"Whoa—Azkaban~~"
Hearing Ron's exclamation beside him, Harry Potter blinked in confusion and asked,
"What's Azkaban? Is it something amazing?"
His understanding of the magical world was about on par with Orsaga's—basically nonexistent.
Ron's eyes went wide as he replied,
"Amazing? It's more than that! That place is the stuff of legends…"
Hearing Ron's response, Harry glanced toward Draco Malfoy—who was currently staring at Orsaga with an expression like he'd just seen a god.
"Looks like Azkaban really is something incredible!"
Unaware that his former nemesis was staring right at him, Malfoy had completely forgotten about Harry Potter for the moment. Instead, his mind was now laser-focused on Orsaga.
Sorted into Azkaban right out the gate—it shook Malfoy to his core.
Even many of the Purgators looked like they'd just seen a ghost.
None of them had ever imagined that during a school sorting ceremony, someone might get assigned to a high-security prison.
"..."
Looking at the perfectly calm Orsaga and then at the Sorting Hat—now rolling toward the exit in sheer panic—Professor Minerva McGonagall quietly drew her wand and gave it a casual flick.
The fleeing hat instantly flew back into her hand.
"Don't—don't touch the brim—no, don't—!"
As the hat flailed in her grip, McGonagall examined it thoroughly, but found nothing wrong.
Still puzzled, she turned to the gathered staff and Dumbledore.
"The Sorting Hat seems perfectly normal. No enchantment malfunctions."
Dumbledore took the hat and inspected it himself, coming to the same conclusion.
He then set down the still-shrieking hat and turned to look at Orsaga, who hadn't shown the slightest sign of confusion or fear—completely at odds with how a normal child would react in such a situation.
After a moment's thought, Dumbledore adjusted his glasses and asked seriously,
"Mr. Orsaga, are you carrying any unusual magical items on your person?"
Orsaga answered directly,
"Aside from a wand, just a few Galleons."
Dumbledore waved his own wand, performing a detection spell to verify Orsaga's claim. It came back clean.
Still, he frowned.
There was definitely something wrong with Orsaga—but he couldn't quite put his finger on what.
He speculated silently,
'Could this be some trap that Tom Riddle left behind long ago?'
Based on his experience, the only way to uncover the truth would be to use Legilimency—a spell that could read a person's surface memories and emotions.
But using such a spell on a child was a serious violation of magical law—a crime punishable by the Ministry of Magic.
After some consideration, Dumbledore turned to McGonagall and said,
"This situation is a bit... delicate. Notify the Ministry. Tell them we have an unusual case."
McGonagall nodded, her expression grave.
"Understood."
Her thoughts, too, turned to the past.
'Tom Marvolo Riddle… all these years later, and you're still unwilling to let go…'
Even after all this time, she had never let her guard down where Voldemort was concerned.
As McGonagall left, Dumbledore handed the Sorting Hat to Snape and said with a gentle smile,
"Well then, Mr. Orsaga, why don't you join us at the staff table for now?. The Ministry will investigate further. I'm sure everything will be sorted out soon. In the meantime, the Sorting Ceremony shall continue as planned."
Orsaga nodded indifferently.
"I don't mind."
His cooperation was absolute.
And so, amidst a hall buzzing with whispers and speculation, the Sorting Ceremony resumed.
Thanks to Orsaga's jaw-dropping moment, even when Harry Potter was sorted into Gryffindor, most of the crowd barely reacted.
Their attention was still glued to the man of the hour: the one and only Orsaga, who had somehow been "sorted" into Azkaban.
The fabled fortress where the worst of the worst are held—most had to commit decades' worth of atrocities just to end up there.
At the staff table, Penelope Clearwater sat watching Orsaga eat a chicken leg beside Dumbledore, a thousand thoughts racing through her mind.
She was more anxious than Orsaga himself.
While she'd always felt that something was "off" about him, she hadn't expected this level of chaos.
Her earlier suspicions now seemed hopelessly naive.
A few minutes later—
"WHOOM!"
The fireplace flared to life, flames roaring high.
Several black-robed figures appeared within the Great Hall.
Everyone present instantly recognized the insignia—they were Aurors from the Ministry of Magic.
Their leader stepped forward and asked Dumbledore with a serious tone,
"What happened here?"
He'd been told something urgent was occurring—but the scene before him seemed completely peaceful.
McGonagall stepped forward and explained the full situation.
When she finished, the Aurors broke into hushed murmurs.
The shadow of Voldemort still lingered in their minds.
Yet, their leader looked unimpressed.
"You're telling me that, just because a hat shouted something strange, you think Voldemort is coming back?
That's absurd."
To him, it all sounded like wild speculation.
The Dark Lord was dead. There was nothing left to fear.
Still, to put everyone at ease, the Auror commander drew his wand and pointed it toward the boy casually munching on French fries.
"Don't be afraid, kid. I'm just going to run a simple check."
Unlike Dumbledore, he didn't hesitate.
As a high-ranking Auror, he had special privileges—he could legally use Legilimency without a warrant.
In the blink of an eye, a flash of white light surged from his wand.
The Auror's consciousness made contact with Orsaga's mind.
And then—like a mouse diving into a sea of lava—he was overwhelmed.
A tsunami of pure negativity and unfiltered malice crashed down on his unprotected thoughts.
In his final moment of clarity, the Auror saw a vast, shadowy figure within Orsaga's surface-level consciousness.
That being glanced at him—its eyes a piercing mix of gold and crimson.
It didn't even care enough to react further.
And from somewhere deep within his soul, the Auror heard a cold whisper:
"Pathetic insect…"
——
Back in reality.
The moment after the spell was cast, those watching saw the Auror commander scream.
"AAAAAAHHHHH!!!"
Blood burst from his mouth, eyes, ears—gushing like broken dams.
His body and soul twisted violently before everyone's eyes.
Within mere seconds, he transformed into a two-meter-tall abomination, a grotesque fusion of octopus, dog, and human.
Dripping with dark blood, the creature let out a hideous shriek and lunged at the crowd.
Dumbledore, though stunned, reacted instantly—multiple spells launched from his wand in rapid succession.
A chaotic battle followed.
After several minutes of combined effort from the professors and Aurors, the monstrous thing was finally slain.
The Great Hall lay in ruins.
And every gaze turned toward Orsaga—who had remained perfectly still the entire time, eating as if nothing had happened.
No one could look at him the same way anymore.
A deep wariness crept into their eyes.
He had done nothing, and yet—this had happened.
One of the Aurors shouted:
"It's Voldemort!. This horror must be one of his final curses—this is his way of telling us he's returning!!"
Meanwhile, Professor Quirrell—a.k.a. Mr. Back-of-the-Head Dark Lord—looked utterly baffled:
"???"
And the parasitic soul attached to the back of his head?
It could almost feel the weight of the blame crushing down.
'Why is my name on this disaster?'
_____
T/N:
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