Harry Potter: Returns Back From Game of Thrones (ASOIAF) - 27

Chapter 27: The King's Mana Replenishment

Bad news: a monster of a first-year had just been sorted into Gryffindor.

Good news: he was on their side.

Prefect Percy stood immediately and shook Harry's hand with enthusiasm bordering on reverence. The Weasley twins shouted loudly, their voices carrying across the Great Hall: "We got Potter! We got Potter!"

Even the ghosts who'd been warily avoiding Harry—some having been Gryffindors during their mortal lives—tentatively drifted a few steps closer.

If they were all Gryffindor together, it didn't seem quite so terrifying. Besides, that devastating petrification spell had just been a misunderstanding, hadn't it?

Whilst talking animatedly with the Weasley brothers, Harry settled into his seat at the long table. Now he could finally properly observe the staff table and its assembled professors.

Hagrid occupied the corner seat, his massive frame dwarfing the chair beneath him. He caught Harry's gaze immediately and gave an enthusiastic thumbs up. Harry grinned back warmly.

At the High Table's centre, seated in a large gilded chair that seemed somehow less impressive than the man himself, sat Albus Dumbledore.

Harry's instincts recognised the Headmaster's danger level as extraordinarily high, though currently the old wizard held no malicious intent whatsoever. It was precisely because Harry acknowledged Dumbledore's formidable power that he'd been so agreeable about returning the sword temporarily. If Dumbledore were only marginally stronger than Professor McGonagall, Harry would have fought harder for more privileges.

Like directly carrying the sword might indeed frighten younger children unnecessarily, but Harry could easily carry the Hat itself and draw the blade whenever needed. After all, the Sorting Hat seemed rather idle except during the annual ceremony.

The Weasleys mentioned the Sorting Hat's song changed every year—clearly the result of extreme boredom and far too much free time.

Then there was that deeply unsettling professor. Having asked the Weasley brothers, Harry learnt he was called Professor Snape. Harry actively avoided meeting the man's gaze—something about Snape felt fundamentally wrong.

Another person particularly caught Harry's attention—the nervous young man he'd encountered briefly at the Leaky Cauldron, the suspected Voldemort sympathiser. The professor wore an absurdly large purple turban wrapped around his head, giving him an oddly theatrical appearance.

When their eyes met across the Hall, the dark magical power residing among the various forces suppressed by Harry's forehead scar—that remnant presumably left by Voldemort himself—suddenly stirred and awakened, straining against its bonds.

This person was called Quirrell, wasn't he? Had he already made direct contact with Voldemort somehow?

The sensation suggested his relationship with the Dark Lord might run even deeper than Harry had initially suspected.

Harry had encountered several Death Eaters who'd escaped justice on the black market during his summer activities. The most irredeemably evil had been beheaded by his "Voodoo" sword without hesitation, yet none had given him the peculiar resonance Quirrell provoked.

Lost in contemplation, the Sorting ceremony continued around him.

Harry had been sorted relatively late—surnames beginning with P naturally came well after the alphabet's earlier letters.

Each year didn't produce enormous numbers of new students anyway. Soon the Sorting concluded entirely—finally, time for the welcoming feast.

Before Harry stretched empty golden plates gleaming in the candlelight. Would house-elves or servants bring food shortly?

Or perhaps some form of spatial transfer magic, directly teleporting prepared dishes? His newly recruited subordinate wizards had mentioned Hogwarts was layered with various protective enchantments, specifically prohibiting wizards from Apparating within the castle grounds.

This proved undeniably advantageous for Harry, since his physical speed absolutely exceeded most wizards' casting capabilities. When Apparition was prohibited throughout the castle, he gained an enormous tactical advantage—able to close distance or retreat at will, truly formidable positioning.

That spell—Apparition—was apparently only reliably usable by particularly accomplished wizards, generally employed for travelling significant distances. Those who could effectively weaponise it during actual combat were exceptionally rare phoenixes amongst ordinary chickens—all master-level combatants.

But Dumbledore almost certainly qualified as precisely that calibre of phoenix.

As Headmaster, Hogwarts' anti-Apparition restrictions probably... no, they definitely wouldn't constrain Dumbledore himself.

If battling the old wizard, Harry would need extraordinary caution regarding that particular advantage.

Just then, Albus Dumbledore rose gracefully to his feet.

He surveyed the assembled students with a genuinely warm smile, spreading his arms wide toward them as if absolutely nothing could bring him greater happiness than seeing all these young people gathered safely together beneath his care.

