Chapter 124

All attention was diverted when Albus Dumbledore stood to his feet. The man was giving a wide, beaming smile, as if just seeing them all sitting there, chattering excitedly, was enough to make him the happiest man alive.

He spread his arms out wide in a grand, welcoming gesture. I thought it made him like Gandalf trying his hand at conducting an orchestra, what with the hair and beard.

"Welcome!" His voice boomed out, every bit as grand as his gestures. "Welcome to another 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!"

While everyone else clapped, I found myself staring at the man with furrowed brows. The headmaster seemed a bit off to me. He reminded me of those animals who look completely harmless, but can be incredibly deadly when you get to close. It made me wonder how much of that 'mad hatter' act was just an act. Or if it was even an act at all.

"He seems to be a bit off his rocker, doesn't he?" I commented to Neville, who looked at me with wide eyes. Maybe he was just surprised I had so blatantly insulted the headmaster by calling him crazy.

"Well, I guess," Neville muttered unsurely. I frowned at the boy. He seemed so unsure of himself. Was this really the heir to the Ancient and Most Noble House of Longbottom? "My Gran always told me Dumbledore is one of the most powerful wizards in the world, but that he's always been a tad... erm, eccentric?"

"I suppose that's a good word to describe him," I concurred. Eccentric definitely described Dumbledore well, from what I had seen so far. Most geniuses are like that. Being so mad is what also makes them so brilliant, or at least that's how it is in some of the fiction novels I've read.

My mind was brought out of my reverie when a delectable scent invaded my nose. I turned my head to see a veritable feast sitting on the once empty dishes on the table. There was a lot more variety than I had ever seen; 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. Most of the food I noticed consisted of meat. And as I piled food onto my plate, I wondered if I could somehow convince the chefs here to make some foreign foods. I've always had a thing for Italian and French foods.

As I began to eat my meal with the poise and grace Andromeda instilled into me, a ghost floated toward where Neville and I were sitting.

"Oh but that does look good," he said sadly, and I could have sworn drool was coming out of his mouth.

"I take it ghosts aren't able to eat?" It was something of a stupid question, but I couldn't keep myself from asking. I was curious, and this was the first time I had ever had the chance to speak with a spirit.

"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 introduced myself? Sir Nicholas de Mimsy-Porpington at your service. Resident ghost of Gryffindor Tower."

"Four-hundred years is an awfully long time," I murmured, trying to imagine what it would feel like to be a ghost for that long. I couldn't, or maybe I simply didn't want to. The idea of being a disembodied spirit, incapable of interacting physically with the rest of the world but always there in the background bothered me more than I cared to admit. I changed the subject. "How did you become a ghost?"

"Ah, well, you see, I was wandering through a park one night, when I ran into Lady Grieve, a lady-in-waiting in King Henry's court. She was so confident that I could straighten her crooked teeth that I simply couldn't say no. As it turns out, I couldn't straighten her teeth. My efforts backfired. She grew tusks, and I was executed the following morning by an improper decapitation."

I raised an eyebrow at the story. I knew about King Henry VII who had seized the crown in 1485, but I did not know this tidbit of information. Then again, it was probably something the wizards at the time had tried to cover up.

"What do you mean 'improper decapitation?'" I asked.

In response to my question, Nicholas grabbed his head and yanked on it. Many people 'ewwed' as flesh muscle and bone parted from each other until the man's head was hanging to his neck by a small sinew of flesh. I found myself blinking as I got a perfect view of the third cervical bone in the spine and the meaty muscles around it. It was a very grim and disgusting sight.

"That's why we call him 'Nearly Headless Nick,'" one of the twins said. Fred, I believe.

"I prefer to be called Sir Nicholas de Mimsy-Porpington," Nicholas said haughtily. I got the feeling this was a very sore subject for him. That nickname was probably something he had been dealing with for hundreds of years. I actually felt kind of sorry for him.

He perked up a moment later, thankfully, and coughed into his hand.

"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."

I turned my eyes towards the Slytherin table and saw the ghost in question. He had blank eyes, a gaunt face, and his robes were stained silver with blood. I wondered at this. Was that his own blood or someone else's? The ghost was sitting right next to Malfoy, who looked incredibly uncomfortable by the ghost's proximity.

"How did he get covered in blood?" asked Seamus with great interest.

"I've never asked," said Nearly Headless Nick delicately.

Once everyone had finished eating, the plates cleaned themselves to a sparkling shine, as if they had never been dirtied in the first place. I was impressed. The magic didn't look like much compared to some of the things I had heard of, but it would be incredibly useful to learn. It would also save me time when I cleaned the dishes at the Dursley's.

A moment later desserts appeared on the table. 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 and many other flavours I had never heard of. I took some of the treacle tart and began pondering the intricacies of the magic they used to summon the food here, trying to come up with a viable theory for how such a summoning would work.

While I began making theories on magically creating a wormhole within the fabrics of reality to summon food through, the other students began talking about their families

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