Chapter 29: What Is the Truth of the Wizarding World?

After the last young wizard was sorted into their house, Professor McGonagall rolled up the parchment and departed gracefully, clutching the Sorting Hat.

The Great Hall instantly erupted into a buzz of activity. Students at the four long tables began to whisper, gossiping about the newly arrived students.

"Welcome to Hogwarts."

Dumbledore rose slowly, raising his hand to signal for silence.

"Before we begin our banquet, I would like to say a few words. And here they are: Nitwit! Blubber! Oddment! Tweak! Thank you!"

With a gentle clap of his hands, the tables in the Great Hall were suddenly laden with delicious food: aromatic roast chicken, golden-brown roasted potatoes, steaming thick soups—filling almost every inch of the tabletop—along with a variety of brightly colored drinks.

"Wow!" Harry couldn't help but exclaim, his eyes wide. He had never seen such a magnificent feast; even the annual Christmas dinner at the Dursleys' could not compare.

And so, a frantic battle of gluttony began.

Morris sat at the corner of the high table, witnessing the Hall transform into a battlefield. The cheering and excitement of the students swept through the space like a tidal wave, and the aroma of food wafted through the air.

He picked up the honey-lemon black tea in front of him, took a small sip, and then cast his gaze upon the delicacies on the long table. The surface of the roast chicken glistened with golden fat, smelling divine; the skins of the roasted potatoes were temptingly crispy; beside them sat a plate of shimmering beef pie and a pot of steaming soup.

"It seems the traditions of Hogwarts haven't changed," Morris whispered to himself.

"Indeed. No matter what happens, the feast always manages to stir these brats into a frenzy," Snape said coldly. Only after the words had escaped his lips did he realize he was actually conversing with Morris. He promptly shut his mouth, lowered his head, and left his food untouched, merely prodding the beef on his plate with his fork as if engaged in a struggle with it.

Morris glanced at him, smiled faintly, and offered no reply.

He turned his attention back to his own meal, casually placing a piece of chicken on his plate and adding a spoonful of mashed potatoes.

"Morris, you seem to be enjoying yourself."

Unexpectedly, Professor Flitwick, who was sitting on his other side, spoke up.

Morris had always held this professor in high regard—a man who had been his Head of House and had provided immense help when he had left the school.

He smiled and replied, "Of course. Whether for students or professors, the food at Hogwarts is always the most anticipated highlight."

As he spoke, he lifted a piece of chicken with his fork and tasted it slowly, an expression of near-blissful satisfaction crossing his face.

Admittedly, the food at Hogwarts was indeed excellent. In a way, it could rival the Chinese restaurant in London he frequented, famous for its "General Tso's Chicken."

Professor Flitwick chuckled. "That makes me happy to hear, Morris. To be honest, I've always felt the Hogwarts banquets were a bit... monotonous."

"Monotonous?" Morris raised an eyebrow and looked up at the spread. "If this is monotonous, I truly dread to see what you consider 'abundant'."

Professor Flitwick laughed even more heartily. "Perhaps when you have time to visit Ravenclaw Tower, I can recommend a few books on magical cuisine—we have quite a collection of interesting recipes there. You were always most interested in such things, weren't you?"

"I look forward to it." Morris raised his cup and nodded slightly to Professor Flitwick in gratitude.

Snape merely cast them a glance and let out a cold snort. "I've finished." With that, he rose from his seat and left.

Morris acted as if he hadn't heard. He casually cut a piece of beef, dipped it in sauce, and put it in his mouth, then picked up a piece of bread, tore it into small chunks, and ate them slowly.

Not long after, once the main course was finished, desserts were conjured onto the tables. Puddings, ice cream of every flavor, apple pies, treacle tarts, chocolate eclairs, jam doughnuts, and rice pudding—everything one could imagine.

After some time, as the banquet neared its end, Dumbledore stood up once more, and the Great Hall fell silent again.

"Oh, now that we are all fed and watered, I must say a few more words."

Morris looked toward Dumbledore.

"At the start of the term, I would like to point out a few things."

"First-years should note that the forest on the school grounds is strictly forbidden to all students."

"Furthermore, our caretaker, Mr. Filch, has asked me to remind you not to cast magic in the corridors between classes."

"Quidditch trials will be held in the second week of the term. Anyone interested in joining their house team should contact Madam Hooch."

"There is one more important matter to announce." Dumbledore paused for a moment, as if to give the students time to process. "This school year, we will be welcoming two new teachers: Professor Quirrell, who will be taking over the Defense Against the Dark Arts post, and Professor Morris, who will be teaching Wizarding Sociology."

No sooner had Dumbledore finished speaking than a low buzz of whispers erupted, like a wave of unease sweeping through the Great Hall.

The students' gazes finally focused on the quiet figure sitting at the end of the high table—Burne Morris.

Most of the young wizards at Hogwarts had never seen Morris before. However, since Professor Quirrell had previously been their Muggle Studies teacher, it was obvious who the other person at the high table was.

Morris seemed to have anticipated this reaction. He maintained that same calm smile, his fingers gently stroking his teacup, looking composed and at ease.

"Is that Morris?"

"My god, is he really going to be a professor?!"

"Wasn't it just a rumor? Someone who has been to Azkaban is going to teach us?"

"What is Wizarding Sociology? What will he teach? Will he—"

Hermione and Harry, sitting at the Gryffindor table, took all of this in with heavy hearts. Even Hermione felt a bit shaken.

