Weighed & Measured {HP}

9. slytherin house

"What's wrong?" Draco asked, leaning to whisper in Harry's ear as the Headmaster rose.

"Nothing. Headache," Harry grunted, running his fingers through his hair. He didn't know what the pain meant, but his scar had never hurt before. Was it somehow sensitive to magic? Or was it all a coincidence?

Draco frowned.

"If it still hurts after the feast, you should go to the nurse," he instructed, in a manner reminiscent of his mother. But the pain had already faded.

"It's gone," Harry said. Perhaps later, he would tell Draco that the pain had resonated only in his scar. Or perhaps Professor Snape. He would surely know what to do.

The headmaster was speaking, and Harry managed to catch the end of his words.

"-Blubber! Oddment! Tweak! Thank you!" Professor Dumbledore exclaimed, sitting down.

Harry stared. And then he turned to stare at Draco.

"He's, er, a bit mad, isn't he?" he asked. Draco laughed.

"My father says that he's the worst thing to ever happen to Hogwarts," he said, which didn't really answer Harry's question. He was about to say that, when his attention was captured by the food suddenly appearing on the golden plates in front of him.

Harry gaped. He had never seen so much to eat in his life. And he could have as much as he liked. Distracted from his headache and from Professor Dumbledore's strange words, he started serving himself, taking all of his favorites and some things that he had never tried before, as well.

The pumpkin pasties and cauldron cakes long forgotten, Harry and the rest of the school dug into the feast. For a few moments, the only sound to be heard in the Great Hall was the clatter of silverware, but soon conversation rose, as well.

A ghost floated over towards them. He wore clothes that looked at least a thousand years out of date, and had something that looked disgustingly like blood all down his pearly white front. Harry quickly looked away.

The ghost sighed, and remained in the open spot next to Draco Malfoy, who looked disquieted by his presence.

Harry looked up to see the ghost peering at him.

"Harry Potter," he said, his voice almost hoarse. "It is good to see you in Slytherin. And the rest of you," he commented towards the other first years. But his focus soon went back to Harry. He stared, curious, at Harry's forehead, before looking away.

Harry wondered why. Was he famous, even among ghosts?

"Er, thank you, sir," Harry said, when it looked like none of the other first years were going to speak up. "And who-?"

"I am known as the Bloody Baron," the ghost said sadly. He didn't offer his real name, and Harry didn't feel comfortable asking. "The ghost of Slytherin House."

"Nice to meet you," Harry offered, apparently braver than the rest of his classmates.

The Blood Baron looked a bit surprised, but pleased.

"And you, as well."

Harry got back to eating. He was too hungry to be distracted for long, and the food was too good.

"I trust you'll all work hard this year?" The Bloody Baron said, and Harry looked at him, mouth full of potatoes. "We've won the House Cup six years in a row, now. I would hate to break our streak."

It was almost threatening, but Harry wondered what a ghost could really do to him. He shrugged. He didn't yet know how the House Cup worked, or points, or anything like that. Still, the idea of winning sounded good to him. And he had already decided to work hard at his new school.