The young witches and wizards were enjoying their feast, chatting merrily.
The professors, too, exchanged occasional words over their meal, bonding as colleagues.
Well, except for a certain greasy-haired man.
Severus Snape ate in small, deliberate bites, his gaze fixed on the Gryffindor table—or more precisely, on Harry.
"Minerva, congratulations. That boy ended up in your Gryffindor," Professor Sprout said with a cheerful smile.
McGonagall gently set down her knife and fork.
"Harry, that boy… the Sorting Hat seemed to think he'd fit in Slytherin."
She shook her head, adding casually, "But I heard him muttering under his breath, 'Not Slytherin, not Slytherin…'"
At her words, Snape's face twitched sharply. He spoke slowly, his tone icy, "He wouldn't fit in Slytherin."
His stare at Harry grew heavier, but Harry never once glanced toward the staff table, so Snape never caught a glimpse of those emerald-green eyes.
While Snape brooded, McGonagall raised her glass to clink with Professor Flitwick's.
"Filius, congratulations to you too. Ravenclaw's gained a fine student."
Filius Flitwick, Ravenclaw's Head of House and Charms master, tilted his head. "Oh, Minerva, you mean that boy, Lucien?"
McGonagall nodded, taking a sip of red wine. "Yes, I'm sure you'll like him."
"His talent is… well, quite remarkable."
McGonagall's voice carried a hint of regret—Lucien hadn't been sorted into Gryffindor.
If he had, perhaps in a few decades, the wizarding world would see another great Gryffindor alumnus.
Flitwick was surprised by her praise. He knew Minerva well after years of working together. She often commended students for their diligence or effort, but rarely spoke so directly about someone's talent.
This meant she not only admired Lucien's work ethic but was genuinely impressed by his magical ability.
His curiosity piqued. "Thank you, Minerva. I'll keep an eye on him."
Sprout leaned over, chiming in, "Wait, isn't Lucien the one who bought a ton of books at Flourish and Blotts?"
"Yes, Pomona," McGonagall confirmed.
Sprout chuckled. "Loves books, does he? No wonder he's in Ravenclaw."
…
At the Ravenclaw table, Lucien had finished eating and sipped his juice.
He glanced up, catching Hermione looking his way from the Gryffindor table. He raised his glass in a friendly toast.
Startled at being noticed, Hermione quickly ducked her head, raising her own juice to return the gesture.
She took a big gulp, hiding her flushed cheeks—though at this distance, Lucien couldn't see them anyway.
The Asian girl to Lucien's right was nudged by her roommate, who whispered, "Hey, Cho, he's done eating. If you don't talk to him now, I will!"
The girl, Cho, pushed her friend away, her cheeks faintly pink. "Alright, alright, stop rushing me!"
She shot her roommate a playful glare before turning to Lucien.
"Hi, Lucien. I'm Cho Chang, a year above you."
Lucien's eyes flickered with surprise. This was Cho? She looked quite different from her movie counterpart.
The Cho before him was a strikingly beautiful girl with classic Eastern features, her long black hair accentuating her pale skin. A few freckles dotted her nose, but rather than detracting from her beauty, they added a touch of playful charm.
"Hi, Cho. Nice to meet you," Lucien said, flashing a polite, impeccable smile.
Cho returned a soft smile, showing a hint of her pearly teeth. "You're new here. If you have any questions, feel free to ask me."
"Thanks," Lucien replied.
Cho's roommate suddenly draped herself over Cho's shoulder, chin resting there. "Hey, mate, you into Quidditch?"
"Let me tell you, Cho's not just a pretty face—she's Ravenclaw's Seeker!"
"You should try out for the team. We're short on players!"
Cho's cheeks flushed deeper. "Marietta!"
"You don't just recruit people the second you meet them! Why don't you try out?"
Marietta grinned, unfazed. "You know my Flying grades, don't you?"
