"Welcome to Hogwarts."
Professor McGonagall's voice carried across the entrance hall, silencing the nervous whispers. "The start-of-term banquet will begin shortly, but before you take your seats in the Great Hall, you will be sorted into your houses. The Sorting is a very important ceremony because, while you are here, your house will be something like your family within Hogwarts."
Professor McGonagall explained the four houses and the House Cup system, her stern gaze sweeping across the gathered first-years. When she finished, she reminded them, "The Sorting Ceremony will take place in a few minutes in front of the rest of the school. I suggest you all smarten yourselves up as you wait."
Her gaze lingered on Shawn for a moment, and that characteristic sternness softened briefly. The robes actually suited him quite well.
"The Sorting Ceremony—good heavens, I heard we have to fight a dragon!" A black-haired boy shared tremulously with his neighbour, voice cracking with fear.
"What?! We have to fight a dragon?!" The blonde witch beside him looked ready to burst into tears, her face draining of colour.
"No! I only learnt Lumos! How am I supposed to fight a dragon with a light spell?!"
This rumour spread like wildfire through the assembled first-years, throwing them into chaos.
"A dragon?! Adult or juvenile?!"
"Anthony, why are you being so precise at a time like this! Even a baby dragon could breathe fire and incinerate us!"
"We're all going to die!"
The young wizards naturally accepted this terrifying rumour—clearly their older siblings and parents had laid considerable groundwork for this traditional hazing. Panic rippled through the crowd, voices rising in distress.
Amid the mounting hysteria, Shawn continued reading Magical Theory with focused calm. This was the only book he'd carried with him from the train, tucked carefully into his robes.
Although magic defied mundane logic and didn't follow principles like conservation of matter, it had existed for millennia. Even if every wizard throughout history had been mediocre, they should have identified some underlying patterns by now.
Among the books costing two Galleons, this slim volume had left the deepest impression on Shawn. Every magical branch—whether Charms, Transfiguration, or Potions—could find theoretical explanation within these pages.
Shawn believed this was the most underestimated book on the first-year reading list. He was currently on his third reading, and each time, he discovered different insights hidden in the text.
The page before him read:
Magic is inherent to wizards themselves. The strength of magic depends on the wizard's emotions or mental fortitude. However, most wizards cannot consciously control their magic independently, so they require spells and wands to channel and guide their power, allowing magic to be deliberately manipulated to achieve specific purposes.
Shawn understood this principle instinctively. Harry Potter was a perfect example—before learning formal magic, he'd moved himself from the ground to a rooftop and made zoo glass disappear entirely. But these feats only occurred when emotions ran high, and he possessed no conscious control over the manifestations.
With a wand and mastery of proper spells, however, wizards could control their magic to a remarkable degree.
After two months of intensive study, Shawn somewhat agreed with a theory from his previous life—that Harry Potter wizards were essentially bloodline casters, their power stemming from hereditary magical lineage.
He continued reading:
Another fundamental truth: after mastering a spell, continuous practice remains essential. Proficient spellcasting differs dramatically from clumsy execution. However, when you've truly mastered magic, unleashing its maximum potential still requires sufficient mental strength.
What a concise and comprehensive explanation. No wonder author Adalbert Waffling had dared to title his work Magical Theory. The name alone suggested this book occupied a position similar to theoretical mathematics or fundamental physics texts from his previous life—foundational knowledge that shaped entire disciplines.
"I'm starting to believe them," Hermione whispered, her face pale. The topics surrounding them were genuinely frightening, and the fervent agreement from multiple sources made the dragon rumour seem disturbingly plausible. For someone new to the magical world, the uncertainty was overwhelming.
She glanced at Shawn beside her, who seemed completely oblivious to the mounting panic, still reading with intense concentration.
"Why don't we ask Shawn? He doesn't seem scared at all," Justin suggested, though his voice trembled. He remembered the rigorous equestrian tests required for Eton College admission. Perhaps wizards had similarly demanding trials? Was defeating dragons an honourable magical tradition? The thought was terrifying.
"Shawn, I'm sorry to disturb you, but—"
Justin's plea for reassurance died mid-sentence as the Great Hall doors burst open with resonant force. Golden light spilt into the entrance hall, along with the murmur of hundreds of voices.
The Sorting Ceremony had begun.
Shawn reluctantly withdrew from Magical Theory, closing the book carefully. As Professor McGonagall led them in a neat double line toward the staff table, Shawn began considering his target house. After all, the Sorting Hat reportedly listened to students' preferences.
Gryffindor? No, that wouldn't work for his purposes. His primary objective was securing the scholarship, which required achieving Outstanding in every subject. His reference points would be students like Hermione and Percy Weasley.
In the original timeline, both had been ostracised within Gryffindor for their academic dedication. In first year, Hermione had simply performed well in class and corrected other students' mistakes—yet she'd been excluded so thoroughly that she'd ended up crying alone in a bathroom. Most Gryffindors carried the mindset of "I may not be the best, but I refuse to appear inferior to others." They were brave adventurers, certainly, but their pride often wounded those around them.
During the Chamber of Secrets incident, they'd been easily swayed by rumours to isolate and shun Harry himself—their own house's hero.
As for Slytherin, Shawn had zero interest in political scheming and social manoeuvring. With that time and energy, he could practise the Levitation Charm until he achieved nonverbal casting.
The remaining options—Ravenclaw and Hufflepuff—both seemed promising. But Shawn found himself leaning strongly toward Hufflepuff. Dormitory located two corridors from unlimited food access? Absolutely perfect.
Hufflepuff was harmonious, fiercely protective of its own members, and united against external threats. Even J.K. Rowling herself had stated she hoped all children would embody Hufflepuff values.
Just imagine: a warm fireplace crackling in the common room, kitchens at your doorstep with house-elves happy to provide meals at any hour, and even if you made mistakes or got into fights, a Head of House who would scold you firmly but still secretly slip you a box of coconut ice cream afterward.
Shawn felt genuine enthusiasm rising. Hufflepuff represented loyalty, hard work, dedication, and honesty—values that resonated deeply with his own survival-driven determination.
"Harry Potter!"
Professor McGonagall's voice rang clearly through the Great Hall. The noisy atmosphere quieted considerably, hundreds of eyes turning toward the small boy with messy black hair and round glasses.
Shawn heard whispers rippling through the older students: "It's him." "It's really him." "Harry Potter, can you believe it?"
Harry practically ran to the stool and jammed the ancient, wrinkled Sorting Hat onto his head. The entire hall fell into expectant silence, waiting for the verdict.
The wait stretched on—four, then five minutes. Shawn mentally recited the Sorting Hat's song twice during the extended deliberation. Clearly, the Hat was having an extensive conversation with the Boy Who Lived.
"GRYFFINDOR!"
Finally, the declaration came. The Gryffindor table erupted in wild celebration, students leaping to their feet and cheering with abandon.
"Potter! We got Potter!"
"Harry Potter is a Gryffindor!"
Even from his position in line, Shawn could hear the jubilant voices carrying across the hall.
The sorting continued through several more names—Boot, Brocklehurst, Brown—each assignment met with cheers from the appropriate table.
Soon enough—
"Shawn Green!"