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Chapter 21: I'm sweating
🕑 Added 2024-12-15 12:36:51 +0000 UTC"You might think I’m not attractive enough; but never judge a hat by its appearance..."
A slit opened on the pointed tip of the Sorting Hat, and a song poured out from it. Once the singing ended, Professor McGonagall stepped forward with a list in hand. She maintained her stern demeanor and announced:
"When I call your name, step forward, sit on the stool, put on the hat, and await your Sorting."
"Hannah Abbott!"
A small girl hurried out from the left side of the hall, placed the hat on her head, and, after half a minute, the Sorting Hat shouted:
"Hufflepuff!"
Cheers and applause erupted from the table at the front right, evidently the most populated of the four. Hannah took off the hat and happily ran over to join them.
"Susan Bones—"
And so, the repetitive Sorting process began.
One by one, the Sorting Hat called names and sorted students into houses.
After watching a few students get sorted, Victor finally began to feel bored.
He shifted his attention back to the staff table. Unlike the four large tables for students, the staff table was covered with an elegant red velvet cloth, seating about twenty people in a row. Most seats were occupied, except Professor McGonagall's.
Many professors seemed to be losing interest as well; Victor could hear three or four of them whispering and noticed a couple of unfamiliar faces curiously glancing in his direction.
"Who’s that?"
"Never seen him before. Why don’t you ask?"
"You’re closer; you go ask."
"I don’t think that’s a good idea…"
Unfortunately, with Snape seated next to him, not a single one of them dared approach for a chat.
Eventually, the professor to his left, after being nudged a couple of times, timidly leaned toward him. The professor, wrapped in a large turban and exuding a faint garlic smell, looked rather young.
Stammering slightly, he spoke in a low voice, "H-hello, I’m the D-defense Against the Dark Arts professor, Quirinus Quirrell."
"Victor Vanderboom, Divination professor."
Victor extended his hand for a handshake.
Quirrell’s hand was icy cold, but Victor’s wasn’t much better, and in the end, it was Quirrell who shivered again during the exchange.
After shaking hands, Quirrell managed a smile—though it came off as a bit twitchy.
"So... so you’re a Slytherin student? I don’t r-remember seeing you around before."
"No, I’m from the Far East. I never attended a wizarding school; I learned magic under a different wizard."
"Then—then your parents are—?"
"Oh, you’re asking if they were wizards?" Victor caught on quickly. "No. Just ordinary Muggles, though I never met them."
"Shortly before I was born, a rare meteor shower struck our town. A meteorite fell right onto our house. I was the only one lucky enough to survive—still in my mother’s womb."
"...?"
"A meteor?" Quirrell asked, startled.
"Yes, a meteor," Victor replied nonchalantly. "Back in my homeland, there’s even a rumor that meteors are omens of demons."
Quirrell was momentarily speechless.
The fantastical nature of the story was overwhelming, leaving Quirrell—who had only intended to ask if Victor was a pure-blood wizard—opening and closing his mouth several times, unsure of what to say.
Finally, Quirrell composed himself and, in a voice so low it was barely audible, said softly:
"A meteor isn’t—necessarily a bad thing. Your birth was—a miracle."
"At least you didn’t have to deal with those kinds of people much," Quirrell added, seemingly aligning himself with Victor’s words. After all, Victor wore the Slytherin crest, and everyone knew what Slytherin valued.
But to Quirrell’s surprise, Victor looked at him with an expression of astonishment.
"Those kinds of people? Muggles? You don’t like them?"
"...Not many wizards do," Quirrell replied, lowering his voice further.
"Why would you say that? Aren’t you a half-blood too?"
"...?!"
Quirrell froze.
"What did you just say?"
"I said, you’re a half-blood too," Victor replied, tapping his own temple with a finger.
"You’ve shackled your soul with chains you placed upon yourself, rejecting half of your bloodline. If the bloated parasite on your soul were removed, it might free your spirituality and break those chains..."
"Would you like to try?"
