The ceiling of the Great Hall was enchanted to mirror the sky outside.
Severus Snape cast his gaze upward. Tonight's storm was particularly fierce, with black and purple clouds churning above, a jagged bolt of lightning slashing across the ceiling, illuminating the entire hall as bright as day.
Looking down, Professor McGonagall stood before the staff table, preparing, as she did every year, to begin the Sorting Ceremony.
"Where's the new Defense Against the Dark Arts teacher?" Patrick Abbott asked. "My dad said the Board of Governors sent someone important this time."
No sooner had he spoken than a deafening clap of thunder rang out, and the doors of the Great Hall were flung open with a bang.
A tall figure stood in the doorway, not a single drop of rain on him.
The stranger's sleek blond hair gleamed in the candlelight, and his silver-green cloak billowed behind him.
His expression carried an indescribable arrogance, as though he were a dragon disdainful of the people around him.
Everyone in the hall turned to stare at the unexpected guest. Suddenly, another fork of lightning streaked across the ceiling, illuminating the figure behind him.
Following him was a house-elf with large, bat-like ears and green eyes.
The elf's tattered pillowcase was thoroughly soaked, and it shivered as it used its magic to hold a translucent umbrella over its master.
The man removed his cloak and tossed it carelessly behind him. "Don't catch it with your hands."
The elf hurriedly used magic to catch its master's clothing midair, ensuring its hands didn't touch it.
Its exposed skin was marred with red scars.
"Dobby…" Snape thought, narrowing his eyes. "He's not free yet… and his situation seems far worse than it will be in a decade or so."
Click, clack.
The man began walking toward the staff table.
Each step echoed with a crisp sound in the hall, accompanied by a faint squeak—the distinctive noise of handmade leather-soled shoes on the stone floor.
The rhythm was unhurried, as if proclaiming to all: Behold, a true pure-blood aristocrat has arrived.
With such a pompous air, the newcomer's identity was unmistakable.
"Pfft," Snape spat under his breath. "What a show-off."
The stranger strode past the terrified first-years lined up before the staff table—they hurriedly parted to make way for him—and stopped beside Dumbledore.
"Professor Dumbledore, it's been a while," he said in a smooth, oily voice, his chin still tilted upward, not offering a handshake. "It seems I haven't missed the Sorting Ceremony."
"Good evening, Abraxas," Dumbledore replied calmly. "I thought you might not make it."
"Is that so? How could I miss such an important occasion?" Abraxas Malfoy turned to face the students, his gaze sweeping over the four house tables, lingering a few seconds longer on Slytherin, the corner of his mouth curling slightly.
"Students," his voice suddenly boomed, resonating through the hall, "in your past education, you may have been exposed to many misguided ideas and methods."
The statement was pointed, and several professors exchanged glances.
"But I—Abraxas Malfoy—as a governor of this esteemed institution, Hogwarts, and your new Defense Against the Dark Arts teacher for the year, will ensure you understand what truly constitutes a noble wizarding education."
The hall fell silent.
Trouble's brewing, Snape thought. This Malfoy orchestrated the ousting of the first Muggle-born Minister for Magic nine years ago. What's he planning at Hogwarts now?
"Shall we proceed with the Sorting Ceremony?" Professor McGonagall's voice cut through the atmosphere Malfoy had created.
She held a three-legged stool with a tattered wizard's hat atop it, its brim frayed and patched, a wide tear near the edge resembling a mouth.
Malfoy seemed about to say more, but Dumbledore stood, gently taking his arm to guide him to a seat.
"Have a seat, Abraxas," he said, his tone kind yet firm. "Look at all these eager young faces."
A flash of embarrassment crossed Malfoy's face, but after meeting the sharp gaze behind Dumbledore's glasses, he obediently sat beside the headmaster.
McGonagall placed the stool on the ground in front of the first-years. The tear near the hat's brim opened like a mouth, and the Sorting Hat began to sing…
After the Sorting Hat finished its song, McGonagall unfurled a large scroll of parchment, and the first-years stepped forward one by one for sorting.
Snape's attention, however, wasn't on the ceremony. His eyes kept drifting to Malfoy at the staff table and the elf standing in the corner.
The elf looked as though it might collapse at any moment, yet it stood ramrod straight, ready to answer its master's call. Whenever Malfoy's gaze swept in its direction, the elf trembled involuntarily.
"Quirinius Quirrell—"
At the sound of the name, Snape looked up.
The small boy he had recently rescued from the lake stepped forward, visibly trembling from head to toe.
Quirrell picked up the Sorting Hat, placed it on his head, and sat on the stool.
His eyes met Snape's, and a look of surprised delight spread across his face.
"Raven—" the Sorting Hat began, but its voice faltered.
"Hmm?" a faint voice whispered in Quirrell's ear. "You don't want Ravenclaw? It suits you perfectly. You have a sharp mind, and Ravenclaw will satisfy your thirst for knowledge."
Quirrell gripped the edge of the stool, his knuckles whitening, thinking, I want Slytherin. I want… He seemed unsure of what he truly wanted.
Amid his jumbled thoughts, one idea stood out clearly: the dark-eyed upperclassman who saved him. He wanted to be in the same house as him.
"Slytherin?" the faint voice asked. "Are you sure? With a single thought, Ravenclaw could help you explore the unknown— Not interested? Very well, if you've made up your mind—Slytherin it is!"
"Slytherin!" the Sorting Hat declared its final decision.
What? Snape thought, a strange sense of accomplishment swelling in his chest. Voldemort's so-called 'young, foolish, gullible' servant just got sorted into Slytherin because of me?
Quirrell removed the hat, his legs trembling as he stumbled toward the Slytherin table.
