Chapter 287: The Sorting
Did Blibbering Humdingers and Crumple-Horned Snorkacks truly exist?
It was certainly a question worth pondering.
Sean stood by the Thestrals, but before he could dwell on the thought for long, Hagrid returned looking thoroughly vexed.
"I reckon that one's off for a wander for an hour or two. Sorry to trouble yeh again, Sean. I'll take it from 'ere—follow me! Firs'-years, this way!"
Hagrid let out a thunderous shout, and the tiny, trembling first-years scurried after him toward the fleet of small boats waiting by the lake.
The rest of the students climbed into the "horseless" carriages. The long procession of black stagecoaches began to move, creaking and swaying as they trundled along the track. They passed through the towering stone gates, flanked by pillars topped with winged boars, and into the school grounds.
Hogwarts Castle loomed closer, its many turrets and towers standing like jagged silhouettes against the charcoal-black sky. Occasionally, a window high above would flare with a warm, fiery glow.
"She really is quite peculiar," Hermione whispered, her brow furrowed as she looked around at their companions.
To her, the social dynamic in the carriage was frustrating: Sean was reliable but never voiced his direct disapproval of anyone; Justin was being a total dunderhead; and Neville was even worse than Justin.
"Maybe... I mean, yes, based on what just happened, I suppose she is," Justin said, quickly changing his tune the moment he noticed Hermione's darkening expression.
The Entrance Hall was flooded with the flickering red light of torches, echoing with the cacophony of hundreds of students. They crossed the flagged stone floor and headed toward the double doors on the right, which led to the Great Hall where the Opening Feast was about to begin.
The Great Hall was packed. Four long House tables sat beneath the enchanted ceiling, which currently mirrored the starless, pitch-black sky outside. Hundreds of candles floated in midair, illuminating the silver ghosts drifting through the room and the excited faces of the students. Everyone was talking at once, swapping summer news, shouting greetings to friends across the hall, and critiquing one another's new robes and haircuts.
The group split up here, and Sean made his way toward the Ravenclaw table.
Curiously, while the rest of the table was crowded, a small section at the very front had been left conspicuously empty for him. As Sean approached, the whispers among the Ravenclaws died down. They watched him with looks of genuine reverence as he took his seat at the head of the table.
"D'you think he'll come back to the team?" Roger Davies asked, looking anxious. The old Quidditch Captain had graduated on a high note, leaving Roger to take the mantle—and he felt the weight of it.
Last year, they had won both the Quidditch Cup and the House Cup. Looking at the bronze and blue silk banners draped from the walls, every Ravenclaw knew exactly who was responsible for their glory.
A certain young wizard had become the unspoken figurehead of the House of the Eagle. Stories of his exploits were legendary throughout the castle: taking down a mountain troll single-handedly; thwarting a plot by a nameless dark wizard; and being the first student in centuries permitted to stay at the castle over the summer...
And just this summer, Witch Weekly had published a photo of him entering the Fairy Tale Workshop—he actually had an invitation! They had assumed that shop was far beyond the reach of a mere student.
"Don't be greedy, Roger," Penelope Clearwater, the Prefect, said with a warning glance before turning to Sean with a smile. "Sean, how was your summer?"
"It was very good, Penelope," Sean replied. He sat down at the front, noticing that this was usually the spot reserved for the Prefects.
Up at the High Table, Sean's calm expression shifted slightly as he caught sight of the battered, patched Sorting Hat. Its past antics still grated on him.
"Ginny Weasley — Gryffindor!" Professor McGonagall called out.
The small, red-headed girl pulled the hat off her head and scurried toward the Gryffindor table as a deafening cheer erupted. The Weasley twins looked as though they were about to stand on the table to applaud.
Ginny cast a quick, shy glance toward the Ravenclaw table before disappearing into the sea of cheering lions.
"I'm so glad to meet you! Do you know Sean Green?" she whispered to the older girl sitting next to her.
"Blimey—congratulations on finding the most famous boy in school before you've even had pudding," the girl replied with a chuckle.
"Luna Lovegood!" McGonagall announced.
A smattering of polite applause broke out from the Ravenclaw table.
"Sean, I heard you went to that Fairy Tale place. What do they actually sell? Is it really bread that turns you into a magical beast?" Michael Corner asked, leaning in from across the table, his face full of curiosity.
"Strictly speaking, they are biscuits, not bread," Anthony Goldstein corrected, not looking up from his book.
"Fine, fine. As long as it isn't Terry's soggy hash browns, I don't care," Michael said, throwing up his hands.
"It's a potato pasty!" Terry Boot hissed, looking annoyed.
"I can't tell the difference," Michael muttered, before adding in a placating tone, "Of course, a pasty. Definitely not a potato bomb or a potato airplane..."
They began bickering among themselves. Sean didn't pay much attention, focusing on his own thoughts until a figure hopped onto the bench beside him.
"I'm Luna. It's a pleasure to meet you." She seemed completely unaware that her name had just been called in front of the entire school.
"Sean Green," Sean replied.
"Do you read The Quibbler?" Luna asked in her airy, musical voice.
"I have a few copies," Sean said. He was referring to the interview request the magazine had sent him over the summer; though he'd declined, Mr. Lovegood had sent him a complimentary subscription anyway.
"Then do you believe Cornelius Fudge has his own private army? An army of Heliopaths?" Luna asked in a very matter-of-fact tone.
"That's impossible," Anthony Goldstein said flatly.
"It's quite true," Luna insisted.
"What's a Heliopath?" Michael asked, looking blank.
"They are fire spirits," Luna explained, her protuberant eyes widening until she looked even more eccentric than before. "Great tall flaming things that gallop across the plains, burning everything in their path—"
"They don't exist," Anthony said firmly.
"Oh, they do!" Luna said, sounding offended.
"Right, tell you what—you two find the evidence, and whoever is more logical wins. Deal?" Michael said, quickly acting as peacemaker.
Sean, his mind occupied with the complexities of Ancient Runes, moved slightly further down the bench. He rarely had the patience for student bickering.
The only thing currently on his mind was the Sorting Hat. If he could manage to pull the Sword of Gryffindor out of it, his odds of defeating the Basilisk would increase exponentially. That sword was absurdly powerful—a single strike was enough to end a serpent's life.
But as he recalled the Hat's previous "crimes" against him, Sean's eyes narrowed. Professor Dumbledore had invited him to tea every Saturday. Next time, he would have a very long, very stern talk with that Hat.
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