"I bet Malfoy feels as much pressure as I do," Ron said again. "You know, the Malfoys have always been in Slytherin."
Harry thought for a moment and couldn't help laughing.
"What's so funny?" asked Ron, curious.
"Just think about it," Harry said, suppressing his laughter, looking at Ron and Hermione. "Malfoy asks his father, 'Father, what if I get sorted into Slytherin?' And his father would definitely grab his wand and point it at him, saying, 'Draco Malfoy, you'd better be!'"
Hearing Harry's imagination, the two of them burst into laughter.
At that moment, the Sorting Ceremony ended.
Albus Dumbledore stood up, smiling widely at the students, spreading his arms as if nothing pleased him more than seeing them all gathered.
"Welcome!" he said. "Welcome to Hogwarts for the start of the new school year! Before the feast begins, I would like to say a few words — that is: Idiots! Whiners! Trash! Tornadoes!"
"Thank you all!" He sat down again.
Everyone applauded and cheered, even Harry.
If it had been Director Phineas Black, it would probably have taken an hour before they could start eating.
Even though this fifth-year student seemed a bit eccentric — yes, after being schooled by the old man, Harry's perception of Dumbledore had shifted from headmaster to a fifth-year student.
Hmm… an eleven-year-old last-year student and a fifth-year student over a hundred years old — this combination was truly rare.
As soon as Dumbledore sat down, mountains of food appeared on the four long tables: roast beef, roast chicken, pork chops, lamb chops, sausages, steaks, boiled potatoes, baked potatoes, fries, Yorkshire pudding, pea sprouts, carrots, gravy, ketchup, and even mint candies.
Harry used his fork to pick up a piece of steak and placed it on his plate. It was well-done, indicating top-quality meat — he vaguely remembered hearing that the Queen of the Muggles usually ate her steak well-done.
"Looks very good," said the ghost with the ruffled collar, watching Harry cut the steak sadly.
Harry looked up and nodded at the ghost.
"Hello."
He almost said "Sir Nicholas," but held back.
"You seem… familiar," said Sir Nicholas, looking at Harry with a slightly dazed expression. "I feel like I've seen you somewhere before."
Just as Harry thought the ghost was about to recognize him, he slapped his hand. "Now I remember, James Potter! That must be your father, right? You look almost exactly like him!"
"You know my father?" asked Harry, interested.
"Of course, young Mr. Potter. James was one of Gryffindor's best students," said Sir Nicholas with a smile.
"Ah, now I remember! You're Nearly Headless Nick!" shouted Ron, pointing at Sir Nicholas.
"I'd rather be called Sir Nicholas, Minsey," said the ghost, looking a bit uncomfortable.
Seamus Finnigan, with his light brown hair, intervened: "Nearly Headless? How can you be nearly headless?"
Sir Nicholas looked irritated; he clearly didn't want to discuss it.
"Like this," he said impatiently, grabbing his left ear and pulling it down. His head wobbled, falling to his shoulder as if on a hinge.
Apparently, someone hadn't managed to cut him completely, and nearly decapitated Nick seemed to enjoy the shocked expressions of the others.
He popped his head back onto his neck, cleared his throat, and said: "Very well, new Gryffindors! I hope you'll help us win the House Cup this year, okay? Gryffindor hasn't gone so long without a prize, and Slytherin has won six in a row! The Bloody Tomb is simply unbearable — he's the Slytherin ghost."
Harry didn't pay attention to who the Bloody Tomb was, but he turned to look at the teachers' table.
That look was enough to trigger a sudden, sharp pain in the scar on his forehead.
The only time that scar had ever hurt in all these years was when he saw Sebastian use Avada Kedavra on his uncle Solomon Saru.
Veratia was furious. She cast a spell to restrain Sebastian and then used Transfiguration to save Solomon.
Harry, despite the pain, didn't forget to cast Obliviate on Solomon; after all, Uncle Solomon was as irritating as Director Black, and he didn't want his good friend sent to Azkaban like that.
After a while, the pain in his scar subsided.
He covered his forehead so that no one would notice his unusual behavior.
However, Ron noticed that something was wrong. Holding a chicken leg in each hand, he turned to Harry and asked, "Hey, mate, what's wrong? You look a little pale."
"I'm fine," Harry smiled at Ron and then asked Percy, "Percy, who was that professor?"
Percy assumed he was asking about Snape, so he smiled and replied, "That's Professor Snape. He teaches Potions, but he doesn't like giving lessons in that subject — everyone knows he's eyeing Professor Quirrell's position. Snape is a master of the Dark Arts."
Harry wasn't asking about Snape, of course. In fact, Snape had glared at him in the cabin earlier, but the scar didn't hurt.
He added, "No, not Professor Snape. The one next to him wearing a hood, the one who turned and was talking to someone else."
"Ah, that's Professor Quirrell, who teaches Defense Against the Dark Arts," Percy replied. "He used to teach Muggle Studies at Hogwarts, but for some reason suddenly became the DADA teacher. Snape was furious about that and deducted many points from Gryffindor during his lessons."
"Why would Professor Snape get angry and take points from Gryffindor?" Harry still couldn't connect the two.
"The fact that Professor Snape dislikes Gryffindor isn't a secret to anyone at school," Percy shrugged. "Maybe it's because he's from Slytherin? You know, Slytherins always have issues with Gryffindor."
Harry didn't argue. He didn't know how it was now, but a hundred years ago… with Director Black around, Gryffindor and Slytherin had a fairly good relationship.
Harry looked at Snape again and noticed the other man was staring at him as well.
Harry's expression was complex. Perhaps he had a good relationship with his parents? Thinking that, he smiled politely at Snape.
However, Snape only grunted expressionlessly and looked away.
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