The Great Hall was as splendid and magnificent as ever.
For the start-of-term feast—and perhaps to welcome the upcoming guests from the other two schools—the Great Hall had been decorated with extraordinary grandeur once again.
Hundreds upon hundreds of candles floated midair above the tables, making the golden plates and goblets sparkle brilliantly.
Since Kyle and Hermione were among the first group of students to arrive at the castle, the four long house tables were not yet fully packed with chattering students when they sat down.
As soon as he took a seat at his house table, Kyle caught an approving glance from Old Albus.
No doubt Dumbledore had already learned about what had just transpired outside the castle.
Kyle clicked his tongue. He truly wondered what was going through his adoptive father's mind—having the ability to disperse the storm clouds in the sky, yet refusing to act, leaving those poor first-year kids to cross the lake in a torrential downpour.
One had to remember that the Scottish Highlands in September got bitterly cold after dark, to say nothing of such stormy weather.
If a boat capsized on the bone-chilling waters of the Black Lake, every single kid who fell in would be guaranteed to catch a cold.
Could this be what happened when someone stayed in a leadership role for too long—becoming completely out of touch with the common folk?
Offering a subtle nod toward his adoptive father, Kyle shifted his gaze, eyeing Hogwarts' new victim... cough, Defense Against the Dark Arts professor for this year with great interest.
Regrettably, the new professor sitting at the staff table was not Horace Slughorn, who looked like a fat walrus.
Back after the Quidditch World Cup, Kyle had completely forgotten about the invitation Horace extended to him, instead throwing a bonfire party outside his tent.
Kyle only remembered the invitation halfway through the party and had originally planned to apologize to Horace the following day.
However, the Death Eater attack on the campsite broke out in the middle of the night.
Carrying the secret of Voldemort's Horcruxes, Horace had fled overnight like a startled bird. Later on, even when Dumbledore paid him a personal visit, Horace refused without a moment's hesitation.
Out of sheer necessity, Dumbledore had no choice but to turn to another candidate he had long designated for the Defense Against the Dark Arts position—the scar-covered man sitting at the staff table at this very moment.
Even though Kyle had seen plenty of heavily scarred mobsters in New York, he had never seen anyone quite like this.
Every inch of skin on the man's face seemed to be covered in scars, and his features were extraordinarily distorted—his mouth resembled a diagonal slash, and the bridge where his nose should have been was gone.
Good grief—a live specimen of a new noseless monster!
Yet that was not the most terrifying aspect of the man's appearance. What was truly frightening were his eyes.
One of his eyes was normal, while the other was a special magical artifact—a Magical Eye.
He had also lost half a leg, replaced by a wooden peg that was somewhat crude in craftsmanship yet fiercely aggressive in style.
The former Auror, Alastor Moody.
Kyle recognized the man's identity.
Among the Death Eaters he had slaughtered at the Quidditch World Cup campsite, roughly three-quarters of those who had broken out of Azkaban were originally sent there by Moody.
That fact alone was enough to prove how formidable the man was.
For his adoptive father to invite such a ruthless figure to teach Defense Against the Dark Arts at Hogwarts showed he had made up his mind not to let students coast through this subject any longer.
Due to Voldemort's curse, Hogwarts' Defense Against the Dark Arts education had set itself back by more than fifty years.
Just look at the kind of students Dumbledore produced back when he taught Defense Against the Dark Arts.
Old Man Newt—he was a figure capable of trading blows with Kyle's villainous adoptive father.
Granted, Newt was rubbed into the ground, but at least he managed to exchange a few moves.
Now look at the recent graduates—under the instruction of Defense Against the Dark Arts professors who were replaced every single year like disposable items, what could they possibly learn?
When even a rookie like Ron could pull off an Outstanding grade in Defense Against the Dark Arts before becoming the Jinchūriki of the Eight-Tails, it was easy to imagine just how watered-down the course had become.
With Defense Against the Dark Arts dragging down their standing, Hogwarts had plummeted to 7th place on the global ranking of eleven wizarding schools—and people still had the nerve to call it the finest wizarding school in the world?
