Choosing an office took almost no time.
Morin picked one facing south, located at the far end of the floor, as far from Professor Quirrell's office as possible. It seemed that the third floor of Hogwarts served only one purpose-housing the Defense Against the Dark Arts offices.
Despite the curse, the conditions were surprisingly good.
Hogwarts was massive, after all.
"This one will do," Morin said.
With a casual wave of his hand, furniture and decorations appeared out of thin air, neatly arranging themselves into place.
"Apparition is forbidden within the school," Dumbledore said. "I'll speak with Minerva later about connecting your fireplace to the Floo Network."
He turned. "All right, let's go to the Great Hall. The students should be arriving soon."
The Great Hall was vast.
Easily large enough to seat over three hundred people.
At present, around two hundred and eighty were already inside. The forty or so incoming first-years had yet to arrive.
The moment Morin and Dumbledore entered, attention naturally followed.
Dumbledore guided Morin to the staff table at the front, then took his own seat at the center.
"I'd like to introduce this year's Defense Against the Dark Arts professors," Dumbledore announced. "One is Professor Quirrell, whom I'm sure you all know."
"H-hello... d-delighted to m-meet you all," Professor Quirrell stammered.
He was still wearing his thick turban.
For reasons unknown-whether it was the constant smell of garlic or something else-the two seats beside him were conspicuously empty.
"And our other professor," Dumbledore continued with a smile, "from the Far East-Professor Morin."
"Hello, everyone," Morin said, scanning the hall before nodding calmly.
"We met just a moment ago," Professor Flitwick greeted warmly. "Please, sit here, Professor Morin."
"I'd be honored," Morin replied, taking the seat beside him.
Professor Sprout soon joined the conversation.
Below, whispers spread rapidly.
A super handsome professor from the East.
Defense Against the Dark Arts.
The students' interest was clearly focused on Morin, not on the stuttering, oddly dressed, and strangely scented Quirrell.
"Where is Professor McGonagall?" Morin asked after greeting the others.
"She's probably with the first-years," Flitwick chuckled. "They can't come straight here. There's still the Sorting Ceremony."
"I see." Morin nodded. "That's a pity. I've only heard about it. I've never actually experienced it."
"That reminds me," Flitwick asked curiously, "you're from the East. Are there many magic schools there?"
"I'm not sure," Morin shrugged. "I was self-taught. But their educational methods are very different from Hogwarts and other schools."
"Different?" Flitwick's interest was clearly piqued.
"It's complicated," Morin said. "I think it's better to let the results speak for themselves. I'm curious how Eastern methods will perform here."
"I don't know why," Flitwick smiled, "but you've certainly made me curious."
At that moment, a small side door opened.
Professor McGonagall emerged, her expression far more severe than usual. She walked straight to Dumbledore.
"Albus," she said quietly. "The students are ready. But there's a small problem."
"A small problem?" Dumbledore asked.
"One student broke another student's bone," McGonagall said, glancing at Morin. "It's already been healed, but this happened before Sorting-and it's unprecedented. How should we handle it?"
"A student that young already possesses such power?" Dumbledore looked intrigued.
Morin, however, felt a sudden sense of unease.
That glance.
He'd joked about Harry taking down an entire grade, but surely not already?
They hadn't even been sorted.
"It wasn't magic," McGonagall continued, glancing at Morin again. "It was fists. One against three."
"Two have minor injuries. One suffered a broken bone."
"I... see." Dumbledore finally caught on.
Understanding dawned.
His lip twitched slightly.
"I believe I understand," he said. "What was the cause? And they've all been healed?"
"Yes. The three verbally attacked the other student, and he lost his temper," McGonagall replied.
"In that case, both sides bear responsibility," Dumbledore said after a brief pause. "Ten points deducted from each. And they'll write letters of apology."
He waved his hand lightly. "We'll announce it after Sorting. For now, proceed."
"Very well." McGonagall nodded, her expression stern once more.
As she passed, the surrounding students fell silent, as though she carried silence with her.
"Heh..." Morin met Dumbledore's gaze and could only smile awkwardly.
It wasn't unexpected.
It was just... fast.
...
