The Serpentine Chain Part 1 - Year Of The Snake

The Serpentine Chain Part One

Chapter Three - The Dormius Chant

Looking at the stricken, white faces of the new students, Christopher Cale had been abruptly reminded of his own Sorting. Sitting on the stool in front of the entire school, the too-large Hat covering half of his face, he’d been utterly, completely terrified. He’d practically fallen off the stool when the Hat spoke to him.

"So, Christopher Cale," the Hat had mused. "What have we got here?"

The young Cale had clutched the sides of the stool with both hands, knuckles turning white.

"The usual stuff," said the Hat absently. "Intelligence. Honesty. Mental agility. Keen desire for knowledge. Blah blah blah. Do you read a lot? Thought so. Well, definitely not Hufflepuff, you’d get frustrated there. And you haven’t the slightest smidgen of ambition. So Slytherin’s out. Gryffindor’s a possibility, but I think you’d be better off in…RAVENCLAW!"

A great cheer from the Ravenclaw tables had greeted him as he’d stepped off the stool and gone to join his House. And he’d been happy there for his seven years at Hogwarts. And now, five years after graduation, he was back. As a teacher.

He suddenly realized that he was, in fact, utterly terrified again.

He was only five years older than the students he’d be teaching NEWT level Chantwork. He was barely out of education himself. It had seemed like such a good idea when he’d accepted Dippet’s offer. The next logical step for a Ravenclaw alumnus. Would he be up to the job, he wondered anxiously. Would he really be able to stand in the front of the classroom, and dish out house points and give homework and detentions like a proper teacher?

Professor Cale. It sounded highly implausible. There was no way he’d pull it off. The students would know at once that he didn’t have a clue what he was doing. Slytherins could smell weakness a mile off. He was too young, too inexperienced –

"This gets longer every year, I swear," muttered his neighbour. Cale turned his head to look at him, and felt like a complete idiot. He’d forgotten about Quintus. A fellow Ravenclaw and one of his old school friends, Quintus had bagged one of the most demanding teaching vacancies – Potions – at Hogwarts only the year after he’d graduated. He’d become the youngest Potions master in about a century. And here was Cale, worrying the students wouldn’t take him seriously enough in his elective class.

"I feel like an impostor," Cale whispered back. "Was it like this for you?"

Quintus smirked. "I just scare the living daylights out of them. Taking House points and giving innovative yet highly unpleasant detentions are very satisfying. You gain a lot of credibility with scowls, sneers and sarcasm, but if all else fails, just threaten them with a few Bunion Inducing Potions."

"Oh, wonderful. There’ll be plenty of opportunities for that in Chantwork," Cale replied sarcastically.

Quintus laughed quietly. "Don’t listen to me. I’m probably the closest thing the students get to a pushover at the minute. I’m just grateful that the cauldron mortality rate is slowly beginning to fall."

"What was all that about unpleasant detentions?" Cale asked.

"Nothing to do with me," Quintus replied. "I tried to think of something horrible for the Lestrange twins to do after they spiked the Gryffindor Quidditch team’s pumpkin juice – but in the end I just gave up and sent them to Nadine. She’s good at painful punishments. She had them scouring the Hufflepuff toilets without magic."

Cale had shuddered. The Hufflepuff toilets were legendary.

*

After a few lessons, his nerves subsided. Standing in front of his small group of students, Cale allowed himself a small, mental pat on the back. He was managing. They were learning.

"The Dormius Chant," he began, "was created by three wizards back in the 14^th century in order to induce sleep. It can be used for many purposes - to help victims of insomnia or to speed up the healing process in severely wounded patients for example. The strength of the chant can also be varied, depending upon the texture and volume of the chant. The more voices involved, and the louder the chant, the stronger and more wide ranging its effect, and vice versa."

He gestured towards the blackboard with his wand, and almost immediately, words began to form.

"Can anybody tell me which Ancient language the Dormius chant was written in?"

He was gratified to see several hands up in the air. "Yes, Susanna?" he asked the usually retiring Ravenclaw.

"Chalcedean, sir."

"Correct," Cale replied. "Five points to Ravenclaw. Now, the actual chant is very simple. It consists of the sentence you see on the board. But bear in mind, the pronunciation has to be perfect – Laah Nee Raah Kee Jay Loy En – and any deviation will lessen the overall effect. If you could repeat it after me, now, we’ll be able to move onto the notes."

