The evidence of his aging years ever present as his old bones creaked upon the walk to the staff dias, Headmaster Winterbottom was one of the last to arrive but far before the sorting ceremony began. He would never miss the opportunity to see all those wonderful children learn where they would be calling home for the next seven years.

“A fine evening for an ancient tradition” he greeted his fellow Professors as he settled into the tallest seat at the center of the table. His beady eyes peered through the glasses perched on his nose to scan over the gathered students, a jovial chuckle escaping his lips at the sight of some rather bold fashion choices from his seventh years. “I do sincerely hope that this is self-inflicted and not a rare magical disease we need to be concerned about” he directed towards Ean and Apollonia who seemed to have the situation under hand.

As for the rest of his faculty, how about one of his infamous dad jokes to start the proceedings? “Tell me, why were so many potions discarded at the beginning of the year?” Which would’ve sounded like an accusation if it wasn’t for the laughing tone accompanying his words.