Chương 36: Chapter 37 : The Feast

Applause erupted throughout the hall. Tyson pulled the hat off with a sigh.

'Well, shit.' He couldn't say he wasn't disappointed. Logic aside, he'd always had a soft spot for Hufflepuff. It was close to the kitchens, too. He could grab a meal at any time of the day. He was sure the house slav—no, the house-elves would be happy to cook for him. Truly a pity, but it was what it was. No point crying over spilled pumpkin juice. In the end, anything was better than Gryffindor or Slytherin.

Tyson nodded respectfully at Professor McGonagall as he handed back the hat, then made his way toward the Ravenclaw table. As he walked, his eyes briefly met Harry's across the hall. The Boy Who Lived was already seated at the Gryffindor table, flashing him a smug, triumphant grin that practically screamed, 'Since I couldn't get into Hufflepuff, you won't either.' Tyson scoffed inwardly.

'Oh, It's the Boy Who Is About to Get His Ass Whooped tomorrow morning.' He silently made a prophecy for the savior. This one was set in stone. As he approached the Ravenclaw table, several older students near the front stood to greet him with polite handshakes and murmured welcomes. He exchanged a few courteous words before spotting Terry farther down the table, waving enthusiastically at him. Oh yeah, he forgot to mention. Terry had also been sorted into Ravenclaw. Neat. At least he'd have one familiar face.

He walked over and dropped into the empty seat beside him.

"Man, I didn't expect you to also end up in Ravenclaw!" Terry said excitedly.

"I was panicking about whether I'd be able to make any friends here. Studying isn't exactly my strong suit. But now that you're here, I feel reassured. This is going to be a fun year!" Tyson smiled, clapping him lightly on the shoulder.

"Yeah, looks like we're stuck with the smart kids. I wonder if all of them come with a pre-installed superiority complex. It'll be interesting to watch them develop an inferiority complex once they see me shine bright like a diamond. The two should cancel each other out and cure them once and for all." Terry burst into laughter at that. Just as they settled in, the final first-year—Blaise Zabini—was sorted into Slytherin.

After Professor McGonagall rolled up the scroll and set the stool aside, Dumbledore rose from his seat at the staff table. The hall quieted almost at once.

"Welcome, everyone," he began cheerfully, spreading his arms.

"Welcome to a new year at Hogwarts. Before we begin the feast, I would like to say a few words." Curious murmurs rose around Tyson. Then Dumbledore added, in the same cheerful tone, "Nitwit! Blubber! Oddment! Tweak! Thank you!" For a moment, there was pin-drop silence. Then the hall burst into applause. Tyson joined in as well, clapping along with the rest. Hearing the famous opening speech in person had an odd charm to it. Terry leaned closer, lowering his voice.

"Mate, what does that even mean?" Support the creativity of authors by visiting the original site for this novel and more.

"I have no idea," Tyson shrugged. Terry looked at him in confusion.

"Then why are you applauding?" Tyson shot him a sideways look.

"A speech that short? Doesn't that alone deserve applause?" Terry paused, then his face brightened as though a revelation had struck him.

"You're right. It does deserve applause." He immediately began clapping even harder than Tyson.

"Alright," Dumbledore said, lifting his spoon and lightly tapping his goblet.

"Let the feast begin." Dumbledore settled back into his chair, and instantly, a copious amount of food materialized out of thin air onto the platters lining the tables, earning gasps from the first-years, who were witnessing such a spectacle for the first time. Roast beef, chicken, sausages, vegetables, pies, juices... There were all kinds of dishes and drinks. And potatoes. Lots of potatoes! Tyson silently distanced himself from Terry, who looked like he was just about to have an intense orgasm.

Everyone around him wore similar expressions. Tyson could've sworn he had even heard a moan or two just now.

"Ahh!" ×2 Again! Tyson's head snapped toward the sound. It came from somewhere around the Gryffindor table. He looked around for a while but failed to spot the moaner. With a resigned sigh, he turned back to his own plate. Only after most of the others had taken their first bites of those thick, oversized potatoes and regained a semblance of rationality did Tyson finally serve himself a generous chicken leg and begin eating.

After almost everyone was full, the main courses disappeared, replaced by a variety of desserts. With full stomachs, the students started chatting animatedly, especially the first-years. They were all buzzing with excitement, eager to begin their magical journey. As expected, Terry proved to be a complete chatterbox. He butted into nearly every conversation around them, earning more than a few mildly annoyed glances.

"What about you, Tyson?" asked Michael Corner, sitting across from them. He was a tall, lanky boy with messy dark brown hair that fell into his eyes.

"Muggle-born, buddy," Tyson replied, scooping up a spoonful of chocolate ice cream.

"Born and raised."

"Ah, neat," Michael said with a nod.

"How'd you end up here from America?"

"I didn't. I was born in London, but my parents are American." Michael blinked in surprise.

"Then shouldn't you have a British accent?"

"Nope," Tyson replied nonchalantly.

"My parents mostly spoke in their natural American accents at home, so I probably picked it up from them." Beside him, Terry chimed in, sounding genuinely surprised.

"Really? I thought babies picked up the accent they heard the most growing up."

"You're not wrong to be surprised," said the blond, studious-looking boy seated next to Michael. Tyson recalled that his name was Anthony Goldstein, another character mentioned in canon. The boy continued.

"Children typically acquire accents from their peers rather than just their parents. While parents can influence vocabulary and certain pronunciations, it's rarely enough to override years of exposure to the local dialect." Tyson finally looked up from his ice cream and took a proper look at Anthony. He had neatly combed sandy-blond hair, wire-rimmed glasses, and hazel eyes.

With his elegant posture, despite having unpleasant dead-fish eyes like a certain sis-con, he looked like the textbook definition of a nerd—exactly what Tyson imagined a "true" Ravenclaw would be like. A bit arrogant, but with the knowledge to back it up. Tyson countered with a grin.

"We live in a world with wizards and dragons, buddy. My accent is hardly the strangest thing here."

"No, those are normal," Anthony replied fimly. Tyson blinked, then shrugged.

"Well... fair point. Perspective is everything, I suppose."

"How about you two?" Tyson asked, smoothly changing the subject.

"I'm a half-blood," Michael replied casually.

"I'm a pure-blood," Anthony added in the same serious tone. When Terry shot Anthony a cautious, almost wary look, the boy raised an eyebrow.

"What's that look for?" Terry hesitated, glancing at Tyson for support. Tyson stepped in smoothly.

"It's nothing personal. Terry and I were in the same boat earlier. The other two happened to be pure-bloods... and let's just say they didn't leave the best first impression." Understanding dawned in Anthony's eyes. He nodded thoughtfully.

"I see. Unfortunately, some pure-blood families still cling to outdated prejudices against half-bloods and Muggle-borns. It's a toxic mindset rooted in centuries of elitism and fear of change. But not all of us are like that. My family—the Goldsteins—has always believed that magical ability matters far more than blood status. We've intermarried with half-bloods for generations. I'm sorry for what both of you had to experience, but their behavior doesn't represent all of us."

Terry relaxed visibly and offered a sheepish smile.

"I also apologize for judging you based on that. I shouldn't have assumed."

"No harm done," Anthony replied with a small, genuine smile.

"You two should kiss to seal the reconciliation!" Tyson said enthusiastically. Both boys immediately turned to glare at him with murderous looks in their eyes. No straight guy liked being called gay. Fortunately for Tyson, before either of them could retaliate, Dumbledore rose from his seat once more.