Once the song ended, the Sorting began.
John noticed some people trying to suppress their excitement, but it still leaked out.
He looked over and smiled.
It was the werewolf community kids—Sevan and Ais.
They were both adopted by Old Jack and were the same age.
Having suffered much since they were young, they wanted to remember this moment well. So that when they returned home, they could tell the youngest, Tyro, all about it.
Little Jack had started school the previous year and was now a second-year Hufflepuff.
Watching his younger siblings begin their journey, he was so excited he couldn't stop talking to his friends beside him.
Besides the two of them, there was also a little werewolf adopted by a pair of Muggle wizard parents present as well.
Werewolves enrolling in school is gradually becoming a trend, John mused as he rubbed his ring in thought.
The day when students could walk through the campus in their werewolf form during a full moon—that would be the day werewolves were truly reintegrated into the wizarding world.
John had studied this topic too.
Werewolves were somewhat similar to the Blood Curse—an ongoing curse. However, it wasn't passed on through childbirth. Children born to werewolves weren't automatically werewolves. Only those injured by werewolves would turn, and that was what the magical world feared most.
Bloodline curses must be solved at the root.
He couldn't harbor delusions of turning every werewolf back into a normal human, but he could research a suppressant—something to inhibit the contagious nature of the werewolf curse.
That way, even if a werewolf lost control, as long as wizards weren't afraid of being bitten, it wouldn't be a big deal.
After all, as wizards, even Neville had once been thrown off a staircase by a family member just to see if he was a Squib.
Even life-threatening injuries could be healed.
The atmosphere in Slytherin wasn't exactly cheerful, which left the newly sorted students feeling a bit anxious.
After they sat down, they all cast curious glances at the legendary John Wick.
John's reputation had already spread by word of mouth among students to various wizarding families. Many knew that there was a gifted student in Hogwarts.
Though the fame was still limited to those circles—it hadn't reached the higher echelons yet.
"Welcome to our new students," Dumbledore's voice rang out, pulling John's mind back from his thoughts about suppressants.
Dumbledore opened his arms and smiled brightly. "Welcome! Welcome back to our returning students as well! There will be plenty of time for speeches later, but not now—dig in and enjoy!"
As always, brief and well-loved by students, and right on cue, the tables were instantly filled with all kinds of delicious food.
John looked at the starlight pie that appeared in front of him and silently slid it toward Malfoy.
He casually picked up a piece of bread and started eating.
Malfoy noticed that Crabbe and Goyle seemed a little off and asked in confusion, "What's wrong with you two?"
Normally by this time, the pair would already be stuffing their faces.
But now they were just sitting there stiffly, looking awkward.
The two exchanged glances, still tightly clutching a blood-red glass orb in their hands, inside which a small snake was hissing.
"New pets?" Malfoy said in annoyance. "Let me see."
In the past, the two would've handed it over without a word. But now, they held on tightly and refused to let go.
This made Malfoy a little angry. Pansy immediately threw a large, hard potato onto his plate to shut him up.
Malfoy was bewildered—was he being targeted or something?
He didn't get it, so he looked again more carefully.
John spoke up, "Draco, take them to the Constellation Society later."
"Huh?" Malfoy frowned. The Constellation Society never just welcomed people in like that. Sensing something was off, he tossed the potato back at Pansy and said, "Alright."
During the holidays, his father Lucius had brought Voldemort back, which made him feel incredibly stifled.
Narcissa had grounded him, afraid he might act rashly and attack Voldemort.
Malfoy held a grudge against his father—how could he side with that man?
During the feast, Crabbe and Goyle were acting extremely cautious, nibbling at their food like it might be the last time they'd ever taste it.
…
Hermione was a clever witch, and she picked up on the many messages hidden in the Sorting Hat's new song.
There was a sense of impending storm in the air.
She glanced at Ron, who was stuffing his face without a care in the world, and felt furious.
She turned to Nearly Headless Nick, the ghost of Gryffindor House, and asked, "What were you trying to say before the Sorting? About the Hat's warning?"
"Oh, right," said Nick. "Yes, I've heard the Sorting Hat give warnings a few times before. It always speaks up when the school is facing danger. Of course, the warnings are usually the same—unity, internal stability, that sort of thing."
"Woee.. thi jhost a Aat.." Ron mumbled something incoherent through a mouthful of food, which Nick couldn't make out.
After swallowing, Ron said, "It's just a hat. How could it possibly know the school's in danger?"
"No idea," Nick leaned in and said in a low voice to the trio. "It stays in Dumbledore's office all the time. Maybe it hears things."
"It wants the four Houses to be friends?" Harry looked over toward the Slytherin table. "That's not very likely."
He figured the Sorting Hat must be getting senile if it thought the four Houses could actually become friends.
That lot in Slytherin wouldn't spare a glance for the other three Houses.
Nick, however, had a different opinion. Among the four House ghosts, things were actually quite harmonious.
Ron mocked, "That's just because you're scared of the Bloody Baron."
Nick was so angry he looked like he wanted to shove a potato down Ron's throat.
"I, Sir Nicholas de Mimsy-Porpington, have never once committed the error of cowardice in my entire life! Noble blood flows through my veins!"
"What blood?" Ron shot back. "Pretty sure you don't have any left."
Nick was thoroughly infuriated. Just because he could joke about his own death didn't mean others were allowed to insult him that way.
"Nick, he didn't really mean to mock you," Hermione said, glaring at Ron in frustration.
"So rude!"
Nick huffed and floated off in anger.
But Hermione had picked up on a few things—about the four Houses, and about the current crisis.
"It's because of Voldemort," Harry said firmly. "It wants us to unite and fight back."
"I think so too," Hermione replied distractedly.
She looked over at the Slytherin table. Why had the Hat specifically mentioned Salazar Slytherin leaving?
The King of Slytherin—the one who gathered scattered sand and turned it into green glass.
And John… he seemed to have some kind of conflict with Dumbledore.
Just like Slytherin and Gryffindor.
Could something be happening between them?
Hermione felt unsettled. She had been John's first friend—and he had been hers.
They held a special place in each other's hearts. She didn't want to see anything bad happen.
As her mind spun with worry, her eyes fell on Ron, who was once again stuffing his mouth full of food. Her irritation surged, and she couldn't help but pick up a book and smack him with it.
Ron was hit without knowing why, but even so, he still stubbornly swallowed his food with difficulty.
The feast came to an end.
Everyone was full and satisfied.
From the werewolf community, Sevan was sorted into Ravenclaw—fitting, since he was the smartest among the kids.
Ais was sorted into Gryffindor, and the other little werewolf went into Hufflepuff.
Though they weren't placed into the same house, it didn't matter much.
Little Jack invited the werewolf student sorted into Hufflepuff to sit with him.
After a year of school, Little Jack's identity as a werewolf had not been exposed.
Aside from receiving invitations from the Astronomy professor to stargaze during the full moon, he was no different from an ordinary student.
Professor Sprout was very fond of this sensible child. In Herbology, Little Jack displayed a special talent.
Perhaps it was his experience of living in the wild that made him so adept at caring for various magical plants.
Dumbledore stood up to speak once again.
It was the usual speech—reminders about the Forbidden Forest being off-limits, and a request from Filch: no magic in the corridors.
John privately doubted whether that last rule actually came from Filch.
After all, Filch had recently developed a hobby—catching students and giving them a ten-second head start.
If you could outrun Filch, you might just avoid a detention.
Unfortunately, no one had ever succeeded.
Filch always managed to nab the fleeing students with an unexpectedly graceful and inhuman speed.
"This year, we have some changes to our teaching staff."
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