In the vast Great Hall, all eyes turned his way.
Sean spotted witches and wizards craning their necks from the different house tables,
and at the staff table, amid gleaming golden platters and tall goblets, Dumbledore watched with mild interest.
Sean tried to play it cool, like he hadn't a clue, and under Professor McGonagall's gentle guidance, he slipped the Sorting Hat onto his head.
"I shall teach many, and treat them all equally."
Sean murmured Helga Hufflepuff's words under his breath, hoping it'd tip the Hat off to his preferred house.
"A heartening young wizard,"
a faint voice whispered,
"Few bother remembering the old Hat's song. You want Hufflepuff? Of course... no."
Sean: "..."
Better not to respond.
"Why?"
Sean asked softly in his mind.
"Let the old Hat sing it again—fair Rowena from the glen..."
The Sorting Hat burst into song, wriggling atop Sean's head all the while.
"Mr. Sorting Hat?"
Sean clapped a hand to his head, utterly baffled.
"Those of wit and learning will always find their kind in wise old Ravenclaw..."
The Hat kept squirming and crooning.
"I want Hufflepuff."
Sean had a sudden inkling.
"Ravenclaw says: the students we teach, their wits must be sharper than the rest..."
The Hat wouldn't quit.
"I want Hufflepuff!"
Sean made one last desperate stand.
"Stubborn little wizard—why insist on Hufflepuff?"
"Mr. Sorting Hat, why must I go to Ravenclaw?"
*"Hmm, drilling charms for thirteen hours a day till you can't twitch a muscle; piecing together English on the fly while memorizing every book you bought in two months' time... It's been ages since the old Hat saw a thirst for knowledge like yours, not since Rowena.
Slytherin could fuel your ambitions, Gryffindor would laud your nerve, Hufflepuff would welcome your kind heart."*
The Hat's voice brimmed with a touch of awe,
"But only Ravenclaw can arm a wise witch or wizard with the tools to chase truth!"
"I want Hufflepuff."
Sean's resolve flagged a bit.
"All right."
To Sean's shock, the Hat relented, and his green eyes lit up.
"Had you on,"
the Hat's tone boomed now,
"Ravenclaw!!!"
Sean, gutted, gave the Hat a pinch.
"Ow ow ow..."
Hearing that eased the sting for Sean.
Though he missed the rest.
"...Heh, fooled a Ravenclaw... One and the same, Rowena—you always handled the old Hat so roughly... Twelve centuries... At last, the Hat has kept its vow to Godric, finding an heir for Ravenclaw. Mark my words: in that scrawny frame lurks great power—the old Hat never errs."
Ravenclaw would do.
Sean told himself,
At least it's not Slytherin.
Before Sean could hand the Hat back to Professor McGonagall, applause erupted from the Ravenclaw table,
with cheers spilling over from Gryffindor and Hufflepuff too. Sean glanced over—Justin was on his feet, clapping like mad,
rallying a pack of Hufflepuffs into a thunderous round.
What a brilliant house Hufflepuff is!
...
What a rotten Sorting Hat!
In the center of the hall,
Professor McGonagall gazed at Sean with warmth.
The pilled old jumper had given way to plain Hogwarts robes;
the ill-fitting shoes, to proper English leather boots;
those cautious green eyes now sparked with quiet longing.
She lifted the Hat from his head:
"Ready, Mr. Greene? Off to your new life."
Sean blanked for a split second, then McGonagall gave him a soft nudge toward the Ravenclaw table.
"Welcome!"
Beside his seat, a plumpish young wizard waved him over,
"I can't believe it—you're a Hatstall!"
Behind thick round glasses, his eyes gleamed with curiosity. He jolted, thrusting out a hand toward Sean—
but his specs started slipping, so the hand veered to steady them instead,
leaving him in a flustered flurry of apologies.
"Hatstall?"
Sean didn't mind, his wide eyes brimming with confusion.
"Oh! Blimey—you don't know!"
The plump wizard's mouth fell open.
"Terry, not everyone's got a hobby digging into that tatty old Hat."
A voice cut in from behind him—
a long-haired black boy, who broke in with a sigh of exasperation.
"Don't mind him—Terry's always chasing these oddball riddles. When I sat down, he was quizzing me on how many windows Hogwarts has.
Merlin's pants, who cares?
Unless they all tumble down—then they'd squash poor Terry Boot flat, the one counting 'em."
"N-no, windows matter!"
Terry's face flushed beet-red, clearly flustered.
"Fine, fine."
The long-haired boy soothed him like a pro, then turned to Sean with real interest,
"Hatstall.
It means a sorting conundrum—
for those it takes over five minutes to place.
Rare as hen's teeth—supposedly one every fifty years or so.
Oh, and I'm Michael Corner. Welcome to Ravenclaw."
He extended his hand.
Sean was even more puzzled. Over five minutes?
But he'd swear it was just a blink—
as if something had nicked the time away.
Sean thought.
"Sean Greene."
Their hands met in a light shake.
As the last new Slytherin was sorted, Dumbledore rose,
beaming at the students, arms flung wide—like nothing made him happier than a hall full of them.
"Welcome!"
he said,
"Welcome to another year at Hogwarts! Before we tuck in, a few words:
Nitwit! Blubber! Oddment! Tweak!"
As he spoke, Terry scribbled furiously, while Michael shot him a look of I knew it.
Sean paid no mind, because the table before him had bloomed with food like magic.
Roast beef, roast chicken, pork chops, lamb, sausages, steak, boiled potatoes, roasted potatoes, chips, Yorkshire pudding, peas, carrots, gravy, ketchup, apple pie, syrupy treacle tart, chocolate éclairs, jam doughnuts, trifle, strawberries, jelly, rice pudding...
Sean ticked off his mental menu—spot-on, just as he'd pictured.
Bertie Bott's, here we come.
He told himself.
Then he switched to one-click annihilation mode.
"How's he manage to look so graceful while inhaling it like that?"
Michael gaped, turning to the boy on his left.