The Great Hall's enchanted ceiling mirrored the sky outside.
Snape cast his gaze upwards. Tonight's storm was particularly fierce, with black and purple clouds swirling above. A jagged bolt of lightning flashed across the ceiling, illuminating the entire Hall as if it were midday.
Looking down, Professor McGonagall stood at the staff table, poised to begin this year's Sorting Ceremony, just as she always did.
"Where's the new Defence Against the Dark Arts teacher?" Abott asked. "My father said the Board of Governors sent a really important person this time."
No sooner had he spoken than, with a deafening clap of thunder, the doors to the Great Hall burst open.
A tall figure stood in the doorway, not a single drop of rain on him.
The stranger's silky blonde hair gleamed in the candlelight, and a silver-green cloak billowed behind him.
The man's expression carried an indescribable arrogance, making him appear like a dragon disdainfully looking down on everyone around him.
Everyone in the Hall turned to stare at the unwelcome guest, when suddenly another jagged bolt of lightning ripped across the ceiling, illuminating the stranger's back.
It turned out he was followed by a house-elf with large, bat-like ears and green eyes.
The old pillowcase the elf wore was completely soaked, and he was trembling, using house-elf magic to hold a semi-transparent umbrella over his master.
The man removed his cloak, tossing it carelessly behind him. "Don't catch it with your hands."
The house-elf quickly used magic to levitate his master's cloak, ensuring his hands didn't touch it.
Red welts covered the elf's exposed skin.
"Dobby—" Snape mused, narrowing his eyes. "He's not free yet—and his situation seems even worse than it will be over a decade from now."
"Click, clack."
The man began to walk towards the staff table.
With every step, a crisp sound echoed through the Hall, accompanied by a faint "thump." It was the distinct sound of handmade, hard-soled leather shoes on a stone floor.
The rhythm was unhurried, as if announcing to all: behold, a true pure-blood noble has arrived.
Given this ostentatious display, the identity of the newcomer was self-evident.
"Hmph," Snape scoffed. "What a show-off!"
The stranger strode past the terrified first-years who were lined up in front of the staff table—they scrambled to make way for him—and stopped beside Dumbledore.
"Professor Dumbledore, long time no see," his voice was incredibly smooth, his chin still held high, offering no hand to Dumbledore. "It seems I haven't missed the Sorting Ceremony."
"Good evening, Abraxas," Dumbledore said calmly. "I thought you wouldn't make it."
"Did you? How could I miss such an important moment?" Abraxas Malfoy turned to face all the students, his gaze sweeping over the four House tables. He lingered for a few seconds at the Slytherin table, a slight smirk playing on his lips.
"Students," his voice suddenly boomed, echoing throughout the Great Hall. "In your past schooling, you may have been taught many incorrect ideas and methods."
This statement was clearly pointed, and several teachers exchanged glances.
"However, I—Abraxas Malfoy—as a Governor of this glorious school, Hogwarts, and your new Defence Against the Dark Arts professor for this academic year, shall ensure you understand what truly constitutes a noble wizarding education."
A silence fell over the Great Hall.
"He means trouble," Snape thought. "This Mr. Malfoy orchestrated the departure of the first Muggle-born Minister for Magic nine years ago. Who knows what he intends to achieve by coming to Hogwarts?"
"May we continue with the Sorting Ceremony?" Professor McGonagall's voice instantly shattered the atmosphere Malfoy had created.
Professor McGonagall held a three-legged stool, on which rested a tattered, old wizard's hat. The hat was patched and frayed at the brim, with a wide rip near its edge.
Malfoy seemed about to say something more, but Dumbledore stood up and, taking his arm, gently guided him to sit down.
"Sit down, Abraxas," he said, his voice gentle but firm. "Look at all these eager young faces."
A hint of angry embarrassment flashed across Malfoy's face, but after meeting Dumbledore's sharp gaze behind his half-moon spectacles, he obediently sat beside the Headmaster.
