A certain broken Hogwarts

Some plot points in Chapter 3 fell apart right from the start.

While lost in thought, the Sorting Hat finished singing a song that was both awful and pleasant, and after bowing to each of the four long tables, it remained motionless.

Professor McGonagall took a roll of parchment and began calling roll.

"Hannah Abbott!"

"Hufflepuff!"

One by one, the freshmen were called forward to put on their hats and then assigned to different colleges, and applause rang out one after another in the auditorium.

Owen saw that Hermione, as expected, had been sorted into Gryffindor, as had Neville. Draco Malfoy went to Slytherin with an air of arrogance, while Ron Weasley stood not far from Owen, his face ashen like a prisoner awaiting trial, and the sorting process continued.

Wait, Ron Weasley, and Draco Malfoy?

Owen suddenly realized something important that he had overlooked. He turned sharply to Harry beside him, opening his mouth as if to say something.

"Harry Potter!" Professor McGonagall called out.

Harry nervously clenched his fists and walked to the four-cornered bench to sit down. A buzzing murmur filled the Great Hall. People craned their necks, trying to catch a glimpse of him.

The Sorting Hat paused for a moment, then shouted to the entire auditorium:

"Slytherin!"

The clamor in the Great Hall fell silent instantly. The young wizards stared wide-eyed, mouths agape, as if they had all transformed into Neville's toads. Even Professor McGonagall, standing nearby, momentarily lost her composure, revealing a look of astonishment.

"Slytherin? Did I hear that right?"

"The boy who survived was sorted into Slytherin?"

"Oh my god! This can't be real, am I dreaming?"

Soon, the Great Hall was filled with a noisy discussion again, even more intense than before, like being in a bustling market. The students at the Slytherin table, finally realizing what was happening, began to cheer and applaud, their smug expressions visible from afar.

Amidst the strange atmosphere and the odd gazes of the group, Harry ran stiffly toward the Slytherin table.

Irving watched his retreating figure, then slapped his forehead, unable to bear the sight. He truly hadn't meant to.

Remembering Draco Malfoy peeking around when he bumped into Harry Potter in Diagon Alley, Owen should have realized that without Malfoy's aggressive attempts to lower Harry's opinion of Slytherin, and without Ron Weasley's lengthy pronouncements on the negative aspects of Slytherin, plus Owen's own statement that one shouldn't be prejudiced against the house...

At this point, Harry Potter, who still had an innocent look on his face, had absolutely no reason to shout out that crucial phrase in his mind, "Don't go to Slytherin!"

Irving lowered his hand, somewhat amused and exasperated. He was prepared for his actions to affect the original script, but he never expected the plot to fall apart from the very beginning.

"However, Dumbledore should be able to handle this kind of minor matter, since everything is within Dumbledore's calculations anyway." Owen, with the mindset that "if the sky falls, the tall ones will hold it up," glanced at the faculty seats behind him and admired the professors' expressions.

Dumbledore, with his white beard and hair, raised a hand to push up his glasses, which had slipped down quite a bit, his blue eyes flickering slightly. Snape, with his greasy black hair and sallow complexion, had a gloomy and unpredictable expression; Hagrid, the giant, had eyes that looked like black beetles almost bulging out of their sockets; Quirrell, with a huge purple scarf wrapped around his head, had shifty eyes; and the other professors were mostly dumbfounded…

What a strangely comical picture of human nature.

Professor McGonagall was silent for a moment, then continued calling names. Soon it was Irving's turn.

"Owen Shafik!"

Irving walked leisurely to the stool, sat down, held up his dirty hat brim with two fingers, closed his eyes, and pulled it over his head, goosebumps rising all over his body.

Once the brim of the hat obscured his vision, Owen thought with a dark expression, "Damn it, this head is ruined..."

"No, no, no, you should think of it this way: it's the sediment of a thousand years of history, exuding the rich fragrance unique to the long years," the Sorting Hat teased Owen in a soft voice.

