Chapter 17: This Is Not the World I Remember!

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They traversed through a cliffside cave draped in ivy, arriving at an underground dock situated below the cliff. They ascended along a gravel path, with a cool, damp breeze blowing over the grassy lawn, until the grand doors of Hogwarts Castle came into view.

Knock, knock, knock

Hagrid knocked three times on the oak door with his fist, and it immediately swung open.

A tall, black-haired witch in a green robe stood before them. Her expression was stern, and her hair was pulled into a tight bun. Harry stared at her for a while, and the code 'RG-60TB' popped into his head—something he recognized as a more understandable term: a thermobaric grenade.

Harry swallowed silently, realizing that the stern-faced witch before him was not someone to be trifled with.

"First-year students have arrived, Professor McGonagall," Hagrid announced.

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

A sense of impending doom settled over Harry. The magical world, already full of bizarre occurrences, could not be judged by the 'normal memories' he had.

Professor McGonagall swung the door wide open, revealing a foyer large enough to fit the Dursleys' house inside. The stone walls of the foyer were lined with blazing torches, illuminating the entire space brightly.

The high ceiling seemed almost unreachable, and directly ahead was a lavish marble staircase leading upstairs.

Following Professor McGonagall, they walked across the flagstone floor into a wide corridor spacious enough for two tanks to move side by side. Harry heard the murmur of hundreds of voices from a door on the right; the older students had already arrived. However, Professor McGonagall guided the first-year students to a small, empty room at the far end of the hall. They squeezed in, jostling against each other, nervously surveying their surroundings.

"Welcome to Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry," Professor McGonagall began. "The start-of-term feast is about to begin. However, before you enter the Great Hall and take your seats, you must first be sorted into your respective houses. Sorting is a very important ceremony at Hogwarts because your house will be like your home here. You will attend classes, stay in the dormitories, and spend time in the common room with your housemates."

"There are four houses: Gryffindor, known for its champions and courage; Ravenclaw, known for its tactical intelligence; Hufflepuff, known for its dedication to wartime logistics; and Slytherin, known for its expertise in special operations. Each house has produced countless distinguished witches and wizards, each with a proud history."

"During your time at Hogwarts, your performance will contribute to your house's points. Actively participating in school competitions and achieving victories will bring honor to both you and your house. At the end of the year, the house with the highest score will be awarded the House Cup—a great honor. I hope that no matter which house you are sorted into, you will strive to bring glory to it."

"In a few minutes, the Sorting Ceremony will take place before the entire school," Professor McGonagall said. "I suggest you tidy yourselves up while you wait and try to look presentable."

Her gaze swept over the crowd, and those who met her eyes tensed up immediately. Once she finished speaking, Professor McGonagall did not linger but turned and left, which was a relief to the young witches and wizards.

"Do you think they'll make us take a test?" Hermione asked nervously, tugging at Harry's sleeve. She was extremely anxious; none of the books had mentioned how Hogwarts conducted the sorting. Even the young witches and wizards beside them, despite coming from pure-blood families, were unfamiliar with the process, which had been kept secret.

"It's about six-thirty now," Harry glanced at his wristwatch. "If there's a test, there won't be enough time. They can't possibly start the feast at eight or nine o'clock, right? It would take a considerable amount of time to grade papers for a hundred people."

"Even so," Hermione said, nervously chewing on her hands, "I'm going to review the spells from the textbook."

Neville was far more composed than Hermione, though he was sweating with nervousness. He at least managed to stand still, appearing almost like a statue.

"Neville?" Harry nudged him, and the chubby boy suddenly collapsed, sitting on the floor with a dazed look.

"Have I been eliminated?" Neville asked blankly.

"Of course not," Harry said, unable to suppress a chuckle as he reached out to help Neville up.

Before Harry could pull Neville up, the boy bounced up suddenly, as if propelled by an unseen force.

A chorus of screams erupted from the others. A group of twenty or so ghosts emerged from the walls and floor. They had a translucent, pearl-like sheen and floated through the room.

The ghosts were chatting amongst themselves, seemingly oblivious to the first-year students.

However, one portly ghost seemed to notice the bewildered first-years and smiled warmly.

"Welcome, newcomers! I assume you're here for the Sorting, correct?"

He was adorned with two thick chains crisscrossing his chest in an X pattern, with massive bullets that looked capable of physically obliterating an elephant with a single shot.

Some of the students nodded, and the ghost continued with a cheerful tone, "I hope you get sorted into Hufflepuff! I was in that house myself."

When did 'logistics personnel' start dressing like this? If the ghost suddenly produced a machine gun he'd taken from a plane, Harry wouldn't have been surprised. After all, if they brought bullets, carrying weapons seemed reasonable.

As Harry pondered this, the ghosts departed, and soon after, Professor McGonagall reappeared.

"Now, form a single line," she instructed the first-year students. "Follow me."

The students lined up according to her instructions and followed her out of the room, through the foyer, and into the grand hall through a pair of double doors.

Harry had never seen such a magnificent and extraordinary place! Was this really magic?

The older students were already seated at four long tables. Thousands of lit signal torches floated above the tables, their light illuminating the hall as if it were daylight. The golden plates and goblets on the tables reflected dazzling beams, casting an enchanting golden glow over the entire hall.

Across from the students' tables were the professors' seats, with two prominent spots. When Harry's eyes fell on them, his mind went blank.

'Gellert Grindelwald?!'

(End of Chapter)