Chapter 21: Sweating Bullets

"Oh, you may not think I'm pretty, But don't judge on what you see..."

A mouth-like rip opened in the brim of the Sorting Hat, and a song echoed through the Great Hall. After it finished, Professor McGonagall stepped forward, holding a long roll of parchment. Her face was set in a stern line.

"When I call your name," she announced, "you will sit on the stool, place the Hat on your head, and await your House."

"Abbott, Hannah!"

A small, flushed girl hurried out from a line of students, sat on the stool, and placed the Hat on her head. After a moment, the Hat shouted:

"HUFFLEPUFF!"

A table to the front and right erupted in applause and cheers. It was clearly the most populous of the four Houses. Hannah took off the Hat and ran happily toward them.

"Bones, Susan—"

The Sorting ceremony continued in this fashion, a steady rhythm of names called and students sent to their new homes. After watching the first few, Victor found his attention beginning to drift. It was all a bit... dull.

He turned his gaze back to the High Table. Unlike the students' four long tables, the staff table was covered in an elegant red velvet cloth. It had over twenty seats, most of which were now filled, with only Professor McGonagall's still empty.

Many of the other professors were clearly growing bored as well. Victor could hear whispers from several of them, and a couple of unfamiliar faces kept craning their necks to get a better look at him.

"Who's that?"

"Never seen him before. Are you going to ask?"

"You do it. You're closer."

"I don't think that's a good idea..."

Unfortunately for their curiosity, with Snape sitting right beside him, no one dared to approach.

Finally, the professor to Victor's left, having been nudged twice by his neighbour, leaned over. He was a young-looking man wrapped in a large purple turban, and a faint smell of garlic clung to him.

He stammered softly, "H-hello. I'm the D-Defence Against the Dark Arts p-professor. My name is Quirinus Quirrell."

"Victor Van der Boom. Divination Professor," Victor replied, extending a hand.

He shook Quirrell's hand and found it to be ice-cold. Then again, his own was hardly any warmer. In the end, it was Quirrell who gave another shiver.

After releasing his hand, Quirrell offered a twitchy smile. "S-so, were you a st-student at Slytherin? I d-don't believe I've seen you before."

"No. I come from the Far East. I never attended a school of magic; I was taught by another wizard."

"And... and your p-parents—"

"Oh, you wish to know if they were wizards?" Victor said, understanding immediately. "They were not. Just ordinary Muggles. But I never met them."

He paused for a moment. "Just before I was born, a once-in-a-millennium meteor shower occurred over my town. One of the stars fell from the sky and struck our house directly. I was the only survivor, saved by the simple fortune of still being in the womb."

Quirrell stared. "...A m-meteor?"

"Yes, a meteor," Victor said nonchalantly. "In my homeland, there are even rumors that meteors are symbols of demons."

Quirrell was speechless. The story was far too fantastical. He had only wanted to inquire about the man's blood status, but now he found himself fumbling for words, his mouth opening and closing uselessly.

At last, he managed to compose himself, speaking in a voice barely above a whisper. "A m-meteor is... is good, too. Your b-birth is... a miracle." He then tried to pander to Victor's perceived allegiance, nodding toward the Slytherin brooch on his chest. "At least you d-don't have to interact with... that kind of person."

He assumed, as everyone knew what Slytherin House valued, that this would be a safe remark. He was completely unprepared for Victor's next words.

"Which kind?" Victor asked, looking at him with genuine curiosity. "Muggles? You don't like them?"

"...N-not many wizards do, do they?" Quirrell mumbled, his voice sinking lower.

"Why would you say that? You're a half-blood yourself, aren't you?"

"?!"

Quirrell froze. "W-what did you say?"

"I said, you're a half-blood too," Victor repeated, tapping his own temple. "Your soul wears a shackle you placed there yourself, one that forces you to reject half of your own bloodline. If you were to remove the bloated parasite that clings to your soul, perhaps you could break free from this shackle. Your spiritual essence could be liberated..."

He leaned in slightly. "Would you like to try?"

"I... I d-don't know what you're t-talking about."

"But the aura around you clearly has a double image..."

