The ceiling of the Great Hall was magically enchanted to reveal the night sky outside. Snape's gaze drifted upward. Tonight's storm was fierce—black and purple clouds roiled overhead, and a forked lightning bolt flashed across the ceiling, illuminating the hall as if it were midday.
Below, Professor McGonagall stood poised by the staff table, preparing to begin the Sorting Ceremony as usual.
"Where's the new Defence Against the Dark Arts teacher?" Aberforth whispered. "My dad said the Board sent someone important this time."
No sooner had he spoken than a deafening crack of thunder echoed as the Great Hall doors were flung open.
A tall figure stood in the doorway, completely dry despite the storm. Soft, golden hair gleamed in the candlelight, and a silver-green cloak billowed behind him.
The man's expression was one of such haughty disdain he resembled a proud fire dragon indifferent to those around him.
All heads turned to this unexpected visitor. Another forked flash lit the ceiling again, casting the stranger's shadow behind him—and revealing a house-elf with large bat-like ears and green eyes.
The elf's once-white pillowcase was drenched and clung to his shivering form as he magically held a translucent umbrella over his master.
The man shrugged off his cloak and tossed it aside, saying, "Don't touch it with your hands."
The elf hastily caught the cloak with magic, careful not to let his own hands touch it. His exposed skin was marked with red welts.
"Dobby..." Snape squinted. "He's not free yet—and his situation looks far worse than even a decade from now."
Click, click.
The man began to stride toward the staff table. Each step echoed crisply through the hall, the distinctive creak of handcrafted leather soles on stone.
The measured rhythm seemed to announce to all: behold, a true pure-blood noble has arrived.
Snape snorted. "What a show-off."
The stranger passed a row of terrified first-years standing by the staff table, hastily making way for him, and stopped beside Dumbledore.
"Professor Dumbledore, long time no see," he said slickly, chin raised, not offering his hand. "Looks like I haven't missed the Sorting Ceremony."
"Good evening, Abraxas," Dumbledore replied calmly. "I thought you might not come."
"Would I miss such an important occasion?" Abraxas Malfoy turned to face the students, eyes scanning the four house tables, lingering on Slytherin for a few seconds with a faint smirk.
"Students," his voice suddenly boomed across the hall, "perhaps you've been taught many wrong ideas and methods in your schooling thus far."
The remark was loaded; several professors exchanged glances.
"But I—Abraxas Malfoy—board member of this honored institution and your new Defence Against the Dark Arts professor—will teach you what true noble wizard education is."
Silence fell over the hall.
Not a friendly arrival, Snape thought. Nine years ago, Malfoy masterminded the scandal that forced the first Muggle-born Minister of Magic out of office. What was his purpose here at Hogwarts now?
"May we continue the Sorting Ceremony?" McGonagall's voice cut sharply through Malfoy's charged atmosphere.
She carried a three-legged stool with the patched and tattered Sorting Hat resting atop it. The brim was frayed, with a wide split resembling a mouth.
Malfoy seemed to want to say something more, but Dumbledore stood and gently linked his arm, guiding him to sit.
"Please, Abraxas," Dumbledore said softly but firmly. "Look upon these expectant young faces."
Malfoy's expression flickered with a hint of shame and anger but, under Dumbledore's sharp gaze behind his spectacles, he obediently sat beside the headmaster.
McGonagall set the stool down before the first-years. The tear in the hat's brim opened like a mouth, and the Sorting Hat burst into song...
As the Sorting Song ended, the parchment scroll unfurled, and first-years stepped forward one by one.
Snape's attention was not on the ceremony but flicked toward Malfoy at the staff table and the elf standing rigid in the corner.
The elf looked close to fainting but stood tall, ready to obey his master's summons. Each time Malfoy glanced that way, the elf shivered involuntarily.
"Quirinus Quirrell—"
Snape looked up at the name.
The trembling boy Snape had rescued from the lake earlier stepped forward. He held the Sorting Hat nervously and perched on the stool.
Their eyes met; Quirrell's face brightened with surprise.
"Ravenclaw—" the Hat began, then faltered.
"Hm?" a soft voice whispered in Quirrell's ear. "Don't you want to go to Ravenclaw? It suits you—you have a sharp mind, and Ravenclaw will satisfy your thirst for knowledge."
Quirrell gripped the stool's edge until his knuckles whitened. I want Slytherin. I want... he couldn't quite place the thought.
Amid the confusion, one thing was clear: the black-eyed senior who saved him—the boy wanted to be in the same house.
"Slytherin?" the whisper asked again. "Are you sure? You know, Ravenclaw could open doors to the unknown for you—no? Well, since you're certain—then Slytherin it is!"
"Slytherin!" The Hat's final verdict.
Snape raised an eyebrow in silent question. A strange sense of satisfaction swelled in his chest. So the servant Voldemort called 'young, foolish, and easily led' is now one of his own in Slytherin?
Quirrell removed the Hat, trembling slightly as he staggered toward the Slytherin table.
Sparse applause echoed. Snape stood to greet Quirrell, who sat beside him.
"Hello," Quirrell stammered. "Thank you for saving me."
