Scorpius stood near the front of the group of first-years, hands in the pockets of his black school robes, trying to look more relaxed than he felt. It was unnerving, being stared at by the other students.
The Great Hall was impressive—vast and echoing with ancient magic—but to Scorpius, something was subtly artificial about it. If he focused just right, especially near the corners of his vision, the edges of the hall seemed to bend slightly, as though the space were enchanted to hold more than it should. It wasn't claustrophobic, exactly—more like standing inside a snow globe that shifted with your thoughts.
Unlike the classic image of four singular long tables dividing the houses like lanes in a race, the seating arrangement was more communal now. Each house had a section—an area filled with multiple round or oval-shaped tables, arranged in clusters to encourage conversation rather than competition. Gryffindor's tables buzzed with laughter and noise to the left, while Hufflepuff's glowed warmly on the far right with golden lamps and calm chatter. Ravenclaw's section, straight ahead and flanked by soaring marble columns, had the most books and scrolls already out, students murmuring excitedly as if they were preparing for a symposium. Slytherin's corner, to the near right, looked the most regal—dark green and silver table runners embroidered with silver serpents flowed across polished wood, candles floating lower over their section than elsewhere, giving it a mysterious, private ambiance.
Overhead, hundreds of enchanted candles floated in slow, swirling patterns, each casting soft golden light like miniature suns. Above them, the ceiling mirrored the exact night sky outside the castle. Clouds passed overhead in great, slow waves, dimming stars here and there, while a faint breeze stirred the air from time to time, though no windows were visible.
The staff sat at the far end of the Great Hall on an elevated dais behind a long, polished oak table. Headmistress McGonagall, looking sharp as ever, sat at the center in a tall-backed chair, surveying the room with keen eyes. Beside her were professors Scorpius didn't recognize—some whispering amongst themselves, others watching the first years with curiosity.
A broad-shouldered man with a friendly face and powerful build sat near the center, laughing warmly with a red-haired woman in green medwitch robes. Scorpius didn't know their names, but the man had the look of someone who would absolutely win in a bar fight, while the woman looked like a doctor. Closer to the end of the table, Scorpius spotted his aunt, Professor Daphne Greengrass, dressed in deep green robes with potions vials pinned to her collar. She didn't smile—she rarely did—but her cool, poised expression said she was exactly where she wanted to be.
Other professors included a dark-skinned witch in star-stitched robes, likely the Astronomy professor, and a pale, ethereal woman in shawls—Sybill Trelawney, perhaps, who seemed more interested in her teacup than the students.
But most striking of all was a teenage boy seated between McGonagall and the other staff, barely older than some of the older students. He had brown hair, casual robes half-open over a T-shirt, and a confident ease that didn't match the others. Scorpius blinked. "Is he... faculty?" he muttered, confused.
Tall stone columns lined the walls, each rising up to meet the arching enchanted ceiling. From the pillars above the Ravenclaw section hung rich blue banners edged in silver thread, embroidered with the majestic eagle sigil. They swayed gently, though there was no visible wind, the starry light catching on their metallic thread and making them shimmer like constellations in motion.
Beside him, Albus was still fidgeting slightly, his brow furrowed just enough to give away his nerves. Scorpius nudged him lightly with an elbow. "You're not going to faint, are you?" he whispered.
Albus didn't even have the energy to immediately retort. He was fluttery, constantly shifting his weight between his legs. His fingers were
Adrian spoke in a loud, awed voice, "Whoa… that ceiling. That's the night sky?"
Jonas, ever the helpful one, nodded. "It's enchanting to look similar to the sky outside. It's not even the best enchantment in the room, though."
Adrian's eyes were fixed upward, but not on the stars. "Yeah, yeah, night sky and all that… but those candles—they're floating. Like, really floating. What happens if one drops wax on us?"
"Yeah," chimed in another voice. A wiry kid with wavy dark hair and a sharp nose had stepped closer. "Looks like a total fire hazard, if you ask me."
Scorpius gave the newcomer a lopsided smile. "Welcome to Hogwarts. Wax-related injuries haven't taken out a single student yet. Statistically speaking, you are more likely to be taken out by a troll."
The new boy flushed but grinned. "I'm Julien, by the way. Julien Lotito. My dad's French, mum's from Surrey. I guess that makes me a half blood."
"Well yes, but actually no," said Scorpius.
"I'm half british and half french. That makes me a half-blood," said Julien.
Adrian snorted, shaking his head. "That's what I thought mate, but it's wrong. In the wizarding world, a half-blood is someone who's got one magical parent and one Muggle-born or Muggle parent. You know, like… halfway between wizard and non-wizard."
"Oh." Julien scratched his cheek sheepishly. "Right. Got it. That makes more sense."
Albus chuckled. "It's confusing at first. Don't worry, though— most muggleborns mix it up all the time."