Professor McGonagall placed the stool on the ground in front of the first-years. Then, the rip near the brim opened like a mouth, and the hat suddenly began to sing.
After the Sorting Hat finished its song, Professor McGonagall unrolled a long scroll of parchment, and the first-year students stepped forward one by one for their Sorting.
Snape's attention, however, wasn't on the Sorting Ceremony. His gaze kept drifting towards Malfoy at the teachers' table and the house-elf standing in the corner.
The house-elf looked like he might collapse at any moment, but he still stood straight, ready to answer his master's call. Each time Malfoy's gaze swept in that direction, the house-elf would involuntarily tremble.
"Quirinus Quirrell—"
At the sound of the name, Snape looked up.
The small boy he had rescued from the lake not long ago stepped forward, trembling from head to foot.
Quirrell picked up the Sorting Hat, placed it on his head, and sat on the three-legged stool.
His eyes met Snape's, and an expression of surprise lit up his face.
"Raven—" the Sorting Hat called out, but its voice suddenly faltered.
"Hmm?" a faint voice whispered in Quirrell's ear. "You don't want to go to Ravenclaw? But it suits you; you have a clever mind, and Ravenclaw would fully satisfy your thirst for knowledge."
Quirrell gripped the edge of the stool tightly, his knuckles white, thinking to himself, "I want to go to Slytherin, I want—" He seemed to not even understand what he wanted himself.
In his muddled thoughts, he had only one clear idea: the black-eyed older student had saved him, and he wanted to be in the same house as that student.
"Slytherin?" the faint voice asked. "Made up your mind? You know, in a moment of thought, Ravenclaw can help you explore the unknown—not willing? Very well, since you've made up your mind—then it shall be Slytherin!"
"SLYTHERIN!" the Sorting Hat made its final decision.
"What?" Snape thought, a strange sense of accomplishment rising in his chest. "Voldemort's 'young, foolish, and easily deceived' servant was just tricked into Slytherin by me?"
Quirrell had already taken off the hat and was stumbling, legs slightly trembling, towards the Slytherin table.
A sparse round of applause met him at the table. Snape stood up, motioning for Quirrell to sit beside him.
"H-hello," Quirrell stammered, his voice barely audible, his eyes fixed on the empty plate on the table.
"Don't mention it," Snape patted his shoulder, deliberately raising his voice for those around them. "From now on, you stick with me. If anyone bothers you, come find me."
The Sorting Ceremony continued, the line slowly shortening.
Finally, the Sorting Ceremony concluded. Professor McGonagall collected the Sorting Hat and the stool, returning to the staff table.
Dumbledore stood up, smiling broadly at the students.
"Welcome!" he said. "Welcome to a new year at Hogwarts! Before we begin our feast, I have a few words. They are: Nitwit! Blubber! Oddment! Tweak! Now, let the feast begin!"
As his speech ended, mountains of delicious food instantly appeared on the long tables. Students cheered and began to feast, and the Great Hall filled with laughter and the clinking of cutlery.
However, old Mr. Malfoy seemed rather displeased.
He sat at the teachers' table, eyeing the golden plate before him critically. He poked a piece of roast beef with his fork, sniffed it, then disdainfully placed it back on his plate.
"Professor Dumbledore," Malfoy's voice was low, yet loud enough for the nearby professors to hear. "I must say, Hogwarts' dining standards are regrettable. This food is rather unpalatable and doesn't meet the quality of my usual meals."
Professor Slughorn nearly choked on his wine, while Professor Sprout's eyes widened in anger. Dumbledore, however, merely smiled and wiped his spectacles.
"Abraxas," he said, "I noticed you brought a house-elf. Hogwarts would be happy to share its kitchens with him, what do you think?"
Malfoy sighed, nodding somewhat reluctantly, and put down his knife and fork.
He snapped his fingers, and Dobby instantly appeared beside him, his large ears trembling with fear.
"Go to the kitchens," Malfoy commanded coldly. "Prepare the dinner I'm accustomed to. Remember, use the ingredients we brought."
