Harry Potter: Prince of Shadows

Gripped by horror and fearful of the future, Daphne found a strange sense of calm amidst the chaos.

At the Slytherin table, a commotion broke out.

"Is she dead?!"

A few of the young wizards reached for Daphne's wrist, wanting to check her breathing. Meanwhile, some of the other professors rose from their seats, making Snape's own abrupt movement seem slightly less awkward.

"Stand aside, children. Let me see."

Professor Pomona Sprout, Head of Hufflepuff House, hustled over from the staff table to the Slytherin side to examine Daphne.

"She just fainted—likely from emotional strain."

With a relieved sigh, she glanced up at Dumbledore.

"For each young wizard, Sorting is a life-changing event. Perhaps Miss Greengrass was simply too overwhelmed by it all."

It seemed Professor McGonagall remembered most students' names already.

"Indeed so."

Dumbledore nodded thoughtfully.

"Professor Sprout, please escort her to the hospital wing. Professor Snape and I will check in on her later."

No one protested the Headmaster's instructions.

"Poppy will take good care of her,"

Professor Sprout affirmed as she carried Daphne out toward the large doors.

Only once she and Daphne had vanished from sight did the students gradually tear their eyes away. The professors returned to their seats.

Snape alone remained standing.

At that moment, the Head of Slytherin's expression was one of extreme turbulence. His dark, brooding eyes bore into Ian, who was still perched on the four-legged stool—

Or, more precisely, on the Sorting Hat, which Ian had yet to remove.

"Professor Snape, watch your temper."

Not until Dumbledore murmured a hushed warning did Snape, scowling, retake his seat. He quit staring at the Hat, turning to glare at Dumbledore instead.

Feeling that tense scrutiny, Dumbledore lowered his voice in placation:

"The Sorting Hat has its own reasons. I'm sure it'll give you a satisfactory explanation."

That clearly wasn't the answer Snape wanted to hear.

Yet,

with so many upper and lower year, students looking on, he couldn't press the matter. Forcing himself to remain composed, he resumed his seat, face expressionless.

Still,

the hand he kept beneath his black robes was tightly gripping a vial of potion he'd brewed the previous night—clutched so fiercely that the glass container seemed in danger of shattering.

****

"What just happened?"

By the time Ian finished chatting with the Sorting Hat—satisfying some curiosity about the late Lady Ravenclaw—everything in the hall had calmed down.

He glanced over at the staff table. Dumbledore offered a friendly smile, and Snape sat with his head lowered in thought. The atmosphere appeared perfectly normal again.

"Your Sorting is complete, Mr. Prince. Please put the Hat back where it belongs. The next student is waiting."

Professor McGonagall quietly reminded him.

"Of course, Professor."

Ian promptly replaced the Hat on the stool and went over to join the Ravenclaw table. There, he was greeted with welcoming cheers from his new Housemates. One older boy even stood to shake his hand.

A special badge pinned to the boy's chest identified him as a Ravenclaw prefect.

"Dietrich Wiggins,"

the sixth-year introduced himself. Ian nodded earnestly in response.

"Ian Prince. I hope the older students will look after me."

He shook hands with everyone who offered and then sat with the rest of the first-years.

"No worries at all. Hahaha, maybe this year we'll lose fewer points in Potions."

Prefect Dietrich chortled. In a school full of bright minds like Hogwarts, Ravenclaws were quick to notice anything out of the ordinary.

****

"Zoro Pagaro!"

Once again, Professor McGonagall called out a name.

Sorting continued one after another.

As expected,

Cho Chang—sorted toward the end thanks to alphabetical order—remained unaffected by any "butterfly effect." She ended up in Ravenclaw, just like in canon, and chose to sit beside Ian.

It was easier to chat with someone who shared a boat ride than with total strangers.

"I bet Greengrass is kicking herself right now,"

Cho whispered.

"I never imagined your friend was so… illustrious."

Although she was ethnically Chinese, Cho came from a pureblood family and clearly knew the name "Grindelwald."

"Merlin will look after Miss Greengrass. Don't worry,"

Ian said breezily, his main hope being that the feast would begin soon—he hadn't eaten since breakfast.

"She owes you all an apology. Calling people names like that is just insulting,"

Cho grumbled, making it clear she hardly knew Daphne personally.

****

"Let's give a round of applause for our new students."

When the Sorting finally ended, Dumbledore rose from his seat to begin his opening speech.

"Since last year's Professor Hannibal met with misfortune, he had to cut short his tenure at Hogwarts. So, let me introduce our new Defense Against the Dark Arts instructor—Professor Ronny Ehrlich."

He turned to a middle-aged wizard at the staff table. The man had a stern countenance and short, slightly graying blonde hair.

At mention of his name, the professor greeted the students with a small wave, then resumed his grave silence.

"Though he doesn't show it, Professor Ehrlich is an expert in Dark Arts Defense. I believe he'll be an outstanding teacher—and ally."

Ian paid little attention to Dumbledore's introduction.

This unfamiliar name would most likely spend only a year at Hogwarts. Ian had no idea how Dumbledore found these brave souls each term.

Yes,

brave souls—sacrificial lambs, in some sense.

Because the Defense Against the Dark Arts job was once cursed by the noseless Voldemort, nearly every teacher filling it met with disaster within a single year.

Best-case scenario?

They left with severe injuries.

Worst-case scenario?

They died horribly.

Forget the Triwizard Tournament—these teachers were the true daredevils, the real heroes.

****

"I'm sure everyone's hungry by now. Let's enjoy our feast."

As Ian tucked a napkin under his chin and used a tissue to wipe his plate, Dumbledore announced the start of dinner with perfect timing.

He didn't speak those cryptic words "Nitwit! Blubber! Oddment! Tweak!" that the original had immortalized. With a simple clap of his hands, all the empty dishes at each table instantly overflowed with mouthwatering food.

Roast beef, roast lamb, roasted pork chops, roast chicken, fried chips, boiled potatoes, baked potatoes… The variety was endless, if generally stuck in rudimentary cooking methods typical of Muggles.

Of course,

that didn't stop Ian from tucking in eagerly.

He was practically seeing red from hunger.

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