"If it had a dash of paprika, it'd be even better."
Rove swallowed his last bite of pumpkin pie, then quickly zeroed in on the massive roast turkey in front of him.
The Hufflepuff table was overflowing with food: roast beef, roast chicken, pork chops, lamb chops, sausages, steaks, boiled potatoes, roasted potatoes, fries, Yorkshire pudding, pea shoots, carrots, gravy, ketchup, and for some reason, mints.
For Rove, who'd just survived the "crossing" and the "mind probe," this wasn't a feast—it was a resupply point.
[Quest updated: The Shire's Feast]
[Description: As a new recruit to the "Shire" faction, you need to refuel fast and stock up for the long winter ahead.]
[Tip: Pack in as many high-calorie foods as you can.]
Rove didn't hesitate. He grabbed a chicken leg with his left hand and a slab of steak with his right, chowing down at an impressive speed.
"Whoa, slow down, buddy." Justin Finch-Fletchley stared, jaw dropped, from across the table. "Nobody's fighting you for it. The kitchens are right below us—we can get more anytime."
"You don't get it." Rove mumbled through a mouthful, stuffing two rolls into the inner pocket of his robe. "Food's always the first thing to run out. Especially when you're trekking across the wasteland."
"Trekking across the wasteland?" Justin glanced around the warm, bright Great Hall, totally confused. "Where are we going?"
"Who knows." Rove scanned the room warily. "Maybe tomorrow we'll be off to the volcano to chuck a ring in."
Susan Bones sighed and forked over the sausages from her plate. "Here, eat up. I don't know what you're talking about, but you look like you just broke out of Azkaban."
"Thanks." Rove said sincerely. "I'll remember this favor, Lady Bones. If orcs ever surround this place one day, I'll make sure you're the last one I eat."
"If that's your way of saying thanks, you can skip it."
Right then, a sharp, stabbing pain hit Rove's brain like a hot poker to the back of his skull, or some high-pitched wave blasting his nerves.
[Warning! High-threat stare detected!]
[Source: Staff table]
[Threat level: SSS (Dark Lord tier)]
The chicken leg slipped from Rove's hand onto his plate. He jerked his head up toward the staff table.
The professors were all seated there in a colorful mix. Next to Dumbledore was a young guy wrapped in a massive purple turban. He looked tense, leaning sideways to chat with Snape.
But Rove's eyes weren't on his face—they were locked on the back of his head.
In his system view, that purple turban was on fire.
Invisible black smoke seeped from the turban's folds, twisting and coiling in the air until it formed a huge, flaming eye.
[Target locked: Quirrell]
[True form assessment: Gollum / Host]
[Back attachment: Sauron's Eye]
[Status: Awakening. It's watching this place.]
The eye seemed to sense Rove's prying, its pupil shrinking as a cold, evil intent swept over him.
"Who?"
Rove's scalp tingled, his heart pounding. Almost on instinct, he raised his left hand—still clutching a half-cooked steak.
Slap.
He smacked the steak right over his face, covering it completely.
"Rove?!" Susan yelped. "What are you doing?"
"Shh! Don't talk!" Rove's voice came muffled from behind the steak. "It's a line-of-sight block! I'm cutting off its mental link!"
The little wizards around them froze, staring at the new kid with a steak plastered to his face like he was nuts.
Professor Quirrell seemed to feel something too. He turned, glancing curiously at the Hufflepuff table. But all he saw was some weirdo hiding behind a steak.
"Weird!" Quirrell shrank back, feeling like the thing on the back of his head was getting restless.
After what felt like forever, that creepy watched feeling finally faded.
[Alert cleared. Sauron's Eye has shifted its gaze.]
Rove slowly peeled the steak off his face. It was smeared with black pepper sauce, making him look ridiculous and messy.
"It's gone." Rove let out a long breath, grabbing a napkin to wipe up. "Close call. Almost got corrupted."
"Who's gone?" Justin asked cautiously. "You mean the steak's spirit?"
