The doors to the Hogwarts Great Hall swung open, and Professor McGonagall, responsible for guiding the new students, led a long line of first-years to the front of the hall.
The first-years stood in a row along the staff table, coming to a halt under the scrutinizing gazes of the entire school.
The atmosphere made them feel both cold and nervous, trembling uncontrollably.
Interestingly, these first-year students looked as though they hadn't crossed the Black Lake by boat at all, but had swum across it instead.
Two years ago, during Sherlock's second year, they had also encountered heavy rain.
That year, due to the house-elf Dobby incident, Hogwarts had added an entrance inspection before the start of term, which had delayed the opening ceremony considerably.
That year, Ginny, Luna, Colin, and their cohort of first-years had been drenched like drowned rats.
Those who crossed the lake by boat looked just like this year's first-years as if they'd swum across.
This mont was just like that mont.
Could they really be so similar?
No, there was still sothing different.
This year, one small boy was an exception.
He had gray-brown hair and was wrapped in sothing.
Sherlock, Harry, and Hermione recognized it imdiately as Hagrid's moleskin overcoat.
As for Ron, he was currently so hungry he was dizzy and had no energy to identify anything.
One could imagine what Hagrid's coat would look like on a thin, small boy.
It was far too large, making the little boy look as though he were covered by a black circus tent made of fur.
His small face poked out from the collar, his expression was extrely excited.
When he lined up with his terrified companions, his eyes t Colin Creevey's.
He gave two thumbs up and silently mouthed sothing.
Sherlock easily made out what he said.
"I fell in the lake!"
But judging by his appearance, he seed delighted about it.
Sherlock looked at Colin. "So, he's your brother?"
"That's right!" Colin said excitedly. "Hols, you're absolutely amazing! I haven't said anything yet, and you've already figured it out."
Sherlock turned his face away without speaking.
Harry, Hermione, and Ron couldn't help but smile privately.
Never mind Sherlock—even they could have figured that out!
Though Sherlock was pleased when others genuinely praised his deductive reasoning, for sothing this obvious even to them, he only felt speechless.
anwhile, Professor McGonagall placed a three-legged stool in front of the first-years and set the tattered Sorting Hat on top of it.
For everyone except the first-years, this scene was all too familiar.
But for the first-years experiencing the Sorting ceremony for the first ti, this still made them feel anxious.
The next mont, the hat began to sing:
"It was more than a thousand years ago, when I was newly sewn. There lived four wizards of great renown, whose nas are still well known:
Bold Gryffindor, from wild moor, Fair Ravenclaw, from glen, Sweet Hufflepuff, from valley broad, Shrewd Slytherin, from fen.
...
Now slip snug about your ears, I've never yet been wrong, I'll have a look inside your mind and tell where you belong!"
When the Sorting Hat finished its song, the hall erupted in enthusiastic applause.
"Sure enough, it's different from first and second year," Harry noted. Though he couldn't rember the exact lyrics, he could clearly tell this much.
He clapped while asking Ron, "Is it different from last year too?"
"That's right, it changes every year... Hurry up and finish, finish up—I want to eat!" Ron muttered, looking exactly like Dudley on a diet.
Harry: "..."
Next, the Sorting ceremony officially began.
Professor McGonagall, as in previous years, unrolled a large scroll of parchnt and began calling out the first-years' nas in order.
During Sherlock's second year, Professor McGonagall had once picked up the wrong list and called out the familiar na "Hannah Abbott," making quite a few people think Hannah had been held back.
But this year Professor McGonagall made no such mistake. She called out briskly:
"Stuart Ackerley!"
"Malcolm Baddock!"
"Eleanor Branstone!"
The first three young wizards didn't take the Sorting Hat very long.
The hat only took a minute or two to send them to Ravenclaw, Slytherin, and Hufflepuff respectively.
But the following sortings varied in length.
For the quick ones, the hat would shout out a house na the mont it touched their heads.
For the longer ones, the hat needed to think for a while.
However, the longest was only about three minutes. There were no "hatstalls" like Professor McGonagall or Sherlock, and not even anyone like Hermione or Neville who took over four minutes.
After a while, it was the turn of the only one among the first-years who could barely be called an acquaintance.
"Dennis Creevey!"
Colin Creevey's brother.
Perhaps the prayers of the Wizarding World's savior worked.
The hat barely touched the small boy's head before loudly calling out Gryffindor.
Dennis Creevey was thrilled to be sorted into the sa house as his brother.
He pulled off the hat, placed it back on the stool, and hurried over.
However, throughout his run, he kept getting tripped up by Hagrid's moleskin overcoat.
Finally sitting down next to his brother, he imdiately began eagerly recounting how he'd fallen into the lake and been grabbed by sothing that pushed him back into the boat.
"I know—it must have been the giant squid in the Black Lake!" Colin was just as excited as his brother.
He thought his brother being thrown into a stormy, unfathomable lake and pushed out by a giant lake monster was an experience anyone would never dare dream of.
However, Colin couldn't stray from his main topic for long. After just a few sentences, he imdiately pointed at Harry and said to his brother:
"Dennis! Dennis! See that boy over there? The one with black hair and glasses? See him? Do you know who he is, Dennis?"
Harry: "..."
Bloody hell! I knew it!
To avoid trouble, Harry quickly turned his head, pretending he hadn't heard the conversation between the brothers.
Then he noticed that Sherlock and Hermione were sitting very close together.
