Chapter 52: The Banquet! Defense Against the Dark Arts!

Daphne chose to embrace calm amidst the horror and fear of what lay ahead.

The Slytherin table erupted into chaos.

"Did she just… die?"

A few young witches and wizards hesitantly moved forward, one of them reaching out to check for Daphne's breath. At the staff table, several professors had already risen from their seats, making Snape's abrupt reaction seem somewhat less conspicuous.

"Let me take a look. Children, step back and give her some space."

Professor Pomona Sprout, the Head of Hufflepuff House, hurried down from the staff table and approached the unconscious Daphne at the Slytherin table. After a brief examination, she exhaled in relief.

"She's merely fainted. Likely due to extreme emotional distress," she announced, then cast a meaningful glance toward Dumbledore.

"The Sorting is a significant milestone in every young witch and wizard's life. It's not uncommon for emotions to run high," Professor McGonagall remarked, already having memorized most of the first-years' names.

"Indeed."

Dumbledore nodded, deliberating for a moment before giving instructions. "Professor Sprout, please escort Miss Greengrass to the Hospital Wing. I shall visit later with Professor Snape."

No one questioned the Headmaster's decision.

"Poppy will take good care of her," Sprout assured before swiftly lifting Daphne in her arms and carrying her towards the great oak doors.

It was only after the two figures vanished from sight that the murmuring students began to refocus on the Sorting. The professors also resumed their seats—except for one.

Snape remained standing.

At that moment, the Slytherin Head of House wore an unreadable expression, his piercing black eyes fixed on Ian. Or rather, on the Sorting Hat still perched atop Ian's head.

"Professor Snape, mind your composure."

Dumbledore's calm yet firm reminder broke the tense silence. Snape's face darkened further, but he finally sat down—though he no longer glared at the Sorting Hat. Instead, he turned his sharp gaze on Dumbledore himself, resentment flashing in his eyes.

Dumbledore, slightly awkward under Snape's intense stare, lowered his voice in reassurance. "The Sorting Hat makes its own decisions. I believe it will offer you a reasonable explanation."

That was clearly not the answer Snape wanted.

However, surrounded by students and staff, he had no choice but to suppress his frustration. With a slow, controlled breath, he adjusted his posture, his face once more devoid of emotion.

And yet…

Hidden within the folds of his black robes, his dominant hand remained tightly clenched around a small glass vial—a potion he had brewed the night before. The grip was so fierce that it seemed as though he might shatter the container at any moment.

"What just happened?"

Ian, having been engaged in a brief conversation with the Sorting Hat—casually prying for details about the legendary Rowena Ravenclaw—finally removed the enchanted relic from his head. By then, the commotion had already settled.

He glanced toward the staff table. Dumbledore was smiling at him, while Snape had his head bowed, lost in thought. The atmosphere seemed perfectly normal.

"Your Sorting is complete, Mr. Prince. Kindly return the Sorting Hat to its rightful place. We must proceed with the next student," Professor McGonagall reminded him quietly.

"Understood, Professor."

Ian promptly placed the hat back on the stool and strode towards the Ravenclaw table. His new housemates greeted him enthusiastically, some even standing to shake his hand.

One student, in particular, stood out—a tall, well-groomed sixth-year boy who wore a distinctive badge on his robes. The Ravenclaw Prefect.

"Dietrich Wiggins."

The prefect introduced himself with a polite smile. Ian, for once, maintained a respectful demeanor and nodded in return.

"Ian Prince. I hope to learn much from my senior housemates."

"Of course! Haha, maybe this year, we'll lose fewer points in Potions!" Dietrich chuckled, earning a few knowing laughs from the surrounding Ravenclaws.

As one of the most academically inclined houses, Ravenclaws were quick to pick up on interesting details—including Ian's unexpected Sorting.

"Zorro Pagaro!"

Professor McGonagall called out the next name, and the Sorting continued.

Predictably, towards the end of the list, Cho Chang remained unaffected by the tides of fate. She was still sorted into Ravenclaw, just as she was supposed to be.

After stepping down from the stool, Cho immediately chose a seat beside Ian.

It made sense. Among a sea of unfamiliar faces, it was easiest to connect with someone she had at least shared a boat ride with.

"I bet Greengrass is absolutely regretting everything right now," Cho murmured as she sat down, casting Ian a sidelong glance.

"Merlin's beard, I never imagined your friend would have such… an illustrious background," she added in a hushed tone.

Although Cho was of Chinese descent, she still came from a pure-blood family. She had certainly heard the name Grindelwald before.

"Merlin will watch over Miss Greengrass. Don't worry," Ian replied dismissively. At the moment, he was far more concerned with dinner. It had been a long day, and he had only eaten breakfast.

"She'd better apologize properly. That kind of insult was completely out of line," Cho muttered, her disapproval evident.

Before Ian could respond, Dumbledore's voice rang out.

"Let us all give a warm round of applause for our new students!"

As the last name on the list was sorted, the Headmaster rose from his seat to deliver his opening remarks.

"Due to unfortunate circumstances last term, Professor Hannibal was unable to continue his tenure at Hogwarts. Thus, it is my pleasure to introduce this year's Defense Against the Dark Arts professor—Professor Ronnie Ehrlich!"

At the mention of his name, a stern-looking man with short, slightly graying blond hair stepped forward from the staff table. His expression was severe, and though he gave a brief nod of acknowledgment, he remained otherwise silent.

"Do not let his reserved nature fool you," Dumbledore continued. "Professor Ehrlich is an exceptional expert in Defense Against the Dark Arts, and I am certain he will prove to be a valuable teacher and colleague."

Ian barely paid attention.

After all…

A completely unfamiliar name? That could only mean one thing.

This professor wouldn't last the year.

Yes, Hogwarts' Defense Against the Dark Arts position was still very much cursed. Ever since a certain noseless Dark Lord had meddled with the post, every single professor who dared to take it had met some form of misfortune.

Best-case scenario? Severe injury.

Worst-case scenario? A fate too gruesome to mention.

Forget the Triwizard Tournament. These professors were the real warriors.

They were the true heroes.

"And now, let us feast!"

As Dumbledore clapped his hands, Ian had already tied his napkin in place and was wiping his plate with a napkin—fully prepared for the long-awaited meal.

Unlike previous years, the Headmaster skipped his usual eccentric opening words and simply signaled for the banquet to begin.

And with that, the once-empty golden plates filled to the brim with food.

Roast beef, lamb chops, pork ribs, roast chicken, fried potatoes, boiled potatoes, baked potatoes… The variety of ingredients was impressive, though the cooking methods remained stubbornly primitive.

Still, Ian could hardly complain.

He was starving.

His eyes practically gleamed with hunger.

Tonight, he would feast like a king.