The Sorting continued amid lingering excitement from the fireworks display. One by one, nervous first-years crossed the hall and took their places beneath the ancient Sorting Hat. Cheers erupted from the house tables as new students joined their respective houses. The enchanted ceiling glittered overhead with countless stars while candlelight danced across polished goblets and golden plates. The atmosphere had transformed from nervous anticipation into celebration. New friendships were already beginning to form. Older students welcomed younger ones into their house communities. The enormous Hogwarts crest Mira had created still shimmered faintly above the hall, slowly dissolving into silver sparks. The castle felt alive with possibility.
Mira sat quietly among the Slytherins, looking entirely innocent.
Which, unfortunately for anyone who knew her well, was often a warning sign.
Earlier that evening, shortly before going to the Great Hall, she had discreetly enlisted assistance from several enthusiastic Hogwarts house-elves. The elves adored Mira. Unlike many witches and wizards, she treated them with kindness, respect, and genuine appreciation. Therefore, when she had quietly explained a harmless prank involving a reverse whoopee cushion and a certain overly dramatic celebrity professor, several elves had nearly fallen over themselves volunteering to help. The enchanted device had been placed with surgical precision upon a particular chair at the staff table. Mira had stressed repeatedly that nobody would be embarrassed beyond a moment of harmless confusion. The elves had agreed wholeheartedly. One elderly house-elf had even declared the plan "very educational."
Beside Mira, Draco was doing his best not to smirk.
He knew.
Theo knew.
Daphne knew.
Blaise knew.
Unfortunately, knowing about one of Mira's pranks often created its own challenges.
Specifically, trying not to laugh before the prank actually happened.
Blaise had already failed twice.
Theo kept pretending to read the menu carved into his goblet.
Daphne avoided looking toward the staff table entirely.
Draco was focusing on a nearby candle with remarkable intensity.
Neville remained blissfully unaware.
Luna appeared to suspect something but hadn't asked.
At the staff table, Gilderoy Lockhart looked thoroughly pleased with himself.
The famous author sat near Dumbledore, smiling at virtually everyone.
His dazzling teeth seemed to reflect every candle in the hall simultaneously. Every few moments he would adjust his robes, straighten his posture, or flash another practiced smile toward the students. Several younger students appeared impressed. Older students looked somewhat less convinced. Snape, seated several chairs away, looked as though prolonged exposure to Lockhart might qualify as a health hazard. McGonagall maintained her usual professionalism. Flitwick appeared amused. Sprout looked politely patient. Dumbledore, meanwhile, seemed perfectly content to let events unfold naturally.
Eventually the final first-year was sorted.
Applause echoed throughout the hall.
Professor McGonagall rolled up the parchment.
The Sorting Hat was removed.
The traditional feast had not yet begun.
Instead, Dumbledore rose slowly from his chair.
The hall quieted almost immediately.
Thousands of eyes turned toward the Headmaster.
His robes shimmered softly beneath the candlelight.
The old wizard smiled warmly at the gathered students.
"Welcome," Dumbledore began, his voice carrying effortlessly throughout the hall. "Welcome to another year at Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry."
The students applauded.
Dumbledore waited patiently.
His eyes twinkled.
"As always, there are a few announcements before we begin our feast."
Groans and laughter spread through the hall.
Dumbledore chuckled.
"Firstly, I would like to congratulate our newest students upon their sorting."
More applause followed.
The first-years beamed.
The older students cheered.
The atmosphere remained warm and celebratory.
Then Dumbledore continued.
"And secondly..."
A slight pause.
"I would like to introduce our new Defense Against the Dark Arts professor."
Immediately, numerous students became interested.
Whispers spread.
Harry and Ron, seated at Gryffindor, looked particularly curious.
Mira lowered her gaze toward her goblet.
Draco bit the inside of his cheek.
Theo suddenly became fascinated by the ceiling.
Daphne pressed her lips together.
Blaise looked seconds away from disaster.
Dumbledore spread his arms grandly.
"Please welcome Professor Gilderoy Lockhart."
The hall applauded politely.
Lockhart positively glowed.
This was his moment.
His stage.
His audience.
His smile widened.
He rose magnificently from his chair.
And then—
PFFFFFFFFFFFFFFFT!
The sound echoed across the Great Hall.
Loud.
Clear.
Unmistakable.
A perfect fart noise.
For one glorious second, nobody moved.
Nobody breathed.
Nobody seemed capable of processing what had just happened.
Lockhart froze halfway through standing.
His smile remained in place.
Barely.
The silence stretched.
