Unable to penetrate Felix's thoughts, the Sorting Hat couldn't make a judgment. A strange, staticky silence seemed to emanate from it, a stark contrast to its usual decisive pronouncements.
It hesitated for a good, long while, a full minute stretching into an eternity for the watching first-years. Professor McGonagall's lips thinned, a slight frown creasing her brow as she observed the unprecedented delay. Finally, with an almost audible sigh from the Hat, it conceded.
"Alright, alright, then I'll make an exception just this once. A most peculiar mind, this one... You may decide your own placement, Mr. Chance. Which house do you wish to go to?"
"Ravenclaw," Felix replied, his voice clear and steady, cutting through the expectant hush.
"RAVENCLAW!" the Sorting Hat shouted, its voice perhaps a shade louder than usual, as if to compensate for its earlier indecision. Then, just before being lifted, a final, quiet thought echoed in Felix's mind: "I'll remember you, child. A mind like yours... most intriguing."
The majority of Ravenclaw students were girls, and a collective, almost synchronized gasp went up from their table, followed by an eruption of joyful, enthusiastic cheers. Seeing such a strikingly handsome boy, and one who had caused such a stir with the Sorting Hat, join their ranks was clearly a delightful development. They warmly welcomed Felix, several older girls already making space for him.
Felix sat down amongst them, offering a polite, practiced smile as he navigated their effusive enthusiasm. Most wanted to get to know him immediately, their eyes bright with curiosity. The older girls, in particular, seemed eager for a romantic rendezvous, their invitations ranging from subtle hints about study groups to more direct suggestions for Hogsmeade visits in the future. Felix found himself having to politely decline their advances one by one, a task that required a delicate balance of charm and firmness. During this, he distinctly overheard Hermione and Cho, who were seated nearby, muttering something under their breath that sounded suspiciously like, "So forward, honestly!" or perhaps, "The absolute nerve of some people!" accompanied by knowing glances at each other.
Others, both boys and girls from Ravenclaw, peppered him with questions about his unique robes. Felix, ever composed, described his design philosophy—a blend of practicality and modern aesthetics—and recommended Madam Malkin's shop, explaining how she had been willing to accommodate his custom request. This, unsurprisingly, elicited another wave of admiration and praise, with a few students already making mental notes to visit the shop themselves.
This was the first time he had faced so many girls showing such direct interest all at once. If this had been during his university days in his previous life, he would undoubtedly have been a stammering, blushing mess. Now, however, having mentally lived a much longer life, he could handle it with a practiced, almost detached ease—though, he conceded internally, university girls, with their more complex motivations and worldly experience, were far more formidable than the relatively innocent young ladies of Hogwarts.
The last sorting to cause a major sensation was, naturally, Harry Potter's. A hush had fallen over the Great Hall when his name was called, every eye fixed on the small, black-haired boy. When he was sorted into Gryffindor, a deafening cheer went up from that table, so loud it seemed to shake the enchanted ceiling. The Weasley twins, Fred and George, were on their feet, bellowing at the top of their lungs, "We got Potter! We got Potter!" Even Nearly Headless Nick, the Gryffindor ghost, floated over to shake Harry's hand with a flourish, his ruff quivering with excitement.
The last three students were sorted quickly: Lisa Turpin became a new Ravenclaw, joining Felix and Hermione.
Ron Weasley, looking immensely relieved, was sorted into Gryffindor, where he was clapped on the back by his older brothers.
And Blaise Zabini, a boy with an aloof air, was sorted into Slytherin, received with polite, if somewhat reserved, applause from that table.
Albus Dumbledore stood up, his silver beard gleaming in the candlelight. He beamed at the assembled students, his arms opened wide in a gesture of warm welcome, as if nothing in the world could bring him more joy than to see them all gathered together, ready for a new year of learning and discovery.
"Welcome!" he said, his voice resonating through the Great Hall. "Welcome to a new year at Hogwarts! Before we begin our banquet, I would like to say a few words. And here they are: Nitwit! Blubber! Oddment! Tweak! Thank you!"
He sat back down. Everyone clapped and cheered, though many exchanged bewildered glances.
