The blonde-haired boy across from Sean tilted his head, brow furrowed as if pondering something profound.
"I don't know," he said at last.
Michael Corner groaned, dropping his fork with a clatter. "You don't know what you're thinking? Merlin help me between you and Terry, I'll lose a few years off my life."
Sean ate in silence, not bothering to look up.
Dining etiquette, posture, bedtime routines… useless nonsense, he thought, lips twitching faintly. In the orphanage, those lessons were drilled into them until their hands cramped and their stomachs growled. Punishments followed if they dared forget scolding, sneering, or worse.
Perhaps the only ones who benefited were the caregivers, who could boast about "discipline" while finding new reasons to torment the children.
Sean had learned, unwillingly, how to sit straight, how to cut food neatly, and how to chew at the exact pace demanded. Ironically, those very lessons now made his ravenous eating appear strangely graceful.
Fortunately, I escaped that place. Otherwise, Caregiver Anna desperate to keep her grip on us would have made life unbearable.
At the Ravenclaw table, the noise of the feast filled the air. Dumbledore chuckled with Professors at the head table. Michael leaned toward a pretty witch, trying his best at charm. Terry scribbled frantically in his notebook, recording every word.
And Sean?
Sean kept eating.
The dishes vanished plate by plate until the hall grew quiet, the clamor fading into soft murmurs. Sean reluctantly set down his spoon, stomach still unsatisfied.
"Now, everyone has eaten and drunk their fill!" boomed Dumbledore.
Not really, Sean thought, a wry flicker in his eyes.
Dumbledore continued, his voice echoing through the enchanted ceiling: three warnings do not wander at night, do not enter the Forbidden Forest, and, under any circumstance, avoid the room at the far right of the fourth-floor corridor.
Every word seemed to make the younger students' spines stiffen with curiosity rather than caution.
"And now," Dumbledore announced brightly, "before bed, let us sing the school song together!"
Sean's head lifted. Around the professors' table, every smile froze in place, as if they'd just swallowed a live flobberworm.
Professor Snape looked positively ill.
Yet Dumbledore raised his wand with delight. Golden words unfurled into the air, forming the school song's eccentric lyrics.
A moment later, the Great Hall resounded with a cacophony: students choosing their own tunes and tempos. Some wailed it like a funeral march, others chirped it like a nursery rhyme.
Sean's lips twitched again. This place is insane.
Still, when Michael bellowed in a heroic baritone beside him and Terry sang solemnly in triple time, Sean quietly mouthed the words, just enough not to stand out.
It was, in its own ridiculous way, the first song he had ever sung that no one could scold him for.
Soon, Sean realized why the professors had frozen at the mention of the school song.
"It sounds really bad," he muttered, hands clapped over his ears.
"If you don't want to listen, you have to sing!" Michael bellowed beside him, wildly off-key yet full of passion.
Sean blinked at him. If you don't bother others, others will bother you… that actually makes sense.
So, sighing inwardly, he joined in, altering the rhythm just slightly, weaving it into something resembling a tune from his past life:
Hogwarts, Hogwarts,
Hogwarts, please teach us knowledge
Whether bald old men or children with scraped knees,
Our empty heads crave wisdom's touch.
Brains full of air, dead flies, and trifles,
Give us back what we've long forgot.
Do your best, we'll do the rest,
We'll study hard until we turn to dust!
When the last lines faded, Michael leaned close, eyes wide behind his messy black fringe.
"You sing really well!"
Sean only nodded, amused. At least I lessened the howling. Maybe next time I'll bring a metronome.
The feast ended in bursts of laughter and chatter. Soon, the first-years were shepherded out by tall Prefects, their lanterns bobbing like floating stars. The Ravenclaws were led through winding corridors and climbing staircases that seemed to stretch forever.
Up and up they went spiral after spiral, stair after stair.
By the fourth turn, Michael was clutching the railing dramatically.
"This staircase is so long it could kill me!" he groaned.
Terry, still scribbling in his notebook despite walking, piped up without looking, "No, you just said the Prefect's legs were so long they could kill you."
Sean nearly tripped, stifling a laugh. Maybe Ravenclaw wasn't such a bad placement after all.
At last, the Prefect halted in front of an arched door carved with an eagle's head. Its stone eyes gleamed faintly in the torchlight.
