Heart of the Guardian

30. The Potions Master

Students returned on the train the next day. A first year had fallen into the lake, returned to her boat by the giant squid. Snape dried the girl off with the wave of his wand, trying, with difficulty, to remain firm with her in front of the other first years. As the Headmistress' second in command, he led the Sorting Ceremony – a strange experience, as he had never participated in it except when he was sorted, and then observing from the Slytherin table, and later, from the faculty table.

He opened the doors to find the Great Hall much noisier than usual. Students were still milling around, with much more between-table conversation than there had been before. The returning eighth years from Gryffindor, Hufflepuff and Ravenclaw, and the one returning eighth year Slytherin surrounded Potter, neatly guarding him, fending off the merely curious with flinty, pointed glares. He caught McGonagall's eye and she rapped for attention. "Please be seated!" she called, and there was a mad scramble for seats as the students turned to look at the procession of first years.

Snape led them to stand before the head table, turning them to face their peers, then back to the dais and the stool upon which sat the torn, mended, slightly-the-worse-for-wear Sorting Hat. It opened one rip near its brim to begin its poetic tale, and the Hall fell silent, wondering what this year's bad poetry would bring. The Hat admonished them to overcome the divisions of House, to retain the bonds of friendship forged during the Battle, and to hold their love for those now in residence at the Black Lake in their hearts. It protested Sorting, as it had done before, and suggested they prepare for changes. It sang the virtues of each House more optimistically than it had before, and Snape eyed the Slytherin table, slightly emptier than usual before Sorting, dubiously, then shrugged. Not his concern, thank Merlin.

The first person on his list was the formerly soggy girl, now a Gryffindor. Well, he thought, that was predictable. She turned and grinned at him and he felt his lip twitch in reply. The entire Hall cheered, and the girl skipped off to sit next to Ginny Weasley, now Quidditch Captain. His eyes flicked to Potter's – Harry's – and he shook his head and smiled slightly in shared amusement.

The second person sorted was a dark-haired, exotic-looking girl who eyed the Hat beadily before she sat down, taking no note of Snape glaring down at her. The Hat was silent for long moments, then shouted, "SLYTHERIN!" There was a general gasp from those at the Slytherin table, echoed here and there from around the Hall.

"But – she's MUGGLEBORN!" someone at the Slytherin table protested above the hubbub.

The girl plucked the hat off her head, tossed it back on the stool and sauntered to the Slytherin table. "That's right – Muggleborn! Who wants to be friends with the first Muggleborn to be sorted into Slytherin House? What am I bid, ladies and gentlemen?" There was laughter and the Hall broke into cheers and applause again.

Snape sighed and shook his head, turning slightly to look at McGonagall out of the corner of his eye. Her lips were pressed tightly together, but he saw them twitch in amusement. He snorted and called the next name in the roll. Each pronouncement of the Hat's was greeted with cheers from the entire Hall. Snape wondered how that would play out once House points began to be awarded and deducted and the competition for House Cup began in earnest with Quidditch season.

More students were Sorted into Slytherin than usual, to balance the House enrollment. Two other Muggleborns joined the table, their eyes calculating how they could best take advantage of their status while it lasted. Snape found himself exceedingly grateful not to be in charge of that lot, though... he eyed the now-dry, giggling girl next to Ginny Weasley. Gryffindors. He shook his head. This will be... different.

The Hall was noisier than usual throughout the feast, quieting only for the Headmistress' address, her welcome less idiosyncratic than Dumbledore's, but as warm, or warmer, for all her sternness. She gave the usual warnings against entering the Forbidden Forest, despite that it was surely safer this year than in years gone by, and acceded to Filch's request that she remind them not to drag mud through the halls on rainy days, as the new flagstone was still curing.