One second.
Two seconds.
Three.
Then a first-year Hufflepuff snorted.
That was all it took.
The hall exploded.
Laughter erupted from every table.
Students doubled over.
Several nearly fell from their benches.
The Weasley twins immediately buried their faces in the table to hide their hysterics. Percy looked horrified. Neville choked on air. Ginny laughed so hard she nearly spilled her pumpkin juice. Even some first-years who didn't entirely understand what had happened found themselves laughing simply because everyone else was. The noise rolled through the hall like a tidal wave. Hundreds of students struggled unsuccessfully to regain composure.
Lockhart stood frozen.
His face had gone bright red.
"No, no," he stammered. "That wasn't—"
PFFT!
The chair produced another smaller noise.
The hall erupted again.
Someone at the Ravenclaw table actually fell off their bench.
Luna blinked thoughtfully, "The chair appears to be communicating."
That somehow made it worse.
Students laughed harder.
At the staff table, Professor Flitwick was hiding behind his goblet. Professor Sprout had both hands covering her mouth. McGonagall appeared engaged in the greatest battle of self-control in her professional career. Even Dumbledore's beard trembled suspiciously. Only Snape remained completely motionless. Yet those who knew him best noticed something unusual. The corners of his mouth had moved. Very slightly. Barely noticeable. But unmistakably there.
Mira stared straight ahead.
Perfectly composed.
Perfectly innocent.
Her expression never changed.
Not once.
Inside, however, she was fighting for survival.
The prank had worked better than expected.
The reverse whoopee cushion had triggered at precisely the right moment.
She briefly wondered which house-elf deserved the most credit.
Probably all of them.
Across the table, Draco refused to look at her.
Because if he did, he would laugh.
Theo was studying his goblet with intense concentration.
Daphne's shoulders were shaking suspiciously.
Blaise had surrendered entirely and was openly laughing.
Eventually Dumbledore raised one hand.
The laughter slowly began to settle.
Though occasional snickers still echoed throughout the hall.
Lockhart cautiously glanced at his chair.
The chair remained innocent.
Or appeared innocent.
Dumbledore smiled kindly, "Thank you, Professor Lockhart."
More laughter.
Lockhart sat down immediately.
Very carefully.
The chair remained silent.
For now.
The professor looked deeply suspicious of furniture.
And as the feast finally began, students throughout Hogwarts knew one thing with absolute certainty.
The new Defense Against the Dark Arts professor had made a memorable first impression.
Just not the one he had intended.
The welcoming feast eventually came to an end, though the laughter inspired by Professor Lockhart's unfortunate introduction lingered long afterward. Students departed for their common rooms in clusters, still exchanging theories about what had happened. Some blamed Peeves. Others suspected Fred and George Weasley. A few first-years were already turning the incident into increasingly ridiculous stories involving cursed furniture and angry poltergeists. The Great Hall gradually emptied until only the staff remained seated at the long table beneath the floating candles. The enchanted ceiling had darkened further, revealing a sky filled with stars. Plates vanished with soft pops of magic. Goblets refilled one final time before disappearing as well. Silence slowly settled over the hall, broken only by the occasional crackle of enchanted candle flames.
Unfortunately for Gilderoy Lockhart, the silence only made his embarrassment feel more noticeable.
The new Defense Against the Dark Arts professor sat stiffly in his chair, his famous smile nowhere to be seen. He had spent the entire feast attempting to recover his dignity. The effort had achieved mixed results. Every time he thought the matter had been forgotten, he would catch sight of Professor Flitwick suddenly looking away from him while trying not to laugh. Professor Sprout wasn't much better. Even several portraits along the walls seemed suspiciously amused. Lockhart had spent years carefully crafting his public image. Brave adventurer. Charming celebrity. Accomplished hero. None of those descriptions paired particularly well with what had happened in front of the entire student body. His mood darkened every time he remembered the sound echoing through the hall.
"I fail to see what was amusing about it," Lockhart finally declared.
His voice echoed slightly in the mostly empty hall.
McGonagall adjusted her glasses.
Flitwick coughed suspiciously.
Sprout stared very hard at her teacup.
Dumbledore folded his hands together.
Lockhart looked around the table.
Surely someone would agree with him.
Surely.
"It was clearly an attack on a member of staff."
That statement produced several interesting reactions.
Flitwick nearly choked.
Sprout made a strangled noise.
McGonagall lowered her head.
Snape slowly looked up from his goblet.
The Potions Master's expression remained perfectly neutral.
Which was usually a dangerous sign.
"An attack?" Snape repeated.