"Yes, Master, Dobby will go now." The house-elf bowed and disappeared with a pop.
A few minutes later, Dobby returned. His pillowcase was covered in flour and sauce, but he still carefully levitated a silver tray with an exquisite meal.
"Master, your dinner—" Dobby's voice was barely a whisper.
Malfoy didn't even look at him, merely waving a hand to indicate he should set it down.
The house-elf trembling placed the tray on the table, then quickly retreated to the corner.
After the feast, Dumbledore stood up, smiling as he surveyed the Great Hall.
"Now, in case anyone didn't quite catch it earlier, allow me to reintroduce our new Defence Against the Dark Arts professor for the new academic year—Mr. Abraxas Malfoy. He is a Hogwarts—"
Before Dumbledore could finish, Malfoy had already risen, raising a hand to signal for quiet.
Dumbledore showed only a flicker of surprise for a moment, then naturally sat back down, calmly watching Mr. Malfoy, seeming eager to hear what he had to say.
Some of the teachers didn't hide their astonishment. Professor Flitwick impatiently wiggled his short legs under the table, and Professor McGonagall's lips were pressed into a thin line. Never before had a teacher or student interrupted Dumbledore.
Many older students were secretly chuckling: this new professor clearly didn't understand the rules of Hogwarts.
"Thank you, Professor Dumbledore," Malfoy said with a false smile, a hint of dismissiveness in his tone, as if the Headmaster's introduction was merely a formality. He adjusted his cuff, his gaze slowly sweeping across the Great 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—naturally cannot stand idly by."
Snape noticed several older Slytherin students straightening up, their eyes gleaming with excitement. But more people had already begun to quietly yawn or roll their eyes.
"Hogwarts needs a true elite education, one that teaches young wizards that power and bloodline are equally important. And I will ensure that what you learn is worthy of your standing."
"Past teaching methods—" Malfoy continued, a slight smirk on his lips. "With all due respect, they are a complete waste of wizarding talent and blood. But don't worry, starting this academic year, I will personally instruct you on what truly noble wizards ought to master."
His speech wasn't long, but it was enough to make most students zone out.
When he finished his last sentence, there was only sparse applause in the Great Hall—Dumbledore was the first to clap, a polite smile on his face, and a few professors symbolically clapped twice, but quickly stopped.
Before the students could react to whether they should continue clapping, Dumbledore had already stood up.
"Thank you very much, Mr. Malfoy, your words were very insightful," he said cheerfully, as if the previous speech had been a splendid performance. "Well, I believe our dinner banquet has come to an end. Everyone, please return to your dormitories in an orderly fashion and prepare for tomorrow's classes."
The students immediately grew noisy, getting up and leaving their seats.
Mr. Malfoy stood in place, watching them leave coldly. His gaze lingered for a moment on a few Muggle-born students, a hint of disdain flashing in his eyes.
"See you later," Snape said to Abott and the others. "You all head to the dormitory first, take Quirrell with you. I'll stay and maintain order, point the first-years in the right direction and such."
With that, he had already turned around: "First-years—please follow your prefects—" After the students and teachers had largely departed, Dumbledore also prepared to leave.
"Professor," Snape called out to him, quickly walking to his side. "Where will you be housing that house-elf who came with Mr. Malfoy?"
Dumbledore paused.
"He'll be staying with Mr. Malfoy," he said, seeming not to understand why Snape was asking. "But I imagine Mr. Malfoy won't have him constantly underfoot. Why do you ask, Severus?"
"Oh, I was just curious," Snape replied nonchalantly. "A foreign house-elf, if allowed to roam freely around the school, might be a bit unsuitable."
He paused, then added, "By the way, Professor, my mother has accepted the position at the school. As we discussed earlier, she'll be Professor Sprout's assistant for Herbology. How does that sound? If so, she'll come to the school as soon as possible."
"No problem," Dumbledore said. "I've already told Pomona, and she'd be delighted to have such a capable assistant."
"Thank you, Professor," Snape said, bowing slightly.