Malfoy lay sprawled inelegantly on the stone floor, one hand clutching his bleeding nose and mouth, pathetic sobs wracking his frame. The crimson streaks on his pale face seemed to deepen with the humiliating realization that he was already inside the Great Hall, the eyes of the entire student body upon him.
Professor McGonagall's gaze flickered from the wailing Malfoy to Sean, who stood with a carefully neutral expression at the entrance. Her eyes then swept to Harry, Ron, and a dazed-looking Goyle, still entangled in a messy heap on the ground behind Sean. Her lips thinned, and when she spoke, her voice was tight with a fury that made it tremble.
"Really! This is… this is utterly unprecedented! I was absent for a mere moment, and you've already resorted to brawling! Mr. Malfoy is injured! This is… I… I shall have to deduct…" She trailed off, her sentence faltering as the crucial fact struck her: none of these first-year witches and wizards had been sorted. For a stunned moment, the usually unflappable Deputy Headmistress was at a complete loss.
Just then, the imposing figure of Albus Dumbledore, flanked by several other professors, swept over. The Headmaster positioned himself beside Professor McGonagall, his blue eyes twinkling, though a hint of seriousness touched his gentle tone. "Minerva, my dear, I believe the immediate priority is to escort our injured students to Madam Pomfrey. All other matters, I assure you, can be addressed in due course."
Even as Dumbledore spoke, Severus Snape, in his capacity as Draco's godfather, was already crouching beside the boy. With a swift, economical movement of his wand, he performed a charm to staunch the bleeding. However, Draco's two conspicuously absent front teeth and the newly crooked angle of his nose stubbornly refused to mend on the spot. With an air of grim efficiency, Snape half-dragged, half-carried the still-snivelling Draco out of the Great Hall, presumably towards the hospital wing. As he passed, Snape's dark eyes flicked towards Sean, fixing him with a glacial stare utterly devoid of warmth or any discernible emotion.
Professor McGonagall, visibly pulling herself together, finally snapped out of her shock. She stepped forward with renewed decisiveness, her sharp voice cutting through the lingering tension as she separated the three boys still wrestling ignominiously on the floor. Taking in their torn robes and the rapidly forming bruises on their faces, she quickly entrusted Professor Sprout, the kindly Head of Hufflepuff House, with the task of taking Harry, Ron, and the semi-conscious Goyle to the hospital wing as well. Then, her stern gaze settled firmly on Sean.
"What transpired here moments ago does not mean this incident is concluded, Mr…?" She paused, realizing she didn't have his name yet. "After the Sorting Ceremony, your actions will be reflected in a deduction from your house's points."
Sean inclined his head in a slight, respectful bow. "I offer my sincerest apologies for disturbing the professors' evening and the start of term feast."
Professor McGonagall regarded him for a long, appraising moment, her expression unreadable. "Once the points are deducted," she stated, her voice clipped, "this matter will be considered settled. You need not concern yourself with any further repercussions beyond that. Focus on your studies at Hogwarts."
Her words, though somewhat cryptic, carried a clear underlying message that Sean understood perfectly. He bowed again, offering no further comment.
It had to be said, Madam Poppy Pomfrey's proficiency in medical magic was truly a marvel. Within a remarkably short span—no more than five minutes—Draco's and the other boys' injuries were completely mended. Draco's nose was once again straight, his front teeth impeccably restored, and even the faintest traces of bruising had vanished as if they had never been. The sheer efficacy of magical healing on what were essentially mundane, physical injuries was nothing short of miraculous.
Soon, Draco, flanked by a chastened Goyle and a glowering Crabbe, returned to the antechamber, taking his place at the front of the first-year line under Snape's watchful eye. Harry and Ron, guided back by Professor Sprout, rejoined Sean, looking a mixture of sheepish and defiant. Just as they were about to whisper something to him, a single, stern look from Professor McGonagall silenced them instantly.
"Everyone, form a line and follow me, if you please. The Sorting Ceremony is about to commence!" Professor McGonagall announced, her voice regaining its customary authority.
"Wait!"
Professor McGonagall turned, a flicker of surprise on her face, to see Snape stepping forward, his black robes billowing slightly.
Seeing her questioning look, Snape offered a thin, humorless smile. "Professor McGonagall, before the Sorting begins, I believe it would be prudent to clarify the disciplinary actions concerning the… earlier altercation. Don't you agree?"
