Harry stood in the front of the line, his face a furious crimson. He was acutely aware of the hundreds of eyes—many belonging to the older students craning their necks—that had been fixed on him since he walked into the magnificent Great Hall. He wanted the ground to open and swallow him whole, primarily to escape the terrifying memory of the past hour.
Sebastian, that immense, pompous liar!
The memory of the Black Lake Trial lie still burned. Sebastian had described a monstrous, tentacled threat rising from the black depths, a test of raw, primal courage. Harry had spent the entire boat ride mentally preparing for a defensive counter-curse, bracing himself to protect his boat-mates.
He had stood up, wand ready, only to be met by a sleepy, indifferent Giant Squid that simply splashed a tentacle lazily near their boat. His subsequent, dramatically executed cry of defiance had resulted in nothing more than a few confused glares from the other nervous first-years.
It was absolute nonsense, a colossal, cruel prank. Sebastian, perched at the Professors' Table, was now wearing a serene, knowing grin that only added fuel to Harry's internal inferno.
Thankfully, the moment the Sorting Ceremony began, the attention of the crowd had shifted from the famous boy to the process itself. The rhythm of names being called—Abbott, Bones, Brocklehurst—provided a needed distraction.
Then, from the long, dark, and already intimidating Slytherin table, a loud, adolescent complaint cut through the polite applause.
"How is that even possible? Crabbe and Goyle in Hufflepuff?" The voice was a familiar, high-pitched drawl. "The Hat is clearly defective, an antique piece of tat! There is definitely political collusion afoot! The founders' will is being perverted!"
Harry looked up. It was Draco Malfoy, the silver-blond boy from the robes shop, exposed and standing alone next to the entrance of the Slytherin table. He wasn't flanked by the two large, thuggish boys Harry had seen in Diagon Alley.
A second Slytherin voice, older and sharper, snapped back, "Hush, Malfoy. It's better those two useless, simple bastards are gone. They would only embarrass the House and clutter our numbers. Good riddance to the dead weight."
Malfoy's face twisted in impotent fury, his clique already dismantled before the first name of his House had even been called. The sight gave Harry a small, malicious surge of satisfaction, but he quickly returned his attention to the floor.
"Potter, Harry!"
The Great Hall's murmur instantly intensified, swallowing the previous noises. Harry took a deep, steadying breath—a trick Sebastian had taught him for non-verbal casting—and walked slowly toward the stool. As the entire student body seemed to hold its collective breath, he sat down, and the rough, ancient fabric of the Sorting Hat descended over his eyes.
Darkness enveloped him, followed by a thin, reedy voice echoing directly in his mind.
"Difficult. Very difficult. You possess all the requisite skills for great achievement, Harry Potter…"
Harry thought with fierce, absolute determination, channeling all his will into a singular, silent command: Slytherin! I choose Slytherin!
For the past two months, his home had been the strange, comfortable world of the two Slytherin professors. Professor Snape's unexpected patience and encyclopedic knowledge had unlocked a fascination with Potions—a careful, logical magic that appealed to his emerging sense of focus.
Sebastian's effortless power, his strategic mind, and his unexpected warmth had earned Harry's deepest respect, showing him that greatness could be achieved without fanfare, through calculated intent.
He felt an unfamiliar sense of security in their presence, a safety he desperately craved after eleven years of neglect. He wanted to enter the House where his mentors resided, where he knew at least two people genuinely cared for him. Slytherin was his first choice; it was home.
The Hat's voice returned, but it was now laced with a profound, almost desperate exhaustion—the lingering result of Sebastian's philosophical battering from the morning.
"Ah, an impressive, clear intent. Yes, young Potter, Slytherin would forge you into a truly magnificent wizard. You possess the cunning, the ambition, and the ruthless ability to focus on self-preservation that is the hallmark of Salazar himself. You would learn strategic planning under Swann. You would become formidable…"
Then, the voice shifted, becoming a low, tortured whisper of internal debate.
"But I have been... educated this morning. I see the flaw in the prophecy. I see you are a child, not a destiny. You need more than power, you need anchors. In Slytherin, you will find mirrors of the dark ambition that threatens you. You will be alone, constantly battling the shadows of expectation and the necessity of being guarded."
