Chapter 108: The Opening Ceremony
"Diggory, you know the way. Take them ahead," Snape said impatiently when the remaining carriages still hadn't arrived. He waved Cedric off, clearly unwilling to wait any longer.
"Yes, Professor," Cedric replied at once—more than happy to comply. He quickly motioned for Russell and Cho to follow him as they headed down a narrow path toward the castle's side entrance.
"Professor Snape looks like he's in a real hurry," Cedric muttered. "Must be something extremely important."
Going to see the child born of his love and his mortal enemy—yes, that certainly qualified as important.
"Ah… Lily," Russell said softly, deliberately imitating Gin's cold, melodramatic tone.
"What are you talking about?" Cedric asked, utterly confused. "Who's Lily?"
"I mean the Venomous Tentacula Professor Sprout keeps," Russell coughed lightly and changed the subject smoothly. "I named it Lily. By the way—how are the seeds I gave you?"
"They're amazing!" Cedric's gloom vanished instantly. "I named mine Violet. It can already catch mice on its own—but my dad wouldn't let me bring it to school."
"That's fine," Russell said, patting his chest confidently. "If you want one, you can just take another from Professor Sprout's greenhouse. I've got plenty now."
"What are you two talking about?" Cho frowned. "I don't understand a word—this feels like some secret language."
"It's a very cute plant," Cedric said enthusiastically, launching into a detailed explanation.
"So… why exactly do you think a man-eating plant is cute?" Cho asked, genuinely baffled.
"Oh, its drool is pink," Cedric replied earnestly. "Isn't that adorable?"
Cho stared at the two boys in silence.
"By that logic, a troll holding a pink club would be adorable too."
"That would be pretty cute," Russell nodded in agreement.
They entered the Great Hall through the side door. It was still empty—only Professor Flitwick was inside, arranging the tables.
"Professor Flitwick, long time no see. Would you like some help?" Russell asked.
"Of course!" Flitwick turned around, pleasantly surprised.
"Ah, Ravenclaw's outstanding student has arrived!"
"Hi, Professor," Cho waved cheerfully. "Am I not outstanding too?"
"Of course you are, my dear," Flitwick said hurriedly, looking embarrassed.
"Sorry, Professor—I was just joking," Cho laughed.
The three of them joined Flitwick and helped prepare the hall.
"If term had already started, I'd give all three of you five points right now."
Dumbledore's voice came from behind them. He was watching their work with a broad smile, showing not the slightest intention of helping.
"Oh, that's hardly difficult," Russell said as he floated an oil lamp back into place, shrugging. "You are the Headmaster, after all."
"That's not how it works," Dumbledore replied cheerfully. "Even as Headmaster, I must still follow Hogwarts' rules."
"Well then," Russell said helplessly, "you're the Headmaster—your word is law."
As they chatted, the returning students finally arrived, and the Great Hall instantly grew lively. Seeing this, Dumbledore returned to the teachers' table.
With the trio's help, the hall was soon fully prepared.
"Thank you, children," Professor Flitwick said warmly, dismissing them. "Go and catch up with your friends. I can handle the rest myself."
"How was your summer?" James and Rosen appeared at Russell's sides, each throwing an arm around his shoulders.
Before Russell could answer, James continued excitedly, "Great news—you might not know this, but because of what happened last term, Foley transferred to Durmstrang. So now it's just the three of us in the dorm!"
"That is good news," Russell agreed sincerely.
"Oh, right—I brought back a lot of snacks. I'll share them later. You can't buy these in Britain."
"Silence."
At some point, Professor McGonagall had taken the stage, her stern gaze sweeping across the hall. Instantly, the students straightened up.
"Everyone's afraid of Professor McGonagall, aren't they?" James whispered.
Russell nodded in full agreement.
Satisfied, McGonagall led the first-years into the hall. Russell immediately spotted Wednesday in the middle of the line.
McGonagall stepped forward, parchment in hand.
