Chapter 11: Slytherin, Absolutely Slytherin
In the evening.
Summer was nearing its end, the Scottish Highlands had not yet shed their summer heat, the orange sunset appeared somewhat hazy through the glass, and mottled light and shadows fell into the room on the third floor of the castle.
The room was even more spacious than expected, mainly divided into two parts: one side was an office area with a desk and bookshelf, the other was a reception area with a sofa and coffee table, suitable for entertaining visiting professors or students in detention.
Further along the hallway was the living area, equipped with a bedroom, storage workroom, and even a bathroom, fully meeting the standards of an apartment-style suite.
The bedroom was spacious, with complete cabinets, and the bed was an oak four-poster with carvings and patterns in the Elizabethan style, oxidized to a deep amber color.
“Room and board included, weekends off, plus winter and summer vacations every year—the conditions are very generous…” Melvin stood by the bed, sat sideways and rocked a few times, very satisfied with the results of his half-day’s busyness.
The bed was neatly made, the mattress size appropriate; ignoring the spring mattress’s color not quite matching the room, it was overall very comfortable.
Millstream new model mattress, fabric-wrapped independent springs, coconut coir latex filling, medium firmness.
Hogwarts provided a full set of living supplies, but he wasn’t used to them and replaced them with his own.
In addition, there was a pneumatic adjustable office chair, a Panasonic portable vinyl record player, a spring-driven grandfather clock, and various books, stationery, snacks, and drinks.
“After all, he’s the Muggle Studies professor—carrying some Muggle items with him is perfectly normal…”
Melvin exhaled, looking up to survey the now-filled room.
Inseparable from comfortable and convenient technological creations, yet also inseparable from the fantastical and magnificent Wizarding World.
Unknowingly, it had been 9 months since leaving Ilvermorny; returning to a wizard school as a professor at Hogwarts—compared to his days on Broadway, though it was his first time setting foot in this castle, it still felt stable and solid.
He was just a bit worried: if Headmaster Fontana found out he left Ilvermorny without even taking his diploma, only to head straight to Hogwarts, he might be so angry he’d bury him under snakewood.
As he was in Hogwarts reminiscing about Ilvermorny, the sun had set, and the grandfather clock’s pendulum emitted a dull ringing sound.
The opening feast was about to begin; Melvin stood up, took off his jacket, and pulled a suit from his suitcase to put on.
According to Dumbledore’s introduction, Hogwarts had several grand banquets each year, the opening feast being one of them; professors needed to arrive at the Great Hall before the students, preferably in formal wear.
The Wizarding World had suits too, though the styles weren’t as complex as Muggle ones. In most wizards’ views, suits were the uniform for Ministry of Magic staff to interact with Muggles; wizards’ formal wear was wizard robes, and for especially formal occasions, formal robes—Diagon Alley had shops like Madam Malkin’s Robes for All Occasions, and Hogsmeade had a stylish wizard clothing store; if really strapped for cash, one could try a second-hand robe shop.
Melvin chose to attend the opening feast in a suit and tie.
This professor was a bit Muggle.
……
Learning about this ancient castle from moving pictures and written stories was completely different from walking its hallways and staircases in person.
The castle’s main color tone was dark; walls and dome were sandstone and limestone, weathered by long ages into a grayish tone mixed with mottled gray-black; the stairs were marble, not so starkly cold. The hallways were straight, with hollow armor and wizard busts quietly placed along both sides, their bases engraved with their life stories.
Beside the openwork reliefs hung green streamers bearing the Slytherin House crest—they were last year’s House Cup champions, and this color scheme decoration would last the whole year until a new champion was decided next summer.
Melvin slowed his steps descending the stairs, memories of Hogwarts continually surfacing in his mind; the real scenes before him gradually merged with the distant pictures in his memories, becoming more and more vivid bit by bit.
He paused for half a minute on the staircase corner platform, figuring out the pattern of the staircase’s turns, before continuing down.
Hogwarts had a total of 142 staircases, varying in width, length, and height; some steps would suddenly vanish, some stairs would suddenly turn—if rushing blindly, getting stuck for half an hour was normal.
The last step— the Great Hall was not far ahead, its two door leaves open, brightly lit.