"And there is the courage, the reckless, sacrificial courage of Godric. And there is the need for companions who will stand by you not for what you are, but for what you represent to them. You need the pure, unadulterated loyalty of those who leap before they look…"
The Hat made a decision that cost it a thousand years of pure impartiality, prioritizing the boy's need for external aid over his internal aptitude. It was a choice born of Sebastian's ruthless logic: survival depends on alliance.
"Slytherin will only make you colder, Potter. You must be warm to fight the cold that is coming. Therefore… GRYFFINDOR!"
The sudden, loud pronouncement of his House—an instant counter-command to his silent wish—froze the tentative smile on Harry's face. He almost believed the Hat was broken, just as Malfoy had shrieked. But the explosive roar of cheers rising from the Gryffindor table—a wave of warmth and ecstatic relief—left no room for doubt.
Gryffindor? The House of the man who had lied about giant squids?
Harry removed the Hat, his movements mechanical, and glanced, slightly apologetically, at the professors' table. Professor Snape, always the enigma, was clapping slowly, precisely, his face an utterly blank mask of professional obligation.
But Sebastian, eyes full of powerful, unreserved blessing and encouragement, offered a smile of profound, almost paternal satisfaction. It was a smile that said: This is precisely where you need to be, Harry. This is the strategic move.
Taking a deep, resigned breath, Harry walked toward the wildly cheering table. Before he even reached the bench, a grinning, red-headed boy with bright blue eyes—Ron Weasley—cleared a space and practically hauled him into the seat, immediately burying him under a torrent of ecstatic, genuine chatter. Harry's initial trouble melted away instantly; he was surrounded, accepted, and finally, found.
Once the final students were sorted and the Hall had settled into the chaotic comfort of feasting, Albus Dumbledore rose to address the student body. The atmosphere shifted from celebratory to reverent.
"Welcome, students, to a new year at Hogwarts!" Dumbledore announced, his voice resonating through the enchanted space.
"We have two notable staff changes this year. First, joining us to lead our new elective course, Creative Magical Autobiography and Stylized Documentation, is the world-renowned author and explorer, Professor Gilderoy Lockhart!"
Lockhart leaped to his feet with a dazzling, practiced smile, waving a hand that glittered with gold rings.
The ensuing applause was less reverent and more akin to a stampede of pure adoration. The Gryffindor, Ravenclaw, and Hufflepuff tables erupted in shrieks.
"Only first-years? That is an utter travesty! It's deeply unjust!" a fifth-year complained loudly.
"Professor, can upper years auditor your lessons? We need guidance on narrative development!" another shouted.
Dumbledore was forced to deploy a subtle Sonorus Charm to regain control of the room, his voice amplifying over the clamor.
"Our second appointment is a return. I believe many upperclassmen will remember him: Professor Quirinus Quirrell!"
The Hall hushed, but this time with confused curiosity.
Harry immediately recognized the man from the Leaky Cauldron. He was paler than ever, and his head was now encased in an extraordinarily thick, vivid purple turban, from which a faint, cloying scent of garlic seemed to emanate.
"Professor Quirrell is back? But where is Professor Swann? He was just sorted!" a second-year cried out.
"Merlin, I was hoping to enroll in Muggle Studies this term! What are we to do, Headmaster?"
"Silence, please!" Dumbledore commanded, the Sonorus charm giving his voice immense weight. "Professor Swann, I assure you, remains at the helm of Muggle Studies. Professor Quirrell, who is already well-acquainted with many of you, will be teaching Defense Against the Dark Arts. I trust you will all welcome him."
Once the Hall quieted, Dumbledore continued, his voice losing its playful cadence and taking on a stern, almost ominous register.
"Now, for a few necessary announcements. This year, the school is launching a Work-Study Program, offering students the genuine opportunity to earn a substantial amount of Galleons through structured, supervised work—particularly in our new greenhouses and labs. Details and rigorous standards for application will be posted on the House bulletin boards."
"To all first-year students: the Forbidden Forest is, as always, strictly off-limits. Furthermore, I must remind every single student, old and new, that if you do not wish to encounter certain death or, at the very least, an extremely painful recovery, you must remain strictly away from the third corridor on the Fourth Floor. Consider yourselves warned."
