The tousle-haired blond first-year pondered seriously for a while.
"No idea."
"You don't know what you were thinking about?!"
Michael felt that, thanks to these two friends—Anthony and Terry—he was bound to die a few years early.
As for that elegant-yet-speedy table etiquette…
A poor orphanage always finds ways to get rid of its orphans—useless for anything but tormenting the children in body and mind. The only ones who might "benefit" are the carers, who gain more excuses to scold and berate.
In that misery Sean had been forced to learn a few things, like "etiquette"—how to eat, how to walk, even how to go to bed.
Good thing I got out, Sean thought, or the soon-to-be-unemployed Matron Anna would have made my life hell.
In the Hogwarts Great Hall, Dumbledore was laughing and chatting with the staff; Sean was eating. Michael was trying to chat up other witches; Sean was eating. Terry was taking notes on Dumbledore's words; Sean was eating.
Only when the hubbub died down did the food vanish from the tables.
"Now that everyone's had their fill," Sean heard Dumbledore boom.
Had their fill?
Not really, Sean thought to himself.
Dumbledore went on with three warnings: no entry to the room on the far right of the fourth-floor corridor; no going into the Forbidden Forest; no wandering about at night.
"And now, before we all turn in, let us sing the school song together!" Dumbledore called out.
Sean watched him and noticed all the professors' smiles freeze. He quickly understood why.
"This is awful," Sean muttered, clapping his hands over his ears.
"If you don't want to listen, you've got to sing!" Michael belted away with great enthusiasm despite being tone-deaf. "If you don't torment others, they'll torment you!"
"Fair point."
So Sean joined in:
Hogwarts, Hogwarts, Hoggy Warty Hogwarts,
Teach us something please,
Whether we be old and bald,
Or young with scabby knees,
Our heads could do with filling,
With some interesting stuff,
For now they're bare and full of air,
Dead flies and bits of fluff,
So teach us things worth knowing,
Bring back what we've forgot,
Just do your best, we'll do the rest,
And learn until our brains all rot.
"You sing really well!" Michael leaned over when it ended. Sean nodded. He'd just slapped a pop melody from his previous life onto the lyrics—and it worked. At least the howling around them quieted down a lot.
Before long they were following a willowy prefect out of the hall, up a rotating staircase, up another rotating staircase, and… still up a rotating staircase.
"These stairs are going to be the death of me!" Michael sagged on the banister, spiritless.
"You just said the prefect's legs were going to be the death of you," said a boy called Anthony, rolling his eyes.
"Hey! You can joke about pudding, not about that. Anthony, that's a brotherly secret! How could you blow my cover?"
Somehow Michael found new energy and pounced to tickle Anthony.
By the time they reached the common room, Sean's face was paper-white. Any longer and his body would have given out.
"I'll have to figure something out," he whispered between ragged breaths.
The Ravenclaw first-years gathered in the common room. A blonde prefect waited with a smile while they caught their breath. Only when everyone's breathing steadied did she begin:
"Congratulations! I'm Prefect Penelope Clearwater, and I'm delighted to welcome you to Ravenclaw House.
"Our emblem is an eagle, soaring high where none can reach. Our common room sits at the top of Ravenclaw Tower; through the arched windows of our circular room you can see all of Hogwarts—the Black Lake, the Forbidden Forest, the Quidditch pitch, and the greenhouses. No other house enjoys a view like this.
"Some think that's not a good thing, but I can tell you: once you learn to ride a broom, it's glorious!
"Oh, and our house ghost is the Grey Lady. Others say she never speaks, but she does talk to Ravenclaws. A little tidbit—she's said to have lived in Rowena's time; perhaps there's a connection? She's especially helpful if you're lost or missing something.
"You'll have a lovely night: our four-poster beds are dressed in sky-blue silk quilts, and the wind at the window makes the most soothing sound.
"I'll say it again—congratulations on joining the cleverest, quickest, and most interesting house at Hogwarts!"
No fluff; just a crisp little speech that lit up every first-year's eyes—hence Michael's and the others' vigorous applause.
"Flying brooms," Sean remembered—some Ravenclaws with great flying skills actually rode back to the tower. He jotted that down mentally, priority just after "win the scholarship," then took a careful look around.
The Ravenclaw common room was said to be one of the most airy, spacious rooms in the castle: a large circular chamber with elegant arched windows hung with blue and bronze silks, a star-studded dome overhead, and a deep blue carpet pricked with stars below. There were tables, chairs, and bookcases; in a niche opposite the door stood a white-marble bust of Rowena Ravenclaw. A door beside the statue led up to the dormitories—Penelope was pointing at it now.
"Come take a timetable from me, then head through this door to the dorms. Your dorm assignment is on the back," she said, marshalling the little Ravenclaws with calm efficiency.
Sean glanced at his: Potions—first thing Monday morning, a double. An instant jolt of urgency—he wanted to sprint to the dorm and cram Magical Drafts and Potions. He'd only memorized it once; if it didn't come back instantly, that'd be bad. The Half-Blood Prince wasn't around to tutor him.
"Sean!" Michael called, excited. Sean turned, puzzled.
"My gran says anyone who loves good food can't be a bad sort!" He shook the timetable in his hand. On the back: Dorm 404 — Sean Green, Michael Corner.
Arm in arm (well, Michael's arm), they stepped into the room. Blue and silver trimmings covered the walls; each bed had its own bookshelf; the arched windows were draped in blue silk. Sean skimmed past all that and saw the thick, blue-green quilts.
I won't be freezing anymore, he thought.