I kept my face pleasantly blank and my hands busy with a roll, so I didn't look like I was completely lost. Floating candles drifted like lazy fireflies under the star-splashed ceiling, and the sea of blue name boxes bobbed over every head like a floating boat being rocked by the ocean of uncertainty. If anyone glanced my way, they'd just see another new Hufflepuff grinning as he enjoyed his treacle tart, not a guy quietly looking at the bland status screen and trying not to think about the metaphysical ethics of hats.
A bright voice at my elbow rescued me from my spiraling: "Alright, new badgers—introductions! I'm Amelia Whitmore—fifth-year prefect." Her blue box hovered: Amelia Whitmore – Level 27. She said it like it was no big deal, but Level 27 felt like a mountain from my freshly minted Level 1 perspective. Amelia had that easy, sunny confidence that made you relax despite yourself. "We always do a quick round of introductions on the first feast for the newbloods. Say your name, where you're from, and one thing you're excited about. I'll start. From Devon, I love Herbology and Quidditch, and I'm excited to meet all of you. Also, eat while you talk. Helga would haunt me if I let you starve."
And Helga would have approved of the feast platters refilling with motherly insistence as we dug in: roast chicken, buttered new potatoes, minted peas, some sort of golden loaf that steamed like it had a soul. The Fat Friar drifted by, bowed, and waved to the table, as a few tried not to reach through him to get at the spread.
Amelia tipped her chin to the girl across from me. "Hannah, you're up."
Hannah Abbott tucked a strand of blonde hair behind her ear and sat a little straighter. She had blond hair tied in twin ponytails that looked quite good on her, along with a bust that stretched her shirt just a tiny bit. She sure gathered herself a tiny bit of attention. Hannah Abbott – Level 1 hovered above her.
"I'm Hannah. Pur family manor is located somewhere in Bath. I come from a family with a history rich in Potions, and with our Head of the House being Professor Sprout, I'm excited for Herbology… and Potions." She flashed a self-deprecating grin, though her voice did get muted at the end, her excitement dimming slightly. "Also, I want to try butterbeer that isn't my uncle's 'experimental' recipe."
"Experimental butterbeer is a war crime," Susan said dryly.
"Yeah, and about Potions, don't have too high hopes alright..." Amelia replied as she gave Hannah an encouraging smile.
Susan Bones's box read Level 2, likely not a novice, and she must have had some time to practice her spells. She gave a small wave when Amelia gestured to her. The busty redhead was a lot more petite than Hannah; her robes hung loosely across her frame, which further highlighted her curves and a sort of conflicting young-mature charm.
"Susan Bones. From London. My aunt works at the Ministry. I'm excited for Defense Against the Dark Arts—and for our dorms. I read the Hufflepuff common room has the best vibe and the coziest couches. I like cozy couches." She looked at everything, meeting mine for a brief moment. "And meeting new people," she added, almost like she knew my brain needed the extra anchor to focus on the conversation as I closed the status menu and stopped myself from experimenting.
'I can look through it when I'm alone. Let's focus on getting to know everyone here first.' I thought.
Next to her, Ernie Macmillan adjusted his tie like he was about to argue a court case. His band locks framed his boyish face in an old-style haircut. Ernest Macmillan – Level 1 hovered above his head, so he likely was on the same starting level as the rest of us.
"Ernest Macmillan, though 'Ernie' is acceptable. Grew up in our manor near Kent, old family, long Hufflepuff line, blah ba blah, I'm looking forward to enjoying some time away from home. Also, I have heard rumors about Professor Binns… and his approach to history." He said it so gravely, a few of the upper years snorted before they could stop themselves. Ernie blinked momentarily, unsure whether to be offended or proud. He settled on proud as Amelia moved the conversation along.
"Megan?" Amelia prompted.
