"Welcome to Hogwarts," Professor McGonagall said.
"The Start-of-Term Feast is about to begin, but before you take your seats in the Great Hall, you must first be sorted into your houses. Sorting is a very important ceremony, because while you're at school your house will be like your home at Hogwarts…"
She explained the four houses and the House Cup, and as she turned to leave, she added a reminder:
"In a few minutes the Sorting Ceremony will take place in front of the whole school. I suggest you take this time to tidy yourselves up and look presentable."
Her gaze lingered on Sean for a heartbeat; the sternness in her eyes softened for an instant.
It suits him…
"The Sorting Ceremony—Merlin, I heard we have to fight a dragon!" a black-haired boy whispered, trembling, to the friend beside him.
"W–what?! We have to fight a dragon?!" The blonde girl next to him looked on the verge of tears. "Please no! I've only learned Lumos."
The remark set the first-years buzzing.
"A dragon?! Adult or juvenile?!"
"Anthony, why so precise now? Even a baby dragon could roast us in one breath!"
"We're done for!"
They swallowed the rumor whole; clearly their families had primed them with plenty of nonsense.
Amid the groans and gasps, Sean kept carefully reading Magical Theory. It was the only book he carried everywhere.
Magic doesn't care about "common sense," nor about rules like conservation of mass—but it's been around so long that even if every witch and wizard were a dunce, they'd still have worked out a few laws by now.
Among the many two-Galleon textbooks, this one had made the deepest impression on him. Whatever the branch—Charms, Transfiguration, Potions—Magical Theory offered explanations. Sean reckoned it was the most underrated book on the first-year list.
He was on his third read-through; every time, he took away something new.
[Magical power is innate to the witch or wizard.
The strength of magic depends on one's emotions or mental strength.
But most witches and wizards cannot control their magic by will alone, so they need spells and wands as guides, allowing them to direct their magic consciously toward a goal.]
Sean could follow that. Harry was a good example: before learning magic he'd once landed himself on a chimney from flat ground and made a pane of glass vanish—but only when he was overwrought, and never by deliberate control. With a wand and the right incantation, witches and wizards can truly take hold of their power.
After two months of digging, Sean found himself agreeing with a view from his past life: the witches and wizards in Harry Potter are essentially bloodline mages—their power comes from some inheritable capacity to do magic.
He read on:
[One truth about learning magic is: master as many spells as you can, including very old ones—the more you know, the more you can do.
Another truth: once you've learned a spell, practice until you're fluent; a fluent casting and a clumsy casting differ enormously.
But even after you've learned a spell, to draw out its full power you still need sufficient mental strength.]
So concise! No wonder the author, Adalbert Waffling, dared title his book Magical Theory. Just the name puts it on a shelf with "Theoretical Mathematics" and "Basic Physics" from his previous life—the sort of books that stripped Sean of joy like Dementors.
One hard read; goodbye happiness.
"I'm starting to believe you," Hermione murmured. Her face was a bit pale—their classmates' topic was too frightening, and their back-and-forth made it feel real, leaving a newcomer like her uneasy. She glanced at Sean beside her, who was reading as if none of it reached his ears.
"Maybe we should ask Sean," Justin said, shivering as he remembered an equestrian test he'd once heard Eton required. Maybe wizards were meant to defeat dragons? Was it some kind of glorious tradition? Wizards… terrifying.
"Sean—sorry to bother you, but—"
Before Justin could finish, the doors to the Great Hall boomed open.
The Sorting had begun.
Sean slipped a bookmark into Magical Theory. While the Sorting Hat still sat on its stool, he started weighing his target house. The Hat seemed to listen to a student's wishes, after all.
Gryffindor? No. His top priority was winning a scholarship. If the benchmark for straight-Outstandings was Hermione or Percy, then canon said both were resented inside Gryffindor.
In first year Hermione merely did well in class and pointed out mistakes, and that got her bullied to tears in a bathroom. Many Gryffindors carried a "whatever my level, I won't play second fiddle" streak—brave adventurers, yes, but they often hurt others. In Chamber of Secrets they were swept up by rumor and ostracized Harry.
Slytherin? He had no interest in plotting and politicking. Time spent scheming could grind his Levitation Charm up to nonverbal.
That left Ravenclaw and Hufflepuff—both fine. But Sean leaned Hufflepuff: take two steps from the dorm and you're at the free food? Super cool.
Hufflepuff was warm and harmonious—no punching inward, united outward. Even J.K. Rowling once said she wished all kids were Hufflepuffs. Picture it: a cozy fireplace, the kitchen right at your door, and a Head of House who, even if you brawled outside and got a scolding, would still sneak you a tub of coconut ice cream.
Sean wanted to shout:
We come from the forest, we hold great kindness in our hearts, we're true to nature, upright and loyal, steadfast and honest, unafraid of hardship—
—we are Hufflepuff!
"Harry Potter!"
At the center of the hall, Professor McGonagall's words lowered the din. All around, Sean heard the whispers: "It's him," "It's really him," "Harry Potter."
Harry ran up and jammed the crumpled hat onto his head. The hall fell silent to await the verdict. They waited four or five minutes—long enough for the Sorting Hat's song, in Sean's head, to loop to its second round.
"Gryffindor!"
At last, the decision. Gryffindor went wild.
"Potter!"
"We've got Potter!"
Sean could hear them even from far away.
Soon after—
"Sean Green!"