The change in atmosphere was palpable. Harry, sitting amongst his cheerful new friends, felt a deep chill. The safest place in the world? Why were there deadly warnings in the very walls of the school?
He glanced at Percy Weasley, the prefect next to him, but Percy's eyes, like those of every upperclassman, were fixed on the Headmaster, their faces models of serious, silent acceptance. This was a normal threat, apparently.
Dumbledore then smiled, the light returning to his eyes. "Finally, Professor Swann has a matter of great importance—and a few surprises—to share. Sebastian, if you please."
Sebastian rose to his feet. He was dressed in deep emerald robes that seemed to absorb the candlelight, a stark contrast to Lockhart's dazzling blue. His presence, even standing still, commanded attention.
"Thank you, Headmaster," Sebastian began, his voice calm and clear, instantly drawing focus back from the recent security warnings.
"First, a matter of great tradition and urgency: Quidditch Tryouts have been set. They will take place this Saturday morning, the first week of term, at 8:00 AM sharp. Students wishing to demonstrate their aerial excellence should not be late."
"Secondly, continuing a revived tradition, every newly enrolled student will receive a customized, enchanted Protective Badge, stylized with the Hogwarts crest, which will offer a minor, reflexive protection charm against unexpected magical surges. Wear them with pride."
Sebastian then paused, his smile becoming cryptic and wide. "And finally, this year, every student in the Hall will receive a rather mysterious gift—an item of essential utility and, perhaps, great future value."
He raised his hand. High above the tables, several hundred tiny, glowing orbs of deep-blue light materialized, shimmering like miniature comets. With a subtle flick of Sebastian's wrist, the orbs began their descent, dropping precisely into the outstretched hands—or onto the lapels—of every student in the Great Hall.
Harry looked down. In his hand lay a piece of seemingly blank, thick parchment, bordered by the Hogwarts crest, subtly glowing blue.
"Behold, students! The Hogwarts Navigation Map!" Sebastian announced, his voice imbued with a magical amplification that made every word a celebration.
"This enchanted parchment instantly displays the true, real-time layout of the castle, complete with all secret passages and the precise location of every moving occupant. It is designed to ensure no new student ever loses their way, and that no old student ever loses their sense of adventure!"
"The map is easy to activate and use; you can test its properties upon returning to your common rooms. Let's hear a tremendous round of applause for the two brilliant minds who finalized and scaled this incredible piece of magical cartography: Fred Weasley and George Weasley!"
The Great Hall erupted in thunderous, appreciative applause. Harry, still clutching the strange parchment, stared at Ron, who sat next to him, his mouth agape in utter disbelief.
"That is absolutely impossible," Ron shouted, utterly stunned. "They spent the entire summer on a family farm and didn't say a single word about working on a complex enchanted map! They kept it completely secret!"
Fred and George Weasley, sitting proudly at the Gryffindor table, stood up and took a deep, choreographed bow, winking dramatically at Sebastian.
After the feast concluded and the students dispersed, Sebastian returned to the quiet, welcoming sanctuary of Swann Manor. The journey was instantaneous, a flash of green fire in the hearth.
The silence was a profound relief after the evening's intense political and magical theatrics. Sebastian's shoulders relaxed, the professional facade slipping away like a discarded cloak. He had successfully manipulated the Sorting, secured his leverage with Dumbledore, and cemented the loyalty of the talented Weasley twins with a grand public spectacle.
He spotted Mia curled up on the sofa, waiting for him, bathed in the soft, warm glow of a lamp. She looked up, her expression a mix of relief and lingering concern for Harry.
Sebastian spread his arms wide, a genuine, tired smile replacing the cunning one he wore at the Professors' Table.
"Mia, my love! The children are safe, the Sorting is concluded, and the political firewalls are established. The stage is set, and the house is blessedly, wonderfully empty. It's just us now. Let's play a truly delightful, uncomplicated game—a game where no one gets sorted and no one is at risk of being swallowed by a fake monster."
Mia laughed, the sound warm and melodic, and gracefully slipped off the sofa, evading his initial embrace.
"Then catch me first, my Slytherin Sword Saint!"
What do you think of Harry's first night in Gryffindor? Do you think Sebastian made the right strategic call by pushing him there?