“You’re the new Professor Levent, right?”
Melvin hadn’t yet entered the Great Hall when a short, plump middle-aged witch approached from the foyer direction, her gray hair fluffy and flowing, a kind smile on her face: “Pleased to meet you, Professor Levent. I’m Pomona Sprout, the Herbology professor.”
She was the witch he had seen busy in the greenhouse upon arriving at the school.
“Hello, Professor Sprout.”
“I saw you at the greenhouse this morning, but I was covered in mud then, and the greenhouse smell wasn’t pleasant, so I didn’t call out to you. Come on, come on—let me introduce you to the other professors.”
“Alright, lady…”
Melvin couldn’t help but smile, following her toward the Great Hall.
The banquet hadn’t started yet; the four house tables were still empty, with only simple fruits and snacks on them; the high table was also empty. Walking closer, voices came from the lounge nearby.
Following the direction of the voices, entering the side door by the high table, Melvin saw the other three Hogwarts heads of house.
The witch standing in front was upright in posture, wearing a crisp emerald green robe buttoned to the very top, her gray-black streaked hair in a tight bun, steady gaze behind square glasses lingering on his suit for a few seconds before nodding to him:
“Welcome to Hogwarts, Professor Levent. I’m Minerva McGonagall, Transfiguration professor.”
“Pleased to meet you, Professor McGonagall.”
Beside her stood a thin man with a prominent hooked nose, greasy black hair hanging at his cheeks, expressionless; when meeting Melvin’s eyes, a cold gaze flashed, and he squeezed out a name:
“Severus Snape, Potions.”
Melvin nodded: “Hello, Professor Snape.”
“Over here! Filius Flitwick, Charms professor!”
Professor Flitwick was a goblin-halfblood, short in stature at just over three feet, but very agile; in the blink of an eye he was up close, eyeing his suit with great interest: “That’s Muggle clothing, right? So handsome!”
“Yes, Muggle men’s formal wear, can be tailored to one’s build. If Professor Flitwick is interested, we could go to London together this weekend—I happen to know a very good tailoring shop.”
“London? I thought it would be New York.”
“Professor Flitwick knows me?”
“Of course, the newspapers reported it. I want to hear about Ilvermorny—what are your Charms classes like? What do you teach?”
“I also want to learn more about Hogwarts…”
The four heads of house and the new Muggle Studies professor gathered to chat idly; they inquired about Melvin’s experiences, and Melvin subtly probed into their pasts.
Hogwarts’ four heads of house each had their own stories; when one professor was unwilling to share, the topic turned to Professor McGonagall’s youth.
Professor McGonagall was a half-blood witch; her father was a Muggle church priest, her mother a witch who hid her identity to love a Muggle.
Minerva showed outstanding wizard talent shortly after birth; as an infant she couldn’t control her magic, soon exposing her mother Isabelle’s witch identity. But the family didn’t fall apart—they continued living together, and soon Minerva had two younger brothers, also wizards.
There was no disturbance in that time; Minerva smoothly entered Hogwarts, smoothly graduated.
Talking about the past sparked interest among the professors; Flitwick reminisced nostalgically:
“I still remember that year’s Sorting ceremony—the Sorting Hat hesitated between Gryffindor and Ravenclaw for five and a half minutes on her head before deciding on Gryffindor. Such a pity… just a little short, and Ravenclaw would have had this outstanding witch.”
Sprout added reverently: “I enrolled when Minerva was in fifth year; she was Gryffindor prefect then, first in year, showing astonishing talent in Transfiguration, selected as best newcomer by 《 Transfiguration Today 》…”
McGonagall pursed her lips, a faint smile at the corners:
“Filius was outstanding too—the Sorting Hat nearly put him in Gryffindor. By fifth year, no same-year student could last three minutes in duelling practice against Filius, nor could older students. Shortly after graduation, he became Wizard Duelling Tournament champion, holding the title for several years running.
“And Pomona—I was graduating when she was twelve, already having tamed all the dangerous plants in the greenhouse.”
“That was decades ago.”
“Those wonderful student days—truly nostalgic…”
Snape remained silent, glanced at the chatting group; he’d been listening without much speaking earlier, but now suddenly spoke: “Pity Professor McGonagall left with regrets upon graduation.”
