 Dennis Creevey, beaming widely,
took off the hat, placed it back on the stool, and hurried over to join his brother.
"Colin, I fell in!" he said shrilly, throwing himself into an empty seat. "It was
brilliant! And something in the water grabbed me and pushed me back in the
boat!"
"Cool!" said Colin, just as excitedly. "It was probably the giant squid, Dennis!"
"Wow!" said Dennis, as though nobody in their wildest dreams could hope for
more than being thrown into a storm-tossed, fathoms-deep lake, and pushed out of
it again by a giant sea monster.
"Dennis! Dennis! See that boy down there? The one with the black hair and
glasses? See him? Know who he is, Dennis?"
Harry looked away, staring very hard at the Sorting Hat, now Sorting Emma
Dobbs.
The Sorting continued; boys and girls with varying degrees of fright on their faces
moving one by one to the three-legged stool, the line dwindling slowly as
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Professor McGonagall passed the L's.
"Oh hurry up," Ron moaned, massaging his stomach.
"Now, Ron, the Sorting's much more important than food," said Nearly Headless
Nick as "Madley, Laura!" became a Hufflepuff.
"Course it is, if you're dead," snapped Ron.
"I do hope this year's batch of Gryffindors are up to scratch," said Nearly Headless
Nick, applauding as "McDonald, Natalie!" joined the Gryffindor table. "We don't
want to break our winning streak, do we?"
Gryffindor had won the Inter-House Championship for the last three years in a
row.
"Pritchard, Graham!"
"SLYTHERIN!"
"Quirke, Orla!"
"RAVENCLAW!"
And finally, with "Whitby, Kevin!" ("HUFFLEPUFF!"), the Sorting ended.
Professor McGonagall picked up the hat and the stool and carried them away.
"About time," said Ron, seizing his knife and fork and looking expectantly at his
golden plate.
Professor Dumbledore had gotten to his feet. He was smiling around at the
students, his arms opened wide in welcome.
"I have only two words to say to you," he told them, his deep voice echoing
around the Hall. "Tuck in."
"Hear, hear!" said Harry and Ron loudly as the empty dishes filled magically
before their eyes.
Nearly Headless Nick watched mournfully as Harry, Ron, and Hermione loaded
their own plates.
"Aaah, 'at's be'er," said Ron, with his mouth full of mashed potato.
"You're lucky there's a feast at all tonight, you know," said Nearly Headless Nick.
"There was trouble in the kitchens earlier."
"Why? Wha' 'appened?" said Harry, through a sizable chunk of steak.
"Peeves, of course," said Nearly Headless Nick, shaking his head, which wobbled
dangerously. He pulled his ruff a little higher up on his neck. "The usual argument,
you know. He wanted to attend the feast - well, it's quite out of the question, you
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know what he's like, utterly uncivilized, can't see a plate of food without throwing
it. We held a ghost's council - the Fat Friar was all for giving him the chance - but
most wisely, in my opinion, the Bloody Baron put his foot down."
The Bloody Baron was the Slytherin ghost, a gaunt and silent specter covered in
silver bloodstains. He was the only person at Hogwarts who could really control
Peeves.
"Yeah, we thought Peeves seemed hacked off about something," said Ron darkly.
"So what did he do in the kitchens?"
"Oh the usual," said Nearly Headless Nick, shrugging. "Wreaked havoc and
mayhem. Pots and pans everywhere. Place swimming in soup. Terrified the houseelves
out of their wits--"
Clang.
Hermione had knocked over her golden goblet. Pumpkin juice spread steadily over
the tablecloth, staining several feet of white linen orange, but Hermione paid no
attention.
"There are house-elves here?" she said, staring, horror-struck, at Nearly Headless
Nick. "Here at Hogwarts?"
"Certainly," said Nearly Headless Nick, looking surprised at her reaction. "The
largest number in any dwelling in Britain, I believe. Over a hundred."
"I've never seen one!" said Hermione.
"Well, they hardly ever leave the kitchen by day, do they?" said Nearly Headless
Nick. "They come out at night to do a bit of cleaning.. . see to the fires and so on..
. . I mean, you're not supposed to see them, are you? That's the mark of a good
house-elf, isn't it, that you don't know it's there?"
Hermione stared at him.
"But they get paid?" she said. "They get holidays, don't they? And - and sick leave,
and pensions, and everything?"
Nearly Headless Nick chortled so much that his ruff slipped and his head flopped
off, dangling on the inch or so of ghostly skin and muscle that still attached it to
his neck.
"Sick leave and pensions?" he said, pushing his head back onto his shoulders and
securing it once more with his ruff. "House-elves don't want sick leave and
pensions!"