"Nice to meet you, Julien," Albus said, shaking his hand. "You'll get used to all this. It's… a lot, I know."
Just then, Professor Flitwick stood atop his stool again and cleared his throat. All eyes turned to him. He was holding something in his arms—a ragged old wizard's hat with a wide brim and many folds, stitched with strange patches and dark from years of use.
"Now before we begin," Flitwick piped cheerfully, "a quick note, my dears. Please refrain from putting your hands inside the Sorting Hat in search of the Sword of Gryffindor. I assure you, it is not in there. And even if it were—well, the right moment would have to choose you, not the other way around."
He winked cryptically.
Adrian leaned over to Albus. "Wait, why is that even a rule? Who's been sticking their hand in the hat looking for a sword?"
"A lot of people actually," said Jonas. "After the Great Battle of Hogwarts, most students started testing themselves to see if they could pull out the Sword of Gryffindor from the hat."
"What can the sword do?" asked Julien.
"It's a goblin forged sword," explained Jonas,"I'm sure it was enchanted by them when it was crafted."
Their conversation was interrupted when the Sorting Hat twitched. A large crease opened like a mouth, and the brim folded down into eyes. Then, in a deep, melodic voice, it began to sing:
"A thousand years and more have I resided at my post
And watched the tide of years forever ebb upon my host Fair Hogwarts alters not despite the weight of ages raging
For Hogwarts knows that time revolves, while she is only aging The rise of villains coincides, to keep the balance rightly
With dawning heroes in whose eyes good justice blazes brightly In recent past, dread Voldemort rose up with might so scary
That fate did send a hero boy, the orphan Potter, Harry And thus unveiled the drama of time's everlasting scheme
The players change, the venues shift, but constant is the theme The root of evil always finds a new and fertile garden
But valor's heart is ever strong to bring us fate's good pardon And this, you see, brings us to me, the Hat that does the Sorting,
For 'tis my task to keep the balance right for evil thwarting
For witnessed I the dawn of that long battle that endures
And long as that old struggle lasts, my duty hope ensures I see the seed that guarantees the role of every student
And place them best into the House that grows that seed most prudent In Hufflepuff, the seed of loyalty and diligence
For Ravenclaw, the vine of knowledge grows with common sense Brave Gryffindor breeds valor and courageousness of heart
And Slytherin gives those who love ambition their good start They go there hence into their House as sign of their vocation
But many sense it gives a hint of deeper motivation Make no mistake, judge not the one upon their house of Sorting
But always look instead to gauge the way of their comporting For good can come of any House, regardless of its banner
And evil, too, can spread its leaves within the finest manor Beneath my brim now come and sit to hear my declaration
But be assured, you bring along your heart's own inclination It matters not what happens while you sit upon this chair
The true judge of your character is what's beneath your hair.
As the Sorting Hat finished its song, the Hall erupted into applause. As the applause faded, Professor Flitwick approached the Hat, producing a long parchment from his robes. He unrolled it and said," Lucas Agomber, please join me on the dais."
A wiry boy with sandy blond hair and large ears stepped forward stiffly, his hands clenched tightly at his sides. He looked moments away from bolting, but forced himself up the steps. He glanced once at the older students staring back at him before gingerly sitting on the stool.
The Sorting Hat was lowered over his head and slipped nearly down to his nose. There was a beat of silence before it spoke, its voice carrying to the room.
"Oho… very determined, aren't you? Fierce desire to prove yourself… clever too, but not always patient… no, no, not Ravenclaw for you. You have fire… yes, it had better be—GRYFFINDOR!"
Lucas let out a breath of pure relief and nearly fell off the stool. The Gryffindor table burst into cheers and waved him over as he walked unsteadily to join them, red in the face but grinning broadly.
Flitwick scanned the list again. "Adelaide Armitage!"
A tall, composed girl with long black braids stepped out from the line. Her uniform looked perfectly pressed, and she moved with quiet confidence, almost regal in posture. Her dark eyes flicked across the Hall as though memorizing it before she ascended the steps and took her seat calmly.
The Sorting Hat barely touched her head before it cried, "RAVENCLAW!"
Adelaide gave a small, satisfied smile and slid off the stool, heading toward the blue-draped tables beneath the Ravenclaw banners as applause filled the Hall once more.
"Antonia Bevell," said Professor Flitwick, his voice echoing gently through the Great Hall.
Scorpius glanced at her as she stepped forward. The new Muggleborn girl walked daintily toward the stool, eyes lowered slightly, a little timid compared to how composed she'd been earlier when introduced by Professor Greengrass. As she sat down, she adjusted her robes with a practiced grace. Her brunette hair was pinned neatly on one side—different from most of the other girls, who had let theirs fall freely. Simply put, she looked more elegant than many of the pureblood girls present, and that was saying something.
Professor Flitwick lowered the Sorting Hat over her head.
