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as "Zabini, Blaise," was made a Slytherin. Professor McGonagall rolled
up her scroll and took the Sorting Hat away.
Harry looked down at his empty gold plate. He had only just realized how
hungry he was. The pumpkin pasties seemed ages ago.
Albus Dumbledore had gotten to his feet. He was beaming at the students,
his arms opened wide, as if nothing could have pleased him more than to
see them all there.
"Welcome," he said. "Welcome to a new year at Hogwarts! Before we begin
our banquet, I would like to say a few words. And here they are: Nitwit!
Blubber! Oddment! Tweak!
"Thank you!"
He sat back down. Everybody clapped and cheered. Harry didn't know
whether to laugh or not.
"Is he -- a bit mad?" he asked Percy uncertainly.
"Mad?" said Percy airily. "He's a genius! Best wizard in the world! But
he is a bit mad, yes. Potatoes, Harry?"
Harry's mouth fell open. The dishes in front of him were now piled with
food. He had never seen so many things he liked to eat on one table:
roast beef, roast chicken, pork chops and lamb chops, sausages, bacon
and steak, boiled potatoes, roast potatoes, fries, Yorkshire pudding,
peas, carrots, gravy, ketchup, and, for some strange reason, peppermint
humbugs.
The Dursleys had never exactly starved Harry, but he'd never been
allowed to eat as much as he liked. Dudley had always taken anything
that Harry really wanted, even if It made him sick. Harry piled his
plate with a bit of everything except the peppermints and began to eat.
It was all delicious.
"That does look good," said the ghost in the ruff sadly, watching Harry
cut up his steak,
"Can't you --?"
I haven't eaten for nearly four hundred years," said the ghost. "I don't
need to, of course, but one does miss it. I don't think I've in troduced
myself? Sir Nicholas de Mimsy-Porpington at your service. Resident ghost
of Gryffindor Tower."
"I know who you are!" said Ron suddenly. "My brothers told me about you
-- you're Nearly Headless Nick!"
"I would prefer you to call me Sir Nicholas de Mimsy --" the ghost began
stiffly, but sandy-haired Seamus Finnigan interrupted.
"Nearly Headless? How can you be nearly headless?"
Sir Nicholas looked extremely miffed, as if their little chat wasn't
going at all the way he wanted.
"Like this," he said irritably. He seized his left ear and pulled. His
whole head swung off his neck and fell onto his shoulder as if it was on
a hinge. Someone had obviously tried to behead him, but not done it
properly. Looking pleased at the stunned looks on their faces, Nearly
Headless Nick flipped his head back onto his neck, coughed, and said,
"So -- new Gryffindors! I hope you're going to help us win the house
championship this year? Gryffindors have never gone so long without
winning. Slytherins have got the cup six years in a row! The Bloody
Baron's becoming almost unbearable -- he's the Slytherin ghost."
Harry looked over at the Slytherin table and saw a horrible ghost
sitting there, with blank staring eyes, a gaunt face, and robes stained
with silver blood. He was right next to Malfoy who, Harry was pleased to
see, didn't look too pleased with the seating arrangements.
"How did he get covered in blood?" asked Seamus with great interest.
"I've never asked," said Nearly Headless Nick delicately.
When everyone had eaten as much as they could, the remains of the food
faded from the plates, leaving them sparkling clean as before. A moment
later the desserts appeared. Blocks of ice cream in every flavor you
could think of, apple pies, treacle tarts, chocolate eclairs and jam
doughnuts, trifle, strawberries, Jell-O, rice pudding -- "
As Harry helped himself to a treacle tart, the talk turned to their
families.
"I'm half-and-half," said Seamus. "Me dad's a Muggle. Mom didn't tell
him she was a witch 'til after they were married. Bit of a nasty shock
for him."
The others laughed.
"What about you, Neville?" said Ron.
"Well, my gran brought me up and she's a witch," said Neville, "but the
family thought I was all- Muggle for ages. My Great Uncle Algie kept
trying to catch me off my guard and force some magic out of me -- he
pushed me off the end of Blackpool pier once, I nearly drowned -- but
nothing happened until I was eight. Great Uncle Algie came round for
dinner, and he was hanging me out of an upstairs window by the ankles
when my Great Auntie Enid offered him a meringue and he accidentally let
go. But I bounced -- all the way down the garden and into the road. They
were all really pleased, Gran was crying, she was so happy. And you
should have seen their faces when I got in here -- they thought I might
not be magic enough to come, you see. Great Uncle Algie was so pleased
he bought me my toad."
On Harry's other side, Percy Weasley and Hermione were talking about
lessons ("I do hope they start right away, there's so much to learn, I'm
particularly interested in Transfiguration, you know, turning something
into something else, of course, it's supposed to be very difficult-";
"You'll be starting small, just matches into needles and that sort of
thing -- ").
Harry, who was starting to feel warm and sleepy, looked up at
the High Table again. Hagrid was drinking deeply from his goblet.
Professor McGonagall was talking to Professor Dumbledore. Professor
Quirrell, in his absurd turban, was talking to a teacher with greasy
black hair, a hooked nose, and sallow skin.
It happened very suddenly. The hook-nosed teacher looked past Quirrell's
turban straight into Harry's eyes -- and a sharp, hot pain shot across
the scar on Harry's forehead.
"Ouch!" Harry clapped a hand to his head.
"What is it?" asked Percy.
"N-nothing."
The pain had gone as quickly as it had come. Harder to shake off was the
feeling Harry had gotten from the teacher's look -- a feeling that he
didn't like Harry at all.