THE SORTING HAT
Albus Dumbledore had gotten to his feet. He was beaming at
the students, his arms opened wide, as if nothing could have
pleased him more than to see them all there.
“Welcome!” he said. “Welcome to a new year at Hogwarts! Be-
fore we begin our banquet, I would like to say a few words. And
here they are: Nitwit! Blubber! Oddment! Tweak!
“Thank you!”
He sat back down. Everybody clapped and cheered. Harry didn’t
know whether to laugh or not.
“Is he — a bit mad?” he asked Percy uncertainly.
“Mad?” said Percy airily. “He’s a genius! Best wizard in the
world! But he is a bit mad, yes. Potatoes, Harry?”
Harry’s mouth fell open. The dishes in front of him were now
piled with food. He had never seen so many things he liked to eat
on one table: roast beef, roast chicken, pork chops and lamb chops,
sausages, bacon and steak, boiled potatoes, roast potatoes, fries,
Yorkshire pudding, peas, carrots, gravy, ketchup, and, for some
strange reason, peppermint humbugs.
The Dursleys had never exactly starved Harry, but he’d never
been allowed to eat as much as he liked. Dudley had always taken
anything that Harry really wanted, even if it made him sick. Harry
piled his plate with a bit of everything except the peppermints and
began to eat. It was all delicious.
“That does look good,” said the ghost in the ruff sadly, watching
Harry cut up his steak.
“Can’t you — ?”
“I haven’t eaten for nearly five hundred years,” said the ghost. “I
don’t need to, of course, but one does miss it. I don’t think I’ve in-
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