Chapter 9: Dinner Is Served – Wait, What Kind of Dinner Did You Serve?
“Pffft—”
A strange sound escaped the Sorting Hat’s mouth, like the hiss of a balloon popping.
“Ha, child, I can see you are very kind—hmm…”
The Sorting Hat’s hushed voice was like someone coaxing a cat about to push a wobbly teacup off the edge of a table.
“Hmm… very astute, and very ambitious, perhaps Slytherin—”
“Gugugugu.” Cohen made a hungry stomach sound with his mouth.
“Oh—I suddenly feel that for a… uh—‘special’ child, being brave enough to enroll is also a… brave thing—” The Sorting Hat wiggled a few times on Cohen’s head, whispering awkwardly.
Cohen was very satisfied with the Sorting Hat’s second decision.
He wouldn’t have to be hunted down by Rose anymore—
“Gryffindor!”
The Sorting Hat shouted with a hoarse, trembling voice.
On the way to Gryffindor, Cohen gave Harry, who was still in the dwindling line, an encouraging gesture.
And Cohen specifically adjusted his position so that Dumbledore, at the teachers’ table, could see his action, which was full of a young Wizard’s friendship and goodwill.
A perfect combo.
Cohen felt he was becoming more and more proficient at being a healthy, positive, and upward-looking half-Dementor.
After sitting down, Cohen began to observe Harry’s sorting.
But because the Sorting Hat spoke to the young Wizards so quietly, Cohen couldn’t hear the tug-of-war between the Sorting Hat and Harry at all.
Observing a silent play where the actors barely moved was not exactly interesting—
“It’s so hard to guess, which Gryffindor will Harry be sorted into?”
“Gryffindor!”
After the Sorting Hat’s announcement, the Great Hall was silent for one second.
The next second, Gryffindor erupted in deafening cheers, as if they would lift the roof off Hogwarts.
Harry walked to the Gryffindor long table with slightly trembling legs.
The Weasley twins were shouting, “We’ve got Potter! We’ve got Potter!” Percy stood up as Harry passed, giving Harry a firm handshake, like meeting an important international figure.
Other Gryffindor students also expressed their joy in various ways, the scene so chaotic that the Sorting Hat had to shout out the next person’s sorting result before the entire Great Hall could quiet down again.
Ron was sorted into Gryffindor, but only a few of his older brothers congratulated him.
“You scared me to death…” Harry sat next to Cohen, still shaken.
“I almost got sorted into Slytherin, calm down.” Cohen rubbed his hands, already picking up the knife and fork in front of him, waiting for the food to appear.
“You too?!” Harry leaned over, asking in a whisper only Cohen could hear, his expression astonished.
“Uh-huh? It first said it was going to sort me into Slytherin, but I refused because Rose would hunt me down.” Cohen, of course, knew that Harry was still very concerned about the Sorting Hat’s first decision.
Children always feel uneasy about being “different,” but if they find someone accompanying them, that uneasiness will be replaced by the sense of security from their companion.
Harry was clearly in this situation now.
“Phew…”
Harry seemed to breathe a sigh of relief.
The Sorting Hat’s initial decision wasn’t entirely correct—in Harry’s eyes, Cohen had nothing in common with an evil house like Slytherin.
“Welcome!” Dumbledore looked at the students with a beaming smile, spreading his arms, as if nothing pleased him more than seeing the students gathered together.
“Welcome everyone to Hogwarts for a new school year! Before the feast begins, I’d like to say a few words, and they are: Nitwit! Blubber! Oddment! Tweak!”
This sentence symbolized the prejudices of each house against others—perhaps Dumbledore’s utterly useless reminder to the children, or perhaps a jest.
As soon as Dumbledore finished speaking, sumptuous dishes appeared on the tables in front of them.
Aside from some of Britain’s dark cuisine, most of Hogwarts’ food was very delicious.
After all, it’s not easy to make pork chops and beef taste bad, and furthermore, the cooking at Hogwarts was done by a group of House-elves, who possessed rich and excellent culinary experience.
But Cohen always felt something was missing along the way.
Was there something at Hogwarts that should have appeared earlier but hadn’t?
“Never mind, let’s eat first.”
Just as Cohen was about to shift his attention back to the food, and had already taken a bite out of the large lamb leg on his plate—
“Ow ow ow!!!”
A male voice, in pain, emerged from the table in front of Cohen.
And Cohen tasted something off about this lamb leg.
Why did a lamb leg with chili sauce taste sweet…!!!
Cohen instantly understood what had gone into his stomach along with the lamb.
A pearly, ethereal ghost wearing a ruff collar shot out from the table.
Soul Strength: 10
It was the same at the other houses; numerous ghosts emerged from under tables and out of walls, startling the new students into gasps.
All the ghosts had a consistent Soul Strength of 10, making Cohen suspect this was the minimum threshold for a normal adult Wizard’s soul—Cohen had indeed never seen an adult Wizard with a Soul Strength below 10.
The ghost that Cohen had bitten into floated mid-air above the table, clutching his head, muttering something about “should have listened to the Principal, don’t get close…” and cautiously stealing a glance at Cohen.
Cohen recognized this fellow—“Nearly Headless Nick,” because his head looked precarious.
Presumably, Dumbledore had specifically warned the ghosts not to offer themselves to Cohen’s mouth.
No wonder the ghosts, who should have met the new students earlier, had delayed until now—but Cohen felt that the ghosts choosing to appear at dinner seemed an even worse idea, like this “Nearly Headless Nick” who was almost bitten head-first by Cohen along with a lamb leg.
But Nick said nothing—Cohen had already eaten him, so could he make Cohen spit him out?
Due to Dumbledore’s request, the fact that Cohen was a Dementor could not be revealed, lest it cause panic among the students, so Nick chose to introduce himself to the new students from as far away from Cohen as possible.
“I know who you are! Nearly Headless Nick!”
As Nick introduced himself, Ron slapped his head, remembering the Gryffindor house ghost his two brothers had mentioned.
“I prefer you call me Sir Nicholas de Mimsy-Porpington—”
“But why are you ‘nearly headless’?”
Under the repeated questioning of Seamus Finnigan, with his light brown hair, Nick irritably pulled down his head, which now had a fresh gash at the top—Cohen’s bite.
Cohen was engrossed in eating and didn’t look up at the “appetizing” severed neck cross section.
“Just like this.”
Nick said drily.
Apparently, Nick wasn’t very keen on discussing this topic, as in the boring world of ghosts, Nick’s perpetually half-severed head was a rare source of ridicule for the other ghosts—and Nick couldn’t retort, as he genuinely couldn’t play ghost bowling with his head.
However, the young Wizards’ reactions still pleased him; ghosts liked to scare people, it made them feel as if they were still alive.