*

That blasted chanting was loud enough to penetrate even the thickest walls, Quintus noted dully. And the thickest skulls too, he thought, watching as a particularly inept student sighed deeply and fell forwards. The Hufflepuff was snoring before he even hit the table. As the Potions master looked around his classroom (through increasingly leaden eyelids) he saw that most of his students had succumbed to the pervasive chanting.

Thankfully it had only been a theory lesson, a distant part of his mind pointed out. This increasingly small part of his mind was beginning to get angry. It wasn’t that the chanting was bad, of course. Far from it. He knew Cale was good at his job – he could coax a tune from the most creaky-voiced adolescent. The voices that drifted through the corridors of the castle were perfectly harmonized. It would have been quite pleasant to listen to, had Cale been conducting Melisandre Malfoy’s "Veela Chorus", and not the bloody Dormius Chant.

The point, Quintus decided, was that it was not only downright embarrassing, being lulled to sleep in the midst of teaching, it was downright dangerous. What if his students had been brewing potions, and wound up injured thanks to Cale’s lack of consideration? It wouldn’t matter to students in other classes. You couldn’t hurt yourself by falling asleep on a wand. Falling off a broom, yes, but the flying lessons were held too far away for the chant to take effect. It was just very very lucky Quintus had had to scrap his plans for this week - abysmal test results from the Hufflepuffs had seen to that. Snoring students and freshly brewed cauldrons of the Corpus Diminutus potion would have been disastrous.

As Quintus’ eyelids began to drop, he made a mental note to drop something particularly unpleasant in Cale’s pumpkin juice. After he’d had a sleep of course.

*

La-nee-ra-ke-je-loi-en…

The last note rang out clearly and faded away as a smiling Christopher Cale gestured with his wand, dissolving the blue shield around him. The delight in the faces of his twenty students assured him that they had finally begun to grasp the concepts of chanting. It wasn’t simply making the right noises – anyone with vocal chords could do that. It was in visualizing the energy projection behind the notes that the real power lay. Building mental pictures and filling them in with the chant.

"Excellent! That was much better than the last time," he said approvingly. "Your homework will be fairly straightforward today – a scroll and a half on the use of the pentatonic scale within the Dormius Chant – yes, Estelle?"

A plump curly haired girl with wide blue eyes asked eagerly "Will we be studying the use of language within chants like the Dormius this term, sir?"

Professor Cale smiled inwardly at the Ravenclaw’s enthusiasm, even as half his class groaned. "Linguistics within Chantwork is actually next on the syllabus," he replied, "after we’ve covered the harmonic and melodic aspects of course."

Estelle’s hand shot up again. "Will our class notes on the pentatonic scale be enough, or do we need to do further research? Because I can’t find a copy of "Scales for Spells" in the library, and I wondered if I’d have to order it direct…"

"No, you won’t need that. Your class notes will be enough for this area of work, although when we reach the more complex topics you’ll have to undertake more research. I have a wider reading list that I’ll be giving out at the end of the week, but for now you just need to concentrate on the essay."

As his students drifted out of the room in the relaxed state induced by chantwork, Professor Christopher Cale sank back into his chair. Disregarding the piles of papers on his desk, he closed his eyes and mumbled Cantus Iteratus under his breath. Circe Callister’s Fourth Symphony began to play, filling the empty classroom with the blissful sound of four hundred veela and the Durmstrang Philharmonic Orchestra…

"FINITE INCANTATUM!"

He jolted out of a peaceful semi-slumber to see an irate looking Defence Against the Dark Arts teacher stood before him. The impulse to close his eyes again was very strong.

"Professor Malfoy?" he began. "Can I help?"

The DADA teacher glared at him. "I hear you’ve been teaching the Dormius Chant, Cale."

"Oh, yes! I was a bit concerned at first, you know, as to whether the students would be able to master it, but I think they’re coming along splendidly," he babbled. Damn. Malfoys always made him nervous. It wasn’t fair.

Malfoy’s glare, if possible, became even more intense.

Cale resisted the urge to squirm. "Is there a problem, Professor?" he asked.

"Obviously not with your lessons, Cale," Professor Malfoy snapped. "Are you aware that you disrupted every other lesson in the castle?"

Cale’s heart sank. He’d shielded himself from the chant. But he’d completely forgotten about the rest of Hogwarts. "Oh dear," he said quietly.

"Are you aware that the Potions classroom is directly below this one?" continued Professor Malfoy, inexorably. "And that there are now twenty five students and one professor in the hospital wing?"