His voice was barely audible, eyes fixed on the empty plates before him.
"You're welcome," Snape said, patting his shoulder and deliberately raising his voice, "Stick with me from now on. If anyone bothers you, come find me."
The Sorting Ceremony continued as the line shortened.
Finally, it ended. McGonagall gathered the Hat and stool and returned to the staff table.
Dumbledore rose, smiling broadly at the students.
"Welcome!" he said. "Welcome to a new year at Hogwarts! Before the feast begins, a few words: fools! Crybabies! Mudbloods! Suckers! Let us begin the feast!"
At his cue, the tables heaved with mountains of delicious food. Cheers erupted as students dug in, laughter and the clatter of cutlery filling the hall.
But old Malfoy was displeased.
Sitting among the staff, he scrutinized his golden plate, poking at a slice of roast beef with his fork, sniffing disdainfully before returning it.
"Professor Dumbledore," Malfoy's voice was low but carried to nearby professors, "I must say, Hogwarts' dining standards... are regrettable. This food is difficult to swallow and falls short of the quality I am accustomed to."
Professor Slughorn nearly choked on his wine; Professor Sprout's eyes widened angrily. Dumbledore simply smiled and adjusted his glasses.
"Abraxas," Dumbledore said, "I notice you brought a house-elf with you. Hogwarts can share the kitchen with him, if you like."
Malfoy sighed and reluctantly nodded, setting down his cutlery.
He snapped his fingers, and Dobby appeared trembling at his side, ears quivering in fear.
"Go to the kitchen," Malfoy ordered coldly. "Prepare my usual dinner. Remember, use the ingredients we brought."
"Yes, Master. Dobby will do so at once." The elf bowed deeply, vanishing with a pop.
Minutes later, Dobby returned, flour and sauce stains covering his pillowcase, carefully balancing a silver tray with an exquisite meal.
"Master, your dinner..." Dobby's voice was barely audible.
Malfoy barely glanced at him and waved him off.
The trembling elf set the tray on the table and hurried to a corner.
After the feast, Dumbledore stood and smiled around the hall.
"Now, in case you missed it earlier, allow me to introduce once again our Defence Against the Dark Arts professor for the new year—Mr. Abraxas Malfoy. He is Hogwarts—"
Before Dumbledore finished, Malfoy stood and raised his hand for silence.
Dumbledore showed brief surprise, then sat back down calmly, his gaze fixed on Malfoy, eager to hear him speak.
Some professors couldn't hide their astonishment. Professor Flitwick shook his short legs in displeasure under the table; McGonagall pressed her lips into a thin line. No one had ever interrupted Dumbledore before.
Many older students stifled laughs: this new professor clearly didn't understand Hogwarts' rules.
"Thank you, Professor Dumbledore," Malfoy said with a fake smile, his tone dismissive as if the introduction was mere formality. He adjusted his cuff and slowly surveyed the hall.
"Ladies and gentlemen," he began, "the future of the wizarding world depends on how we educate the next generation. The Board takes this very seriously, and I—as current head of the Malfoy family—cannot stand idly by."
Snape noticed several upperclassmen in Slytherin sitting straighter, their eyes gleaming with excitement. But more had already begun stifling yawns or rolling their eyes.
"Hogwarts needs true elite education, to teach young wizards that power and bloodline are equally important. And I will ensure you learn what befits your heritage."
"Past methods of education—" Malfoy continued, a slight smile curling his lips, "were frankly a waste of wizarding talent and blood. But no matter; from this year on, I will personally teach you what noble wizards truly must know..."
His speech was short, but enough to make most students drift off.
When he finished, sparse applause echoed—Dumbledore led it with a polite smile, a few professors clapped briefly, then stopped.
Before students could decide whether to continue, Dumbledore rose.
"Thank you, Mr. Malfoy, your words were... enlightening," he said cheerfully, as if the speech had been a fine performance. "Now, let today's feast conclude. Please return to your dormitories in an orderly fashion and prepare for tomorrow's lessons."
The hall erupted into noise as students rose and left their seats.
Malfoy stood silently, eyes cold as he watched them depart. His gaze lingered scornfully on several Muggle-born students.
"See you later," Snape said to Aberforth and the others. "You head back to the dorms with Quirrell. I'll keep order and guide the first-years."
Turning, he called out, "First-years—follow your prefects—"
After the hall emptied, Dumbledore prepared to leave.
"Professor," Snape called, hurrying over, "that house-elf who came with Mr. Malfoy—where will you assign him?"
Dumbledore paused.
"He'll stay with Malfoy," he said, seeming puzzled by the question. "Though I imagine Malfoy won't keep him in sight constantly. Why do you ask, Severus?"
"Oh, just curious," Snape answered casually. "An outsider house-elf wandering freely around school—might not be appropriate."
He hesitated, then added, "By the way, Professor, my mother has accepted the position here, as we discussed. She'll be Professor Sprout's assistant in Herbology, and will arrive soon if that's agreeable."
"No problem," Dumbledore said. "I've already told Pomona. She's delighted to have such an excellent assistant."
"Thank you, Professor," Snape said, bowing slightly.