Chapter 14: A Slytherin Without Cheers

"The sun?"

The Sorting Hat was actually pondering this question.

"If it could talk, it would probably say it's bored, rising in the east and setting in the west every day."

But Nietzsche firmly said that the Sorting Hat was wrong, his decisive mindset revealing an arrogance unlike anyone else.

The Sorting Hat couldn't think of any other word to describe it…

"But its rising and setting is to bring sunlight to the other side of the Earth. Only when it shines on everyone can it be acknowledged as the greatest star. And wizards… are the people filled with light."

"I... I think I understand."

This answer sounded rather dull.

But upon closer reflection, an overwhelming excitement suddenly filled the Sorting Hat, and it couldn't stop trembling on Nietzsche's head.

The dust fell off from the shaking, revealing its originally comfortable fabric.

Which wizard doesn't believe they are superior to regular humans? Even the most cowardly of wizards think of themselves as special, yet Nietzsche was different.

He believed that wizards were called "wizards" because they could bring better change to the world.

"Forgive me for saying this, but those outdated Slytherin traditions should have died out long ago. Well, for your ideals, I know what to do."

"Sorry, Nietzsche, even though you would fit in Gryffindor, if you want to get closer to that ideal of yours, you'll need to take real action. So that place... is where you can really show your talents."

Only those with such spirit and courage bring honor to Slytherin.

Though saying this might make Salazar Slytherin furious… well, he isn't here, after all.

Right?

"Slytherin!!"

When the Sorting Hat's hoarse announcement echoed through the Great Hall, the people below, who were nearly falling asleep, were stunned.

Harry and Ron were both frozen in shock. Neville was equally surprised, and Hermione, sitting at the Gryffindor table, stared in disbelief as Nietzsche stood up, grabbed his cane, and walked down.

Even Malfoy was taken aback... Could Nietzsche be from some magical family?

"That crazy old hat's gone nuts?!" Ron mumbled with a mouthful of pepper-flavored beans. "Ouch... The person who helped us is a Slytherin? Harry, didn't he help you before too?!"

They had been waiting for almost ten minutes.

And this was the result?

"That's the Dark wizard house!"

"That's it! That hat must be broken; I probably won't be able to join Fred and George in Gryffindor after all."

At the staff table, Snape was equally surprised by the Sorting Hat's declaration. He even looked away from Harry and instead focused on Nietzsche sitting at the Slytherin table.

Could Nietzsche have some sacred bloodline before being adopted by Muggles?

Dumbledore was bewildered, unable to grasp the students' reactions below.

What was happening this year? First, there were two awkward moments with the hat, and now everyone was questioning the Sorting Hat's sanity?

Meanwhile, some of the Slytherins had been in the third compartment earlier and weren't too thrilled about Nietzsche's arrival, but neither were they too cold.

After all, Snape was still there, watching them.

"Quiet, let the Sorting continue." Dumbledore gently tapped his spoon on his goblet, standing in the middle of the staff table with a kind expression. "The Sorting Hat sorts based on both a wizard's character and some of their desires, so please show basic respect."

"Ladies—and—gentlemen—"

But as it turned out, the Sorting Hat wasn't broken.

Malfoy didn't end up in Gryffindor, and Ron didn't get sorted into Slytherin.

After the ceremony ended, Dumbledore announced the start of the feast, his arms wide and his face beaming at the students.

"Fool! Crybaby! Scraps! Twist!"

The feast began, and suddenly, the golden plates filled with food as the headmaster sat down—pumpkin pies, steaks, pork chops, carrot soup, roasted lamb, and peppermint candies to freshen the breath covered the tables.

To be honest, Nietzsche had thought the menu would consist of nothing but British delicacies like fish and chips.

"What family are you from?" Malfoy, sitting across from Nietzsche, asked while slowly cutting into his steak. "I'm Draco Malfoy. My father's a governor of this school."

How interesting—a supporter of You-Know-Who from the wizarding war could still be a school governor.

It was something Nietzsche would contemplate after he was full.

"Holmes."

"I've never heard of it. Is it famous?"

"Not really. My uncle just meets with the Queen of England from time to time," Nietzsche casually said, as he poured tomato sauce over his golden-fried pork cutlet. "I heard the Foreign Office can't function without him."

The Muggle Queen, huh?

Well… not too bad, I guess?

Malfoy mentally pictured Nietzsche's uncle gesturing wildly in front of the Queen, feeling rather excited.

The Foreign Office sounded impressive. He'd heard there were similar jobs in the Ministry of Magic, where people dealt with other magical governments around the world.

In any case, anyone sorted into Slytherin was at least a half-blood.

"Why do you associate with Muggle-born wizards?" Malfoy asked, turning to glance at a girl at the Gryffindor table. "Hmph... If I were you, I wouldn't spend a second with those people."

And yet, by some coincidence, Hermione at the Gryffindor table kept looking towards Slytherin. When she noticed Malfoy glaring, her gaze, which had been fixed on Nietzsche eating diligently, met his.