"They – they weren’t hurt, were they?" Cale asked anxiously. Images of scalded, severely wounded students flashed before his eyes.

Malfoy scowled. "Fortunately, there were no practical Potions lessons today," he said. "However, the Potions Master and his students were the most affected by your – little singsong." He practically spat the last words at Cale.

"It wasn’t a very strong Dormius," Cale offered weakly. "They’re just beginners. The effects should have worn off by tomorrow."

Malfoy sneered. "My third years were dealing with a Boggart today. At least, they were until you decided to soothe their savage breasts with song. Pity your little chant doesn’t work on non-humans, isn’t it? It’s fortunate I’m better at my job than you seem to be at yours, otherwise there’d be fifty students in the hospital wing by now."

"I’m sorry. I just completely forgot," Cale said glumly. "How did you avoid the chant?"

"I teach Defence Against the Dark Arts, you idiot! Counteracting chants is a vital part of my job description." He paused, then said angrily "You might think about avoiding Quintus for a while. In fact, if I were you, I’d just keep out of everyone’s way for an infinite length of time and save us all the bother of having to sort out your little mistakes!"

Before Christopher could respond, Malfoy was gone. The door slammed shut behind him.

*

Chapter Four: Loyalties

The Potions classroom looked almost inviting. A warm glow filled the room, as the fire Aurelius had lit crackled peacefully in the hearth. Without his cousin’s Concealing Charms, he could see that the walls of the dungeon were decorated – rich blue tapestries adorned the cold stone. The predominant eagle motif indicated that Quintus Snape had lost none of his House pride. Although Aurelius as a rule favoured the cold green and silver of his own House, he had to admit that his cousin had certainly made his classroom attractive. Even if none of the students were able to see it.

He’d certainly spared no expense, Aurelius thought, looking at the large oil painting that covered most of one wall. The artist, Konstantin Kirilov, was very well known, and very expensive. A teacher’s salary would not stretch that far – but the Snape family themselves were far from poor. Expensive, but worth it, decided Aurelius. Kirilov was a master, the great ship depicted in the painting truly beautiful. The sails billowed out in a fresh, unseen wind, and the ship’s figurehead flung out his arms in delight at his own motion, as Aurelius watched, fascinated. High up in the crow’s nest, a small figure gazed out across the continuous motion of the sea, whilst below him his shipmates scuttled across the deck to carry out a shouted command.

"Paragon," murmured a voice behind him, waking him from his reverie.

Aurelius turned to face his cousin, who was standing by the classroom door. Twenty-six hours induced sleep had not done him any harm - clad in his usual black teaching robes, Quintus Snape looked refreshed and, unsurprisingly, well rested. The family resemblance between the two was marked, only twenty-three, Quintus looked more like a brother to the seventeen year old Aurelius. Both possessed the incredibly fine dark hair that so quickly turned dull and lank, both possessed black eyes that could be both inscrutable and highly expressive. Aurelius’ eyes were expressionless as he looked at his cousin.

"Paragon?" he repeated, curious in spite of himself.

"The name of the ship," answered Quintus. "Beautiful, isn’t he?"

Aurelius did not answer that, but moved over to his cousin’s desk. A brand new black cauldron was in place beside it, and on the desk lay various scales, jars, and bowls. The list he’d received had been very explicit in its instructions, leaving him no margin for error. He had measured the amounts of armadillo bile, and the other listed ingredients perfectly. "I wasn’t sure you’d be well enough, but I set up the equipment as you asked. Is that alright?" he asked.

Quintus knew better than anyone the extent of Aurelius’ skill in potions, yet he still scanned the paraphernalia on his desk out of habit. Of course, everything was in order. "Thank you," he said. "We will be needing various ingredients from my private stores, however. If you can make a start with the spiders’ legs, I shall fetch the rest."

Aurelius nodded, and sitting down at the desk, he began to sort through the jar of dried, dead spiders. They were South American in origin, as the neat handwriting on the label indicated. Without flinching, he removed the spiders’ legs carefully with a small, sharp scalpel, and placed them in a neat line upon the surface of the desk.

*

He’d been given the list a week earlier. Quintus had asked him to stay back after Potions, and had been puzzled as to the reason. He had missed no assignments, and his behaviour in front of his cousin was always exemplary. It was weird enough being related to a member of staff as it was, without being chastised by him. Especially when his cousin was so young. But he’d told his friends not to wait for him, and waited by Professor Snape’s desk, watching as his classmates drifted off to their next lesson. If he was in trouble, he didn’t want anyone else to know about it.