Quirrell's expression was now a rigid mask of terror. As Victor spoke, his face grew paler and paler. For a fleeting second, a look of pure malice flashed in his eyes before being replaced once more by fear.

Just then, a cheerful voice cut through the tension.

"Victor!"

Victor looked up to see Dumbledore smiling at him from the center of the table.

"Victor, would you be a dear and pop outside to notify the house-elves for me? I've just had a marvelous idea that the High Table could do with some honeybeer. A small welcome for you, you see." Dumbledore's eyes twinkled. "Just step outside the door and give a sharp snap of your fingers. The elves will appear. Feel free to order a few desserts for yourself while you're at it."

"Of course," Victor agreed without hesitation. He gave Quirrell a polite nod, bringing their conversation to an end.

Victor seemed entirely unconcerned by what had just transpired. He could tell there was something strange about Quirrell, but he wasn't interested enough to perform a proper divination. His intuition told him that whatever it was, it posed no threat to him. He had briefly considered proposing a transaction, but Quirrell clearly wasn't in a receptive state.

So, he simply let it go and left to fulfill Dumbledore's request.

After he was gone, Dumbledore turned his attention back to the Sorting, paying no mind whatsoever to Quirrell, acting as if he hadn't heard a thing.

Left alone, Quirrell let out a long, shuddering breath. His face was as white as a sheet. He fumbled in his pocket for a handkerchief and wiped at the forehead hidden beneath his turban. It came away drenched in cold sweat.

He was sweating bullets.

"It's okay..." he mouthed silently, a twisted expression that was half-smile, half-sob on his lips. "He didn't find out... ha... he didn't find out..."

A few minutes later, Victor returned to his seat just in time to catch the end of the Sorting Ceremony. After a student named Sally-Anne Perks was sorted, Professor McGonagall called out the name "Harry Potter," and a wave of murmurs swept through the hall.

Harry nervously ran up and put on the Hat, his eyes squeezed shut in concentration.

As Victor settled back into his chair, he watched the boy and remarked casually, "What a pity."

"A pity about what?" Snape asked, his tone already sour.

"The boy is thinking about not being in Slytherin," Victor said. "His desire is so clear it's practically overflowing. It's a shame he won't be your student. He seems to have quite a talent for Potions."

"Then you have seen wrong," Snape replied, his voice like ice. "Mr. Potter is clearly a blockheaded buffoon. The fact that he will not be in Slytherin is the best news I have heard all evening." Snape practically spat the word "Potter."

Just then, the Sorting Hat bellowed, "GRYFFINDOR!" The table to the rear and right exploded in a deafening roar of excitement. Victor saw the Weasley twin, Fred, leap onto his chair, dancing as he yelled, "WE GOT POTTER! WE GOT POTTER!"

A look of profound disgust crossed Snape's face. He irritably picked up his empty water goblet, glared at it, and slammed it back down on the table.

Seeing his expression, Victor simply tilted his head and said no more.

The last few students were sorted quickly. Once everyone was seated, Dumbledore clapped his hands and beamed at the students.

"Welcome!" he said. "Welcome to a new year at Hogwarts! I know you are all hungry, but before we begin our banquet, I have just a few start-of-term notices."

"First, any student who does not wish to suffer an unusually painful death should avoid the third-floor corridor on the right-hand side."

A ripple of laughter went through the students.

"Yes, yes... take note, ladies and gentlemen."

"Second, we have two staff changes this year. Professor Burbage will be taking over Muggle Studies, and Professor Quirinus Quirrell will be taking up the post of Defence Against the Dark Arts."

"And I would like to introduce another new professor—Victor Van der Boom. He will be taking over from Professor Trelawney as your new Divination teacher."

A sparse, scattered applause broke out. It seemed neither Quirrell nor Victor were particularly popular. The Weasley twins, however, cheered for Victor with the force of a thousand-man army, drawing stares from all around.

Victor averted his eyes, looking thoroughly unimpressed.

"And now, before we begin our feast, let us have a few final words. And they are: Nitwit! Blubber! Oddment! Tweak! Thank you!"

And just like that, the new term began.