bacchusnovels Chapter 445 The First Sorting Ceremony
Chapter 445 The First Sorting Ceremony
Chapter 445 The Eleventh Sorting Ceremony
Sprout was somewhat worried: "You can't be talking about...:"
Sean suddenly chuckled: "Yes, Professor Sprout, the new professor of Defense Against the Dark Arts has been chosen—Moody."
"Mad-Eye Moody?!" Despite having suspected it, Sprout's voice involuntarily rose a few decibels when the guess was confirmed, and the worry on his face became even more obvious. "How could he be suitable for teaching? You know his extreme personality..."
The students will definitely find it difficult to adapt. And how much can the students and teachers at Hogwarts... accept him? Not to mention his overly intense teaching methods.
Sean waved his hand gently. "Don't worry, Professor Sprout. Although he may be a bit too strict, I believe he can instill in the students an unprecedented level of vigilance. His experience and intuition are unparalleled, especially in the current situation, where his ability to be responsible for the students' safety is of paramount importance."
When Sean said those words, he meant them very well.
According to Peter Pettigrew, the "legendary mouse," "reliable spy," and "an unknown but helpful servant," Barty Crouch Jr. successfully met with Voldemort three days ago and replaced Mad-Eye Moody.
Admittedly, Mad-Eye Moody was actually Barty Crouch Jr. in disguise.
But if we calculate based on the formula that Voldemort equals Riddle, isn't Barty Crouch Jr. basically one of our own?
Moreover, Mad-Eye Moody is nominally still Moody's subordinate at the Ministry of Magic.
Sean has always trusted his own people to stay at Hogwarts.
Sprout bit his lip, still harboring doubts. "But—that excessive wariness and his empty magic might put too much psychological pressure on the students. And—his combat experience... while awe-inspiring, can sometimes be extreme, even causing people to lose their minds."
“I know what you’re worried about, Professor Sprout,” Sean’s tone softened, “but the current situation, as we’ve seen, presents a significant threat from dark magic and dark forces. That’s why I believe Moody’s involvement is a necessary step in dealing with all of this. You also know that Dumbledore never does anything without being certain.”
Sprout was silent for a moment, then finally nodded slightly.
Actually, if Sean hadn't said that "Dumbledore" never does anything he's not sure of, she wouldn't be behaving this way now.
Look at all the Defense Against the Dark Arts professors that Dumbledore has hired over the years—who are they?
Let's leave Sean aside for now.
Quirrell in the first semester and Lockhart in the second semester left a deep impression on everyone.
Lupin in the third semester became an even more unstable factor—a werewolf.
With such a precedent, how could she trust Dumbledore's judgment?
Just then, Tonks, who had been listening for a long time, suddenly interjected, "Professor Sprout, don't worry, despite Moody's seemingly crazy appearance, he's actually a very good person."
Sean raised an eyebrow, looking at Tonks with a half-smile: "Oh? It seems you know a lot about Moody?"
"Of course!" Tonks grinned, her short pink hair swaying slightly with her excited tone. "When I first started my internship at the Auror office, Moody was my mentor. Although he always tried to scare me, saying, 'Be vigilant! Don't trust anything!'"
But every skill and every rule he taught me has truly helped me so much.
She paused, then sighed nostalgically, "Moody may seem a little intimidating, but he's the kind of person who'd be at the forefront protecting others. No matter how big a mistake you make, as long as you're willing to try to correct it, he'll stand by your side and shield you from all the trouble."
"Sounds like a good mentor," Sean commented.
"Well, as everyone knows, his magical eyes are a bit scary. He can see through the walls when I'm sneaking pastries, and it always scares me so much I jump," Tonks added with a laugh.
Hearing Tonks' words, Sprout finally smiled slightly, sighed, and said, "I hope so. I'm just worried that the obsession in his eyes will put too much pressure on the students." As she spoke, her gaze swept across the auditorium and landed on the stormy sky outside.