Hermione looked down at her hardly touched plate of food, then put her knife and
fork down upon it and pushed it away from her.
"Oh c'mon, 'Er-my-knee," said Ron, accidentally spraying Harry with bits of
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Yorkshire pudding. "Oops -- sorry, 'Arry --" He swallowed. "You won't get them
sick leave by starving yourself!"
"Slave labor," said Hermione, breathing hard through her nose. "That's what made
this dinner. Slave labor."
And she refused to eat another bite.
The rain was still drumming heavily against the high, dark glass. Another clap of
thunder shook the windows, and the stormy ceiling flashed, illuminating the
golden plates as the remains of the first course vanished and were replaced,
instantly, with puddings.
"Treacle tart, Hermione!" said Ron, deliberately wafting its smell toward her.
"Spotted dick, look! Chocolate gateau!"
But Hermione gave him a look so reminiscent of Professor McGonagall that he
gave up.
When the puddings too had been demolished, and the last crumbs had faded off
the plates, leaving them sparkling clean, Albus Dumbledore got to his feet again.
The buzz of chatter filling the Hall ceased almost at once, so that only the howling
wind and pounding rain could be heard.
"So!" said Dumbledore, smiling around at them all. "Now that we are all fed and
watered," ("Hmph!" said Hermione) "I must once more ask for your attention,
while I give out a few notices.
"Mr. Filch, the caretaker, has asked me to tell you that the list of objects forbidden
inside the castle has this year been extended to include Screaming Yo-yos, Fanged
Frisbees, and Ever-Bashing Boomerangs. The full list comprises some four
hundred and thirty-seven items, I believe, and can be viewed in Mr. Filch's office,
if anybody would like to check it."
The corners of Dumbledore's mouth twitched. He continued, "As ever, I would
like to remind you all that the forest on the grounds is out-of-bounds to students,
as is the village of Hogsmeade to all below third year.
"It is also my painful duty to inform you that the Inter-House Quidditch Cup will
not take place this year."
"What?" Harry gasped. He looked around at Fred and George, his fellow members
of the Quidditch team. They were mouthing soundlessly at Dumbledore,
apparently too appalled to speak. Dumbhedore went on, "This is due to an event
that will be starting in October, and continuing throughout the school year, taking
up much of the teachers' time and energy - but I am sure you will all enjoy it
immensely. I have great pleasure in announcing that this year at Hogwarts -"
But at that moment, there was a deafening rumble of thunder and the doors of the
Great Hall banged open.
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A man stood in the doorway, leaning upon a long staff, shrouded in a black
traveling cloak. Every head in the Great Hall swiveled toward the stranger,
suddenly brightly illuminated by a fork of lightning that flashed across the ceiling.
He lowered his hood, shook out a long mane of grizzled, dark gray hair, then
began to walk up toward the teachers' table.
A dull clunk echoed through the Hall on his every other step. He reached the end
of the top table, turned right, and limped heavily toward Dumbledore. Another
flash of lightning crossed the ceiling. Hermione gasped.
The lightning had thrown the man's face into sharp relief, and it was a face unlike
any Harry had ever seen. It looked as though it had been carved out of weathered
wood by someone who had only the vaguest idea of what human faces are
supposed to look like, and was none too skilled with a chisel. Every inch of skin
seemed to be scarred. The mouth looked like a diagonal gash, and a large chunk of
the nose was missing. But it was the man's eyes that made him frightening.
One of them was small, dark, and beady. The other was large, round as a coin, and
a vivid, electric blue. The blue eye was moving ceaselessly, without blinking, and
was rolling up, down, and from side to side, quite independently of the normal eye
- and then it rolled right over, pointing into the back of the man's head, so that all
they could see was whiteness.
The stranger reached Dumbledore. He stretched out a hand that was as badly
scarred as his face, and Dumbhedore shook it, muttering words Harry couldn't
hear. He seemed to be making some inquiry of the stranger, who shook his head
unsmilingly and replied in an undertone. Dumbledore nodded and gestured the
man to the empty seat on his right-hand side.
The stranger sat down, shook his mane of dark gray hair out of his face, pulled a
plate of sausages toward him, raised it to what was left of his nose, and sniffed it.
He then took a small knife out of his pocket, speared a sausage on the end of it,
and began to eat. His normal eye was fixed upon the sausages, but the blue eye
was still darting restlessly around in its socket, taking in the Hall and the students.
"May I introduce our new Defense Against the Dark Arts teacher?" said
Dumbledore brightly into the silence. "Professor Moody."
It was usual for new staff members to be greeted with applause, but none of the
staff or students chapped except Dumbledore and Hagrid, who both put their
hands together and applauded, but the sound echoed dismal