"When I call your name, step forward, put on the hat, sit on the stool, and await your sorting."
"Hannah Abbott!"
A rosy-cheeked girl with two blonde braids stumbled forward, placed the hat on her head—it slipped over her eyes—and sat down.
Moments later, the hat shouted, "Hufflepuff!"
Thunderous applause erupted from the Hufflepuff table. Cedric clapped enthusiastically.
Everything proceeded exactly as Russell expected. Hermione was sorted into Gryffindor—so were Ron and Harry.
When Harry was placed into Gryffindor, the cheering nearly lifted the ceiling. Smiling broadly, he hurried to the table as countless hands reached out to shake his.
In that moment, Harry felt Gryffindor was the best house in all of Hogwarts.
Grinning, he scanned the staff table—and when his gaze met that of a turbaned wizard, a sharp pain suddenly stabbed through his scar.
"Are you alright, Harry?" Ron asked anxiously.
Not just Ron—at the staff table, Snape, looking more ill-tempered than usual, showed a fleeting flicker of concern.
He immediately rebuked himself.
This is your enemy's son. He looks exactly like his father. How could you feel concern for him?
And yet—
Those green, emerald-like eyes surfaced in his mind.
The last glimmer of light in his dark life—extinguished by his own hand.
Snape's feelings toward Harry Potter were complicated, tangled beyond easy understanding.
As his thoughts churned, a powerful stench drifted in from beside him.
Frowning, he covered his nose and flicked his wand. The air instantly cleared.
"Professor Quirrell," Snape said coldly, "what exactly are you doing?"
"S-sorry," Quirrell stammered. "I felt a bit overheated and thought I'd let some air in."
He froze, as if caught red-handed.
"If that's the case," Snape replied flatly, "I suggest stepping outside. It would be far more effective."
"Y-yes, of course," Quirrell said hastily, rewrapping his turban.
The truth was, Voldemort had been complaining about the heat, urging him to loosen it slightly—but Quirrell's odor was so overwhelming that Snape noticed immediately.
"Professor Quirrell," Snape added smoothly, "I don't know where you've been since graduation or what customs you've adopted—but I believe regular bathing is a basic standard of civilization."
"Don't you agree?"
A faint smile curved Snape's lips. His mood had inexplicably improved.
At last, only a few first-years remained.
"Wednesday Addams."
Whispers rippled along the Slytherin table. Snape's gaze fixed on her.
Over the summer, one of his former teachers—Esmeralda—had written to him, asking that he look after her granddaughter. She'd even enclosed some potion-improvement ideas.
Annoyingly, they'd been extremely useful.
Another debt, he thought darkly.
Though the name Addams wasn't widely known, Slytherins—mostly pure-bloods—understood its weight.
Under so many gazes, even Wednesday felt a flicker of nerves.
She placed the hat on her head.
"Oh," the hat murmured. "How fascinating. Very fascinating. An ancient bloodline—dark, but not evil. A thirst for knowledge. A certain disregard for life… yet not the kind that seeks to take it lightly."
"Let me see… both Slytherin and Ravenclaw would suit you well. The choice is yours—but know this: Slytherin's common room lies underground, where you may admire the Black Lake by night."
"…I see. You've decided."
"Slytherin!"
The Slytherin table erupted in cheers.
Russell could hear Malfoy's loud voice: "Of course! I mean—of course Addams belongs in Slytherin!"
Russell felt no surprise. The result had been obvious—Wednesday fit Slytherin perfectly.
"Why was Wednesday sorted into Slytherin?" Hermione muttered unhappily.
"That's normal," Ron said calmly. "Mum says the Addams family may not be one of the Sacred Twenty-Eight, but their history is even older."
"And she's not like Malfoy," he added quickly. "Even Slytherin has good people sometimes."
As Wednesday sat down, students crowded toward her, eager to speak.
She ignored them completely—sitting straight, fingers interlaced, her gaze calmly focused on her freshly painted black nails.
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