In the vast Great Hall, every eye turned to him.
At the long tables, students craned their necks for a better look. Beside the glittering golden plates and goblets at the staff table, Dumbledore's eyes twinkled with faint amusement.
Sean forced himself to look calm. At Professor McGonagall's gentle nod, he stepped forward and placed the Sorting Hat on his head.
"I shall teach all I can, and treat them all the same," he recited silently, repeating the words of Helga Hufflepuff in his mind. Surely that would guide the Hat.
A thoughtful little wizard, came a faint voice, old and rasping. Few remember the songs the Hat has sung. You want Hufflepuff, do you? That… is not possible.
"…" Sean froze.
He had been better off saying nothing at all.
Why? he asked warily.
And then, without warning, the Hat began to sing.
"Let the old Hat sing once more
Fair Ravenclaw, by the quiet rivershore…"
The brim twisted and squirmed as though caught in its own rhythm.
"Mr. Sorting Hat?" Sean asked carefully, clutching the edge of the stool.
"Those who are wise and learned,
Shall go to clever Ravenclaw…"
Sean's jaw tightened. "I want to go to Hufflepuff."
"Ravenclaw declared: the students I'll teach,
Must prize wit and intelligence each…"
The Hat kept crooning, utterly ignoring him.
Sean ground his teeth. "I said, I want to go to Hufflepuff!"
He clung to the last of his determination, but the Hat only warbled louder, swaying on his head like an off-key bard.
Stubborn little wizard, the Hat sighed. Why must you go to Hufflepuff?
"Mr. Sorting Hat, why must I go to Ravenclaw?" Sean countered, teeth clenched.
Hmm… thirteen hours of practice a day until you can barely move… You still stumble over your English letters, yet in two months you memorised every book you bought. Not since Rowena herself has the Hat seen such eagerness for knowledge.
Its voice grew rich with feeling.
Slytherin could help you achieve ambition. Gryffindor would value your courage. Hufflepuff would welcome your kind heart… But only Ravenclaw can give a mind like yours the chance to walk the path of truth!
Sean's resolve wavered, but he forced the words out anyway.
"I want to go to Hufflepuff."
…All right, the Hat said at last.
Sean's emerald eyes lit up.
"Really?"
No, the Hat crowed gleefully. I lied. Ravenclaw!
"Wha !"
Sean groaned and gripped the Hat's brim in frustration.
Ouch, ouch stop pinching! Merlin's beard…
The Hat's mutterings made him feel slightly better until he caught only half of its rambling words:
I lied to Ravenclaw, too… A continuation at last. Rowena, you were always so careless, always tugging at the Hat… Twelve centuries, and the old Hat has fulfilled its promise to Godric. I've found an heir for Ravenclaw. Just watch. Inside this frail little body lies hidden power. The Hat is never wrong…
Sean exhaled slowly. Ravenclaw is fine too, he told himself. At least it isn't Slytherin.
He removed the Sorting Hat and handed it back to Professor McGonagall.
From the Ravenclaw table came an enthusiastic burst of applause. Students cheered, waving their arms. Even Gryffindor and Hufflepuff clapped politely.
But Sean's eyes caught on Justin, who had shot to his feet.
The Hufflepuff boy was clapping so hard his palms must have stung, and he had managed to drag half his table into thunderous applause with him.
Somehow, that made Sean feel even worse.
What wonderful Hufflepuffs. What a detestable Sorting Hat.
In the centre of the Great Hall, Professor McGonagall regarded Sean with a gentleness that belied her stern features.
His pilled orphanage clothes were gone, replaced by the plain robes of Hogwarts. Even his ill-fitting shoes had become proper British leather boots. A faint light of longing shone in his cautious emerald eyes.
She lifted the Sorting Hat from his head.
"Are you ready, Mr. Green? To embrace your new life."
Sean hesitated for just a heartbeat before Professor McGonagall gave him the lightest of nudges toward the Ravenclaw table.
"Welcome!"
A slightly chubby boy waved at him as Sean slid onto the bench.
"I can't believe it you're a Hatstall!"
The boy peered at him with wide eyes behind copper-rimmed glasses. He thrust out a hand, then immediately had to grab at his slipping frames instead, fumbling with an apologetic grin.
"Hatstall?" Sean repeated, blinking, his big eyes full of confusion.
"Oh! My goodness you don't know?!" the boy gaped.
"Terry, not everyone studies the old Hat's history."
The interruption came from a tall, black-haired boy sitting just beyond him. His voice carried both patience and exasperation.
"Don't mind him too much. Terry's always researching odd little things. When I sat down, he asked me how many windows Hogwarts had." He rolled his eyes. "Merlin's beard who cares about that?"
"…unless they all fall down, they'll definitely crush Terry Boot, who insists on counting them underneath," the black-haired boy finished dryly.
"No, windows are important!" Terry's round face flushed crimson, his voice rising in indignation.
"Alright, alright," the boy said in a soothing tone, clearly used to humoring him. Then he turned back to Sean with interest.
"Hatstall," he explained. "It means a Sorting Hat difficulty. Refers to students whose Sorting takes more than five minutes. Very rare happens maybe once every fifty years." He grinned. "By the way, I'm Michael Corner. Welcome to Ravenclaw."
He offered his hand.
Sean blinked. Five minutes? That wasn't right. He distinctly remembered the Hat arguing with him only briefly unless something had stolen the time away. The thought made him frown.
Still, he clasped Michael's hand lightly. "Sean Green."
By the time the last student was placed in Slytherin, Dumbledore had risen from his seat. His arms opened wide as though nothing in the world pleased him more than the sight of the crowded hall.
"Welcome!" he declared. "Welcome, one and all, to a new year at Hogwarts! Before the feast begins, I would like to say a few words. They are: Nitwit! Blubber! Oddment! Tweak!"
As his voice rang out, Terry scrambled for a quill, frantically jotting the words down as if they were sacred incantations. Michael only smirked knowingly, clearly expecting it.
Sean, however, barely noticed. His eyes were fixed on the sudden appearance of food.
The empty golden plates and bowls filled themselves to brimming: roast beef, roast chicken, pork chops, sausages, lamb chops, steak and kidney pie, boiled potatoes, roast potatoes, peas, carrots, Yorkshire pudding, thick gravy, treacle tart, jam doughnuts, chocolate éclairs, trifles, strawberries, jelly, and more.
Sean glanced at the spread, his lips twitching. Exactly as I remembered.
"Dipping beans… it begins," he muttered under his breath, and immediately switched into what he privately dubbed one-click sweep mode.
"How does he manage to look elegant while eating that quickly?" Michael whispered in astonishment to the boy beside him, eyes wide.