Bad news—a monster freshman was coming.
Good news—he was on their side.
Prefect Percy stood and shook his hand firmly, while the Weasley brothers shouted, "We have Potter! We have Potter!" Even some of the ghosts who had always kept their distance from Harry, some of whom had been Gryffindor in life, cautiously stepped closer. If all of them were Gryffindor, it didn't seem so bad. That super Petrificus Totalus incident was probably just a misunderstanding, wasn't it?
Harry sat down, chatting with the Weasley brothers, and finally got a proper look at the high table. Hagrid sat in the corner; he caught Harry's eye and gave him a thumbs-up, and Harry grinned back.
In the center of the high table, Albus Dumbledore sat on a massive golden chair. Harry instinctively felt that Dumbledore was extremely powerful, though temporarily without malice. It was precisely because he recognized Dumbledore's strength that Harry was willing to return the sword. If Dumbledore were only slightly stronger than Professor McGonagall, Harry would have definitely fought for more rights.
For example, carrying the sword directly might intimidate the younger students, but Harry could simply wear the Sorting Hat and draw it only when necessary. After all, the Sorting Hat seemed idle except during the sorting ceremony. The Weasleys mentioned that its song changed every year, likely due to boredom.
Then there was the ever-disagreeable Professor Snape. Harry avoided meeting his gaze; the man was far too unsettling.
Another person caught his attention: the young man he had met at the Leaky Cauldron, suspected to be a Lord Voldemort worshipper. He wore a huge purple scarf wrapped around his head, giving him a peculiar appearance. When their eyes met, Harry felt the Dark Arts power, suppressed by the scar on this man's forehead, begin to stir again.
That person was Quirrell, right? Had he already made contact with Lord Voldemort? Harry sensed their connection might run deeper than he imagined. He had seen a few Death Eaters who had escaped judgment in Knockturn Alley—the most evil among them had been executed by him with his "Voodoo" sword—but none gave him the same chilling feeling as Quirrell.
While Harry pondered this, the sorting continued. He was already quite far back, with a surname starting with P. Since there weren't many new students that year, the sorting quickly finished, and it was time for dinner.
Empty golden plates lay before them. Would the servants bring the food? Or would some spatial-transfer magic deliver it? Harry recalled that Hogwarts was protected by various enchantments prohibiting Wizards' Apparition. This was good news—Harry's speed outmatched that of most Wizards. With Apparition forbidden, he held a considerable advantage, able to move freely like a living magical artifact.
Apparition, Harry recalled, was a technique allowing rapid travel, and only a few exceptional wizards could perform it reliably. Using it in combat was even rarer; only masters could do that. Dumbledore, Harry concluded, was undoubtedly one of those rare individuals. As the Principal, Hogwarts' restrictions likely didn't apply to him. If Harry ever had to fight him, he would need to be extremely careful.
At that moment, Dumbledore stood. He looked at the students with a radiant smile, arms extended as if nothing pleased him more than seeing everyone gathered together.
"Welcome!" he said. "Welcome, everyone, to Hogwarts for a new school year! Before the feast begins, I would like to say a few words. And those are:
Nitwit!
Blubber!
Oddment!
Tweak!"
"Thank you all!" Dumbledore sat back down. The students applauded; Harry's applause was the most enthusiastic. Having studied in China, he thought this Principal excellent—he truly spoke just a few words! When Dumbledore first said, "I want to say a few words," Harry's PTSD had flared up.
With the Principal seated, the feast began. Plates in front of everyone were quickly filled with food. Roast beef, roast chicken, pork chops, lamb chops, sausages, steak, boiled potatoes, roasted potatoes, French fries, ketchup—it surpassed the average British fare by a large margin.
Yet, wasn't Apparition forbidden at Hogwarts? Rumors were unreliable, it seemed; the food had been delivered magically regardless. In any case, Harry focused on eating first. Displaying a king's appetite, he aimed to restore his physical strength quickly. Based on Chinese parental logic, sufficient nutrition could return one to peak strength within two years.
If he could accumulate ten bronze attribute points for stamina and continue building strength, perhaps he could recover fully in no time. Yet he instinctively knew that even with his current power, defeating Dumbledore would be challenging. Though not an enemy, Dumbledore's presence still gave Harry a sense of urgency.
It was worth noting that Dumbledore might not necessarily be gay. Wizards in Knockturn Alley said some unofficial histories suggested he had been involved with the first Dark Lord, Grindelwald—partners who loved and killed each other—but Harry dismissed these accounts. Snape, however, definitely observed him strangely. Ordinary people might interpret it as a simple grudge, but Harry detected a mix of love and hate.
Snape and Dumbledore's relationship, to outsiders, might seem strained, yet Harry had observed enough to know Snape was truly loyal to Dumbledore. If conflict arose between them, Harry knew he had to think carefully. His analytical approach to human behavior had saved him countless times, with an accuracy rate of about fifty percent—but even fifty percent was better than none.
Harry continued eating. His appetite was legendary:
"My goodness, he can eat a whole cow!"
"Is this the Savior's appetite?"
"Where does it all go? Has his stomach been expanded magically?"
"Maybe it digests instantly."
"Even if it does, it must be contained… right? Why doesn't his stomach bulge?"
"Merlin, we're still eating! Can you not say such disgusting things?"
"Perhaps he converts all food into magical energy. In Muggle schools, they call it mass-energy—a balance of power. Mr. Potter must do the same to have defeated the Dark Lord at one year old!"
"Wait… are you saying he drank ten pounds of milk daily as a baby?!"
"Hard to say."
Quirrell, meanwhile, observed Harry intently, mentally reporting to the master hidden within his scarf: Yes, he eats a lot.