveled up three times!
Runic Burnout Lv-5 (44%)
A precise sucking of magic from a ward by using it to refill one's own core. It starts causing damage to HP when magic continues to be sucked after the MP is full. common way to get around it is to use up mana as fast as it comes in.
Ping!
Due to successfully surviving a mental attack from an ancient artifact and later surviving its whiplash, you've acquired a new skill!
Mind Arts, Lv-3 (87%)
The act of magically navigating through the many layers of a person's mind and correctly interpreting one's findings, either with others or one's own self. One of the rarest magics today due to its regulated teaching.
Cost-50 MP per use
Harry sighed. 'Whiplash' was something he never wanted to experience again.
Finally free of pain, he settled into his seat comfortably and looked towards the front of the Hall. He could see the High Table properly now. And there, in the center of the High Table, in a large gold chair; really more of a golden throne; sat a wizened and bespectacled ancient wizard with a silver-white beard that looked like it would go almost to the floor if it were visible, watching over the Sorting with a benevolent expression.
It was an image as stereotypical in appearance as a 'Wise Old Man' could possibly be without holding a staff and spouting random proverbs. The wizened wizard had applauded every student sorted with an unwavering smile that somehow seemed freshly delighted for each of them.
Harry recognized him at once. Dumbledore's silver hair was the only thing in the whole hall that shone as brightly as the ghosts.
His Observe on him showed nothing.
Albus Dumbledore
Lv-?
HP-?/?
MP-?/?
Race-Wizard
Str-?
Vit-?
Dex-?
Int-?
Wis-?
Luc-?
?-?-?-?-?-?-?-?-?-?-?-?-?-?-?-?-?-?-?-?-?-?-?-?-?-?-?-?-?-?-?-?-?-?-?-?-?-?-?-?-?-?-?-?-?-?-?-?-?-?-?-?-?-?-?-?-?-?-?-?-?-?-?-?-?-?-?-?-?-?-?-?-?-?-?-?-?-?
Guessing that perhaps it was the magic in the castle or perhaps Dumbledore was too powerful for his observe, Harry looked around him at the table, deciding that he'd reserve using his Observes for when he'd go to the teacher's classes.
To the golden throne's left side was a man with sharp eyes, a face that was dour enough to make Harry think the man had just watched someone strangle his kitten, and greasy hair, who had applauded no one, but somehow kept managing to be looking straight back at Harry every time Harry looked at him.
Further to the left sat a pale-faced man Harry had an odd feeling he'd seen before somewhere.
'Perhaps in the Diagon Alley?' Harry shrugged. He had seen more people there than he cared to identify at once. To that man's left sat a string of three older witches who didn't seem much interested in the students. Then to the right side of the tall golden chair sat a round-faced middle-aged witch with a yellow hat, who had applauded every student except the Slytherins. Near her sat a tiny man standing on his chair, with a handlebar mustache, who had applauded every student, but smiled only upon the Ravenclaws. And on the farthest right, occupying the same space as three lesser witches was the mountainous entity who'd greeted them all after they'd disembarked from the train, Rubeus Hagrid, Keeper of Keys and Grounds.
"Is the man standing on his chair the Head of Ravenclaw?" Harry whispered towards Hermione, who was sitting beside him, hoping he hadn't alienated what looked like the only person here who could give him some competition in the brain department.
For once Hermione didn't answer this instantly; she was shifting constantly from side to side, staring at the headmaster who was now giving out odd warnings about forests being forbidden and so on forth. Bah! As if any school rule would ever stop Harry Potter from exploring a magical forest full of training opportunities. Harry decided almost immediately that he'd be exploring the forest that very night.
Curious what Hermione was thinking of him after he rammed a figurative train into her ideologies in the train, Harry cast observe on her.
Hermione Granger
Lv-5
HP-250/250
MP-150/150
Race-Witch
Str-3
Vit-5
Dex-4
Int-12
Wis-5
Luc-2
Hermione Jean Granger is a Muggle-born witch and the daughter of two dentists in London. She grew up as a normal girl until, at age eleven, she learned that she was a witch and had been accepted into Hogwarts. She possesses a brilliant academic mind, and is a gifted student. She was very studious and bookish and can be very bossy and obnoxious.
She doesn't know what to think about Harry, and as such, is trying her best to avoid thinking about him.
Harry wondered what he was expecting. Maybe he'd expected an entire description worth of how she had secretly enjoyed it when Harry shattered her worldview and secretly had the hots for him. He shook his head. Best avoid that line of thought. Puberty hadn't even come into his line of sight and he still wasn't sure he actually understood the appeal of sex, girls and courting just yet.
"Yes, he is," replied Prefect Clearwater, "That is the Charms Professor and the Head of Ravenclaw, Professor Filius Flitwick, the most knowledgeable Charms Master alive, and an ex-Duelling Champion."
"Why's he so short?" hissed a student whose name Harry didn't recall. "Is he a half-breed?"
A chilling glance was leveled at the boy from many directions. It seemed the good Professor was well liked in his house. "The Professor does indeed have goblin ancestry," Prefect Clearwater answered flatly.
'How did that even work out?' Harry wondered to himself.
"Hssh!" shushed another prefect, though the Ravenclaw witch had spoken quietly.
Harry looked down at his empty gold plate. He had only just realized how hungry he was after all that had happened to him. Looking up, he realized that Dumbledore had just finished his speech.
"Now before we begin our banquet, I would like to say a few words. And here they are: Nitwit! Blubber! Oddment! Tweak!"
A figment of a thought vaguely along the lines of 'what in the name of galloping gargoyles was that?' did pass through Harry's head momentarily, but it promptly vanished as his mouth fell open.
The dishes in front of him were now piled with food. He had never seen so many things he liked to eat on one table: roast beef, roast chicken, pork chops and lamb chops, sausages, bacon and steak, boiled potatoes, roast potatoes, fries, Yorkshire pudding, peas, carrots, gravy, ketchup, and, for some strange reason, peppermint humbugs.
The Dursleys had never exactly managed to starve Harry. He'd been way too resourceful to not sneak away a sandwich or two under his shirt, but he'd never been allowed to eat as much as he liked. Dudley had always taken anything that Harry really wanted, even if it made him sick to eat it all. For the first time in his life, Harry piled his plate with a bit of everything on the table and began to eat. It was incredible.
"That does look delicious." said the lady ghost in the dress sadly, before promptly disappearing with a poof of silvery mist.
One time, while almost inhaling a chicken leg, he'd thought he'd caught Dumbledore staring at him with not a twinkle in his eyes and a severe expression on his face, but when he looked again, the man was pleasantly conversing with Hagrid over the heads of two other teachers. Dismissing it as his imagination, he went back to the food and spent the rest of the dinner deflecting questions about his curiously long sorting.
Being Harry Potter, and being at the center of a curious Sorting event, and then being sorted into Ravenclaw was closely akin to being transfigured into a piece of cake and tossed into a crowd of Dudleys to get gorged on. He was being pulled apart in so many directions it was making his head spin.
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