Slytherin disappointed Harry.
"I'm so disappointed, refund my money!" he thought bitterly.
Perhaps he'd grown used to the Sorting Hat throwing shade at them, or maybe he figured lyrics like "cunning and sly" and "achieving ends by any means" weren't insults after all.
Harry shifted his gaze back to the Sorting Hat. Its wisdom was impressive—must be some top-tier alchemical craftsmanship. Because it was so powerful, it didn't even seem that tattered anymore. He wanted it.
When the hat finished its song, the hall erupted in thunderous applause.
The Sorting Hat bowed to the four house tables, then went still.
"Looks like we just put on the hat, no combat trials or anything," Ron whispered to Harry. "But those ghosts earlier weren't your problem. My brothers said we'd have to wrestle a troll or something."
"I got carried away," Harry said with a faint smile. But compared to letting those around him get hurt—like the Dursleys, whom he didn't like but needed to keep alive, or Ron and his other young followers who looked up to him—Harry would rather strike first and avoid regret. When he sheltered others, he acted decisively.
There had been too many moments of regret in the past. Harry had since learned to make his enemies regret instead.
This wasn't about righteousness. It was selfish. It was the dominance of a mighty king.
At that moment, Professor McGonagall stepped forward, holding a scroll of parchment.
"When I call your name, you will put on the hat, sit on the stool, and wait for your house assignment," she announced.
"Hannah Abbott!"
A girl with two golden braids stepped out of the line and sat on the stool.
[Kingship, Witnessed]
*[Reward: Bronze Attribute Point 1]
A system prompt flashed in Harry's mind.
"???"
Harry was baffled. What major event just happened?
Could it be her, Hannah Abbott? Who was she?
He studied Hannah, who seemed utterly ordinary—no spark of intuition, no hint of significance. He couldn't make sense of it.
Was he supposed to recruit her into his legion or something?
"Susan Bones!" "Terry Boot!" … "Justin Finch-Fletchley!" …
Several more names were called, each student sorted into their respective houses.
Sometimes the hat shouted a house name instantly, but other times it took a moment to decide—probably because some students had multiple traits.
It made sense. A person could easily be brave, clever, ambitious, and loyal all at once.
No new attribute points appeared for these students, so Harry let go of his confusion. Including his whole穿越 (crossing-over) situation, he never dwelled too long on things he couldn't figure out.
Perhaps that single attribute point came from the Sorting Ceremony itself, not Hannah.
Each house table burst into applause whenever a new student joined them, but of course, everyone was really waiting for Harry. Eyes kept darting his way, again and again.
They all knew this year's batch included the famous Boy Who Lived. While the first-years waited in the aisle, they'd been buzzing about it. Even those who didn't know at first got swept up in the chatter.
Seeing him in person was something else entirely.
If it had been the old Harry—scrawny, ordinary-looking—they might've met him, thought "meh," and lost interest.
They might've even griped that the Boy Who Lived should look the part. "You're so average, what are we supposed to do with that? Go back to tending your poison garden or something."
But this Harry, the King Harry, was different. He sparked a thrill in them, like meeting a living legend.
It's Harry Potter! He's real! And he's moving!
In the midst of this, Hermione and Neville, who'd come with Harry, were both sorted into Gryffindor.
This matched Harry's own judgment. He'd long pegged them as having that "lionheart" grit, though he thought Hermione might've fit Ravenclaw better.
Maybe it was the influence of Dumbledore, the greatest wizard of the age, being a Gryffindor alum. Or perhaps the Sorting Hat's glowing praise of Gryffindor swayed her? Hermione did seem susceptible to authority.
Finally, it was time—
"Harry Potter!"
As Harry stepped forward, a buzzing murmur swept through the Great Hall, like the hissing of a small flame.
Hiss— The crowd collectively sucked in their breath, the hall growing a few degrees colder.
It was probably the ghosts' emotional fluctuations—most of them could lower the temperature. Spirits and cold always went hand in hand.
"Potter? They finally called Potter?"
"Is that the Harry Potter?"
"Were those ghosts earlier telling the truth? Can he really kill ghosts?"
"Not just that—he almost threw down with Professor Snape earlier. The ghosts said when that ice spear appeared, they all wanted to kneel."
"Do you think he's a battle maniac?"
"I still can't wrap my head around it. A one-year-old baby crawling out of a pram to fight the most terrifying Dark Lord? That's absurd."
"Maybe we'll get to see him take on the professors here at school."
"He's so cool, isn't he? Not just his face—his vibe. He's only eleven?"
"I hope he gets sorted into our house. I mean, he's just too awesome, right?"
"Compared to the other houses, I'd rather he's with us. If there's any trouble, we'd be safe standing behind him."
As the hat was about to cover his eyes, Harry caught sight of the crowd craning their necks, eager to get a good look at him.
It felt oddly like a coronation.
Was this what the other first-years felt? Except maybe Hannah, the first to go, who got the fresh excitement of being watched by both new and older students. The rest probably didn't get this much attention.
"Hmm," a faint voice whispered in his ear. "Difficult. Very difficult. I see it—exceptional, exceptional courage. Ambition in spades. My goodness, you're a remarkably gifted young wizard. Gryffindor… Slytherin… wait a moment, wisdom… do you really think you're that wise? Interesting."
Harry felt he could fit in anywhere. The house didn't seem to matter for completing his tasks or studies.
But what was the hat on about?
Fine then, Ravenclaw it is. Did the hat think he wasn't as smart as some of these other little wizards?
No way. He'd eaten more salt than they'd eaten rice. Time to show this hat his true wisdom!
"Oh? You're dead set on Ravenclaw now?" the hat said. "That's a bit tricky."
"No, I was kidding," Harry replied.
The classes were the same anyway. Harry didn't care which house he ended up in.
Like the Twenty-Eight Pure-Blood Families, Harry believed a group should be honored by him, not the other way around.
He never wasted energy on such things.
Unlike Ron, whose whole family was Gryffindor and would find it odd to go elsewhere, Harry's parents were long gone. He didn't need to consider anyone else.
Harry believed whichever house he joined would be lucky to have him.
There's an old Chinese saying: Today, I am proud of my alma mater; tomorrow, my alma mater will be proud of me.
And another: Do kings and generals need noble blood?
Even without an aristocratic lineage, hadn't Harry become the Protector of the Realm, the Lord of the Seven Kingdoms, in the rigidly feudal, law-bound Westeros?
Strength was the reason for kingship!
Harry had long seen through the laws governing the world with his unparalleled wisdom. The power to uphold order was the ultimate law!
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