"My lord," Cyril hummed in reply. Theo always preferred this title.
Theo asked, referring to the future they all would be witnessing, "Are you okay with what tomorrow brings? It's like privacy being snatched away, and secrets won't be secrets anymo...
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Harry, who was starting to feel warm and sleepy, looked up at the High Table again. Hagrid was drinking deeply from his goblet. Professor McGonagall was talking to Professor Dumbledore. Professor Quirrell, in his absurd turban, was talking to a teacher with greasy black hair, a hooked nose, and sallow skin.
It happened very suddenly. The hook-nosed teacher looked past Quirrell's turban straight into Harry's eyes -- and a sharp, hot pain shot across the scar on Harry's forehead.
"Ouch!" Harry clapped a hand to his head.
"What is it?" asked Percy.
N-nothing."
James was about to say something but getting a glare from Lily, he kept quiet.
"But, that's favoritism. Come on, Evans, he's definitely up to something dodgy," Sirius was quick to defend his friend.
Potter's family was fretting over Harry with worried faces and him assuring them that he was alright.
The pain had gone as quickly as it had come. Harder to shake off was the feeling Harry had gotten from the teacher's look -- a feeling that he didn't like Harry at all.
"Who's that teacher talking to Professor Quirrell?" he asked Percy.
"Oh, you know Quirrell already, do you? No wonder he's looking so nervous, that's Professor Snape. He teaches Potions, but he doesn't want to -- everyone knows he's after Quirrell's job. Knows an awful lot about the Dark Arts, Snape."
Even though Snape was renowned for his excellence in Potions, only a select few were aware of his remarkable achievements in the field of Dark Arts.
"Of course, he would be. What could you expect from the Death Eater," Sirius whispered through gritted teeth.
Harry watched Snape for a while, but Snape didn't look at him again.
The Gryffindor first years followed Percy through the chattering crowds, out of the Great Hall, and up the marble staircase. Harry's legs were like lead again, but only because he was so tired and full of food. He was too sleepy even to be surprised that the people in the portraits along the corridors whispered and pointed as they passed, or that twice Percy led them through doorways hidden behind sliding panels and hanging tapestries. They climbed more staircases, yawning and dragging their feet, and Harry was just wondering how much farther they had to go when they came to a sudden halt.
A bundle of walking sticks was floating in midair ahead of them, and as Percy took a step toward them they started throwing themselves at him.
"Peeves," Percy whispered to the first years. "A poltergeist." He raised his voice, "Peeves -- show yourself"
