Chương 41: Chapter 42 : Quirky Friends

The Great Hall looked almost empty compared to last night. Since there were still about one and a half hours left until the first class began, most of the school was clearly still dragging itself out of bed. The only exception was Hufflepuff. Their table was completely packed and appeared to be just as lively as last night's feast. Everyone sat shoulder to shoulder, talking excitedly, all of it drowned out by banging plates and bursts of laughter. They truly lived up to the whole "loyal and hungry" reputation.

Tyson really envied them. Compared to them, the Ravenclaw table, where he and Anthony were sitting, felt dead by comparison. Only a dozen students could be seen scattered along its length, most of them upper-years hunched over books or half-empty plates. Only a couple of other first-years had shown up, their lazy asses probably still sprawled in bed. The Slytherin side looked much the same. Gryffindor was basically empty. Tyson could literally count them on one hand. There was no sign of Harry and Ron.

The only familiar faces he could see were Percy Weasley and Hermione. The Girl Who Carried the Trio was staring straight down at her table, lost in thought, her fork stabbing into a piece of bacon over and over again. She wore a downcast look, and her bushy brown hair looked messier than usual. As Tyson looked around, he realised that the other Gryffindors, however small in number, all sat in small groups, chatting with each other while Hermione sat completely alone.

The space around her had become a forbidden zone, as if she had some contagious disease. Tyson raised an eyebrow.

'Already being isolated?' he realised.

'But why? Didn't it only start after she came out of the closet as an insufferable know-it-all? Classes haven't even started yet. How did she already manage to piss everyone off?' Tyson made a mental note to ask Harry later if anything had happened on the Gryffindor side. Next, he scanned the Slytherin table for Daphne. The Ice Queen also turned out to be absent, which surprised Tyson a bit. He had half expected her to show up early, if only to settle the little account between them.

For a moment, a part of him wondered if the blondie had ditched him, but he crushed the thought as quickly as it came. A young lady from one of Britain's most esteemed pure-blood families would never default on her debt. More likely, Her Highness Daphne had simply forgotten about it and was still enjoying her beauty sleep. After all, a mere hundred Galleons was probably the sort of money she flushed down the toilet every morning without a second thought.

Tyson wondered if he should get on his knees in front of the entire Great Hall and beg the generous Lady Greengrass to take pity on this poor peasant by repaying the debt she so graciously owed him. She would definitely be willing to pay him then. More and more students started filtering in while he and Anthony ate. Just as Tyson was halfway through his second egg-and-toast, someone dropped onto the bench across from them. They both looked up to see Terry grinning at them.

"Yo! Morning, guys." Tyson and Anthony simply looked at him. Terry either didn't notice or decided not to care. He reached for a loaf of bread, tore off a slice, and started buttering it. This story is posted elsewhere by the author. Help them out by reading the authentic version.

"By the way, thanks for leaving that alarm clock running, Tyson. Didn't really need it myself. I was already awake. But it definitely saved Michael's ass. Poor bloke looked ready to sleep straight through the day." Tyson stared at him, momentarily speechless. He had just discovered yet another defining trait of Terry Boot. The boy was an absolute master of playing dumb. Well, two could play that game.

"Glad it came in handy." A smile broke out on Tyson's face.

"I only packed it because I have a bad habit of reading late into the night. Though if I'd known we'd have a built-in human foghorn in the dorm, I could've saved myself the trouble." Terry paused halfway through spreading butter.

"... A human what?" Anthony slowly lowered his fork onto his plate, having had enough.

"Terry," he said with remarkable patience, "if the dormitories weren't enchanted with Silencing Charms, your snoring would've woken half the tower." He looked Terry dead in the eye.

"It sounded like a drunk troll trying to perform opera after swallowing a bagpipe." Tyson winced.