His voice carried the smooth, dangerous calm of someone examining a particularly foolish statement.
Lockhart straightened.
"Precisely."
Snape stared at him.
For a long moment.
Then another.
The silence stretched.
Lockhart began to feel uncomfortable.
Not because Snape looked angry.
Because he looked unimpressed.
There was a difference.
A significant one.
Finally Snape spoke, "It made a farting noise."
Lockhart blinked.
The bluntness seemed to catch him off guard.
Across the table, Flitwick immediately lowered his head again.
His shoulders were shaking.
"It humiliated me in front of the entire school!" Lockhart retorted.
Snape took a sip from his goblet, "It made a farting noise."
Lockhart opened his mouth.
Then closed it.
Then opened it again.
"It was clearly intended to undermine my authority." Lockhart accused.
"Professor Lockhart," Snape said, "the first-years spent most of the evening discussing the fireworks display and the sorting. The older students spent the remainder debating whether the chair had malfunctioned."
A pause.
"Your authority remains intact."
Another pause.
"Assuming it existed to begin with."
McGonagall abruptly developed a coughing fit.
Dumbledore's eyes twinkled.
Lockhart looked deeply offended.
Professor Sprout decided this would be an excellent moment to examine a bread roll.
The conversation might have ended there had Dumbledore not chuckled softly.
The sound immediately drew everyone's attention.
The Headmaster's blue eyes sparkled behind his half-moon spectacles.
"I confess," he admitted, "the timing was rather impressive."
Lockhart stared, "Dumbledore!"
"It was." The old wizard looked entirely unrepentant, "The precision alone suggests considerable magical skill."
Snape's eyes narrowed slightly.
That observation had occurred to him as well.
Whoever had orchestrated the prank had done so without visible spellcasting. No wand had been raised. No incantation had been spoken. The enchantment had activated at precisely the right moment. Most students lacked the magical control necessary for such a feat. Snape's thoughts briefly drifted toward a particular silver-haired Slytherin. He suppressed a sigh. Some mysteries were not particularly mysterious.
McGonagall eventually composed herself enough to speak.
"Regardless of who was responsible," she said carefully, "it was ultimately harmless."
Lockhart looked betrayed, "Harmless?"
"Yes." McGonagall stated.
"It embarrassed me." Lockhart retorted.
"It embarrassed you temporarily." McGonagall's lips twitched, "Which is rather different."
Flitwick finally gave up entirely and laughed.
The tiny Charms professor covered his face.
"I'm sorry," he wheezed. "I truly am."
That only made it worse.
Lockhart looked as though he had wandered into hostile territory.
Professor Sprout smiled kindly, "There are far worse first impressions."
Lockhart appeared unconvinced.
Snape leaned back in his chair.
His dark eyes reflected the candlelight.
For a moment he considered leaving the conversation entirely.
Then he decided against it.
Mostly because Lockhart's reaction was becoming increasingly ridiculous.
"It was harmless fun." Snape admitted.
The words immediately drew attention.
Lockhart looked astonished.
McGonagall looked thoughtful.
Dumbledore smiled.
Snape continued before anyone could interrupt.
"No property was damaged."
A pause.
"No student was harmed."
Another pause.
"No professor was harmed."
His gaze settled on Lockhart.
"A brief injury to one's pride does not constitute a catastrophe."
The Great Hall fell quiet.
Lockhart looked thoroughly dissatisfied.
Yet there was little he could say.
Because despite everything, Snape was correct.
No one had been harmed.
The prank had lasted seconds.
The students had laughed.
Then the feast had continued.
The world had not ended.
Dumbledore eventually rose from his chair.
The movement signaled the end of the evening.
"I believe," he said warmly, "that we have all survived the experience."
Flitwick laughed again.
Sprout smiled.
McGonagall shook her head.
Snape stood and gathered his robes.
Lockhart remained seated for a moment longer, still looking annoyed.
As the professors began departing the Great Hall, Snape paused briefly beside Dumbledore.
"You know who did it."
It wasn't a question.
Dumbledore's eyes twinkled.
"I have a suspicion."
"So do I."
The two exchanged a look.
Neither spoke the name aloud.
They didn't need to.
Far above the Great Hall, in the Slytherin dormitories, in the Serpent's Wing, Mira Silverthorne was likely preparing for bed completely unaware that several professors were discussing her latest act of harmless mischief.
Or at least pretending to be unaware.
And somewhere deep within Hogwarts Castle, a few particularly pleased house-elves were probably still congratulating themselves on a prank well executed.
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