Time for a wake-up call.
Fortunately, the school had welcomed a ruthless figure like Moody this year. Kyle was already looking forward to this year's Defense Against the Dark Arts classes.
Given Kyle's skill level, even Moody would find it hard to teach him anything new. What Kyle looked forward to was that Hogwarts—which he viewed as a nursery for future Acolytes—finally had a reliable teacher for practical combat.
Kyle and the other upperclassmen didn't have to wait long before Professor McGonagall led a long line of first-year students in from outside.
They lined up along the staff table, stopping and turning to face the rest of the school.
Since quite a few students had already disembarked from the Hogwarts Express by the time Kyle dispersed the storm clouds, many of these first-years were drenched from head to toe.
Only a few slower, fortunate kids were not dripping wet.
At the moment, shivering from the cold and nervousness, they stood there trembling.
Kyle knitted his brows slightly and waved his hand at the freshmen. Instantly, a row of Grindelwald-style gas stove flames ignited beneath their feet.
The sudden emergence of ghostly blue Fiendfyre naturally gave the new students quite a scare.
However, once they realized their soaked clothes were rapidly drying in the heat without burning them, they quickly calmed down.
Then, Professor McGonagall set a three-legged stool on the floor in front of the freshmen and placed a ragged, dirty, heavily patched wizard's hat upon it.
When the Sorting Hat split its brim open, the upperclassmen of Hogwarts knew that the classic school song segment was about to begin again.
The Father-Worrying Alliance members all rested their chins on their hands in boredom, using the Muffliato Charm to block their ears and automatically filter out the Sorting Hat's singing.
This year, the Sorting Hat's song was far more horrifying than in previous years.
This traced back to last year in the Headmaster's office, when Kyle accidentally mentioned to the Sorting Hat that in the Muggle world, there was a miraculous technique called beatboxing and vocal sound effects.
And then... the Sorting Hat went crazy.
Muggle vocal performers needed small props or techniques to imitate specific sounds.
The Sorting Hat, however, was a magical creation—it didn't need any of that.
It could directly use magic power to simulate the sounds of specific musical instruments.
And so, what used to be plain a cappella singing had evolved into the Sorting Hat composing its own instrumental backings.
If its choice of backing instruments had been taught by Dumbledore, it might have been fine—at least somewhat normal. But the crucial problem was that its musical mentor was that damned Kyle Grindelwald.
Who was Kyle?
A legendary transmigrator from the Middle Kingdom!
The things he taught, naturally, had to be national treasures!
Erhu, suona, brass gongs, hall drums... basically all the heavy-duty instruments used during village banquets and funeral feasts.
When the Sorting Hat performed the lyrics it had painstakingly written over an entire year, set to a full traditional ensemble arrangement of Astronomia, Dumbledore's expression was utterly priceless.
"It was over a thousand years ago, when I was newly sewn..."
"There were four famous wizards, whose names endure today..."
In a daze, Dumbledore almost felt as if a spectral gate to the Underworld was manifesting right inside the Great Hall, facing him directly as its twin doors slowly creaked open.
When the Sorting Hat finished singing, everyone in the Great Hall exchanged glances, each still immersed in the terrifying sights lining the banks of the River Styx.
It wasn't until Dumbledore snapped out of it and took the initiative to applaud that the many teachers and students in the hall snapped back to reality.
Spurred by Dumbledore, enthusiastic applause broke out across the hall.
The Sorting Ceremony that followed was rather dull.
Kyle rested his chin in his hand, waiting for the Sorting Ceremony to end in sheer boredom.
These new students were all far too well-behaved—couldn't a brave soul emerge like he had back in the day, threatening to beat up the Sorting Hat?
————
Supporting me on Pa-treon to gain early access to advanced chapters and enjoy expedited updates. Your support is greatly appreciated.
pat-reon .c-om/Dragonhair
(Just remove the hyphen - and space, to access Pa-treon normally.)