'Damn... so ruthless.' The words hit their mark. Terry's face turned so red it looked like someone had transfigured him into a tomato. For a second, Tyson feared the boy might awaken his Sharingan from sheer embarrassment. Apparently, he still underestimated Terry. The blush remained, but Terry somehow composed himself, forcing out an awkward chuckle.

"... Must've been Michael. That blokr looks like he could snore." The silence that followed was almost painful. Tyson and Anthony simply stared at him. Terry held out for nearly half a minute before his shoulders slumped in defeat.

"... Yeah, alright. Guilty as charged." He rubbed the back of his neck, a faint blush creeping onto his face.

"Mum always said I could wake the dead with my snoring. Sorry you had to put up with it on your first proper morning." His smile turned sheepish.

"It's not something under my control. My parents dragged me to every doctor they could think of when I was little. Nobody was ever able to figure out the cause." Tyson's amusement faded a little.

"Is it that bad?"

"Really bad," Terry said, jabbing a sausage with his fork to express his frustration.

"The Muggle doctors couldn't explain it, so my parents eventually took me to St. Mungo's. They couldn't figure it out either. Apparently I'm just... gifted." Anthony folded his arms.

"Gifted' isn't the word I'd use.

'Public nuisance' sounds a lot more accurate." Terry looked genuinely offended.

"Oi. You're just plain rude now!" Before Anthony could answer, Tyson smoothly stepped in.

"Alright, Anthony. Cut him some slack, will you? Like he said, it's not something he can control." Anthony snorted but let the matter drop, returning to his breakfast. Terry shot Tyson a grateful look.

"That said," Tyson continued, "we also can't have you terrorising the dorm for the next seven years. So let's stop by the hospital wing after lunch. Who knows? The Hogwarts healer might just have a cure for your Troll's Snore Syndrome." Chances were, Madam Pomfrey could really cure him. She was, after all, the hidden healing saint of the wizarding world. In canon, no matter how bad an injury students suffered, Madam Pomfrey was always able to fix them up to perfect condition. Terry shook his head bitterly.

"I appreciate it, mate, but weren't you listening? Even the healers at St. Mungo's couldn't figure it out. I don't see how the Hogwarts healer would be any different."

"No, his suggestion has merit," Anthony cut in before Tyson could reply.

"I've heard my father say that Madam Pomfrey, the Hogwarts healer, is one of the finest healers in all of Britain. There are very few things she can't mend. Even if she isn't able to cure you, there's no harm in paying her a visit." Terry looked between the two of them. After a long moment, he let out a defeated sigh.

"... Alright." A few minutes later, Michael finally wandered into the Great Hall. His steps were a bit sluggish, his eyes groggy, and his hair a mess. Anyone who didn't know better would've truly assumed the boy was sleep-deprived. The moment he dropped onto the bench, he began shovelling food into his mouth like there was no tomorrow, as though he were making up for several missed meals. Tyson watched him swallow a whole-ass sausage before letting out a quiet sigh.

How had every single one of his roommates turned out to be quirkier than the last? With company like this, he genuinely had no idea what the next seven years had in store for him. The four chatted idly over breakfast as more and more students filtered into the Great Hall. By the time only half an hour remained before Potions, the Ravenclaw table had filled considerably. An older Ravenclaw slowed as he passed their end of the table.

"You lot off to Potions?" The four nodded, along with all the first-years who were sitting nearby.

"Then I'd leave now if I were you." They looked at him curiously.

"Professor Snape has a habit of showing up early to classes that don't include Slytherin. Gives him more time to dock points from everyone else for being 'late.'" A nostalgic expression appeared on his face.

"I've seen people reaching the classroom five minutes before the bell, and somehow he still decided they should've been there earlier." With that wonderfully reassuring piece of advice, the senior continued on his way. Tyson watched him disappear into the crowd.

'You really can't underestimate the bitterness of a middle-aged virgin man.' Not willing to lose points on their first day at Hogwarts, the young Ravenclaws hurried out of the Great Hall and made their way towards the dungeons.