As the final name — Blaise Zabini — was called and sorted into Slytherin, Professor McGonagall rolled up the scroll, tucked the Sorting Hat under her arm, and made her way back to her seat at Dumbledore's right hand.
All the first-years looked toward the Headmaster, eyes sparkling with anticipation. They were just waiting for his word — and then the feast would begin.
Dumbledore rose with a broad smile, arms spread wide, as though nothing brought him more joy than a hall full of young witches and wizards.
"Welcome!" he boomed. "Welcome to another year at Hogwarts! But before the feast, I'd like to say a few words. They are: Nitwit! Blubber! Oddment! Tweak!"
"Thank you all!"
He sat back down. Applause and cheers echoed through the Great Hall.
Across from Wayne, a young Hufflepuff looked utterly bewildered.
"What… what did the Headmaster mean by those words?"
"Are you in Ravenclaw?"
"What are you talking about? Of course I'm in Hufflepuff."
"Then why do you care? Just eat your food!"
Suddenly, the once-empty plates filled to the brim: roast beef, chicken, pork chops, lamb ribs, sausages, steaks, mashed potatoes, fries, puddings, all kinds of vegetables, gravies, and even peppermint humbugs.
By any standard, it was a feast — especially in food-desert Britain.
You couldn't expect more from a country whose state banquets consisted of French cuisine.
Wayne wasn't picky. As long as the ingredients were good, things like steak and lamb could hardly go wrong, even if cooked casually.
He glanced over at the Gryffindor table and spotted Ron Weasley, holding a drumstick in each hand, devouring them like a starving wolf.
Honestly, Wayne thought Ron might've been better off in Hufflepuff. This was clearly the house for food lovers.
While the other houses chatted as they ate, the Hufflepuff table focused entirely on eating. Cedric had only managed a few words at the beginning; now his cheeks were puffed out, and he still found time to plop a giant drumstick onto Wayne's plate.
He's really going to make me cry.
At the staff table, Snape was quietly chatting with Professor Quirrell, whose headscarf made him look even more like an Arab sheikh.
Professor McGonagall leaned in close to Professor Sprout, whispering something. Sprout's expression turned slightly sour.
"Lawrence, could you pass me two Yorkshire puddings?" came a hopeful voice from a few seats down.
"Just call me Wayne, Hannah," he said, handing the plate over.
The girl smiled sweetly, her pigtails swaying as she dug right back into her meal.
Nearby, a pearly white ghost hovered, enthusiastically introducing various dishes and making recommendations. Everyone called him the Fat Friar.
Wayne found the whole thing… a little strange.
Wizards, once hunted relentlessly by the Church in the Middle Ages, now had a friar as a house ghost? That was… hard to explain.
The feast lasted nearly an hour before the desserts appeared.
Wayne politely declined. English desserts were basically just sugar in different shapes. He wasn't keen on developing diabetes before turning thirteen.
Eventually, even the pudding vanished, and Dumbledore rose again, restoring quiet to the Great Hall.
The first-years sat up straight, ready for the Headmaster's final speech of the evening.
But just as Dumbledore opened his mouth, Professor McGonagall suddenly stood and said:
"Just a moment, Albus — before you speak, I have a few matters to address."
Dumbledore blinked. This wasn't the usual routine — but he smiled gently and motioned for her to continue.
Though Dumbledore was the Headmaster in name, when McGonagall got serious, even he deferred to her.
Officially, Dumbledore was in charge. But when it came to the day-to-day running of Hogwarts — that was McGonagall's domain.
"George, Fred," she said sternly, "starting tomorrow, both of you are in detention. Report to Filch at eight o'clock every evening and polish every trophy in the trophy room — three times over. You're free once he says they shine."
The twins froze mid-joke. Then they both shot up from their seats.
"What?! Why, Professor McGonagall?!"
Their eyes were filled with confusion and injustice. Sure, they were full of mischief, but they hadn't even done anything yet — they'd only just arrived!
What was this — preemptive punishment?
"You're asking me?" McGonagall shot the twins a sharp glare.
"Who told you to frighten the first-years by making the Sorting Ceremony sound so terrifying!"
Professor Sprout spoke up as well, smiling kindly. She was a plump woman with a warm, gentle appearance.
"Cedric, you go help as well."
At that, the twins and Cedric all turned to look at Wayne.
Mystery solved.
Wayne lowered his head 'shyly,' as if too embarrassed to meet their eyes.
"Yes, Professor," the three of them replied dejectedly. Cedric muttered through gritted teeth:
"You totally set us up!"
Wayne replied calmly, "Don't say that. I'm just a clueless little first-year. I don't know anything."
"You're awful. You should've been sorted into Slytherin," Cedric said, flipping him off.
The twins exchanged a glance and burst into silent laughter.
Even though Wayne had tricked them, they found him more amusing than annoying.
He was already way more interesting than their dumb little brother Ron!
"All right," Dumbledore spoke up with a twinkle in his eye. "Seeing you all so lively puts my mind at ease."
"However, there are a few notices I must give."
"First-years, please note that the forest grounds are strictly off-limits to all students. Our older students should remember this as well."
His bright eyes swept over the twins—who were currently busy scheming how to get back at Wayne and didn't notice at all.
A wasted wink, you could say.
"Also, Mr. Filch has asked me to remind everyone: no magic in the corridors between classes."
"The Quidditch tryouts will be held in the second week of term. Anyone interested in joining their House team may speak to Madam Hooch."
"And finally, I must warn everyone: if you do not wish to meet a terrible, painful death, stay away from the third-floor corridor on the right."
Wayne curled his lip in disdain.
Wasn't that basically the same as saying: All the treasure, glory, and secrets of the school are hidden in the third-floor corridor—go find them!
The Gryffindor lions were already itching to explore.
"And now," Dumbledore declared cheerfully, "before you head to bed—let us all sing the school song together!"
Everyone stood up, and so did Wayne.
At that very moment, a notification sounded in his mind.