"Besides, sports are more a guy thing, right, mate?" she said, winking at Lucien.
"Quidditch sounds fun, but I've never had the chance to try it," Lucien said, sidestepping her question.
Marietta wasn't letting up. "If you're interested, that's a start! Quidditch is a blast!"
"You can ask Cho to teach you."
She pushed Cho closer to Lucien, who leaned back slightly to maintain a polite distance.
"Maybe sometime," he said with a chuckle.
Suddenly, the leftover food vanished from the tables, leaving them spotless.
Dumbledore's booming voice filled the Great Hall. "Children, the feast is nearly over. A few announcements…"
"First, the Forbidden Forest is strictly off-limits."
"Second…"
Sated and content, the students listened patiently to Dumbledore's speech, though it was the usual rundown of rules.
"And now, for the finale, let us sing the school song!"
Dumbledore waved his wand like a conductor's baton, and shimmering musical notes floated through the air, weaving among the students and staff.
When the song ended, Dumbledore dabbed at his eyes, touched. "This moment never fails to move me."
Lucien, watching from below, gave a wry smile. A century-old wizard, yet so full of emotion.
Then again, in this world, magic often drew its strength from emotion. Dumbledore himself claimed love was the most powerful magic.
For the greatest wizard of the age to be so sentimental… it made sense.
Dumbledore announced the end of the feast, and the prefects were tasked with leading the first-years to their common rooms.
Ravenclaw's prefect, Robert Hilliard, was a tall boy with curly blond hair and thick black-framed glasses. Far from nerdy, he exuded a warm, open energy as he introduced the house.
"Welcome to Ravenclaw! Our emblem is an eagle, soaring high in the skies."
"I'm not exaggerating, but our house truly has the brightest witches and wizards…"
As Robert rambled on, the first-years followed him to the west tower of Hogwarts.
They climbed a spiral staircase to the top, where a bronze eagle-shaped door knocker awaited.
"If five brilliant wizards are to divide 100 Galleons, proposing a plan in turn. The first wizard suggests a division, and the five vote. The plan needs a majority to pass, or the proposer is thrown into a dragon's lair."
"As the first wizard, how do you divide the Galleons to get the most for yourself?"
A hollow, mysterious voice echoed from the knocker as they approached.
Robert stepped forward, patting the knocker. "This, everyone, is the entrance to Ravenclaw's common room."
"But to get in, you have to answer its question correctly."
"Anyone want to give it a try?"
The first-years began whispering among themselves.
"Is getting into Ravenclaw's common room always this complicated?"
"What if we can't answer? Do we sleep outside?"
"No matter what the first wizard proposes, won't the others just vote it down and feed him to the dragon?"
"Merlin's socks, can I switch houses now?"
One timid first-year spoke up, "What if I don't take any Galleons and give them all to the others?"
The knocker's hollow voice replied, "Incorrect."
The student flushed and stepped back, embarrassed.
Another first-year, with a buzzcut, stepped forward confidently. "Easy. Four Reducto spells, and all the Galleons are mine."
Silence fell for a few seconds.
The knocker spoke again: "Azkaban."
The buzzcut boy's bravado faltered as his peers edged away from him.
Lucien eyed the boy curiously. A Gryffindor or Slytherin in the making—how'd he end up here?
The Sorting Hat really was unreliable.
Robert chuckled, smoothing things over. "Ha, sometimes brute force is the most direct solution."
"In the wizarding world, knowledge and power often go hand in hand."
He could tell the knocker's riddle was tough—too tough for eleven-year-olds.
He turned to answer it himself, ready to get the first-years inside.
But before he could speak, a voice came from behind him.
"Give the fifth wizard 2 Galleons, the third wizard 1 Galleon."
"The remaining 97 Galleons are mine."
Robert's eyes widened in shock, and he turned to see who spoke.
The common room door slowly creaked open.
The knocker's voice rang out: "May your wisdom shine like the stars!"
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