Professor McGonagall and the Reluctant Spy

"Sounds like you've got me all figured out."

"Of course, of course! Kid, I can see that fiery spirit of adventure blazing in your heart! Aha! Can't wait to explore this castle for treasure, right?"

This hat was chattier than most people Harry knew.

"Plenty of kids have thoughts like yours. After all, this is a castle with centuries of history. I can guarantee even Albus wouldn't claim to know all of Hogwarts' secrets. And yes, many graduates leave behind puzzles for their successors to unravel."

"That's fantastic," Harry said, grinning. "What do they leave as treasure? Galleons? Rare magical artifacts? Something that'll make me filthy rich?"

"Oh, you child," the hat muttered, lowering its voice. "What matters is the thrill of the adventure! You don't seem much like a kid in this regard… but yes, treasure is important too!"

"Did Gryffindor like treasure?" Harry asked.

"He absolutely loved it!" the hat replied instantly, with no need for reflection—it had once belonged to Gryffindor, after all. "He was a treasure-hunting fanatic! Oh, but—don't even think about the Forbidden Forest! No treasure there, I promise. Seriously, stay out of the Forbidden Forest!"

"If Minerva finds out you got the idea from me, she'd rip every single stitch out of this poor old hat. Aha! Got plans already? Then, fine. Just—be careful, kid! No Forbidden Forest!"

Talking with the hat turned out to be far more enjoyable than Harry had imagined. As an artifact with a thousand years of history, it provided plenty of advice for Harry's future adventures—even dropping a few hints to egg him on.

When the hat finally shouted "Gryffindor," Harry reluctantly stood and placed it back. If only he had more time to chat.

Magic in this world was indeed fascinating. Objects like the hat felt as alive as any person, capable of thought and conversation.

As Harry looked up, he saw a pair of redheaded twins already standing at the Gryffindor table. One was pounding the table enthusiastically while shouting:

"WE'VE GOT A TAUREN!"

"OH, OH, OH, OH!"

After the chaos on the train, Harry's horns and his self-proclaimed identity had become well-known. To the young wizards here, his eccentricity wasn't an issue—it was downright cool.

Powerful wizards often had unique quirks. Naturally, the mighty Harry Potter had to be more eccentric than anyone else.

That's just how wizards were.

"TAUREN! TAUREN! TAUREN!"

The chant from the Gryffindor table grew rhythmic and unified. Soon, even Hufflepuff and Ravenclaw students joined in. The energy was infectious—except at the Slytherin table, where silence reigned, and everyone wore expressions as if attending a funeral.

Harry glanced at Professor McGonagall beside him. The stern professor looked ready to murder the loudest Gryffindors, particularly the ringleaders. Her eyes practically burned with murderous intent.

To put it plainly, Professor McGonagall wanted to kill Fred and George.

The twins, of course, sensed her wrath but couldn't care less. Live for the moment, even if you die tomorrow.

"The great Harry Potter has arrived to join his most loyal Gryffindors!"

As Harry approached the table, Fred announced his arrival grandly and moved aside to make room.

"Oh, our magnificent TAUREN King, this way, please! Your throne awaits!" George said with an exaggerated bow.

The twins' flattery was over-the-top, their obsequious behavior worthy of villains in a play. The other Gryffindors eagerly played along, standing to form a path and welcoming Harry with cheers.

Harry found the whole "king" treatment exasperating. Yet, with the twins physically guiding him, there was no escaping their antics without hurting someone. So, he let them lead him to the center of the Gryffindor table.

When Harry sat, the hall erupted in applause—except, of course, from the Slytherins.

It took Professor McGonagall significant effort to quiet the rowdy scene so the Sorting could continue for the remaining students.

As Hogwarts' headmaster, Dumbledore excelled at brevity. After a short welcome speech, he announced dinner.

The food at Hogwarts was surprisingly good. Harry noted the menu leaned more toward French cuisine than traditional British fare—a definite improvement.

The Gryffindors were warm and enthusiastic, constantly chatting with Harry. They explained which dishes were the best and how to ask the house-elves for seconds.

Meanwhile, at the professors' table, a lively discussion accompanied the meal.

"Cheer up, Minerva," Professor Flitwick said with a chuckle. "You're the head of the house for the Boy Who Lived! What an honor! You might even make it into magical history for this."

"Is that so, Filius?" Professor McGonagall replied dryly, fixing her colleague with a glare. "Shall we trade places, then?"

"Oh, no need for that," Flitwick laughed nervously. "Hogwarts has never transferred a student after sorting. It wouldn't be proper."

Longtime friends, they knew each other well. Flitwick was teasing McGonagall, congratulating her on gaining a student destined to cause no end of trouble.

As a Ravenclaw, Flitwick preferred a quiet life, free from drama.

It was clear McGonagall's next seven years would be anything but peaceful—she was already sighing deeply.