"Welcome!" he declared, his voice carrying effortlessly throughout the Hall. "Welcome, everyone, to Hogwarts for a new school year! Before our feast begins, I wish to say a few words. And here they are: Nitwit! Blubber! Oddment! Tweak!"

"Thank you all!"

He sat back down with evident satisfaction. The Hall erupted in applause and bewildered cheering. Harry clapped more enthusiastically than anyone present. Having attended school in the [Asian Parents] world, he thought this Headmaster was absolutely wonderful—the man had literally only said a few nonsensical words instead of launching into an interminable speech!

When Dumbledore first announced, "I wish to say a few words," Harry had experienced genuine anxiety, painful memories surfacing unbidden.

The moment Dumbledore settled back into his chair, the feast materialised instantaneously. Every student's plate filled simultaneously with magnificent food.

Roast beef glistening with juices, golden roast chicken, thick pork chops, perfectly seasoned lamb chops, plump sausages, crispy bacon, fluffy boiled potatoes, herb-roasted potatoes, proper chips, rich gravy, tangy ketchup—the spread far exceeded British cuisine's typically modest standards.

However, what about Hogwarts supposedly prohibiting Apparition throughout the castle? Evidently rumours proved unreliable—even meal delivery clearly employed instantaneous magical transport.

No matter. Eat first, analyse magical logistics later. Harry displayed a truly kingly appetite, consuming with focused determination to recover his physical strength as rapidly as possible. According to his [Asian Parents] world experience, eating sufficiently well meant he could recover peak physical condition within approximately two years of sustained effort.

If he could somehow gather ten Bronze attribute points to boost his Stamina, then continue increasing Strength systematically... perhaps he could recover immediately to his former Westeros peak.

Intuition strongly suggested that with his current diminished strength, he likely couldn't defeat Dumbledore in direct confrontation.

Though not a confirmed enemy, this possibility still produced certain uncomfortable feelings of vulnerability in Harry's mind.

Dumbledore's orientation remained uncertain—the black market wizards claimed some unofficial histories recorded him and the first Dark Lord Grindelwald having an intimate romantic relationship, the two being lovers who both loved and battled each other throughout their youth. But Harry never trusted unofficial histories without corroborating evidence.

However, Snape's gaze definitely contained something deeply wrong. People with less sensitive perception might interpret his stares as simple grudge-bearing hostility, but Harry sensed love and hatred intertwining in disturbingly complex patterns.

Snape's relationship with Dumbledore too—ordinary observers might barely notice their interactions or even assume poor relations existed between them, but Harry had already confidently discerned that Snape was absolutely Dumbledore's man, loyal beyond question.

If Snape somehow came into conflict with Harry, what would Dumbledore's attitude be toward such a confrontation?

Harry maintained his own carefully developed logic regarding interpersonal relationships and institutional power dynamics. Keen observation had repeatedly helped him escape danger and navigate complex conspiracies throughout multiple lifetimes.

His accuracy rate reached approximately fifty percent—meaning either right or catastrophically wrong. Regardless, never let down one's guard unnecessarily. Thinking one layer deeper into motivations and loyalties certainly wouldn't hurt.

Continue eating. Harry's extraordinary appetite particularly attracted widespread attention throughout the Great Hall.

"My God, he could devour an entire cow single-handedly!"

"Is this the saviour's legendary appetite manifesting?"

"Where does all that food actually go? Was his stomach enchanted with Expansion Charms?"

"Possibly digested instantly through accelerated metabolism."

"Even instantly digested material needs temporary storage. He hasn't visited the bathroom once—why doesn't his stomach visibly bulge outward?"

"Merlin's beard, we're still actively eating! Could you possibly avoid such disgusting speculation?"

"Perhaps he can directly convert consumed food into magical energy, all transformed through some form of mass-energy conversion. I learnt about this concept at my Muggle primary school—something about equilibrium principles. Energy cannot be created or destroyed, only transformed. Mr Potter possessing such devastatingly powerful magic to defeat the Dark Lord at merely age one must somehow relate to extraordinary metabolic capacity!"

"You're seriously suggesting as an infant he consumed ten pounds of milk daily?! That's completely absurd."

"Hard to definitively say otherwise."

Professor Quirrell also secretly observed Harry from the High Table, carefully collecting intelligence and reporting telepathically to his master concealed within the enchanted turban through their dark mental connection:

"Yes, my Lord. He eats extraordinarily large quantities indeed. Most unusual for a child his apparent age and size."