In reality, however, all the young witches and wizards, especially the first-years, were completely mystified by his final, peculiar words.
"What on earth did that mean?" Hermione, sitting beside Felix, frowned, her brow furrowed in concentration as she tried to decipher some hidden meaning.
"Don't worry about it too much," Cho replied, leaning over. "Dumbledore is a great wizard, undeniably powerful, but he's also known for being just a bit... eccentric. It's probably just one of his little quirks."
"He's not merely eccentric," Felix interjected quietly, a knowing glint in his eye. "There's often method to his madness. If you read those words backwards in Latin, they roughly translate to 'May Merlin bless you.'"
"You know Latin too?" Hermione's eyes widened in utter astonishment, so much so that the pumpkin pasty she had just picked up slipped from her fingers and landed with a soft thud on the floor, unnoticed. "But... how?"
"Yes. The day after I decided I would be attending Hogwarts, I started learning Latin—" Felix replied, calmly taking a bite from a succulent piece of roast lamb before him. "I also studied Old Celtic and Old Norman. These are historically significant languages, rich with mythological connotations, and I had a hunch they might be necessary or at least beneficial for a deeper understanding of magic. As it turns out," he added with a slight smile, "I was right."
"Old Celtic and Old Norman as well! I've never even heard of Old Norman!" The girls, including Cho and Marietta who had leaned in to listen, were all thoroughly amazed by his apparent genius and the breadth of his self-directed erudition. Hermione, in particular, as a fellow high-achiever who prided herself on her academic diligence, felt a new level of respect, tinged with a slight sense of being outmatched.
In the presence of a true prodigy, someone who learned not just what was assigned but actively sought out ancient and obscure knowledge, even a top student like her couldn't help but feel a little inadequate.
Next came dinnertime, and Felix thoroughly enjoyed the Hogwarts feast. The tables magically filled with an astonishing array of dishes.
Although Britain's reputation for "dark cuisine" (as in, notoriously bad food) was well-known in his previous world, the magical world of Britain was clearly an entirely different culinary dimension. The delicious dishes were almost overwhelming in their variety and richness: mountains of roast chicken and beef, platters of sausages and bacon, tureens of steaming vegetables, and every kind of potato imaginable. Apart from finding some of the desserts a little too sweet for his palate, virtually every dish earned Felix's high praise.
"If I were from Shanghai, where they appreciate sweeter flavors even more, I'd love these twice as much," was Felix's final internal verdict, a subtle cultural reference from his past life that, naturally, not even Cho Chang, despite her heritage, quite understood.
After everyone had eaten their fill, their plates magically wiped clean, Dumbledore casually waved his wand, and in an instant, all the remaining food and dishes vanished, leaving the tables bare once more.
He stood up, and the Great Hall fell silent once more, an expectant hush falling over the students.
"Ahem – just a few more words now that we are all fed and watered. I have a few start-of-term notices to give you."
"First years should note that the forest on the grounds is forbidden to all pupils. And a few of our older students," he added, his eyes twinkling as they swept over the Gryffindor table, "would do well to remember that." A few sheepish grins could be seen amongst the older students.
"I have also been asked by Mr. Filch, the caretaker, to remind you all that no magic should be used between classes in the corridors. This is a rule that is, regrettably, often forgotten."
"Quidditch trials will be held in the second week of term. Anyone interested in playing for their house teams should contact Madam Hooch in good time." A buzz of excitement went through the tables at this announcement.
"And finally, I must tell you that this year, the fourth-floor corridor on the right-hand side is out of bounds to everyone who does not wish to die a very painful death."
A ripple of murmurs and whispers spread through the first-years. Hermione immediately turned to Cho, her eyes wide with curiosity, peppering her with questions. But even Cho, a second-year, was mystified by the last, ominous announcement; she stated that this particular rule was entirely new this term, and she hadn't heard anything about it before.
Only Felix knew, with a chilling certainty, that the biggest trouble of this school year, the very heart of the danger, would originate from that very corridor.
However, judging from the students' animated and somewhat thrilled discussions that followed, it seemed that spooky legends and forbidden zones, much like "the seven wonders of the school," were quite a popular and enduring trope in both the East and the West.