Could a professor like Morris, who had been to Azkaban, truly be a good person? Just because he had given her a copy of *A History of Magic*? Besides, so many people were saying—

"Harry," Hermione whispered, her tone uncharacteristically uncertain. "I don't understand why Professor Dumbledore would hire someone like that... He's been to Azkaban, doesn't that mean he could be dangerous?"

Harry didn't answer immediately; his gaze remained fixed on Morris. The thin figure who had appeared on that stormy night, the man who had held his hand in the rain and told him about the past, the man who...

"He's not a bad person," Harry finally said, marking the first time he had expressed such a firm opinion in this strange new magical world. "You heard Professor Dumbledore say he is trustworthy. Dumbledore is so powerful; he wouldn't have misjudged him."

Hermione frowned. Though not entirely convinced, she didn't argue. She looked down at *Hogwarts: A History* in her hands, flipping through a few pages as if trying to find an answer, but in vain.

"I said it before," Ron muttered, breaking the silence between them. "People like that are never any good. A prisoner of Azkaban? And he's going to teach us? If he tries anything, I'm definitely the first one running to find Professor McGonagall!"

"Ron!" Hermione glared at him. "How can you say that? In any case, he is our professor now. Perhaps he deserves for us to get to know him first, rather than jumping to conclusions."

As the words left her mouth, Hermione froze. Once she processed what she had said, only one thought remained in her mind:

"Appearances are often not the truth."

That was what Professor Morris had told her at the Leaky Cauldron, wasn't it?

"I'm just stating the facts." Ron didn't notice Hermione's odd behavior. He curled his lip and muttered, "You saw him, he looks suspicious."

The young boy who had lost his toad on the train chimed in weakly from the side.

"Actually... I feel like... compared to Professor Morris... the professor with the purple turban is more... suspicious."

On the podium, Dumbledore waited a while until the murmurs in the Hall gradually subsided. He nodded slightly and continued, "Professor Morris's Wizarding Sociology course will be held in the tower on the fourth floor. This is a brand-new elective course, and students in their third year and above are free to join."

He paused, his gaze sweeping softly over the face of every young wizard. "I would like to remind you all that Hogwarts is a place that welcomes every wizard and witch. Regardless of what they have experienced in the past, as long as they arrive with kindness and sincerity, they are worthy of trust and opportunity. Professor Morris is one such person worthy of respect."

The room fell silent once again, all eyes fixed on Morris.

Morris looked up, surveying the room. His gaze passed over the complex, suspicious, and even slightly hostile faces. Finally, he stood up and gave a slight nod.

"Thank you for the introduction, Professor Dumbledore."

"I look forward to discussing the truths of the wizarding world with all of you."

"Regardless of how you view me, I hope you understand—in this world, some things are far more complex than the magic you are taught."

He paused, a faint smile playing on his lips.

"My class is open to all students from the third year and up, regardless of house or year. You don't even need to tell me in advance; if you want to listen, you are welcome to come at any time. I will teach the same lesson every week, so you need not worry about timing or falling behind."

"In the first lesson, I will tell you the truth about the wizarding world."

"I hope my class helps you find answers—or, at the very least, teaches you how to ask questions."

With that, he sat back down and said no more.

Yet his words sent a ripple through the hearts of many—truth? What was the truth of the wizarding world? What... was it?

"Finally," Dumbledore's voice suddenly rang out, interrupting everyone's thoughts, "I must tell you that anyone who does not wish to suffer a most painful death should avoid the corridor on the right-hand side of the fourth floor."

This warning successfully diluted the students' suspicion and fear of Morris. After all, no matter how evil this new Professor Morris might be, surely he wouldn't cause someone to... suffer a painful death?

"Now, before we go to bed, let us sing the school song!" Dumbledore announced with great enthusiasm.

Some of the first-years noticed that the smiles of most professors at the high table seemed to have frozen.

Dumbledore gave his wand a little flick, and a long golden ribbon flew from it, twisting and coiling like a snake above the high table to form lines of text.

"Everyone choose their favorite tune," Dumbledore said. "And off we go!"

And so, the entire faculty and student body sang out:

*Hogwarts, Hogwarts, Hoggy Warty Hogwarts,*
*Teach us something please,*
*Whether we be old and bald*
*...*
*We'll do our best to learn,*
*Until our brains all rot.*

This eccentric school song echoed through the Hall, accompanied by a cacophony of different melodies. Some students sang with the vigor of a grand march, others deliberately dragged out the notes to make it sound ridiculous, and some sang brightly and cheerfully, as if performing a symphony.

The expressions at the faculty table were even more spectacular. Professor McGonagall looked composed, but her brow was furrowed; Trelawney didn't open her mouth fully, keeping her eyes closed as if stunned by the music (or perhaps she had fallen asleep); Filch was pinching the bridge of his nose, seemingly struggling to suppress a headache.

The only one who appeared to be enjoying it all was Dumbledore. He nodded slightly to the students' melodies, his eyes filled with gratification.

Finally, the Weasley twins, who had been singing in an excruciatingly slow tempo, closed their mouths. The school song was finally over.

Dumbledore stood up, clapping, his voice clear and bright: "A marvelous performance! Truly wonderful! I think this school year will be quite spectacular."

With this cheerful conclusion, the opening ceremony officially ended.

Led by their House Prefects, the students left the Hall one after another, preparing to return to their dormitories to rest.

Morris also stood up, intending to return to his office. As he left the high table, two pairs of eyes quietly followed his back—one from Filch at the faculty table, and the other from a certain young wizard at the Slytherin table.

Both seemed to want to follow him and say something, but in the end, both chose silence.