[Note: Read up to Chapter - 94 on P patron at: p-atreon.com/Knockturn_Alley]
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"RAVENCLAW!"
When the Sorting Hat finally called out, the entire Great Hall fell into stunned silence.
Then—suddenly—the Ravenclaw table erupted into cheers.
"We actually got Shafiq!"
"This is mad!"
"Oi, long live Ravenclaw!"
Meanwhile, the students seated at the Slytherin and Gryffindor tables looked properly gobsmacked. No one could quite wrap their heads around why Aris had ended up in Ravenclaw.
"A Shafiq—one of the Sacred Twenty-Eight—not choosing Slytherin? That's unheard of!"
"The Hat took ages with him. He must've made the choice himself, surely!"
"Has Ravenclaw ever produced anyone truly notable? I can't recall any off the top of my head…"
"Well, Professor Flitwick's Ravenclaw, why don't you go ask him?"
"..."
Murmurs swept through the hall once more like a wave, filling the space with buzzing speculation.
As Aris took his seat at the Ravenclaw table, his eyes naturally drifted toward the staff table.
Several professors were watching him closely.
Professor McGonagall's expression was particularly difficult to read—tinged with something like concern. There was a faint tension in her eyes that Aris couldn't quite place.
What was she uneasy about?
Then it hit him—the question he'd asked her a month ago. About the nature of magic.
She hadn't answered it yet.
Surely she must have had enough time to think it over by now…
A resolve stirred in him. Before the evening was over, he would find a way to ask her again.
His gaze moved to the most prominent seat at the centre of the table—where an elderly wizard with flowing silver hair and beard sat watching the proceedings with an amused sparkle in his eyes.
He wore half-moon spectacles perched just above his bright blue eyes, the lenses catching the light and glinting sharply. His expression carried an effortless calm, the kind that exuded control, and when he looked at someone, it was with an intensity that felt as though he could see straight through them.
The very moment Aris laid eyes on him, a name instantly came to mind—
Albus Dumbledore.
As if sensing the boy's gaze, the old wizard casually lifted his goblet and offered Aris a warm, grandfatherly smile.
But Aris' heart gave a subtle jolt.
Because in that brief exchange—just a fleeting glance—he felt a chill crawl over his skin. It was as though every layer of him had been peeled back, all his thoughts and secrets laid bare.
Legilimency.
Aris whispered the word under his breath, eyes narrowing with faint unease.
He'd been dabbling in Occlumency for the past month, of course—but now he knew: he needed to go far deeper. He couldn't afford to leave himself exposed like that again, not to someone like Dumbledore.
There were techniques, he knew—ways to throw off a Legilimens. Holding one's mind in sharp focus, filling it with distracting or misleading thoughts... such tricks could muddle surface readings, especially with weaker Legilimens.
But with Dumbledore?
No, that wouldn't cut it.
If he truly wanted to keep his mind private, he'd need to become a master of Occlumency—no shortcuts, no compromises. And so far, he'd made little progress. His talent for it wasn't lacking, but the art required persistence, subtlety, and mental discipline.
That glance had made it clear: Dumbledore could peer into someone's thoughts without even lifting his wand. It was unnerving. Far too powerful.
Aris clenched his fist under the table slightly.
He'd need to redouble his efforts.
Just then, another gaze flickered across him—different this time. Less piercing, more... twitchy.
It came from further down the staff table.
Professor Quirinus Quirrell.
For some reason, Aris always felt a strange unease whenever Quirrell's eyes landed on him.
It wasn't something he could explain logically—it was just there. A sort of instinctual sense of malice, subtle yet persistent, like the hairs on the back of his neck standing on end for no apparent reason.
Something about Quirrell felt off. As if the man were harbouring dark intentions—intentions that, Aris suspected, might be aimed at him.
Could this be the prophetic talent manifesting again?
He cast a thoughtful glance at the timid, stammering professor before quietly shaking his head.
Whether it was Quirrell or he-who-must-not-be-named lurking at the back of his head—Voldemort himself—neither posed any real threat to Aris. Not yet, at least.
And if things progressed as planned, that gap in power would only continue to narrow in the coming months.
"Now then, let's hand things over to Headmaster Dumbledore!"
By this point, hardly anyone was paying attention to the last few students being sorted. Most of the hall was either whispering excitedly about Aris, or still chattering about Harry Potter.
It wasn't until Professor McGonagall returned to the staff table and gently tapped her goblet that the noise began to settle. The crisp, clear sound—likely amplified by magic—rang out across the hall, and all eyes turned to the high table.
Dumbledore rose to his feet and cleared his throat. His voice, warm and weathered, filled the room:
"Now, I'd like to say just a few words: Nonsense! Blubber! Oddment! Tweak!"
The moment the last word left his lips, a wave of laughter and applause rippled through the students.
And in the blink of an eye, the four long tables were filled with food—roast meats, golden Yorkshire puddings, steaming vegetables, and desserts that looked like they'd been brewed in heaven.
The mouth-watering aroma filled the air, and within seconds, the hungry first-years were digging in with reckless abandon.
"The feast has officially begun!" someone cheered, as cutlery clinked and conversation returned with gusto.
At the Gryffindor table, Hermione sat frowning slightly, casting an annoyed glance towards Aris's back in the distance.
She was still puzzling over why the Sorting Hat hadn't placed her in Ravenclaw as well. It gnawed at her—perhaps if she'd been more certain, more insistent...
Maybe I could've been sorted into Ravenclaw!
If that were the case, at least she'd be able to clearly see how far ahead Aris was—discuss spells and homework with him regularly, and maybe even learn at his pace.
But now…
She glanced over at Ronald and Harry, who were already stuffing their faces, lips slick with gravy. The two of them looked utterly hopeless.
Silly boys.
Compared to Aris, they were like toddlers playing dress-up.
If this carried on, the gap between her and Aris would only get wider—something she absolutely refused to let happen.
Meanwhile, at the Ravenclaw table, Aris had just polished off a small portion and turned to a young witch he'd just met.
"Cho Chang, mind if I ask you something?"
The pretty girl, cheeks flushed slightly, quickly swallowed the food in her mouth and gave a polite nod. "Of course, go ahead!"
"Well, I was wondering…" Aris glanced towards the high table where Professor McGonagall sat, then added, a little hesitantly, "If I went over now to ask Professor McGonagall something, would it come off as rude?"
"Eh?" Cho blinked in surprise, then chuckled softly. "Not at all! So long as it's nothing too urgent or disruptive, professors are usually more than happy to help students—especially ones who ask clever questions."
"Cheers. That's a relief," Aris said with a grateful smile, standing up from the table and heading off in the professor's direction.
"Wait," Cho called after him, curiosity gleaming in her eyes. "What do you want to ask her? Maybe I know the answer!"
Aris turned his head slightly, a wry grin tugging at his lips. "No offence, but it's a bit of an advanced topic. Professor McGonagall herself said it's not really something students our age should be meddling with."
"Still," he added over his shoulder, "if I do get an answer out of her—I'll be sure to let you in on it."
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Drop power Powerstonessssssssss!
[Note: Read up to Chapter - 94 on P patron at: p-atreon.com/Knockturn_Alley]