"Welcome to Hogwarts."
Professor McGonagall's voice carried clearly through the stone entrance hall.
"The Start-of-Term Feast will begin shortly. But before you take your seats in the Great Hall, you must first be sorted into your houses.
The Sorting is a very important ceremony, because while you are at school, your house will be like your family here at Hogwarts…"
She explained the four houses and the House Cup system, her tone as crisp as ever.
When she finished and turned to leave, she added one last reminder:
"In a few minutes, the Sorting Ceremony will take place in front of the entire school.
I suggest you take this time to straighten yourselves up and look your best."
Her eyes swept across the group and paused for just a heartbeat on Sean.
For that moment, the severity in them softened, just a fraction.
It suits him, she thought, though her face did not show it.
"The Sorting Ceremony—Merlin, I heard we have to fight a dragon!"
A black-haired boy whispered shakily to his friend.
"W–what?! We… we have to fight a dragon?!"
The blond girl beside him looked on the verge of tears.
"I haven't learned anything except Lumos…"
That was all it took. Panic spread through the crowd like spilled ink.
"A dragon?! Full-grown or juvenile?!"
"Anthony, why are you being so precise right now?! Even a baby dragon could roast us all in one breath!"
"We're doomed."
The first-years accepted the rumour with an almost touching sincerity.
Their families had clearly done… very creative "preparation."
In the middle of the anxious murmuring, Sean was still calmly reading Magical Theory.
It was the only book he'd brought to stand here with.
Magic didn't obey logic, or conservation of energy, or any of the rules that comforted Muggle scientists.
But it had existed for so long that even if every wizard were a complete idiot, they still should have figured out a few patterns by accident.
Among all the books that had cost him two whole Galleons each, Magical Theory had left the deepest impression.
Charms, Transfiguration, Potions—
every branch of magic seemed to be threaded through this book.
Sean suspected it was the most underrated volume on the entire first-year reading list.
He was on his third read-through. Every pass, he discovered something new.
"Magic power is innate to the wizard.
The strength of magical power is influenced by emotion and mental fortitude.
However, most witches and wizards are unable to consciously direct their magic unaided.
Thus, incantations and wands are required to guide the power,
allowing it to be deliberately shaped toward a desired effect."
Sean nodded slightly.
Harry was the perfect example.
Before he ever learned magic, Harry had somehow leapt onto rooftops, vanished glass from a snake enclosure…
But those things only happened when he was emotional, and he had no idea how he'd done them.
With a wand and the right incantation, wizards could finally grab hold of that power.
After two months of observation, Sean had grown more convinced of a theory from his previous life:
Witches and wizards in this world were, essentially, bloodline casters—
their magic came from something woven into their very blood.
He continued reading:
*"One important truth about studying magic is to master as many spells as possible, including many ancient magics.
The more spells you know, the more things you can accomplish.
A second truth: once you have learned a spell, you must practice it relentlessly.
There is a vast difference between clumsy casting and practiced casting.
But even mastery of a spell is not enough to draw out its full power—
you must also possess sufficient mental strength."*
Concise and brutal, Sean thought.
No wonder Adalbert Waffling dared name his book Magical Theory.
The title alone put it in the same tier as "Foundations of Physics" or "Theoretical Mathematics" from his past life—
Books which had devoured his happiness like Dementors.
One good read-through and: goodbye, joy.
"I'm starting to believe you."
Hermione's face had turned a little pale.
The other first-years' "dragon trial" debate was getting more and more out of hand—
and the way they echoed each other made it all sound horribly plausible.
As someone who had only just stepped into the wizarding world, the uncertainty gnawed at her.
She glanced at Sean.
He looked like he hadn't heard a word. Still reading. Still turning pages.
Calm as if they were in a quiet library instead of waiting for a potentially lethal "ceremony."
"Maybe we should ask Sean," Justin muttered, shivering.
"He doesn't look scared at all."
His thoughts flickered back to Eton Prep's riding tests—
Maybe wizards had their own "tradition": slay a dragon as entrance exam.
Wizards were terrifying.
"Sean, sorry to interrupt you, but—"
Justin didn't get to finish.
The doors to the Great Hall swung open with a deep boom.
The Sorting Ceremony had begun.
Sean snapped the book closed and finally lifted his head.
As the patched Sorting Hat still rested on its stool, he started thinking about the question that really mattered:
Which house?
The Sorting Hat, after all, did seem to listen to a student's wishes.
Gryffindor?
No. That wouldn't do.
His first priority was the scholarship.
To get straight "Outstanding" in all seven subjects, his benchmarks were clearly Hermione and Percy.
And in the original timeline, both of them had been quietly resented in their own house.
Hermione had only answered questions in class and pointed out mistakes now and then—
and that alone was enough to send her running to a bathroom in tears by Halloween.
Most Gryffindors carried an unspoken belief:
"No matter how good you are, I refuse to be overshadowed."
They were brave adventurers…
but those wild swings often hurt the people around them.
In second year, the entire house had let rumours turn them against Harry overnight.
Slytherin, then?
Sean dismissed it almost as quickly.
He had no energy to waste on intrigue.
Hours spent plotting could be invested into grinding Levitation Charm until he could cast it nonverbally.
Which left Ravenclaw and Hufflepuff.
Both were good.
But Sean found himself leaning—hard—toward Hufflepuff.
Warm common room near the kitchens.
Free food just a short walk away.
That alone was… obscenely attractive.
Hufflepuff was cosy and united.
They rarely tore into their own; they stood shoulder to shoulder facing outward.
Even J.K. Rowling had said she wished all children could be Hufflepuffs.
Sean pictured it: a crackling fireplace, a door that opened near the kitchens,
a Head of House who would scold you for getting into fights—
then slip you a secret tub of coconut ice cream.
He wanted to shout it to the rafters:
We come from the earth. We carry kindness. We stand with nature. We are loyal and honest, upright and unafraid of hardship—
We. Are. Hufflepuff.
"Harry Potter!"
In the middle of the Great Hall, Professor McGonagall's clear voice rang out.
The chatter dropped sharply.
All around him, Sean heard whispers trip over one another:
"It's him—"
"It really is him—"
"Harry Potter…"
Harry stumbled forward, put on the crumpled Sorting Hat.
The entire hall seemed to hold its breath.
And it held for a long time.
Four… five minutes…
In Sean's head, the Sorting Hat's song had looped into its second encore.
"GRYFFINDOR!"
The shout from the hat exploded through the silence.
The Gryffindor table erupted.
"Potter!"
"We've got Potter!"
Sean could hear them cheering even from this distance.
The line in front of him shortened, names called one after another.
Then—
"Sean Green!"
Advance Chapters available on Patreon