Harry was nervous.
On the train, he'd run into Malfoy again.
This time, Malfoy wasn't with his father. He had two other students instead. Morin wasn't there either-only Harry's two new friends.
They hadn't sought each other out.
They'd simply run into each other.
But Malfoy still remembered the fury of the holidays. His father's anger. His own frustration.
If you can't deal with them, why take it out on me?
Didn't you say influence could solve anything?
Aren't you on the Board of Governors?
Why couldn't you do anything about Morin and Harry Potter?
So when Malfoy saw Harry again, resentment spilled over.
Insults came quickly.
In his mind, the plan was perfect.
Provoke Harry.
Get punched first.
Then "defend" himself.
Beat Harry up.
Win the fight.
Be in the right.
A flawless plan.
At first, it worked.
Harry was provoked.
Harry threw a punch.
The problem came immediately after.
Malfoy couldn't win.
If you can't win the fight, the plan collapses completely.
Now Malfoy stood among the first-years, as far from Harry as possible.
His ribs still ached.
A teacher on the train had healed him, but it didn't feel particularly thorough.
Why is he so strong?
He's so thin.
Aren't we all wizards?
Why is he using fists instead of a wand?
Malfoy seethed.
Oh no... I lost control and hit someone.
Harry's eyes darted around.
A month of training had left him with a very poor sense of his own strength.
His thoughts raced.
Their bodies must just be weak... it's not my fault... and they insulted me first. Self-defense is normal...
I hope Morin won't be angry.
Maybe he won't.
He did say he was looking forward to me taking down a grade...
I hope they still let me in.
Beside him, Ron and Hermione were also stunned.
They had been about to help.
Then Harry had taken all three down in seconds.
I was eating. I should've helped, Ron thought. At least then I'd have something to brag about to Fred and George. I mean-he's Harry Potter. That was amazing.
I should've reacted faster... which spell would've worked? Hermione wondered. Why didn't Harry use his wand? Do wizards fight like this? But you're supposed to use magic...
What made them most nervous, though, was the Sorting Ceremony.
What was it?
A test?
It can't be spellcasting, Harry reassured himself. If it were, Morin would've told me.
I wonder which house I'll be in...
As long as it's not Slytherin.
"Form a line and follow me. The Sorting Ceremony is about to begin."
Professor McGonagall returned.
Her gaze swept over them.
Harry lowered his head instinctively.
Next time, don't break bones. Be gentler...
He focused.
They left the small room, crossed the hall, and entered the Great Hall.
Magnificent.
That was the only word Harry could think of.
Even better than Gringotts.
Four long tables filled with older students.
Thousands of floating candles.
Golden plates and goblets gleaming like a gala.
Are those solid gold?
Then he saw Morin.
Impossible to miss.
At the staff table, Morin met his gaze and raised an eyebrow.
Not angry.
Not disappointed.
More like-
I told you so.
Harry suddenly wondered if Morin had some kind of prophetic magic.
They lined up under McGonagall's direction, backs to the teachers, facing the students.
Whispers followed.
"Look, it's Harry Potter."
Yes.
Harry Potter.
The one who broke someone's bone before school even started.
And might not even get in.
A stool was placed in front of them.
A pointed wizard's hat sat atop it.
Old.
Dirty.
Patched.
The hall went silent.
Harry stared.
Then the hat began to sing.
A long, strange song.
Odd lyrics.
A strange tune.
It spoke of the four houses.
Bravery.
Loyalty.
Wisdom.
Ambition.
Harry only grew more determined to avoid Slytherin.
"I feel like the Sorting Hat has a prejudice against Slytherin," Morin murmured to Flitwick.
"It can't be helped," Flitwick replied quietly. "Most villains came from there. Including He-Who-Must-Not-Be-Named."
He added, "And I've heard the founder wasn't very nice to the hat."
"When I call your name, put on the hat and sit on the stool," McGonagall said.
"Hannah Abbott!"
Find 50+ Advance chapters
And for More Fan fiction
👇
👇
[Support link: pat reon.com/RioRaRyu]
--------------------More Bonus Chapters!!!!
Every 300 power stones = 1 Bonus Chapter