Sean glanced out the window, his expression growing increasingly serious. "We all hope so, Professor Sprout. However, some things... some people, whether we like it or not, we have to face. For the safety of the students, each of us must make a choice."
Suddenly, a familiar sound of footsteps rang out. Everyone turned to look, and Snape walked into the Great Hall, expressionless.
"What are you talking about?" Snape asked calmly, his brow furrowing slightly.
Sean chuckled softly, his gaze shifting between him and Sprout. "We're talking about the new professor, Moody."
A fleeting, almost imperceptible emotion crossed Snape's eyes. He didn't answer immediately, but instead looked out the window at the storm, as if he were considering something.
“Moody?” Snape chuckled coldly. “He certainly has—character.” He paused, his voice low, “However…”
At least he's more practical than some people.
Sean understood Snape's implication and smiled. "Yes, everyone has their own unique way, but some methods require us to adapt. I just hope that Moody's approach can be more helpful to the students."
"I hope so." Snape's voice carried a hint of sarcasm—he didn't have much faith in Moody's "method."
In his opinion:
How can working with scoundrels like Phillips and Moody possibly revitalize Hogwarts?
Since Hogwarts already has Shaun, adding Moody won't make a difference.
Surely Dumbledore wouldn't have Moody teach Defense Against the Dark Arts if he didn't come, would he?
Snape, who had waited for many years, had already seen through a certain essence of this:
As long as Dumbledore remains at Hogwarts, he will never be able to become the professor of Defense Against the Dark Arts.
Actually... there is another way.
He was simply unwilling to face this method.
Just then, a burst of laughter came from afar, breaking the slightly silent atmosphere between them.
As more and more students and teachers entered the auditorium, the joyful atmosphere in the air gradually grew stronger.
Soaked to the bone, Harry, Ron, and Hermione slipped and slid through the foyer, then through the two double doors on the right, and entered the Great Hall with their wet clothes and dripping shoes.
Ron grumbled under his breath, brushing his wet hair away from his face as he walked, completely unconcerned about his wolf-fox appearance; Hermione put on a hat to cover her forehead, but even so, there were still some wet marks.
The atmosphere in the auditorium remained warm and solemn, despite the raging storm outside.
To their surprise, the auditorium had been specially decorated, with candlelight flickering around the long tables, hundreds of candles floating in the air, golden cutlery gleaming under the lights, and the air filled with the aroma of roast meat, desserts, and freshly baked bread.
The four long college tables were already filled with chattering students.
Harry, Ron, and Hermione walked past the students from Slytherin, Ravenclaw, and Hufflepuff, and finally sat down at the long table at the far end of the Great Hall with the other Gryffindor students.
Next to them sat Nick, who was almost headless. Today, Nick was wearing a tight-fitting top with an unusually large ruffled collar, which made him look particularly festive.
Harry glanced briefly at the faculty, his gaze wandering among the teachers.
There seemed to be more empty seats than usual. Hagrid was still leading the first-year students across the lake, while Professor McGonagall was probably having the hallway floor dried.
Nevertheless, Harry noticed there was still one empty seat, and he couldn't figure out who hadn't arrived yet.
Hermione noticed too and whispered, "Where's the new Defense Against the Dark Arts teacher?"
Harry paused for a moment, gazing at the faculty desk, a sense of worry rising within him.
It has become a common understanding among Hogwarts students that no Defense Against the Dark Arts teacher ever completes three terms.
"Maybe they can't find anyone!" Ron muttered. "Right now, who's willing to teach Defense Against the Dark Arts at Hogwarts?"
Harry's gaze continued to wander across the faculty desk.
His eyes fell on Professor Flitwick, the Charms teacher, a short professor sitting on a pile of cushions—his height made him less adept at interacting with long tables; then came Professor Sprout, the Herbology teacher, her hat perched askew on her flowing grey hair, seemingly conversing with Professor Sinesta, the Astronomy teacher.
Go further to the right, and you'll find Professor Phillips and Professor Tonks.