"I don’t know what you’re t-talking about," Quirrell stammered.
"But your aura clearly has a double shadow..."
Quirrell’s expression froze on his face.
As Victor continued, Quirrell’s face grew paler and paler. For a brief moment, a flash of malice crossed his expression, but it quickly faded back into normalcy.
At that moment, a voice abruptly interrupted their conversation.
"Victor!"
Victor looked over to find Dumbledore smiling warmly at him.
"Victor, could you step outside and notify the house-elves that they can serve some butterbeer to the staff table? I suddenly thought it’d be a nice treat for the start of term, especially since you’re new here."
"Just snap your fingers outside the door, and the house-elves will appear. You can also order yourself a few desserts if you like."
Dumbledore winked.
"Sure."
Victor didn’t decline and nodded at Quirrell, ending their conversation.
Victor didn’t seem particularly concerned about the earlier discussion. Though he could sense something unusual about Quirrell, it wasn’t enough to pique his interest. His instincts told him Quirrell posed no threat.
Victor had initially hoped to strike a deal with Quirrell, but seeing Quirrell uninterested, he let the matter go.
Carrying out Dumbledore’s request, Victor left.
After he left, Dumbledore turned back to the staff table, acting as though he had heard nothing, giving Quirrell no attention whatsoever.
Still at his seat, Quirrell exhaled shakily, his face pale as a sheet. He pulled out a handkerchief and wiped his forehead beneath his turban.
His forehead was drenched in cold sweat.
"Thank goodness..." he muttered silently, his lips forming a grimace that resembled a smile and a sob. "He didn’t notice... ha... he didn’t notice..."
A few minutes later, when Victor returned, the Sorting Ceremony was drawing to a close.
After a student named Salian Box had been sorted, Professor McGonagall called out, "Harry Potter!"
The hall erupted into whispers and murmurs.
Harry, looking nervous, stepped forward, placed the hat on his head, and seemed lost in thought.
As Victor resumed his seat at the staff table, he glanced at the tense and tight-lipped Harry and commented offhandedly:
"What a pity."
"Pity about what?" Snape asked irritably.
"That boy is wishing not to be in Slytherin. His desire is so strong it’s practically palpable. Too bad he won’t get to be your student—he’d likely excel in Potions."
Snape replied coldly, "You’re mistaken."
"Mr. Potter is clearly an air-headed fool. Him not coming to Slytherin is the best news I’ve heard."
Snape nearly ground his teeth when saying "Potter."
Just then, the Sorting Hat shouted "Gryffindor!" and the table at the back right erupted in thunderous cheers. Fred Weasley stood on his chair, waving his arms and yelling, "We’ve got Potter!"
Snape wore a look of unmistakable disgust, irritably checking his empty teacup before slamming it back down.
Seeing Snape’s expression, Victor tilted his head but said nothing further.
The final few students were quickly sorted, and once everyone was seated, Dumbledore clapped his hands, addressing the students with a warm smile:
"Welcome!
"Welcome to the start of another year at Hogwarts! I know you’re all hungry, but before we feast, I have three announcements to make."
"First, for anyone who does not wish to meet with accidents, pain, or an untimely death, please avoid the right-hand corridor on the fourth floor."
Laughter rippled through the student body.
"Yes, yes... do remember, ladies and gentlemen."
"Second, there have been two staff changes this year. Professor Quirinus Quirrell’s Muggle Studies class will now be taught by Professor Burbage, as he has taken over Defense Against the Dark Arts."
"And our other new professor—Victor Vanderboom—will take over Divination from Professor Trelawney."
A sparse smattering of applause greeted the announcements, suggesting neither Quirrell nor Victor were particularly popular.
Still, Fred and George Weasley managed to create an uproarious ovation for Victor, earning them countless stares.
Victor, speechless, turned his gaze away.
"And lastly, before the feast begins, let me just say this: Nitwit, blubber, oddment, tweak! Thank you!"
And with that, the new school year officially began.