Megan Jones – Level 1 perked up. Her blond locks framed her face in twin long bangs, and she wasn't the most busty of the girls present as her robes tightly hung across her petite frame. She had a serene confidence in her looks, though, as she smiled confidently and replied in a bubbly tone. "Megan Jones— grew up in Anglesey, North Wales. I'm a Half-blood with a pureblood dad and a Muggleborn mother. I'm excited for Charms! I turned our toaster into a very angry porcupine last month." She winced. "Professor McGonagall was lovely about it. My dad… less so."
Everyone shared a quick chuckle at that mental image as Amelia pointed to the quiet guy. Wayne Hopkins—Level 1—cleared his throat. "Wayne. From Reading. I like chess and pastry. I'm excited for… not exploding my cauldron? And the food. Mostly the food." He stared at a dish of treacle tart like it owed him money.
Amelia slid in smoothly. "I'm sure the Hogwarts feast is up to your standard. If you are into exotic themes, I do hope you check out the Deathday party on Halloween, hosted by Nearly Headless Nick..." She grinned at our confusion as the little bit of trivia popped into my head, "Priya?" She smoothly slid the transition to a girl whose name I haven't heard in canon.
On the other side of the table, a girl with a sleek braid and a nervous smile lifted a hand. The action seemed a bit weird, but there was a hint of innocence in her eyes as she continued, Priya Shah – Level 1. "Priya Shah. From Birmingham. Muggle-born." She swallowed and rushed on. "Professor McGonagall came to my house and turned our sugar bowl into a goldfish and back again. My mum cried. Then we went to Diagon Alley and I… cried as well." She laughed at herself. "Ollivanders made me hold, like, twenty wands, and then the right one gave me splinters of golden light and I thought, 'I can do this.'"
Amelia's face softened. "You absolutely can."
A boy farther down—curly blond hair, expensive-looking robe, neat posture—lifted his fork in salute. Justin Finch-Fletchley – Level 1. "Justin Finch-Fletchley. London. I was meant to go to Eton." He grinned. "Changed plans. I'm excited for… well, all of it. Also, I'm a massive football fan—Go Gunners—and I'm curious about Quidditch though."
A ripple moved through the Hufflepuff table at the word "football" like someone had cast Confundus. A few of the Muggle-borns perked up; the wizard-borns looked politely baffled.
Amelia clapped, bringing things back on track. "Lovely. Ivan?"
Every face turned, friendly but expectant. My box was likely saying —Ivan Carter – Level 1—not that I could see it, nor could they, hopefully.
"Ivan," I said, and heard how small my voice sounded over the hum of the hall. "Manchester. Muggle-born. Professor McGonagall showed up in my flat and turned into a cat on my kitchen table." I thought that was a believable lie since I had no memory of how that visit went. Susan choked on pumpkin juice at my words. "Diagon Alley was… a lot. In a good way. The goblin vault cart at Gringotts convinced me I should never, ever operate heavy machinery. I like books and… figuring out how things work." I hesitated, glancing around at the warm faces and the yellow scarves. "And I'm excited to, um, belong somewhere."
Amelia beamed like I'd handed her a puppy. "See? Badger already."
Our little circle broke apart into cross-table conversations, and the evening smoothed into a rhythm—laughter, clinking cutlery, the Sorting Hat snoozing on its stool like a deflated mushroom. I took a few glances up at the staff table, with Dumbledore and the rest of the teachers perched on their podiums, conversing quietly while looking down at us. I focused on the level 78 wizard, he looked like a painting that grew tired of being wise and got mischievous instead. His glasses twinkled; his beard had its own weather system. Earlier, he had warned us off the Forbidden Forest, mentioned Mr. Filch and his list of forbidden items (now very long), and told us to enjoy the feast. The hat sat motionless and did not, for the record, sing any song about my impending fate, which did wonders for my blood pressure.
'Well, that went well, now let's see here. The status page is very basic, what else do I have access to? Inventry?' I tried with an expectant look.
...