Chapter 51: Applauded

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Gryffindor shook his head, "Not quite. We still have your sorting left. You certainly have the mind of a Slytherin. And then there is the Parseltongue."

Slytherin sighed, looking at Harry with calculating eyes, "While that may be true, my house will have him with many of his enemies' children. He will not be safe there. And thus it will not be the best place for him to grow into the man that must explore our pasts."

"I don't think my puffs can quite handle you, Mr. Potter. No offense of course," Hufflepuff said with a smile. Harry nodded and smiled back, deciding that he liked the kind woman.

"Well, I for one won't reject such a promising student. He would certainly do well in Gryffindor. However, I do believe that he'd do better with the over-obsessive book-heads he is so similar to. Plus he'll have privacy there to do his personal quests," Gryffindor said.

Ravenclaw didn't reply, but it was obvious that a conclusion had been arrived at. With a nod and a wave of his hand, Slytherin sent Harry and his chair flying back, where he slammed into the wall behind him surprisingly painlessly before promptly blacking out.

"RAVENCLAW!" The hat yelled as Harry came back into consciousness in the real world, hearing it shout out the last word to the whole hall.

With a smile, he took off the hat and started walking towards the Ravenclaw table when suddenly his legs almost buckled underneath him as a massive head splitting weight seemed to fall onto his shoulders. Pain like nothing he'd ever experienced ripped through his body, and he almost crumpled to the floor then and there.

'NO!' he thought. He couldn't draw attention to himself. Not now. Not after what had just happened.

Steeling himself, he fixed a nervous smile on his face and walked shakily toward the table. The Prefect, Clearwater, got up and shook his hand, jostling Harry and making him wince under the extreme pain he was under.

Every muscle in his body was turning into fire. Harry sat down opposite the ghost he'd seen earlier. The ghost patted his arm, giving Harry the sudden feeling he'd just plunged it into a bucket of ice-cold water.

It was a momentary relief.

'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.

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