"You wanted me, Professor?" he asked impassively.

Quintus had smiled, putting him at his ease. "Don’t worry, you aren’t in trouble," he’d said. "The opposite, in fact."

Aurelius relaxed somewhat. "You need me for something?" he’d hazarded. He knew full well how good he was at Potions. The Snape expertise in that area went back for centuries. Perhaps his cousin needed him to tutor some hapless first years.

"I need you to help me make forty bottle of the Impervio potion," his cousin said bluntly.

The Slytherin was somewhat surprised, to say the least. The Impervio was a very complex potion, and a very rare one. It was not mentioned in Most Potente Potions, he knew, and the recipe was only to be found in two or three books. He was quite certain the Hogwarts library didn’t stock them. He’d checked.

"Why?" Aurelius asked, already guessing the answer. Quintus was often called upon to prepare difficult potions for the Ministry. The rise of Grindelwald had seen an increase in the requests for his aid. The Impervio potion would be a valuable resource for Ministry agents abroad – those who drank it were shielded against the effects of most other potions, and various curses and hexes. Painful, disabling jinxes flung at someone under the protection of the Impervio would rebound. It even offered some protection against the Imperius curse. Not much, but enough to attract attention, or summon help.

Quintus’ answer proved him right. "The Ministry made the order. I have the Headmaster’s permission to proceed, of course, but the potion is a particularly involved one and I would prefer to brew it with a discreet assistant. That’s where you come in. If you’re willing..?"

Of course he had been willing. The opportunity to prove his skills in front of his cousin was too good to be missed. He would be discreet. That was implicitly understood. And Quintus no doubt had known that, having already prepared a list of instructions for him. They had arranged a convenient time, a Thursday evening a week hence. Then he’d left, late for Ancient Runes.

*

The remains of sixteen spiders’ legs lay before him, neatly sliced into exact thirds. Sixteen fluid ounces of armadillo bile were in the glass bowl next to a precisely peeled Shrivelfig. Aurelius added the spiders’ legs to the bowl of armadillo bile, and began to stir anti clockwise, occasionally lifting his mixer to check the viscosity of the texture. The legs had to be completely absorbed into the mixture, so

that it was a smooth paste.

While he did so, he took the opportunity to observe his cousin. Quintus was busy adding fairy wings to the iridescent green mixture – boomslang skin, eight werewolf hairs, and sixteen trolls’ fingernails – in the cauldron. He had a preoccupied, intensely absorbed air that was familiar to Aurelius, it was the same feeling he sensed in himself during his long study sessions in the library or in the private laboratory his father had constructed at home. The Ollivanders made wands, the Snapes brewed potions. They were brilliant at it, and they loved it. It was as simple as that.

"That stuff in the bowl has to be added to the cauldron as soon as this begins to boil," Quintus said, in slightly unscientific terms. "Is it smooth enough?"

Aurelius lifted his mixer, and watched the liquid flow instantly back into the bowl, leaving no traces on the implement. "It’s ready now," he said.

"Good," replied his cousin. "Once we’ve added the armadillo and spiders, the potion –"

"Will be left to brew for twenty four hours," Aurelius finished for him. "I studied very carefully whilst you were in the hospital wing."

Quintus nodded, approvingly, then said swiftly, "Empty your bowl into here, now."

The contents of the cauldron were beginning to bubble. Aurelius poured the liquid in the glass bowl gradually in, seeing the mixture instantly begin to shimmer. Quintus stirred the cauldron clockwise, watching as the potion began to turn a cold midnight blue. It thickened almost immediately.

"This will dissolve," Quintus said as he picked up Aurelius’ Shrivelfig peel. He began to sprinkle it into the cauldron, stirring all the while. As he did so, his cousin wiped the desk clean, and removed the traces of armadillo bile from the glass bowl.

"You’ve set a timer to go off in twenty four hours?" he asked Quintus. He knew it was unnecessary – student teaching the master, indeed.

Professor Snape nodded. "The rest of the ingredients need to be added at exactly the right time, otherwise this mixture will not have the correct potency. I’ll lock the cauldron in my storeroom– the walls are dense, and shielded so that the mixture won’t be affected by any of the magic in the atmosphere." It was essential that the Impervio potion was not exposed to any magical spells during its creation – direct exposure would mutate the ingredients and render the potion useless, if not dangerous. Once it was fully brewed, of course, such precautions were unnecessary.

