The ceiling of the Great Hall was enchanted so that one could see the sky outside directly.
Snape raised his gaze toward it. Tonight's thunderstorm was especially violent; black and purple clouds rolled above, and a forked bolt of lightning streaked across the ceiling, illuminating the entire hall as bright as day.
Looking down, Professor McGonagall stood before the staff table, ready, as always, to begin this year's Sorting Ceremony.
"Why isn't the new Defense Against the Dark Arts professor here?" Abbo asked. "My father said the Board of Governors sent someone important this time."
Just as his voice fell, there came a deafening crack of thunder, and the doors to the Great Hall slammed open.
A tall figure stood in the doorway, not a single drop of rain upon him.
The stranger's smooth blond hair gleamed under the candlelight, and the silver-green cloak behind him billowed elegantly.
The expression on his face bore an indescribable arrogance, making him seem like a fire dragon that disdained everything around it.
Everyone in the hall turned to look at the uninvited guest. Another bolt of lightning forked across the ceiling, casting light behind the man.
It revealed that he was followed by a house-elf with two large bat-like ears and green eyes.
The elf's old pillowcase was drenched through, and it trembled as it used house-elf magic to hold a half-transparent umbrella above its master.
The man removed his cloak and tossed it casually behind him. "Do not touch it with your hands."
The elf hastily caught the garment in midair with magic, ensuring that its hands would not make contact.
Red welts crisscrossed its exposed skin.
"Dobby..." Snape narrowed his eyes in thought. "He's not free yet... and his condition seems even worse than it will be ten years from now."
Clack, clack.
The man began to walk toward the staff table.
Each step echoed crisply through the hall, accompanied by a faint creak, the distinctive sound of handmade leather soles striking stone.
The rhythm was unhurried, as though announcing to everyone present: Behold, a true pure-blood noble has arrived.
Judging from that ostentatious manner alone, his identity was obvious.
"Pah." Snape spat lightly. "What an act."
The stranger strode past the line of terrified first-years standing before the staff table, they scrambled to move aside for him, then stopped beside Dumbledore.
"Professor Dumbledore, long time no see," he said, his voice silky smooth. His chin was still tilted upward, and he did not extend his hand. "It seems I haven't missed the Sorting Ceremony."
"Good evening, Abraxas," Dumbledore said calmly. "I thought you weren't coming."
"Did you? How could I possibly miss such an important occasion?"
Abraxas Malfoy turned to face the assembled students. His gaze swept over the four house tables, lingering a few seconds longer at Slytherin before the corner of his mouth curled upward.
"Students," his voice suddenly rang out across the hall, "in your past education, you may have been taught many wrong ideas and methods."
That remark was clearly pointed; several professors exchanged glances.
"But I, Abraxas Malfoy, as a member of Hogwarts' Board of Governors, and as your new Defense Against the Dark Arts professor, shall show you what true noble wizarding education means."
The Great Hall fell silent.
He's not here with good intentions, Snape thought. This same Mr. Malfoy was the one who orchestrated the resignation scandal of the first Muggle-born Minister for Magic nine years ago. Who knows what purpose brings him to Hogwarts now...
"Shall we proceed with the Sorting Ceremony?" Professor McGonagall's voice instantly shattered the mood Malfoy had created.
She was holding a three-legged stool, upon which sat a patched, ragged wizard's hat. Its brim was frayed, and beside it was a wide tear like a mouth.
Malfoy seemed as though he wished to say more, but Dumbledore rose, took him gently by the arm, and guided him to sit down.
"Sit, Abraxas," he said. His tone was mild, yet brooked no refusal. "Look at all those eager young faces."
A flicker of shame and anger crossed Malfoy's face, but upon meeting the sharp eyes glinting behind Dumbledore's spectacles, he obediently sat beside the Headmaster.
Professor McGonagall placed the stool before the first-years. The wide tear near the brim opened like a mouth, and the Sorting Hat began to sing.
When the song ended, McGonagall unrolled a long parchment, and the first-years came forward one by one to be sorted.
Snape, however, was not paying attention to the ceremony. His eyes kept drifting toward Malfoy at the staff table and the house-elf standing in the corner.
The elf looked ready to collapse at any moment, yet he kept his back straight, ever prepared to answer his master's call. Each time Malfoy's gaze swept his way, the creature trembled involuntarily.
"Quirinus Quirrell-"
Hearing the name, Snape raised his head.
The boy he had rescued from the lake not long ago was walking forward, trembling from head to toe.
Quirrell picked up the Sorting Hat, placed it on his head, and sat upon the stool.
When his eyes met Snape's, a look of surprise crossed his face.
"Raven-" the Sorting Hat began, but its voice suddenly caught.
"Hmm?" a faint voice whispered in Quirrell's ear. "You don't want to go to Ravenclaw? But it suits you. You have a keen mind, and Ravenclaw would satisfy your thirst for knowledge."
Quirrell gripped the stool's edge so tightly his knuckles turned white. I want to go to Slytherin. I want... He couldn't even tell what it was he truly wanted.
Amid his confusion, only one clear thought remained: the older student with black eyes had saved him, and he wanted to be in the same house as that upperclassman.
"Slytherin?" the faint voice asked. "Have you decided? You know, in one thought's difference, Ravenclaw would let you explore the unknown, no? Very well, if you are decided, then Slytherin it shall be!"
"Slytherin!" the Hat declared its verdict.
"What?" Snape thought, a question mark forming in his mind. A strange sense of accomplishment stirred in his chest. So, the 'young, foolish, and easily manipulated' servant Voldemort once spoke of has been snatched into Slytherin by me?
Quirrell had already removed the hat and stumbled toward the Slytherin table, legs shaking.