"I suppose I'll never see the House Cup again, Filius," she lamented.

"The House Cup, you say?" Flitwick's smile faded at the mention of the trophy.

If given a choice, no one wanted to endure another six years of Slytherin victories.

Both professors often felt overshadowed by Snape's unapologetic favoritism toward his house, which secured Slytherin's dominance year after year.

At this point, McGonagall turned to Snape. "Professor Snape, as Hogwarts' deputy headmaster, I hope you'll strive for fairness and impartiality in the coming years."

"Naturally," Snape replied, setting down his utensils. His calm, measured gaze met McGonagall's. "As always."

Unwilling to jeopardize their working relationship, McGonagall said no more. But inwardly, she doubted Snape's words.

Snape's biased point system had enabled Slytherin's six-year winning streak. Though McGonagall wouldn't stoop to similar tactics, the idea of Snape tipping the scales in Gryffindor's favor worried her.

After all, when had Snape ever been impartial?

---

Harry was quite pleased with his first dinner in the wizarding world. It was lively and reminded him of a bonfire gathering on Thunder Bluff. The only thing that left him a bit disappointed was the lack of magical food.

After witnessing the wonders of magic in this world, Harry had been looking forward to seeing some magical dishes—for example, a talking cake or self-transforming flavors in food.

Something akin to the snacks he'd had on the Hogwarts Express, like the Chocolate Frogs, which were incredibly unique.

But unfortunately, all he got was mashed potatoes and stew. It was far too Muggle-like.

After everyone had eaten their fill, Dumbledore clapped his hands, and the tables instantly cleared themselves.

Just like his earlier speech, Dumbledore succinctly and humorously emphasized a few important school rules at Hogwarts—such as the Forbidden Forest, which many people had warned Harry to avoid, and the prohibition against casually casting spells in the corridors.

He also particularly stressed avoiding the right-side corridor on the fourth floor. When Dumbledore said this, Harry was sure the lively old man was looking directly at him.

... What did that mean?

Was this an invitation?

Harry's adventurous spirit began to blaze.

For children—or rather, for anyone—the more you emphasize not to press a button, the more they want to press it. Dumbledore's final warning felt exactly like that to Harry.

He wasn't entirely sure what to make of it.

Following Percy, the prefect, Harry headed to the Gryffindor common room. The dormitories were shared by five people: Harry, Ron, Neville, and two new faces, Dean Thomas and Seamus Finnigan.

To be honest, it felt a bit crowded, and the personal space allocated to each person was too small for Harry's liking.

As a shaman, Harry had too many things he needed to set up—like totems, offerings for the elements and ancestors, and various herbs and magical items.

Sharing a room with so many people was inconvenient.

"Maybe I could apply to Headmaster Dumbledore later to let me build a wooden cabin by the edge of the Forbidden Forest?"

With that thought in mind, Harry drifted off to sleep.

--

Some slept, while others stayed awake, burdened with thoughts of the world.

"... His thinking is indeed very mature, and he has a remarkable drive. I see in him a fearless courage, Albus. True courage, not recklessness—there's a conviction within him, and he's willing to risk his life for it."

"You know, very few people can truly see themselves, and those who can often possess the wisdom of age, having gone through enough in life. But young Harry already understands himself. I don't see any hesitation in him, and that's quite unusual for someone his age."

In the Headmaster's office at Hogwarts, Albus Dumbledore gazed at the Sorting Hat in front of him, listening to its observations.

"Honestly, Albus, I don't think there's anything to be wary of with this child," the hat said, its brim opening and closing as it spoke. "If he had appeared a thousand years ago, I believe he would have been Godric Gryffindor's best friend—Gryffindor loved people like Harry."

"Oh... I didn't expect you to take such a liking to him," Dumbledore replied candidly, a tone reserved for these moments of solitude. "He only wore you for about twenty minutes."

"We talked a lot, Albus," the Sorting Hat said excitedly. "About adventures in the castle, ventures into the Forbidden Forest—oh, forget I mentioned that. In any case, we had a great conversation. That child is a true Gryffindor, through and through. His thirst for adventure is almost identical to Gryffindor's own."

"… Hearing this from you is indeed reassuring." Dumbledore seemed to relax, a trace of relief crossing his face.

"I know what you're thinking, Albus. Even though you haven't worn me, and no one bothers to chat with this old hat," it wriggled slightly as it spoke, "I have to tell you, that child is different—you can't treat him like a child. You have to regard him as a fully grown wizard."

"If you approach him as a child, I doubt your interactions will go smoothly."

"Of course, I've already noticed that," Dumbledore nodded. "Thank you, Sorting Hat. Your insights are very helpful."

"Ah, I do wish people would talk to me more. You know, I spend the entire year stuck here, staring at that bird..."

The Sorting Hat continued to ramble, but with a wave of Dumbledore's hand, it floated up and finally settled on a cabinet nearby.

----

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