They carried the cauldron into the chamber which adjoined the classroom. Quintus had already prepared a space for it, having moved a box-full of bottles containing unpleasant looking substances to the other side of the room. A small silver hourglass stood upon a shelf near the cauldron. Aurelius watched as his cousin turned it over.

"There," Quintus said, satisfied. "I can check on its progress tomorrow."

The two Snapes went back out into the classroom in companionable silence.

"Will you need me to help with the second stage of the potion?" Aurelius asked hopefully.

Quintus smiled. There was definitely a family resemblance. "Come and see me at lunchtime – we can plait the Veela hairs and prepare the adder’s tongue."

"Alright," Aurelius started to say, when he was interrupted by a very loud hissing sound. Both he and his cousin turned to the fire, where the flames had turned green. The head and shoulders of Professor Octavius Malfoy appeared in the fire. Shrouded by flames, his pale face looked unearthly, almost devilish. He seemed distinctly disgruntled at the sight of Aurelius.

"Hello Octavius," Quintus greeted him mildly.

"I just tried your room," Professor Malfoy said, ignoring Quintus’ greeting. "You weren’t there." His tone was accusing, and he did not take his eyes off Aurelius.

"My cousin and I were just discussing certain advanced theoretical concepts behind Transfiguration potions," Quintus Snape said blandly. Aurelius was silent, and did not look at his cousin, but met Malfoy’s stare without blinking. "Sadly, the work we cover in class is not overly taxing for him."

Octavius Malfoy managed to look remarkably uninterested in Aurelius Snape’s grasp of potions. "The Headmaster has just called a staff meeting," he said. "It’s a matter of some importance. He asked me to let you know."

"Thank you Octavius, I’ll be there shortly. The staffroom, I presume?"

Malfoy nodded curtly. "Don’t be late," he warned, before his head disappeared and the flames changed colour.

"Well, Aurelius," Professor Snape said after a moment’s silence. "I’m grateful for the help you’ve given me tonight, and I hope to see you at lunchtime tomorrow."

Aurelius smiled, his black eyes sparkling. "Try keeping me away."

Quintus smiled as well, at the enthusiasm in his young cousin’s voice. There seemed to be hardly any difference between the two cousins for a moment. Then he said, in a serious voice,

"Aurelius, you know I trust you. We’re family. Different Houses, but the same blood flows through our veins, and we both know blood will tell."

He paused, waiting for a response. When Aurelius nodded, he went on. "You know the need for discretion in this situation, and you heard me lie to Professor Malfoy just now. I don’t expect you to lie to your friends, but perhaps –"

"– altering the truth wouldn’t be such a bad thing?" Aurelius finished for him. "I’m not stupid, Quintus. I know this needs to be kept secret. And," he added, smirking, "you’ve forgotten I’m a Slytherin. Concealment is my forte."

Quintus Snape eyed the House badge on his cousin’s robes, mouth twitching. "I’m supposed to be teaching my students morals…or something of that ilk... Not corrupting their innocent minds."

Aurelius laughed. "You’re a Snape, but also a Ravenclaw. If there’s any corruption going on, I’ll see to it. Just remember what the Gryffindors like to say about us."

The older man remembered. "You can’t corrupt a Slytherin…"

"…because he’s already corrupt to the core," Aurelius finished.

Quintus looked at him. "I’ll leave it to you to keep this quiet then?"

Nodding, Aurelius turned to go. As he opened the classroom door, he heard his cousin murmur "And Aurelius?"

He glanced back to see Quintus Snape standing beside his blue Ravenclaw banner.

"Yes Professor?"

"Fifteen points to Slytherin."

*

He was not late for Dippet’s meeting after all, although the majority of the Hogwarts faculty was already seated around an ornately carved table. Quintus Snape sat down next to Lydia Grey, the Head of Ravenclaw. Various people greeted him, and he nodded back politely. He noted with amusement that Christopher Cale was regarding him with a great deal of trepidation. And well he might, he thought to himself. He allowed himself to glance briefly at Cale’s teacup, then back at his friend’s face before raising an eyebrow slightly. He smiled inwardly at the quickly concealed panic on Cale’s face. Of course, he had done nothing to the cup. He didn’t need to. The unsmiling Octavius Malfoy sitting opposite him. With the hair that was so blonde it was practically pure white swept back from his forehead in a widow’s peak, Malfoy looked almost regal. He’d heard Octavius hadn’t been happy with Christopher after the unexpected success of his lesson. Poor Christopher, he thought.