Sparse applause sounded. Snape rose and gestured for him to sit beside him.
"Hello," Quirrell stammered softly. "Thank you for saving me."
His voice was barely audible, his eyes fixed on his empty plate.
"Don't mention it." Snape patted his shoulder and, raising his voice deliberately so that others could hear, said, "From now on, stick with me. If anyone bullies you, come find me."
The ceremony continued, the line growing shorter.
At last, the Sorting was over. Professor McGonagall collected 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, I have a few words to say. And they are: Nitwit! Blubber! Oddment! Tweak! Let the feast begin!"
At once, the tables were piled high with mountains of delicious food. Students cheered and began to eat heartily; laughter filled the hall, mingling with the clatter of knives and forks.
However, old Mr. Malfoy seemed less than pleased.
He sat at the staff table, scrutinizing the golden plate before him. Lifting a forkful of roast beef, he sniffed it and disdainfully returned it to the platter.
"Professor Dumbledore," Malfoy said, his voice low but clear enough for nearby professors to hear, "I must say, the dining standards at Hogwarts are... regrettable. These dishes are barely edible and far beneath the quality to which I am accustomed."
Professor Slughorn nearly choked on his wine, and Professor Sprout's eyes bulged in anger. Dumbledore merely smiled and wiped his glasses.
"Abraxas," he said, "I noticed you've brought a house-elf with you. Hogwarts can share its kitchens with him, what do you think?"
Malfoy sighed, reluctantly nodding as he set down his cutlery.
He snapped his fingers, and Dobby appeared beside him. The elf's large ears quivered with fear.
"To the kitchen," Malfoy ordered coldly. "Prepare my usual dinner. Remember, use our own ingredients."
"Yes, Master, Dobby will go at once." The elf bowed low and vanished with a pop.
A few minutes later, Dobby returned. His pillowcase was smeared with flour and sauce, yet he carefully levitated a silver tray bearing an exquisite meal.
"Master, your dinner..." Dobby's voice was barely above a whisper.
Malfoy did not even glance at him, merely waved a dismissive hand.
The elf trembled as he set the tray upon the table, then quickly retreated to the corner.
After the feast, Dumbledore stood again, smiling as he surveyed the hall.
"Now, in case anyone missed it earlier, allow me once more to introduce our new Defense Against the Dark Arts professor, Mr. Abraxas Malfoy. He is, "
Before Dumbledore could finish, Malfoy had already risen, raising a hand for silence.
For a brief instant, surprise flashed across Dumbledore's face, but he soon sat back down naturally, watching Malfoy with calm composure, as though eager to hear him speak.
Some of the other professors did not bother to hide their astonishment. Professor Flitwick swung his short legs irritably beneath the table, and Professor McGonagall pressed her lips into a thin line. Never before had any teacher or student interrupted Dumbledore.
Many upper-year students snickered quietly: clearly, the new professor had no idea how things worked at Hogwarts.
"Thank you, Professor Dumbledore," Malfoy said with a false smile, his tone dismissive, as though the Headmaster's introduction were mere formality. Adjusting his cuffs, he slowly swept his gaze across the hall.
"Ladies and gentlemen," he began, "the future of the wizarding world depends on how we cultivate the next generation. The Board takes this very seriously, and I, as the current head of the Malfoy family, cannot stand idly by."
Snape noticed several upper-year Slytherins sit up straighter, eyes gleaming with excitement. But more students had already begun to stifle yawns or roll their eyes.
"Hogwarts needs a truly elite education," Malfoy continued, the corners of his lips curving slightly, "one that teaches young wizards that power and bloodline are equally important. I will ensure that what you learn is worthy of your heritage."
"The methods of the past, " Malfoy went on, "if I may speak frankly, have been a disgraceful waste of wizarding talent and bloodline. But no matter. From this school year onward, I will personally instruct you in what true noble wizards ought to know..."
His speech was not long, but long enough to make most students lose focus.
When he finally finished his last sentence, only a few scattered claps echoed through the hall, Dumbledore was the first to applaud, smiling politely; a few professors followed suit with two perfunctory taps before stopping.
Before anyone could decide whether to continue clapping, Dumbledore had already stood up.
"Thank you very much, Mr. Malfoy," he said cheerfully. "Your words were... most enlightening. Now, I think we shall end the feast here. Everyone, please return to your dormitories in an orderly fashion and prepare for tomorrow's classes."
The hall erupted into noise as students rose from their seats.
Mr. Malfoy remained standing, coldly watching them leave. His gaze lingered a moment longer on several Muggle-born students, a glint of disdain in his eyes.
"See you later," Snape said to Abbo and the others. "You go on ahead with Quirrell to the dormitory. I'll help keep order and guide the first-years."
He turned, raising his voice. "First-years, follow your prefects, this way, "
When most of the students and professors had gone, Dumbledore too prepared to leave.
"Professor," Snape called, striding quickly to his side, "the house-elf who came with Mr. Malfoy, where will you have him stay?"
Dumbledore stopped walking.
"He'll stay with Mr. Malfoy," he said, apparently unsure why Snape was asking. "Though I doubt Mr. Malfoy will want him underfoot all the time. Why do you ask, Severus?"
"Oh, just curious," Snape replied casually. "An outsider house-elf roaming freely around the castle might be a bit... inappropriate."
He paused, then added, "By the way, Professor, my mother has accepted the school's offer. As we discussed earlier, she'll be joining as Professor Sprout's assistant in Herbology. Is that agreeable? If so, she'll arrive as soon as possible."
"No problem," said Dumbledore. "I've already spoken to Pomona; she'll be delighted to have such an excellent assistant."
"Thank you, Professor," Snape said, bowing slightly.