"No." Rove pointed seriously at the staff table. "That guy with the purple turban. Stay away from him. He's got two souls in there, and one of 'em is real, real hungry."
Everyone's eyes turned to Quirrell. He was pouring wine into his cup, hands shaking so bad he spilled it all over the table.
"Professor Quirrell?" Cedric chimed in—he'd been chatting with the prefects. "He teaches Defense Against the Dark Arts. Heard he ran into vampires in Albania and got spooked bad. But he's actually a decent guy, just a bit jumpy."
"Jumpy?" Rove snorted. "That's just a cover. Like how Gollum hides his craving for the ring."
Cedric paused, then flashed that warm smile.
"Okay, your metaphors are always weird, but kinda fun." He poured Rove a cup of pumpkin juice. "We didn't get a proper intro earlier. You're Baggins, right?"
Rove eyed the golden pumpkin juice, then Cedric's totally carefree face.
[Biological scan confirmed]
[Target: Cedric Diggory]
[Mapping: Faramir]
[Note: Gondor's captain, noble blood, but doomed to never get his father's (or fate's) approval.]
"Yeah, I'm Rove Baggins." Rove took the juice but didn't drink it—instead, he held it up like a chalice. "To surviving."
Cedric's smile froze for a sec, but he raised his cup politely. "To Hufflepuff."
The banquet kept going.
When the last desserts (all sorts of ice cream flavors) vanished, Dumbledore stood up again. The hall went quiet.
"Now that everyone's full and watered, I've got a few more words for you all." Dumbledore twinkled. "Just a couple of notices to kick off the term."
"First-years, note that the forest on the grounds is off-limits to all students. And some of our older students would do well to remember that too." (His eyes flicked to the Weasley twins).
Rove scribbled furiously in his little notebook:
[Forbidden zone: The Black Forest. Danger level: High. Suspected giant spiders.]
"Also, the caretaker, Mr. Filch, wants me to remind you: No magic in the corridors between classes."
[Rule: No magic in public areas. Probably to prevent energy leaks drawing in weird enemies.]
"And finally, I must tell you that anyone who does not wish to come across most painful and unusual death must not enter the corridor on the right-hand side of the fourth floor."
Only a handful laughed. Harry was one, but Rove wasn't.
His quill scratched a deep mark on the parchment.
[Warning: Fourth-floor right corridor = Moria mines.]
[Threat: Accident, painful death.]
[Suspected: Balrog locked up there.]
"Is he joking?" Harry whispered to Percy.
"I don't think so." Percy frowned.
"Of course not." Rove's voice cut in from the Hufflepuff table behind Harry. "That's a death trap. The old man's recruiting a suicide squad."
Harry turned, spotting Rove with his face smudged in pepper sauce and pockets bulging with chicken legs.
"Rove?" Harry asked, surprised. "You, uh, okay?"
"Not great." Rove patted his stuffed chest. "Supplies are still short. Harry, take my advice. If you hear weird noises from the fourth floor one night..."
"What?"
"That's the Balrog snoring." Rove leaned in, eyes shadowy. "Don't go check it out—you gotta run! You fool."
Dumbledore announced the school song.
So the whole hall broke into the Hogwarts anthem in every tune imaginable. The Weasley twins dragged it out in a funeral march.
Rove didn't sing. He just clamped his hands over his ears, like it was a banshee wail that could shatter minds.
[Mental pollution resistance check passed.]
When the singing finally wrapped, Dumbledore wiped his eyes: "Ah, music! A magic beyond all we do here! And now, bedtime. Off to your dormitories!"
"Let's go, first-years." Cedric stood, rounding up the Hufflepuff newbies. "Follow me, don't wander off. Our common room's in the basement, right by the kitchens."
"Basement?" Rove's eyes lit up. "You mean Hobbit holes?"
"Uh, sorta." Cedric grinned. "You'll love it. It's the coziest spot in the school."