Melvin instinctively asked: “What regrets?”
“As Gryffindor Quidditch team captain, she lost the final match against Slytherin before graduation. She still wants to win it back even now, but hasn’t managed it.”
“…”
Flitwick and Sprout fell involuntarily silent.
Melvin was also somewhat silent—why had he chimed in just now.
Snape was someone who could chat.
Professor McGonagall frowned slightly: “That was because Slytherin players fouled, causing me to fall with a concussion and several broken ribs—I couldn’t continue the match.”
“He received due punishment, and Gryffindor still lost.”
“Gryffindor has beaten Slytherin many times since.”
“Just not in the last five years.”
“…”
Flitwick and Sprout listened to their back-and-forth without any urge to interject or mediate; after all, over the past few decades, the House Cup and Quidditch Cup had mostly alternated between Gryffindor and Slytherin—watching them bicker on this topic brought a secret joy.
They just felt a bit guilty for slightly neglecting the new Professor Levent.
With complex feelings, Flitwick’s eyes darted around; he reached out and tugged Melvin’s sleeve: “Melvin, want to try the Sorting Hat?”
“Huh?”
“It could help with teaching too—we all studied at Hogwarts in our youth, went through Sorting; students from the same house are more willing to cooperate with us. Why don’t you give it a try?”
There was rarely a chance to see an adult wizard wear the Sorting Hat; with Flitwick mentioning it, Sprout grew interested too, even more eager than the man himself:
“Yes, give it a try.”
“…”
The two professors ushered Melvin out of the lounge to the open space in front of the high table.
Every opening feast prepared a Sorting ceremony for first-year students: a stool placed in the open space before the high table, with the Sorting Hat on it.
It was a wrinkled pointed wizard hat, faded fabric dull grayish-brown, creases washed to faded patches like crumpled and sun-dried parchment. The tip flopped softly to the left, surface covered in patches of varying shades, brim cracked with a crooked seam, frayed threads at the edges like fuzz, stained with unidentified blotches.
The Sorting Hat was dirty, messy, and worn; Melvin picked it up by the brim, examined it inside and out carefully, steeling himself with difficulty before putting it on his head.
The brim flopped softly, blocking his view.
Thoughts swirled chaotically in his mind.
He didn’t use Occlumency—those memories weren’t in this brain, more like hidden deep in the soul.
Seven years ago stepping into Ilvermorny, all four house statues reacted simultaneously; though Ilvermorny house traits didn’t strictly match Hogwarts house traits, overall he seemed to fit all four houses’ conditions.
A cool faint magic emanated from the brim, brushing his hair lightly without delving into his brain or probing his mind’s depths—like capturing the chaotic thoughts spilling from his head.
“Oh!”
A faint voice sounded by his ear: “It’s been many years since I was on an adult wizard’s head. Thoughts still so jumbled—when will you lot understand that thinking dozens of things at once doesn’t make your brain turn faster or more efficient, it just turns your head into a mushy mess.”
Melvin felt rather helpless: I think so too, but the brain has its own ideas.
The Sorting Hat seemed to sense his thoughts, murmuring softly: “Don’t be impatient—control your thoughts, and you can control your own magic.”
“Thoughts… magic?”
Melvin wanted to ask more, but the Sorting Hat veered off: “Let me see, let me see—oh, a complex adult wizard, not lacking courage, not bad-hearted, exceptional talent… complicated, very complicated…”
Melvin gradually calmed; just as he thought the Sorting Hat would deliberate a while and ask his preference, it suddenly sensed something extraordinary and shrieked loudly:
“Slytherin! Absolute Slytherin!”
“??”
Wait, how did it suddenly become Slytherin?
You haven’t even asked my opinion yet?
Melvin looked up to find Flitwick and Sprout nearby staring at him, expressions complex, hesitant to speak.
The other two professors had stopped arguing at some point, standing side by side nearby; Professor McGonagall said nothing, just frowning slightly, lips pressed tight.
Only Snape’s expression seemed softer, looking at him much more favorably.
“Woo! Woo!”
The sound of a train whistle came from outside the window.
Just… continue to default