The two were whispering to each other, Professor Tonks' face was flushed, and it was unclear what they were talking about.
In the very center of the table sat Professor Dumbledore, his flowing silver-white hair and beard gleaming in the candlelight, his magnificent dark green robe embroidered with stars and moons.
Dumbledore touched the tips of his two long, slender fingers together, rested his chin on them, and gazed at the ceiling through his half-moon spectacles, as if lost in thought.
Harry couldn't help but look up at the ceiling again.
That's one of Hogwarts' most unique magical features: the ceiling changes with the weather outside.
The ceiling looked more turbulent than usual today, with black and purple clouds churning around it. A clap of thunder was followed by a flash of lightning that sent a chill down my spine.
The scene felt somewhat disjointed, as if a thick wall separated the storm outside from the tranquility inside the castle. Harry's gaze was drawn to the breathtaking sight, but soon he heard Ron sigh, breaking the momentary silence.
"I'm hungry, I want something to eat." Ron said, looking at the empty table, his brows furrowed and a hint of impatience in his voice.
As soon as he finished speaking, the auditorium door was suddenly pushed open, and all the students involuntarily fell silent.
Professor McGonagall led a long line of first-year students into the auditorium.
Her steps were steady, her expression serious, while the first-year students looked extremely nervous.
Compared to Harry, Ron, and Hermione, who were soaked to the bone, these freshmen looked more like they had been battered by a storm, drenched and shivering.
Especially the youngest boy, who was wearing a coat that was seriously disproportionate to his size; Harry recognized it immediately as Hagrid's rat-skin coat.
The coat was so big that it almost completely enveloped him, with only his small face peeking out from the collar. His expression was both nervous and excited, and he looked a little clumsy, yet his cuteness was undeniable.
As the new students lined up, facing the entire student body, the atmosphere in the auditorium grew increasingly solemn. The whole scene was imbued with a sense of ceremony.
Everyone held their breath, waiting for the upcoming Sorting Ceremony.
At this moment, Sean sat quietly to the side, watching the new students.
This was his eleventh time experiencing the Sorting Ceremony.
Time flies, how many more times will he have to go through this?
Unlike the school-assignment ceremonies of previous years, this year's event was exceptionally brief. Perhaps it was because there were fewer students enrolled than in previous years, or perhaps everyone was already familiar with the procedure, making the school-assignment process much simpler.
The freshmen walked up to the Sorting Hat one by one, all looking nervous. However, the Sorting Hat quickly made a decision, and they were assigned to their respective houses within a few seconds.
Then Dumbledore rose and delivered his speech, which could not have been shorter.
"Welcome, dear students!" Dumbledore's voice echoed throughout the Great Hall. "Eat! Enjoy your first dinner!"
As soon as he finished speaking, a variety of delicious dishes appeared on the table: steaming hot dishes, colorful desserts, and more.
The fragrant roasted meat instantly filled every table.
The students began to pick up their knives and forks, chatting enthusiastically and laughing. After a brief moment of tension, the first-year students finally relaxed and started interacting with their classmates.
"Ah, that's much better," Ron mumbled, his mouth full of mashed potatoes.
"You guys are lucky; the party tonight was almost ruined," Nick interjected, his voice always carrying a hint of worry. "There was a mess in the kitchen earlier."
"Why? What happened?" Harry asked, his mouth full of steak, his words slightly muffled.
"It's Peeves causing trouble, of course." Nick shook his head, looking somewhat helpless.
His head then swayed slightly, almost as if it would fall off.
So he quickly pulled up his ruffled collar to protect his neck. "They're arguing about that again. You know, he wants to go to the banquet—alas, no way. You know his manners, completely ill-mannered. He litters food everywhere. We held a ghost meeting, and the fat monk was in favor of giving him this opportunity—but Blood Man Barrow was adamant. I think he's very wise to do so."
"What did he do in the kitchen?" Hermione suddenly asked, as if she had just remembered something.