Armando Dippet stood up. "Now that we are all here –"

Nadine de la Tour, head of Slytherin, swept in. She was a tall, elegant woman in green velvet robes. Without a word, she sat down next to Octavius Malfoy.

"Nice of you to join us," muttered Matthew Seraphim, the head of Gryffindor. Professor de la Tour merely smiled. It was not a pleasant smile.

Dippet cleared his throat, and continued as if nothing had happened. "– now that we are all here, I have some important news to impart to you. As you are no doubt aware, the situation in Europe is desperate, for both magical and Muggle communities. Grindelwald has formed a power base in Germany, and it is likely that he has forged an alliance with the German leader. As Hitler grows stronger and advances, so it is probable that Grindelwald will soon unleash a direct attack on countries that have, until now, resisted his insidious attempts at control. The magical community in Britain has been relatively unscathed until now, although the same cannot be said for the Muggles, but this is unlikely to remain the case."

Amelia Bloom, a small curvy woman with long brown hair leaned forwards. "Is it true that Grindelwald’s followers are hiring themselves out to certain Muggle leaders? As mercenaries, or magical assassins?"

Several members of staff murmured in surprise and horror at this. Quintus himself had heard these rumours several months ago, picking up supplies in Knockturn Alley. Octavius Malfoy did not look surprised, although his eyes glinted sourly.

Dippet sighed. "Sadly, you are correct Amelia. These wizards have the deaths of several thousand Muggles on their consciences – if indeed they possess them. Yet the matter I have called you here to discuss concerns events closer to home. Today, I received an owl from the Ministry, bearing news which will affect us all. It appears that the French school Beauxbatons is no longer secure – several members of staff have been found to have direct links with Grindelwald’s army. Certain Muggle-born students are at risk from both Grindelwald and Hitler. Many parents have withdrawn their children, and are applying for transfers to Durmstrang and the Zurich Academy."

He paused. Albus Dumbledore, the Transfiguration professor and Deputy Head, took up where he left off. "Ten Beauxbatons students have applied to our Ministry for immediate transfer here. Some fled with their families, others have been sent alone."

The staffroom was silent as the teachers contemplated this.

"How will we accommodate them?" asked the head of Slytherin. "Will they be Sorted into our system, or will they remain Beauxbatons students – in Hogwarts, but not of it?"

Lydia Grey was biting her thumbnail. "It might be kinder to allow them to stay together," she said quietly. "Separating them into Houses could cause additional distress."

Nadine de la Tour’s voice was icy cool. "Treating them as we would normal transfer students might provide security in itself. Our students are more likely to accept them if they are Sorted into Houses, instead of remaining separate. They will find it easier to adapt with the help of their housemates."

The Divination teacher’s voice cut through the noise. "Are we voting on this matter?"

Dippet gazed at her. "I think it would be for the best," he replied, unsmiling.

She leaned back in her chair, and glanced around the table. "I am ready," she said.

"Ditto," murmured Professor Seraphim.

Murmurs of assent came from around the table. Only Octavius Malfoy was silent.

"Octavius?" asked Dumbledore politely.

There was the minutest of pauses, then Malfoy replied. "I doubt that their loyalties would lie with their Houses, or with Hogwarts. Sorted or no."

"This isn’t about the House Cup, Malfoy!" Matthew Seraphim exclaimed in disgust. "These children are refugees. There’s a war on – although I’m quite sure you’ve noticed." He emphasized the latter part of his sentence distinctly.

Malfoy’s eyes glinted in cold fury, but he did not reply.

"Are you ready to vote, Octavius?" Dippet asked.

"Yes, yes, let’s get on with it," muttered the Defence against the Dark Arts teacher.

Dippet waved his wand. A large bowl appeared in the centre of the table. In front of each teacher, two little tokens appeared. One had a Y engraved on it, the other an N.

"The Y token should be used if you are in favour of Sorting the new students," Armando Dippet said. "The N token if you are against it. I will not vote, as I will remain impartial. Place your token in the bowl, face down, so no-one can see it"

Quintus mentally rolled his eyes – they weren’t students. He looked down at his tokens, and thought about what the Sorting Hat had said to him. Then he placed the Y token in the bowl.

The silence was broken only by the clinks of the tokens as they connected with the china of the bowl. When the last teacher, Lydia Grey, had voted, Dippet tipped the contents of the bowl onto the table, and turned the tokens face up. The results were clear.

"The Sorting Hat it is, then," announced the Headmaster.