"Hmm," murmured the hat. "Well now… sharp mind, yes… but not a bookish thirst for knowledge—no, you are good at reading people. Fiercely loyal and not afraid to play a little dirty. Very well, I know just where to put you—Gryffindor!"
"Cameron Creevy!" Professor Flitwick called next, scanning the parchment with a twinkle in his eye.
A small boy with sandy hair and an excited grin practically bounded to the stool. There was another Creevy once, a boy who'd idolized Harry Potter and followed him everywhere with a camera. Unfortunately, he died. Scorpius wondered is there was any relation.
Cameron looked ready to burst from excitement, feet swinging even before the Sorting Hat had settled on his head.
"Ah!" the hat said with glee. "Another Creevy! Bravery runs strong in your blood, doesn't it? Determined, eager, full of spark… Oh, this is easy—Gryffindor!"
The Gryffindor table whooped and clapped as Cameron hopped off the stool and made a beeline for the seat closest to Antonia. She gave him a polite smile, and he immediately launched into a whisper, likely asking what it was like under the hat. Scorpius wondered if he'd keep talking all night.
He sighed softly and shifted on his feet. The Sorting Ceremony was already beginning to blur together—so many names, so many children nervously making their way forward. It felt like an endless parade of first years: stiff postures, awkward haircuts, and eyes darting anxiously toward the house tables. Scorpius's legs were beginning to ache, and even Jonas was starting to fidget beside him.
He kept glancing back at the staff table, trying to read their expressions. Why had that young man—clearly not much older than some of the seventh years—been seated among the professors? Wait a second…Scorpio couldn't find the young professor anymore.
Looking at each face clearly, Scorpio found the man again, but this time, he had blond hair. Scorpio rubbed his eyes again, but the man still had blond hair as opposed to his previous brown.
"And next," came Professor Flitwick's voice once more, "Julien Lotito!"
Julien straightened his shoulders and took a deep breath. "Wish me luck, mon frère," he whispered to Adrian with a grin, before stepping forward.
Adrian blinked. "I'm not your—" but Julien was already striding away, his confident swagger completely at odds with the nervous shuffle most of the others had displayed. Scorpius watched him with a hint of curiosity. The boy wasn't cocky, exactly—just strangely self-assured for someone who had admitted only minutes earlier that he thought floating candles might be a fire hazard.
Julien sat down gracefully on the stool, brushing an invisible speck from his sleeve before the Sorting Hat fell over his curls.
"Ah, interesting," the hat muttered. "You're a charmer, aren't you? Clever, curious… diplomatic too. Very well balanced. A touch of cunning, but… yes, yes… you're not afraid to speak up, are you? Let's go with—Gryffindor!"
"Scorpius Hyperion Malfoy," called Professor Flitwick, his high, clear voice echoing off the enchanted ceiling.
The moment the name left his lips, a wave of murmuring spread across the Great Hall like ripples on a lake. Heads turned. Some students whispered with narrowed eyes, others snickered. A few openly stared with suspicion or thinly veiled interest. It wasn't limited to one house—students from Gryffindor, Hufflepuff, even Ravenclaw leaned in to whisper behind hands or shoot sideways glances. At the Slytherin tables, the response was quieter but no less weighty. Recognition, expectation… and judgment.
Even the teachers reacted. Headmistress McGonagall's expression was unreadable, but her eyes followed Scorpius carefully. Professor Greengrass—Daphne—sat straighter in her seat, arms folded, lips tight. Longbottom and Sinistra exchanged a look. And from the end of the staff table, Hagrid squinted down at him curiously, one hand frozen around a goblet the size of a stew pot.
Beside him, Albus blanched. "Oh no. You're being sorted first."
Scorpius shrugged, a small tilt of the head that masked the way his stomach clenched. "I guess the deal's off," he said, more to himself than Albus. He stepped forward into the sea of eyes, his steps light but measured. It was like walking onto a stage. He could feel the tension building with every step toward the dais, like the entire room had sucked in its breath and was waiting to exhale.
He reached the stool—but didn't sit. Instead, he turned slowly, letting his pale grey eyes sweep across the hall. Many of the students looked away, uncomfortable under his gaze. Some didn't. A Gryffindor girl with bushy black hair squinted at him distrustfully. A Hufflepuff boy folded his arms. From the Gryffindir section, Julien Lotito leaned forward, eyebrows slightly raised, clearly intrigued.
"Mr. Malfoy," Professor Flitwick said gently. "Please take a seat."
"In a minute, Professor Flitwick," Scorpius replied calmly, without turning. He didn't raise his voice, but it carried. The murmurs faded as the weight of his presence began to settle in the hall.
It took a few more seconds for the silence to truly fall—thick and expectant. Only when there was nothing left but the distant flutter of banners and the occasional rustle of a shifting student did Scorpius finally turn, sit on the stool, and let the Sorting Hat drop onto his head.