When Professor McGonagall called out the name "Hannah Abbott," Chard watched the little girl freeze for a moment before stumbling nervously toward the Sorting Hat. A quiet sigh emerged in his heart.
The Iron Hat Princess had returned to her beloved Hogwarts.
The Sorting Ceremony had officially begun.
Chard wasn't even sure which House he would be sorted into...
But a moment later, a faint, knowing smile tugged at the corners of his mouth.
As if he didn't already know.
The Sprout family had a long-standing tradition of being sorted into Hufflepuff. His aunt, Professor Sprout, wasn't just any professor—she was the Head of Hufflepuff House. If he didn't end up there, now that would be surprising.
For Chard, though, the House didn't matter all that much. He had no particular obsession with Gryffindor or Slytherin, and he certainly didn't think being sorted into Ravenclaw meant you were somehow superior.
Anyone who had attended university in his past life would understand: the school name wasn't the most important part. The major was.
And Herbology? Herbology was Hufflepuff's signature strength.
Eight out of ten Herbology masters in the British wizarding world had come from Hufflepuff. The finest greenhouses in the wizarding world were maintained by Hufflepuff alumni. And who was overseeing it all? His aunt.
That was enough for him.
Even if the Sorting Hat offered him a place elsewhere, Chard wouldn't hesitate.
Unlike the other young witches and wizards fidgeting nervously, Chard was calm. Composed. Serene.
He even had the presence of mind to plant goldfish plants while the Sorting Ceremony unfolded around him.
Just as Hannah Abbott barely touched the rim of the Sorting Hat, it immediately declared:
"HUFFLEPUFF!"
A round of enthusiastic applause burst from the Hufflepuff table. As she walked away proudly, a ripple of laughter followed her.
Neville, standing beside Chard, murmured under his breath, "I think I saw a kindred spirit."
Chard's expression was hard to read.
More than a kindred spirit.
In the original timeline, Neville would one day marry Hannah Abbott.
Some things really did seem fated from the very beginning.
Watching Hannah's retreating figure, Chard's gaze grew slightly more focused—not out of envy or desire, but realization.
She was probably also great at growing goldfish plants.
Together, she and Neville could be called the Crouching Dragon and Hidden Phoenix of the goldfish plant world—natural-born talents destined for leafy greatness.
But then, a sobering thought struck Chard.
Too many gardeners.
Not enough goldfish plants.
He needed to plant more. Urgently.
He continued his careful planting, placing goldfish plant seeds into tiny flower pots, one after another.
Then, before his eyes, glowing prompt texts appeared:[You have successfully planted a goldfish plant]
[Reward obtainable: Extremely slight increase in magic sensing ability (gestating)]
[...]The sight of the prompts spurred him on. He increased his pace.
Meanwhile, the other first-years were too anxious to notice his strange behavior. But up at the staff table, the professors had a clear view.
Watching and trying to predict which student would land in which House was one of the professors' favorite pastimes during the Sorting Ceremony. Observing their worried expressions, the awkward tension—it reminded them of their own youth.
But Chard?
He was utterly calm. Focused. Unmoved.
None of them had ever seen a student planting anything during the Sorting Ceremony before.
"Is that the Sprout child?" one professor whispered.
"What is he doing over there?"
"He's not even looking at the ceremony?"
Professor Sprout, however, lifted her chin proudly.
"That's our Sprout boy," she said with unmistakable pride.
She watched him from afar, her expression glowing with affection and admiration.
"He will become the greatest Herbology master in history."
Professor Sprout was rarely one to boast.
But today, she couldn't hold back.
The other professors humored her with polite smiles—even Snape, known for his sarcasm and cold remarks, chose silence, owing Professor Sprout a few favors from the past.
For a while.
Until they just couldn't keep it together.
Dumbledore turned toward her, twinkle fading slightly.
"Pomona… you've been talking for quite a while," he said gently. "Aren't you thirsty?"
Just as the rest of the staff seemed ready to breathe a sigh of relief, Professor Sprout perked up even more.
"Not at all, Headmaster!" she said with beaming enthusiasm. "Speaking of thirst, let me continue. My Chard can work for hours in a stuffy greenhouse—no food, no water, and still fully focused. His perseverance, his discipline—"
Snape finally couldn't hold back.
"Pomona," he interrupted. "You weren't this talkative before."
Professor Sprout chuckled softly.
"If you had a child, you'd understand."
Her words slipped out before she could stop them.
And silence fell over the staff table like a sudden winter.
Snape opened his mouth to speak… then closed it. His face turned darker than usual—ashen and stormy.
Dumbledore, who had been smiling just moments earlier, now looked quietly stunned. His gaze drifted into space.
The other professors fell into awkward silence as well.
Most Hogwarts professors didn't have families. Or children.
Professor Sprout's words, though unintentional, struck deep.
Realizing her mistake, she bowed her head slightly and apologized repeatedly.
Fortunately, just then, a commotion swept through the Great Hall. Low murmurs rippled through the crowd.
Professor McGonagall's voice paused, then called the next name:
"Harry Potter!"
Chard lifted his head for the first time, turning to look.
The thin, slight boy stepped forward under hundreds of watchful eyes.
He looked just like he had in the movies—skinny, glasses, lightning scar. A bit overwhelmed, but holding it together.
Chard already had a strong feeling about the Sorting result.
After all, Neville had just gone into Gryffindor. So had Hermione.
Susan Bones had gone into Hufflepuff.
Everything still aligned with the original story.
His subtle presence hadn't shifted the main plotlines—not yet.
And as expected, after a long internal struggle and hesitation...
The Sorting Hat finally bellowed:
"GRYFFINDOR!"
The ceiling of the Great Hall seemed to shake with applause. The Gryffindor table roared with excitement.
Around the hall, other students clapped with varying levels of enthusiasm. Some sighed. Others whispered furiously.
Even though Professor McGonagall tried to quiet the students, no one's attention wavered.
Harry Potter had arrived.
Whoever was up next would probably feel like a shadow.
And that next name… was Chard.
Professor Sprout immediately looked over, her expression filled with motherly concern.
She looked more nervous than he did.
Chard, however, simply smiled and walked calmly to the Sorting Hat.
He placed it on his head, and immediately, a curious voice echoed in his mind."Oh?
Young wizard, you're the calmest first-year I've ever encountered.
Even the ones who looked calm on the outside had hidden nerves.
You… you're different.
No fear, no uncertainty.
How do you do it?"Chard answered silently but with clarity:"Mainly because I believe that you reap what you sow.
And more importantly—
I have an aunt who's the Head of Hufflepuff.
And a master in Herbology."
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