"Actually, I'd like to add that even an ordinary stone on the roadside carries the dust of tens of thousands of years of history," Owen politely explained to the hat-wearing individual.

"Fine, I knew it. The Shafik family always produces some oddballs with unconventional thinking," the Sorting Hat grumbled. "Back when I sorted your father, he cried and begged me not to put him in Azkaban... I really don't know where he heard that rumor. Although I did do it once before, sending away a fool who pretended to be a student!"

"Mmm, great," Owen said dismissively, his hair standing on end. "So, could you please sort us into different departments as soon as possible?"

"Alright, since you've made this request so sincerely, I'll be merciful and not bother with a brat like you." The Sorting Hat clicked its tongue. "Hmm, let me think... shrewd yet courageous, strong-willed and ambitious, with a strong thirst for knowledge and decent talent, and even dares to openly dislike me... well, it's quite obvious..."

The Sorting Hat paused, then shouted loudly to the crowd, "Slytherin!"

Amid a round of applause, Owen walked toward the Slytherin table covered with a green tablecloth and, at Harry's beckoning, sat down in the empty seat next to him.

"Why do I feel like...the reactions when I was sorted out were a bit off?" Harry leaned closer and asked worriedly. "It seemed like a lot of people...were not happy?"

"Ah, it's probably because you're so popular that everyone's disappointed you weren't assigned to their college." Owen, the culprit, took out a clean white handkerchief from his pocket and carefully wiped his fingers and hair, offering a casual word of comfort.

Harry looked at him suspiciously. "Don't try to fool me. I saw Hagrid's expression was off, like I'd done something terribly wrong. I'm sure it wasn't a happy expression."

"Well, some people are happy while others are sad," Owen said with a light cough. "I guarantee you'll be on tomorrow's Daily Prophet, and even all the wizarding magazines will see a surge in sales because of you."

"That's really bad," Harry said dejectedly.

"Just keep a calm mindset, because countless terrible things are waiting for you, so good luck," Irving said seriously. At this point, he was quite relaxed, and his mischievous side was overflowing.

Harry deflated like a punctured balloon.

At this point, with Blaise Zabini being sorted into Slytherin, the Sorting Ceremony finally came to an end.

"Welcome everyone to Hogwarts for the start of a new school year!"

Albus Dumbledore stood up, opened his arms to the students with a broad smile, and delivered a very brief speech.

"Before the banquet begins, I'd like to say a few words: Idiot! Crybaby! Trash! Squeeze! Thank you everyone!"

Irving laughed off Dumbledore's words. It is said that geniuses always think differently from ordinary people. When they decide to joke, you've already lost if you think about it seriously.

However, Dumbledore truly lived up to his reputation; even with Harry's Sorting Hall going awry, he remained completely unfazed, acting as if nothing was amiss even when his mind was filled with questions. "That'll put things at ease," Owen thought reassuredly.

Amidst applause and cheers, the long table was instantly filled with a sumptuous feast, and the rich aroma filled the auditorium.

The starving young wizards grabbed their favorite foods and began to eat heartily, creating a lively and joyful atmosphere.

Irving looked at the food in front of him with a troubled expression; he hadn't washed his hands yet.

Washing your hands before meals is a good habit.

After sitting there for a moment, feeling the burning hunger in his stomach, Irving resignedly picked up a piece of roasted lamb chop and skillfully cut it with a knife and fork. Although he wanted to use a spell or wipe his hands with a handkerchief dampened with water, such behavior would only be more impolite in this situation.

Yes, politeness is also important.

He forked a piece of lamb chop and stuffed it into his mouth. As he chewed, the rich aroma of the meat exploded in his mouth. The warm feeling soothed his hungry stomach and allowed Irving to temporarily put aside his inappropriate fastidiousness.

Only then did he have the mind to look at the classmates around him, and when his gaze swept over Harry, he showed a look of great interest.

(End of this chapter)