Sparse applause broke out, and Snape stood, gesturing for Quirrell to sit beside him.
"Hi," Quirrell stammered, his voice barely audible, eyes fixed on the empty plate before him. "Thank you for saving me."
"No problem," Snape said, patting his shoulder and raising his voice for those nearby to hear. "Stick with me from now on. If anyone gives you trouble, come find me."
The Sorting Ceremony continued, the line of first-years gradually shrinking.
Finally, it concluded. McGonagall gathered the Sorting Hat and stool and returned to the staff table.
Dumbledore stood, smiling broadly at the students.
"Welcome!" he said. "Welcome to a new year at Hogwarts! Before the feast begins, I have a few words: Nitwit! Blubber! Oddment! Tweak! Let the feast begin!"
With his speech concluded, the long tables were instantly laden with a mountain of delectable dishes. The students cheered, diving into the food as the hall filled with laughter and the clinking of cutlery.
But Mr. Malfoy was less than pleased.
Seated at the staff table, he scrutinized the golden plate before him, prodding a piece of roast beef with his fork, sniffing it, then setting it back down with a look of distaste.
"Professor Dumbledore," Malfoy said, his voice low but audible to the nearby professors, "I must say, Hogwarts' dining standards are… disappointing. This food is frankly unpalatable, far below the quality I'm accustomed to."
Professor Slughorn nearly choked on his wine, while Professor Sprout glared, her eyes wide with indignation. Dumbledore merely smiled, wiping his glasses.
"Abraxas," he said, "I notice you brought a house-elf. Hogwarts can share its kitchens with him. What do you think?"
Malfoy sighed, reluctantly nodding, and set down his cutlery.
He snapped his fingers, and Dobby appeared instantly at his side, his large ears trembling with fear.
"To the kitchens," Malfoy ordered coldly. "Prepare my usual dinner. Use the ingredients we brought."
"Yes, Master. Dobby will go at once." The elf bowed and vanished with a pop.
Minutes later, Dobby returned, his pillowcase now smeared with flour and sauce. He carefully levitated a silver tray with an exquisite meal using his magic.
"Master, your dinner…" Dobby's voice was barely a whisper.
Malfoy didn't even glance at him, merely waving a hand to signal him to set it down.
The elf, trembling, placed the tray on the table and retreated to the corner.
After the feast, Dumbledore rose, smiling as he surveyed the hall.
"Now, in case you didn't hear earlier, allow me to introduce our new Defense Against the Dark Arts professor for the year—Mr. Abraxas Malfoy. He is a—"
Before Dumbledore could finish, Malfoy stood, raising a hand for silence.
Dumbledore showed a flicker of surprise but sat down smoothly, watching Malfoy with an air of eager anticipation.
Some professors didn't hide their shock. Professor Flitwick swung his short legs irritably under the table, and McGonagall pursed her lips into a thin line. No teacher or student had ever interrupted Dumbledore before.
Many older students snickered quietly: this new professor clearly didn't know Hogwarts' rules.
"Thank you, Professor Dumbledore," Malfoy said with a forced smile, his tone carrying a hint of condescension, as if the headmaster's introduction were a mere formality. He adjusted his cuffs, his gaze sweeping the hall.
"Ladies and gentlemen," he began, "the future of the wizarding world depends on how we educate the next generation. The Board of Governors takes this very seriously, and I—as the current head of the Malfoy family—cannot stand idly by."
Snape noticed several Slytherin upperclassmen sit up straighter, theirILENAME eyes gleaming with excitement. But most students had begun to yawn or roll their eyes.
"Hogwarts needs true elite education, one that teaches young witches and wizards that power and bloodline are equally important. I will ensure that what you learn is worthy of your status."
"The past methods of education—" Malfoy continued, a slight smirk on his lips, "frankly, have been a waste of wizarding talent and heritage. But fear not, starting this term, I will personally teach you what a truly noble wizard should master…"
His speech wasn't long, but it was enough to lose most of the students' attention.
When he finished, the hall offered only scattered applause—Dumbledore led with a polite smile, a few professors gave a perfunctory clap or two, then stopped.
Before the students could decide whether to keep clapping, Dumbledore stood again.
"Thank you, Mr. Malfoy. Your words were… most enlightening," he said cheerfully, as if the speech had been a riveting performance. "Now, I believe that concludes tonight's feast. Everyone, please return to your dormitories in an orderly fashion and prepare for tomorrow's classes."
The students immediately grew noisy, rising and heading for the exits.
Malfoy stood still, watching them leave with a cold gaze. His eyes lingered on a few Muggle-born students, a flicker of contempt in his expression.
"See you later," Snape said to Abbott and the others. "Head back to the dormitory and take Quirrell with you. I'll maintain order and guide the first-years."
With that, he turned. "First-years—follow your prefects…"
As students and teachers began to disperse, Dumbledore prepared to leave.
"Professor," Snape called, hurrying to his side. "The house-elf who came with Mr. Malfoy—where will he be staying?"
Dumbledore paused.
"He'll stay with Mr. Malfoy," he said, seeming puzzled by the question. "Though I doubt Mr. Malfoy will want him hovering constantly. Why do you ask, Severus?"
"Oh, just curious," Snape replied casually. "An outside house-elf wandering freely around the school might be… inappropriate."
He paused, then added, "By the way, Professor, my mother has accepted the position at the school. As we discussed, she'll serve as Professor Sprout's assistant in Herbology. Is that alright? She can come to Hogwarts as soon as possible."
"No problem," Dumbledore said. "I've already spoken to Pomona, and she's delighted to have such a capable assistant."
"Thank you, Professor," Snape said, giving a slight bow.
————
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