"Oh, the idiot!" A young man with black hair whispered, but still loud enough for Jack to overhear. Then Jack suddenly turned around and glanced at the young man, a bone-chilling cold rushing from the feet to head.
"Hey, he heard you, keep it down! Frank, what's wrong with you? You're shivering!" Even in England, September wasn't cold at all, and the companion looked at Frank shivering in surprise.
Dumbledore, the kindly white-bearded headmaster, seemed to sense something and cast his gaze toward this little episode.
As a necromancer who had waged guerrilla warfare against the Church for years, Jack had a sharp perception of danger, and that old man was no simple character.
Jack smiled, sitting down on the chair as if nothing had happened.
"I find he looks quite nice when he smiles," Pansy suddenly said, though her eyes still lingered on Draco.
Many shared Pansy's notion, beginning to doubt the veracity of the rumors about Jack. After all, a renowned German wizarding family wouldn't allow a fool to be their heir, would they?
The strange coldness that enveloped Frank dissipated. He suspected it might be Jack's doing, then immediately dismissed the idea. Even Hogwarts professors couldn't all perform wandless magic.
Calmly placing the Sorting Hat on his head, Jack disregarded the dust it bore.
"Oh, you are, you truly are an insightful wizard, I mean, I've never seen such knowledge! Would you like to go to Ravenclaw? It's full of geniuses!"
Well, geniuses, that word did not please Jack. Perhaps 'madman' suited him better.
"I am a pure-blood wizard, and tradition dictates that I should go to Slytherin," Jack told the Sorting Hat expressionlessly.
"Oh, tradition, you stodgy pure-bloods! Very well, Slytherin, as you wish, may you find sincere friendship in Slytherin."
"Slytherin!" the Sorting Hat exclaimed enthusiastically.
The smallest table erupted in applause, a Slytherin, well done, hoping he wasn't like the rumors suggested.
At least his presence at Hogwarts proved he wasn't a dud, right?
Jack walked over to sit behind Severus Snape, the greasy-haired, black-cloaked head of Slytherin.
Another rather dangerous wizard, Jack curled his lips in a smirk; having a competent leader was always a good choice.
The rest of the Sorting Ceremony proceeded orderly, and when it reached the savior Harry Potter, he was joyfully sorted into Gryffindor, like his parents.
Of course, this sparked intense applause and cheers among the Gryffindor camp.
"Oh, Harry Potter! The real Harry Potter!"
"Ha, I knew he belonged to Gryffindor!"
"Say, has he really got a lightning bolt scar on his forehead?"
Listening to the animated discussions at Gryffindor's table, Jack observed the silence of most Slytherin, some with forced smiles on their faces.
This was the atmosphere he relished!
Ron Weasley, the red-haired boy standing next to Harry Potter, was also sorted into Gryffindor.
Draco sneered, "The Weasleys, traitors of pure-blood wizards."
Pansy and the others gave out agreeing laughs.
Jack? Oh, he couldn't care less about these kids' bickerings.
He'd rather sneak out at night to study ghosts if he could.
Perhaps, ghosts vary between worlds?
The undead, indeed, were the most fascinating things in this world.
After the Sorting, Jack and the others were led to the dinner tables.
Oh, empty plates, Jack knew this had to be one of Dumbledore's eccentricities. He used to be a devout believer (only as per his poor mother's hopeful thinking, who later was scandalized by the local pastor). He once accompanied his mother to the home of a pastor.
Jack had to admit, that preacher had some skill – he performed divine magic. He particularly liked to lecture before meals, praising himself until everyone applauded him, then only would he serve food.
Hopefully, this old man wasn't like that.
As expected, Dumbledore rose from his seat, smiling as he accepted the sincere applause from the crowd.
"He's that popular?" Jack whispered to Draco beside him.
Draco naturally took Jack's rhetorical question for a statement, "Humph, of course. I mean, my father doesn't like him."
"Welcome!" Dumbledore waved to everyone, "Welcome to Hogwarts, and to the start of a new school year! A few words before our banquet begins: nitwit, blubber, oddment, tweak! Thank you!"
After speaking, he sat back down, met with another bout of vigorous applause.
What was all this about? Jack had no interest in guessing nor in understanding why they were clapping sincerely, just hoping not another egotistical madman.
When he looked again at the formerly empty plates, they were now filled with golden-brown roast pigs, steaks emitting a peppery fragrance, grease-laden grilled lamb, pork chops, roast chicken, fried fish, fries, and so on.
All to Jack's taste, of course. Ever since he had tasted a homemade dish prepared by a visitor from the East, his tastes had become quite particular.
He wondered if he'd be able to enjoy such delights in this world again.
While Jack was cutting a medium-rare steak, he suddenly smelled blood—not from the beef.
Turning his head, he noticed a ghost sitting in the empty seat to his left, drenched in blood.
Jack fought the urge to burst out laughing, quite familiar with this ghost.
"Baron, is that you?" Jack spoke in Parseltongue, the language used by necromancers to communicate with the undead.
Many had asked Jack why he had not spoken English with the ghosts since both understood the language. Jack's explanation was always, "To stand out, of course."
The Bloody Baron never thought he'd be separated from his master after traversing with him. Having become a new ghost and working at a magic school called Hogwarts was somewhat creepy for a conventional ghost.
Thanks to Merlin, he had run into his master again. Those eyes he could not mistake, deep as the darkest sea, they were…
"Why are you silent, daydreaming?" Jack asked again. Although Baron had changed his appearance, his soul was one Jack had personally tainted; that beautiful madness and bloodlust couldn't be mistaken.
"Oh, my master, long have I awaited your command. The Bloody Baron, at your service!"