Professor Sprout had already provided McGonagall with a brief account of what she'd gleaned from Harry and Ron upon her return. Now, hearing Snape's pointed request, McGonagall's expression firmed. "Although Mr. Malfoy sustained the most significant injuries," she began, her tone judicial, "it has been brought to my attention that he was, in fact, the instigator of this regrettable incident. Therefore, every student involved in the fight—including Mr. Malfoy—will have twenty points deducted from whichever house they are sorted into. Is that satisfactory, Professor Snape?"
Snape inclined his head slowly. "I have no objection regarding the penalties for the others. However, it was Bulstrode who initiated the physical confrontation. Even if Malfoy's words were… ill-chosen, resorting to violence is a clear violation of school regulations. I propose a deduction of fifty points for Bulstrode."
A ripple of murmurs went through the assembled first years. Everyone present was aware that each Hogwarts house began the academic term with a mere five hundred points. A fifty-point deduction before the term had even truly begun was an exceptionally harsh punishment. Professor McGonagall hesitated, a troubled frown creasing her brow. From what she had observed of Sean's demeanor and the nature of his intervention, she had a strong suspicion he might be sorted into her own house, Gryffindor. But the unwavering, almost predatory determination in Snape's dark eyes told her that arguing the point would be futile.
"Very well," she conceded, her voice tight with resignation. "All other students involved will lose twenty points. Mr. Bulstrode will lose fifty points, regardless of the house to which he is sorted." With that pronouncement, Professor McGonagall turned sharply on her heel and led the subdued column of first years into the magnificent Great Hall.
The entire school, already assembled at their house tables, had witnessed the commotion at the entrance. Amongst the Gryffindors, there was an air of open, almost gleeful delight at Malfoy's public humiliation. Someone even let out a low, appreciative whistle as Sean and the other culprits walked in, and it wasn't difficult to guess that the sound had originated from the vicinity of two identical, red-headed twin brothers known for their mischievous antics.
Over at the Slytherin table, the mood was decidedly more somber. Malfoy's sorting into their house was practically a foregone conclusion. Now, their newest prospective member had been thoroughly and very publicly bested—physically, no less—before he'd even donned the Sorting Hat. It was, to put it mildly, an embarrassing start for the proud house of Slytherin.
The first years gathered in a nervous huddle before the raised platform where a rickety, patched wizard's hat sat upon a stool. Professor McGonagall unfurled a long parchment scroll and began the time-honored annual ceremony.
Sean watched the iconic Sorting Hat with a detached curiosity, a part of him still processing the swift and rather dramatic turn of events. He was, nonetheless, ready to witness this classic Hogwarts moment unfold.
"Abbott, Hannah!"
One by one, the new students were called forward, their names echoing through the hushed hall, and sorted into their respective houses.
With a surname like Bulstrode, Sean knew his turn would come relatively quickly.
"Bulstrode, Sean!"
At the sound of his name, an almost palpable shift occurred at the staff table. Every professor, it seemed, turned to look directly at him—particularly the Heads of House. They eyed Sean, the boy who was now effectively a walking minus fifty points, each silently, fervently hoping he wouldn't end up burdening their house with such an immediate and significant deficit.
Of course, not all the Heads of House appeared equally concerned. Snape, in stark contrast, looked remarkably relaxed, a faint, almost imperceptible smirk playing on his lips. In his mind, there was simply no conceivable way someone so apparently reckless, so prone to direct, hot-headed action, could ever be sorted into the cunning and ambitious house of Slytherin.
Sean walked forward and sat on the offered stool. Professor McGonagall placed the ancient, frayed Sorting Hat upon his head. It dipped down, obscuring his vision.
Almost immediately, a raspy, ancient voice echoed directly in his mind.
"Hmmm… interesting. A clear desire for power, yes… a notable thirst for knowledge, certainly. Pure blood, that's evident… and yet, a courage, a willingness to act, that most do not possess in such measure. This is a difficult choice… a very difficult choice indeed…"
Sean instantly focused his thoughts, repeating a silent, fervent mantra in the confines of his own mind: Not Slytherin, not Slytherin, please, anywhere but Slytherin…
The Hat seemed to pause. "Hmmm? Not Slytherin, you say? Are you quite certain, young man? There is much here that would allow you to achieve greatness in Slytherin…"
I'm absolutely sure, Sean reiterated mentally, with all the conviction he could muster. Definitely not Slytherin!
"Well… if you are so adamant… I see. Very well, then the house where you truly belong is…"
The brim of the Sorting Hat, acting as its mouth, suddenly gaped open, and its voice boomed out across the entirety of the Great Hall, clear and undeniable:
"SLYTHERIN!"
The nascent smile that had been forming on Sean's lips—and the smug, satisfied one already gracing Snape's—froze at the exact same incredulous moment.
What?!
***********
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