The Crazy Junior Student

"I think Malfoy must be under the same pressure as I am," Ron said again. "You know, the Malfoy family has always been in Slytherin."

Harry thought about it for a moment and could not help laughing.

"What is it?" Ron asked.

"Think about it." Holding back his laughter, Harry said to Ron and Hermione, "Malfoy asks his father, 'Father, what if I get sorted into Slytherin?' And then his father would definitely pull out his wand, point it at him, and say, 'Draco Malfoy, you better be!'"

Hearing Harry's imagined scenario, the two of them laughed as well.

Just then, the Sorting ceremony ended.

Albus Dumbledore stood up. Beaming at the students, he spread his arms wide, as though nothing made him happier than seeing them all gathered together.

"Welcome!" he said. "Welcome to Hogwarts for the start of a new school year! Before we begin our feast, I would like to say a few words—namely: Nitwit! Blubber! Oddment! Tweak!"

"Thank you all!" He sat back down.

Everyone applauded and cheered, including Harry.

If it had been Headmaster Phineas Black, he would probably have talked for an hour before letting them eat.

Even if this junior student looked a little mad—yes, after getting a whole load of brainwashing from that old hat, Dumbledore had gone from headmaster to junior student in Harry's eyes.

Hmm... an eleven-year-old senior student and a junior student over a hundred years old. That was indeed not a very common combination.

As Dumbledore sat down, mountains of food immediately appeared on the four Long Tables.

Roast Beef, roast chicken, pork chops, lamb chops, sausages, steak, boiled potatoes, roast potatoes, chips, Yorkshire pudding, pea shoots, Carrots, gravy, ketchup, and even mint humbugs.

Harry speared a piece of steak with his fork and placed it on his plate.

It was well-done, which meant the beef was top quality—he remembered hearing someone say that the Muggle Queen's steaks were always well-done.

"It looks so good." The ghost in a ruff watched Harry cut into his steak with a mournful expression.

Harry looked up and nodded to the ghost.

"Hello."

He nearly called him Sir Nicholas, but held himself back.

"You look... very familiar." Sir Nicholas stared at Harry somewhat dazedly. "I feel as though I've seen you somewhere before?"

Just as Harry thought the other man was about to recognize him, the ghost slapped a hand against his palm. "I remember! James Potter—he must be your father, right? You look almost exactly like him!"

"You knew my father?" Harry asked with interest.

"Of course, young Mr. Potter. James was an outstanding Gryffindor student," Sir Nicholas said with a smile.

"Oh, I remember now—you're Nearly Headless Nick!" Ron suddenly pointed at Sir Nicholas and shouted.

"I think I prefer it when you call me Sir Nicholas Mimsy." The ghost looked a little uncomfortable, but Seamus Finnigan, with his light brown hair, interjected, "Nearly headless? How can you be nearly headless?"

Sir Nicholas looked angry. Apparently, he did not want to discuss the subject.

"Like this," he said impatiently. He grabbed his left ear and pulled downward. His head wobbled loose from his neck and fell onto his shoulder, as though it were attached by a hinge.

Apparently, whoever had cut off his head had not finished the job. Seeing them all stare in stunned disbelief, Nearly Headless Nick looked very pleased.

He lightly flicked his head back onto his neck, cleared his throat, and said, "All right, new Gryffindor students! I hope you can help us win this year's House Cup, shall we? Gryffindor has never gone so long without a prize, and Slytherin has actually won six years in a row! Bloody Baron is simply intolerable—he's Slytherin's ghost."

Harry did not pay attention to who Bloody Baron was. Instead, he turned to look toward the Faculty Table.

The moment he did, the scar on his forehead suddenly began to ache violently.

In all these years, the only other time that scar had hurt was when he saw Sebastian use Avada Kedavra on Uncle Solomon Saru.

Verathea had been furious at the time. She used a spell to restrain Sebastian, then saved Solomon with Transfiguration.

Harry had not forgotten to endure the pain and give Solomon an Obliviate afterward. After all, Uncle Solomon was about as annoying as Headmaster Black... Harry did not want his good friend to end up studying in Azkaban just like that.

Only after quite some time did the pain in his scar finally subside.

He held his forehead, not letting anyone notice anything unusual.

However, Ron still sensed that something was wrong. Holding a chicken leg in each hand, he turned and asked Harry, "Buddy, what's wrong? You look a little pale."

"I'm fine." Harry smiled at Ron, then asked Percy, "Percy, who is that teacher?"

Percy thought he was asking about Snape, so he answered with a smile, "That's Professor Snape. He teaches Potions, but he doesn't want to teach that subject—everyone knows he has his eye on Professor Quirrell's job. Snape is very skilled in the Dark Arts."

Of course, Harry was not asking about Snape. In fact, Snape had stared at him in the little house earlier, yet his scar had not hurt then.

He added, "No, not Professor Snape. The one beside him, wearing a turban—the one who has turned around to talk to someone else."

"That's Professor Quirrell. He teaches Defense Against the Dark Arts," Percy answered. "He used to teach Muggle Studies at Hogwarts, but for some reason he suddenly became the Defense Against the Dark Arts teacher—you don't know this, but Snape was furious about it. He deducted loads of points from Gryffindor in class."

"Why would Professor Snape deduct points from Gryffindor because he was angry?" Harry still had not connected the two things.

"Because Professor Snape doesn't like Gryffindor. That isn't a secret at this school." Percy shrugged. "Maybe it's because he's Slytherin's professor? You know, Slytherin is always at odds with Gryffindor."

Harry did not argue. He did not know what things were like now, but a hundred years ago...

With Headmaster Black around, Gryffindor and Slytherin had actually gotten along quite well.

Harry looked at Snape again and discovered that the man was staring at him too.

His expression looked complicated. Harry thought, perhaps he was very close to my father and mother?

Thinking that, he gave Snape a polite smile.

However, Snape merely gave a blank-faced snort and looked away, no longer watching him.