"Here we are Ravenclaw Tower," the Prefect announced.
The eagle's beak opened, and a calm, melodious voice rang out:
"What comes first: the phoenix, or the flame?"
Several first-years gasped.
Sean tilted his head, interest sparking. A riddle to enter? Interesting.
Soon, Sean realized why the professors had frozen at the mention of the school song.
"It sounds really bad," he muttered, hands clapped over his ears.
"If you don't want to listen, you have to sing!" Michael bellowed beside him, wildly off-key yet full of passion.
Sean blinked at him. If you don't bother others, others will bother you… that actually makes sense.
So, sighing inwardly, he joined in, altering the rhythm just slightly, weaving it into something resembling a tune from his past life:
Hogwarts, Hogwarts,
Hogwarts, please teach us knowledge
Whether bald old men or children with scraped knees,
Our empty heads crave wisdom's touch.
Brains full of air, dead flies, and trifles,
Give us back what we've long forgot.
Do your best, we'll do the rest,
We'll study hard until we turn to dust!
When the last lines faded, Michael leaned close, eyes wide behind his messy black fringe.
"You sing really well!"
Sean only nodded, amused. At least I lessened the howling. Maybe next time I'll bring a metronome.
The feast ended in bursts of laughter and chatter. Soon, the first-years were shepherded out by tall Prefects, their lanterns bobbing like floating stars. The Ravenclaws were led through winding corridors and climbing staircases that seemed to stretch forever.
Up and up they went spiral after spiral, stair after stair.
By the fourth turn, Michael was clutching the railing dramatically.
"This staircase is so long it could kill me!" he groaned.
Terry, still scribbling in his notebook despite walking, piped up without looking, "No, you just said the Prefect's legs were so long they could kill you."
Sean nearly tripped, stifling a laugh. Maybe Ravenclaw wasn't such a bad placement after all.
At last, the Prefect halted in front of an arched door carved with an eagle's head. Its stone eyes gleamed faintly in the torchlight.
"Here we are Ravenclaw Tower," the Prefect announced.
The eagle's beak opened, and a calm, melodious voice rang out:
"What comes first: the phoenix, or the flame?"
Several first-years gasped.
Sean tilted his head, interest sparking. A riddle to enter? Interesting.
Sean silently filed away the importance of solving riddles, ranking it just beneath winning a scholarship.
Then, with quiet curiosity, he took in the Ravenclaw common room for the first time.
It was just as the books had promised: a wide, airy, circular chamber with tall arched windows draped in blue and bronze silks. The starlit dome overhead shimmered faintly, echoing the deep-blue carpet below, where embroidered constellations seemed to twinkle underfoot. Shelves of books lined the walls, interspersed with polished wooden tables and cushioned chairs.
Opposite the door, a white marble bust of Rowena Ravenclaw watched over them, her serene gaze timeless and proud. Beside her, a smaller doorway spiraled upward toward the dormitories.
"Now," said Prefect Penelope, brisk but kind, "please come and collect your timetables. Dormitory information is written on the back. Once you've got yours, head upstairs."
The new Ravenclaws shuffled into line. When Sean's turn came, he scanned his schedule immediately and his stomach dropped.
Monday morning. Potions. Double period.
The worst subject first.
He clenched the parchment, feeling urgency rise in his chest. I've only memorized Magical Drafts and Potions once… what if I forget something? Snape won't explain it twice. The Half-Blood Prince isn't going to appear at my elbow.
"Sean!"
Michael Corner's voice broke into his thoughts. Sean turned, puzzled, as Michael waved his timetable like a victory flag.
"My gran always said people who love good food are never bad people!"
Sean blinked. "…What?"
Michael only grinned wider and jabbed at the parchment. "Look Dormitory 404: Sean Green, Michael Corner. Roommates!"
Before Sean could respond, Michael had already slung an arm around him, steering him toward the staircase as if they'd been friends for years.
The boys' dormitory was as elegant as the common room. Blue-and-silver hangings framed the tall windows, each bed made up with thick quilts the color of midnight. Small shelves stood at each bedside for books and inkpots, clearly designed with studious Ravenclaws in mind.
Sean didn't notice the polished wood or silk drapes for long. His eyes fixed on the heavy, blue-green bedding.
He exhaled softly, almost a whisper. I won't be cold anymore.