Chapter 13: Sorting and Feasting
"Harry's a destined Gryffindor," Ryan said, addressing the Ravenclaws who were still staring at him. "I met him in Diagon Alley over the summer and gave him the prophecy already. If you're interested, you can go ask him about it yourselves."
"Why should we have to ask Harry?"
"Come on, Ryan, just tell us now~" a younger girl wheedled, trying to use her charm.
"Harry grew up in the Muggle world, without any wizard friends," Ryan explained smoothly. "He could use a bit of kindness and support. Besides, wouldn't it be nice to be friends with the Savior of the Wizarding World?"
"I suppose," a few Ravenclaws conceded, accepting his logic.
In reality, Ryan had completely forgotten the specific nonsense he'd spun for Harry. He was terrified that Harry would remember his fabricated prophecy word-for-word and he'd have no way to backtrack. Seeing that his reputation remained intact, Ryan flashed a confident smile.
Penelope Clearwater watched him, her eyes narrowing thoughtfully.
Once the Sorting Hat was on Harry's head, the Great Hall fell into a hushed silence, even at the normally boisterous Ravenclaw table. It was a buzzing, expectant quiet, like water about to boil. The surface was calm, with only a few bubbles, but everyone knew it was about to erupt.
Then the Hat screamed, "GRYFFINDOR!"
The water boiled over.
The Great Hall exploded with thunderous applause. The cheers from the Gryffindor table were particularly deafening. Ryan could hear someone yelling, "We got Potter! We got Potter!"
He caught Percy Weasley's eye across the hall. Percy also rose to his feet to welcome Harry. Unfortunately, he lacked Ryan's clout in his own House, or perhaps it was because his two troublemaking younger brothers were always undermining him, but few other Gryffindors followed his lead.
Harry stumbled to his seat, his hands and feet not quite obeying him. He looked up and saw Ryan at the Ravenclaw table, raising a goblet to him with a smile.
Suddenly, his nerves calmed.
He glanced up at the head table and saw Hagrid giving him a beaming thumbs-up. He also recognized Dumbledore, who looked just like his portraits, and Professor Quirrell, who looked just as gloomy and was wearing the same purple turban he'd had in the Leaky Cauldron.
A few moments later, a trembling Ron finally heard the word "Gryffindor," let out a huge sigh of relief, and collapsed into the seat next to Harry.
Dumbledore stood up. "Welcome! 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!" And with that, amidst the students' applause, he declared, "Let the feast begin!"
In an instant, the empty plates before them were piled high with a magnificent feast.
"Ryan, what do you think the Headmaster meant by those four words?" Penelope asked, piling her plate with roast beef and gravy-covered mashed potatoes.
"Hogwarts has four houses, and the Headmaster said four words," Ryan explained, mixing a large portion of roast meat and mashed potatoes together before dousing it with tomato and meat sauces. He then added a fragrant, glistening pork chop and a slice of steak to his plate.
Penelope's delicate, arched eyebrows furrowed. "So, you're saying each word corresponds to a house…"
"Well," she mused, "from our perspective, the other houses can seem like nitwits."
"Hufflepuffs, always good-natured and friendly, might sometimes see the rest of us as a bit tweak-ish, or uptight."
"Gryffindors probably think the rest of us are cowards, always blubbering."
"And as for the Slytherins, well, they probably think everyone else is an oddment, a leftover, and that only pure-bloods are true wizards." Penelope shot a disgusted look at the Slytherin table. As a Muggle-born witch, she had received her fair share of hostility from them.
Ryan glanced at her. "A child's mindset is always shaped by their environment," he said calmly. "You can't expect them to treat all wizards as equals when they've grown up in those pure-blood families."
"All we can do is give as good as we get. An eye for an eye. That's how we can gradually change their views."
"It means their families, their parents, are no good!" Penelope huffed, stabbing a piece of beef on her plate with her fork.
Ryan just smiled and shook his head, saying nothing more. He didn't disagree with her; in fact, he agreed wholeheartedly. But he also understood the history. A generation ago, the pure-blood families, steeped in their traditions, had met a pre-disfigurement Voldemort, whose charisma was off the charts. It was like striking a match in a room full of dry tinder. Even normal wizards had been drawn to Voldemort in his youth, let alone the pure-bloods obsessed with restoring their former glory. They had been deeply influenced, and had then passed those beliefs down to their own children.
To be honest, Ryan almost pitied this generation of Slytherins. From birth, their minds hadn't been their own, occupied instead by outdated, toxic, leftover ideas. It just went to show, if you didn't know how to raise children properly, you shouldn't try. Sending them to Hogwarts to be properly educated would have been a far better option. Unfortunately, most parents didn't realize that, and the ones who did were usually successful and brilliant parents to begin with.
"Is that all you're eating? Won't you be hungry?" Ryan asked. He noticed Penelope hesitating, her fingers tracing the rim of her plate as she debated whether to get more food.
"It's okay, eat up. You won't bankrupt Hogwarts," he joked, piling another pork chop onto his own plate. It couldn't be helped; fifteen and sixteen were the years a growing boy could eat his parents out of house and home. Perhaps magic played a part, as young wizards at this age had notoriously large appetites.
Penelope rolled her eyes at him. "Idiot. Girls have to watch their figures."
Ryan looked her up and down. Meeting his gaze, Penelope deliberately twisted her slender waist, puffed out her chest, and elegantly ran a hand through her hair. He had to admit, she was stunning. With a graceful, willowy figure, a beautiful face with sharp features, and smooth, fair skin, she was a true beauty. Combined with her quick wit and intelligent conversation, she was the dream girl of many of her peers.
Ryan nodded, then shook his head. "Ravenclaw requires a sharp mind. You shouldn't worry about things like your figure. Even if you ate until you were round as a barrel, you could just down a potion to fix it later."
The moment the words left his mouth, he heard a collective sharp intake of breath from the students sitting nearby, a significant contribution to global warming. Before he could ask what was wrong, he saw Penelope's expression freeze. The hand in her hair twitched, and she accidentally yanked out a small strand.
"What's wrong? Why are you pulling your hair out?" he asked with genuine concern. "Should I get Madam Pomfrey?"
"No! No, I'm fine. I'm perfectly fine," Penelope said, her smile so forced it was practically a grimace. She slammed her plate down on the table with a clatter.
Ryan could only shrug, assuming it was just that time of the month, and went back to piling more food on his plate. Under the awestruck and borderline reverent gazes of his fellow Ravenclaws, he found that his appetite had improved even more.
Indeed, he thought to himself, being publicly revered is excellent for one's psychological well-being.