Chapter 38. Banquet
"Ah," Adrian Wesson's mouth quirked into a small smile at that, his tone carrying a hint of pride as he rambled on, "Harry's a good child. I taught him a few simple charms before term started; he remembered every one of them. And you know, the first time he cast the Wand-Lighting Charm…"
Watching Wesson talk about Harry as if bragging about his own child, Professor Flitwick and Professor Sprout exchanged a curious look.
Perhaps Wesson's relationship with Harry was much closer than they had imagined.
The displeasure in Snape's eyes toward Wesson became even more obvious.
…
Meanwhile, the students below had already filled their bellies.
The dishes before Harry had turned into desserts, and the Gryffindors beside him had begun chatting about their families.
Seamus's dad was a Muggle; Neville was raised by his gran; Hermione's father was a dentist…
Of course, no one asked what Harry's family was like.
Everyone knew his parents had died at the hands of Lord Voldemort.
Bringing it up now would only make Harry miserable, wouldn't it?
Harry glanced up at Adrian Wesson at the High Table, then looked across at Percy Weasley.
"Prefect Weasley," Harry hesitated, then asked, "what do they teach in Care of Magical Creatures?"
At once Percy set down the syrupy pancake in his hand, straightened his back, and put on a serious, proud expression. "Just call me Percy, Harry."
"All right, Prefect Percy."
Hearing how Harry addressed him, Percy's smile widened. "What would you like to know?"
"What I just asked—what is Care of Magical Creatures?" Harry repeated.
Percy cleared his throat and assumed an official lecturing posture. "Care of Magical Creatures is an elective; only students in third year and above can take it. In this class, you'll learn the habits of various magical creatures, how to feed them, and how to interact with them properly."
"Only from third year?" Harry frowned in disappointment. "So that means I can't take it this year?"
"That's right." Percy nodded. "Perhaps the professors think it's a bit too dangerous to let lower-year students handle magical creatures. After all, they can scarcely hold their wands properly; and you must know that most magical creatures come with a certain degree of risk."
"We didn't have any textbooks on magical creatures on the booklist before term started, either," Hermione added. "Are you interested in magical creatures, Harry?"
"Sort of." Harry answered absent-mindedly, casting another glance toward Wesson.
Following Harry's gaze, Percy swept his eyes up to the High Table and said thoughtfully, "Come to think of it, this year is unusual—we've replaced two professors at once. Of course, Defence Against the Dark Arts was expected, but Care of Magical Creatures—I always thought Professor Kettleburn would teach at least two more years."
When Harry followed Percy's line of sight to Quirrell, a stabbing pain suddenly shot through his scar, so sharp he couldn't help clapping a hand over his forehead.
"What's wrong?" Percy asked.
"It's nothing."
Harry drew a deep breath, shook his head, and tried to keep his expression light.
Then he pulled a small pouch from his robes, rummaged in it with practised ease, took out a tiny vial of pale-blue potion, pulled the stopper, and downed it in one go.
"What's that?" Percy asked, puzzled by Harry's movements.
"A headache cure." Harry quickly stuffed the little bottle back into the pouch and answered as calmly as he could. "I've got a bit of a headache."
Percy nodded, suspecting nothing—he simply assumed Harry had brought some Muggle medicine.
In fact, what Harry had just drunk was a Calming Draught.
Before Harry came to school, Wesson had given him a pouch enchanted with the Undetectable Extension Charm.
Inside were all sorts of potions.
Calming Draught, Blood-Replenishing Potion, Burn-Healing Paste, Essence of Dittany…
Just about everything one might need for everyday use.
There was even a Beautification Potion!
Of course, Harry thought he would never need that and had no idea what Wesson had prepared it for.
To dazzle the other girls?
…
Though Harry didn't understand why looking at the professor in the purple turban gave him a headache, the pain faded quickly after he took the Calming Draught, so he didn't dwell on it.
Naturally, Harry tried looking at Quirrell again, but the pain didn't return.
Probably just nerves, Harry thought.
…
When the feasting ended, Dumbledore announced a few notices for the new term.
He could understand things like the Forbidden Forest being off-limits and not performing magic in the corridors.
But what came next—"Those who do not wish to meet with a most painful death would do well to avoid the corridor on the right-hand side of the fourth floor"—was a bit too peculiar, wasn't it?
Harry felt this was aimed at the thrill-seekers.
Basically, "The fourth-floor corridor on the right-hand side is great fun and terribly exciting!"
All in all, he thought it had no real deterrent effect.
At last, it was time for the final part of the Start-of-Term Feast—singing the school song.
Harry didn't care for this bit.
Why did everyone choose a different tune?
But when he saw Wesson wearing the same "life-is-meaningless" expression while singing, he decided it was amusing after all.
When everything ended, Harry wanted to run up to the professors and say hello to Wesson, but he never got the chance—under Percy's guidance, all the new Gryffindor first-years lined up in single file.
"Follow me, everyone," Percy called. "I'll take you to the Gryffindor common room."
Harry had no choice but to go along with the group.
Soon he understood why this was necessary.
The moving staircases and shifting panels tirelessly blocked their way.
Harry thought that without Percy, he'd certainly have got lost.
He had no idea how long they'd been walking when the group finally stopped.
Just when he thought they'd at last reached their destination—
A short, stout middle-aged man floated in the air in front of them, blocking their way.
He wore garishly bright dress robes, a tiny blue bowler hat, and a shameless, cheeky grin.
"Peeves," Percy whispered. "A poltergeist who lives to play pranks."
Harry felt he was no different from the other ghosts—just uglier.
"Welcome!" Peeves's voice rang down the corridor, playful and taunting.
With a leering cackle, he swooped at Percy so fast it was hard to see him move.
When he reappeared before them, a small, glittering object had appeared in his hand.
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