Hermione was watching Sherlock attentively, listening as he described each new student's family and their day's experiences, as if she found it all very interesting.
Harry couldn't help but glance at them with a touch of envy, then turned his gaze toward the Ravenclaw table.
Whenever soone was sorted into Ravenclaw, Cho Chang would applaud, smile, and welco them along with the others.
As if by telepathy, Cho suddenly noticed soone watching her. When she turned and saw it was Harry, she gave him a sweet smile.
Cho's smile had an obvious healing effect on Harry.
Almost instantly, Harry felt the chill from his journey rapidly leave him.
Not only that, Harry felt a strange impulse.
He found himself wishing he could sit at the Ravenclaw table too.
Strange—as he grew older, this impulse seed to be getting stronger and stronger.
The scene was quite moving: Hermione watching Sherlock.
Harry watching Cho Chang.
Ginny also watching Harry.
And so, the Sorting ceremony ended.
As in previous years, most of the first-years went to Hufflepuff.
Ron grabbed his knife and fork, staring expectantly at the golden plates before him: "It's ti."
"At this important mont," Fred said.
"The mont we've been waiting for," George said.
"Please, Wood has already graduated, stop imitating the way he talks," Ron looked sowhat annoyed at his twin brothers. "I can't wait another minute. I hope Dumbledore has sothing to say after we eat."
Whether or not Ron's wish had any effect, Professor Dumbledore stood up, smiling at all the students and spreading his arms in a welcoming gesture.
"I have only two words to say to you," he said, his deep voice resonating throughout the hall.
"Tuck in!"
"Brilliant!" Ron was absolutely thrilled as the empty plates before him suddenly filled with food, and he imdiately dug in without another word.
As everyone knew, the food provided at the opening and graduation banquets each school year was always the most sumptuous.
Not only that, but the food here was also all-you-can-eat.
So naturally, people like Ron wouldn't pass up such an opportunity.
Nearly Headless Nick watched sadly as the young wizards loaded food onto their plates.
This scene reminded him of his own deathday party.
If only this food could be replaced with food that ghosts like him could taste—that would be killer.
Unfortunately, it couldn't be.
"You know, you're rather lucky—tonight's feast nearly didn't happen," Nearly Headless Nick said. "There was trouble in the kitchens earlier."
"What happened?" Sherlock was always interested in such matters and imdiately asked.
"Peeves, making trouble as usual," Nick said, shaking his head.
However, this motion made his head wobble dangerously—he quickly pulled his ruff up a bit to support his neck.
"Arguing about that sa thing again, you know—he wanted to attend the feast too. Well, it's impossible, you know what he's like, completely ill-mannered, throws food everywhere.
So, we held a ghost eting, and the Fat Friar was in favor of giving him this chance, but the Bloody Baron was firmly against it. I think his decision was very wise."
The Bloody Baron was the Slytherin house ghost, a thin, silent phantom covered in silver bloodstains. At Hogwarts, only he could truly control Peeves.
"So, he was very angry and caused havoc in the kitchens, making a complete ss. He threw pots and pans everywhere, and the whole kitchen was flooded with soup. The house-elves were scared out of their wits..."
Hermione couldn't help but frown at this.
She knew about Hogwarts having house-elves though this wasn't described in Hogwarts: A History, Sherlock had ntioned going to the kitchens with Dumbledore.
"Are they all right?"
"What could be wrong with them," Nick said dismissively. "That's their job."
"Job?" Hermione's frown deepened. "But do they get paid? Do they get holidays? And—do they get sick leave, pensions, and all that?"
Nick first froze, then cackled with laughter.
He laughed so hard that his ruff slipped, and his head rolled off, dangling there, held on by an inch or two of dead skin and muscle still attached to his neck.
"Sick leave and pensions?" Nick pushed his head back onto his neck and refastened it with his ruff, then said.
"House-elves don't need sick leave and pensions! Haven't you noticed? They rarely leave the kitchens during the day, only coming out at night to clean... tend to the fires and such... That's the mark of a good house-elf—you don't even know they exist."
Hermione lowered her head and looked at the food on her plate in silence.
After a mont, she put down her knife and fork and pushed her plate away.
"Oh, spare ," Ron couldn't help but complain. "Even if you starve yourself to death, you won't win them sick leave!"
"Slave labor," Hermione said, her breathing becoming very heavy. "That's how this dinner was made—slave labor."
From Hermione's appearance, she didn't intend to eat another bite.
"Sherlock..." Harry quickly looked toward Sherlock.
He knew very well that at tis like this, only Sherlock's words would work.
And Sherlock indeed didn't disappoint.
"Dear Hermione, I can understand your thinking. Your courage is admirable, but rights aren't won through self-sacrifice. If you want to fight for house-elf rights, there are better ways, and... Understanding doesn't an agreent."
At this point, his eyes suddenly beca sharp: "What can a hunger strike accomplish? Making friends worry and house-elves panic, that's all. They won't awaken because you go hungry; they'll only think we've hard the wizard, this is self-indulgent sentintality, not resistance.
You've t Kreacher too—his thinking represents almost all house-elves. Not only do they not see it as oppression, they view serving their masters as the foundation of their existence. Fighting for rights requires brains, not self-torture."
As Sherlock spoke, he pushed the plate Hermione had pushed away back toward her.
Under Sherlock's gray-eyed gaze, Hermione's heavy breathing gradually cald.
After a mont, she picked up the slice of bread she had already buttered and spread with jam, and took a fierce bite.
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