Chapter 15
"That looks so delicious," the Fat Friar said wistfully, floating above the table and watching the students eat with gusto.
Sainz didn't need anyone to tell him that ghosts couldn't touch food—he certainly wasn't about to make the mistake of inviting the Friar to join him. That would only rub salt in the wound.
Among the four house ghosts, the Fat Friar was easily the kindest—compassionate, warm, and genuinely fond of the students. He was even known to defend Peeves now and then, trying to convince the other ghosts to accept the poltergeist.
Wanting to distract him, Sainz asked, "Forgive me, I didn't catch your name earlier. May I ask what it is?"
The Friar paused, thoughtful. "You know," he said, brow furrowed, "I can't quite remember. Everyone just calls me the Fat Friar. I'm perfectly happy with that."
After the last bites were eaten, the remaining food vanished, and the plates gleamed as if they'd just been polished.
Dessert appeared a moment later.
Towering puddings, syrupy jam doughnuts, colorful jellies, fruit pies, scoops of ice cream, frosted cakes—it was a feast fit for a queen.
Sainz never judged others' food preferences, and he made a point of trying everything at least once. Still, after all these years, British cuisine continued to baffle him.
As the sugar rush kicked in, conversations bubbled up and down the table. First-years who had just met were now chatting like old friends, and—predictably—the talk turned to family.
Ben Stebbins had already mentioned his wizarding parents on the train.
Adam Summers piped up, "My family's all magical too, but both my parents were in Gryffindor. I got sorted into Hufflepuff... I hope they don't mind."
Cedric Diggory was also pure-blood—though not one of the so-called Sacred Twenty-Eight.
As the group grew more comfortable, the girls nearby joined in. One by one, they introduced themselves—Lucia Trevino, Brenda Carvalho, Marian Warner, Celica Rojas...
Gradually, forks and spoons clinked less and chatter rose more. Laughter bounced around the hall.
Then Dumbledore stood once more.
"Looks like everyone's full," he said with a smile. "Now that you've eaten your fill, I have just a few announcements before bed."
He raised his hand for quiet.
"First years, a reminder—no students are allowed in the Forbidden Forest. That includes some of our older students who should know better."
A few chuckles rumbled through the crowd.
"And no magic in the corridors between classes," Dumbledore added. "This comes directly from our caretaker, Mr. Filch."
A thin, hunched figure emerged from the shadows, clutching a cat to his chest. His wiry grey hair was as limp as his posture, and his pale eyes bulged like mismatched bulbs.
The cat, nearly as scraggly as its owner, blinked slowly at the first-years.
Filch didn't speak, but his glowering presence said plenty.
Sainz knew why. The man was a Squib—born into a magical family but unable to do magic himself. Years of watching students flourish in the world he could never be part of had left him bitter and strange.
Dumbledore pressed on. "As always, Quidditch trials will be held during the second week of term. If you're interested in trying out for your House team, see Madam Hooch."
He clapped his hands together.
"And now, before we all head to bed—let's sing the school song!"
The response from the staff was... tepid. Smiles froze in place. A few teachers looked like they'd rather be anywhere else.
But Dumbledore was undeterred. He raised his wand, and a golden ribbon burst forth, swirling through the air above the tables. It danced and looped, weaving itself into shimmering lines of text.
"Choose your own tune," Dumbledore announced, eyes twinkling. "Ready? Sing!"
Hogwarts, Hogwarts, Hoggy Warty Hogwarts,
Teach us something please...
The result was a chaotic musical patchwork. Some students sang slow and solemn, others fast and upbeat. One group tried a marching tempo, another crooned like a lullaby.
But the most memorable were the two boys still singing after everyone else had finished—a dramatic duet to the tune of the "Wedding March."
They were identical, down to the last freckle. Sainz had a pretty good guess: the infamous Weasley twins, future terrorizers of teachers.
Dumbledore, delighting in the performance, waved his wand like a conductor until their grand finale.
Applause followed, loudest of all from the headmaster himself.
"Every time I hear that song," he said, dabbing at his eyes, "I'm reminded of just how powerful music can be!"
"Headmaster," Professor McGonagall said sharply, though her expression was more exasperated than stern.
"Ah yes, quite right," said Dumbledore. "Time for bed. Off you go, everyone!"
A tall fifth-year boy stepped forward from the Hufflepuff table. "Hufflepuff first-years, please follow us. I'm Kenneth—Kenneth Cooper—and this is the other prefect, Sheila Morton. We're both in fifth year."
Before he could say more, the girl beside him cut in with a smile. "Thank you, Kenneth. I was going to introduce myself, but as our enthusiastic friend said—I'm Sheila Morton, Head Girl for Hufflepuff. We'll be taking you to the common room now."
Kenneth looked a little put out, but said nothing.
He was taller than his cousin, with grey eyes and short, ashy-brown hair. Not exactly good-looking, but not unfortunate either.
Sheila, on the other hand, turned heads.
Her deep blue eyes sparkled like sunlit water, and her sleek golden hair—tied simply in a ponytail—gleamed in the candlelight. By Sainz's standards from his past life, she'd be a solid seven or eight.
Most of the first-years, boys and girls alike, seemed to agree. Their eyes followed her wherever she went.
Kenneth cleared his throat loudly. "Alright, I'm sure you'll have plenty of time to admire Sheila later. For now, please follow us to the common room."
He led them through a side door just off the Great Hall.
"This is the entrance hall," Sheila explained as they stepped into the grand space with its high ceiling and oak front doors—doors Hagrid had thrown open just hours earlier.
Kenneth continued, "Our common room is downstairs. Head toward the stone steps in the middle of the hall—but take the staircase on the side closest to the Great Hall. That leads to the Hufflepuff basement."
He paused, raising a finger. "Be careful not to take the staircase on the other side. That one leads to the Slytherin dungeons."
Then he grinned. "Not that it matters—you wouldn't get in without a password. But if you do try, and you somehow succeed... well... good luck."
He let out a theatrical chuckle, which sounded more like a threat than a joke.
The group laughed nervously and followed their guides deeper into the castle.
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