Watching Nietzsche eat so nonchalantly annoyed Hermione.

She had been defending him over here!

So, with the frustration meant for Nietzsche, Hermione transferred her anger to Draco Malfoy.

Draco recalled the numbness from the Freezing Charm, the sensation of his brain almost shutting down, and quickly turned away.

"You should see a doctor."

"What? I'm perfectly fine!" Draco said. "Her spell only lasted a few minutes, that's all."

After swallowing the last bite of his pork cutlet, Nietzsche stood up and, while pretending to fight for a steak, glanced at Draco: his hands, gripping the knife and fork, trembled slightly as he spotted Hermione, his muscles tense.

"You've got some PTSD from a Muggle-born wizard..."

Excessive startle reactions, hyper-vigilance, and involuntary flashbacks to trauma—it was clear he was experiencing severe triggers.

It was almost like Hermione had cast the Freezing Charm on him again.

"Wh-what is that?"

"It's a psychological disorder caused by trauma," Nietzsche replied, eyes still on Draco, though his hand continued cutting into his steak. "It seems the Malfoy family is quite powerful…"

Not only that, but it suggested that Draco had been very sheltered.

It was a form of over-idealization of reality, leading to trauma when the fantasy shattered.

Draco's view of the wizarding world, shaped by his family, was likely one of nobles over serfs. But in reality, the serfs had not only refused to bow to the lords but had slapped them back.

"Maybe... maybe so," Draco muttered, bewildered by Nietzsche's words.

He didn't understand most of it, but it sounded very professional.

But Nietzsche staring at him while cutting his steak gave Draco a slight chill.

Hmm, he's rather dumb... Nietzsche noted mentally. That's good—it means I can extract more information from Draco Malfoy.

"Look at that! He's talking to Malfoy!" Ron, his mouth full of chicken, craned his neck to look over at the Slytherin table.

Ron Weasley's first impression of Nietzsche was good. After Hermione and he had returned to their compartment, he'd heard Harry recall stories about his Muggle school days... stories of dealing with people like Malfoy. He couldn't be too bad, could he?

But the question remained: How could a Muggle-born wizard end up in Slytherin?

"Hmph, he's definitely digging for information," Hermione said, withdrawing her gaze with a cold sneer.

"But you said Nietzsche was adopted. Is there any chance... his real parents were wizards?" Ron asked, struggling to swallow the dry chicken. "Slytherin wouldn't admit a Muggle-born wizard, right?"

Not possible?

If Hermione had been too stressed to listen carefully to the Sorting Hat's rambling, she might have been led astray.

"That was back then. When I heard the Sorting Hat talk about it, it clearly distinguished between 'now' and 'before.' Maybe Hogwarts didn't have so many rules at the beginning."

"No way, absolutely no way!"

Hermione cut her steak with increasing force, and Lavender and Parvati, sitting nearby, winced at the sound of the knife scraping against the gold plate.

An angry Miss Granger admitted that, at that moment, she was imagining Nietzsche in the place of her steak.

Why was this happening? Why was she so angry?

She didn't know either. Maybe it was because he wasn't in her house—after all, kids this age were prone to emotional reactions. Or maybe it was seeing his indifferent attitude...

"So, are you just arguing with me?" Hermione stuffed a piece of steak covered in black pepper sauce into her mouth and mumbled, "There's no such thing as 'impossible' in this world. I'm happy to debate this with you!"

Harry had thought she was about to pull out a notebook to take notes.

What shocked Harry was that Hermione Granger pulled a thick book out of her bag, with the cover labeled A History of Magic.

This book, worth 2 Galleons, was one of two copies she owned—one she carried with her, and the other safely packed in her luggage. Hermione was always worried she might forget to bring a book to class, so she made sure to have a spare for every subject.

She slammed the book onto the table with a loud thud.

"Are you crazy? Classes don't start until tomorrow!" Ron regretted saying anything, feeling like slapping himself.

Why did he have to argue with a know-it-all who could already perform spells before the term even started?

Hermione's fingers quickly flipped through the pages, one hand turning the sheets while the other continued to fork pieces of New Zealand roast. When she got serious, she barely cared what anyone else thought.

She might've picked up some of that from Nietzsche.

"Hogwarts was founded during the witch hunts—back then, anyone who was a witch or wizard could get in. Who would have set up bloodline barriers at a time like that?"

"Maybe... maybe those without pure blood were sorted into the other three houses..."

"The Sorting Hat's song is the key!" Hermione interrupted Harry's guess. "Those cunning and ambitious people would use any means necessary to achieve their goals. Personality is key; bloodline is just one factor."

This is modern times—who still talks about bloodline purity?

The last Muggle who preached about bloodlines got flattened by a red giant before everything collapsed.

"Maybe that's true. The Sorting Hat did say Slytherin would help me achieve greatness… If bloodline were really that important, it would've mentioned my parents."