Harry Potter: The Gryffindor Warrior - HP / Hogwarts

[Chapter Size: 1900 Words.]

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People often say that those with mental illnesses have broader ideas and are more cheerful than children.

There were probably no mentally ill students in Gryffindor, but there were certainly some amusing ones. As Harry walked toward them, excitement spread through the group, and their faces turned red with enthusiasm. He was moments away from breaking into a dance like Fred and George.

Even Percy, the most serious of Ron's older brothers, eagerly extended his hand when he saw Harry approaching. Once again, Harry was forced to shake hands with a large crowd of people.

To be honest, Gryffindor was definitely not the worst choice. At least in Harry's opinion, it was far better than Slytherin, and perhaps even better than Hufflepuff. However, if given a choice, Harry would have much rather been placed in Ravenclaw.

There were two reasons for this. The first was that Gryffindor was incredibly loud, especially with the Weasley twins constantly nearby. They were so noisy that Harry often felt the urge to cover his ears.

As for the second reason, well, it was a little harder to admit. From what he had observed, Ravenclaw seemed to have more girls than the other houses. And some of them were quite pretty.

Any lingering resentment Harry had toward Gryffindor quickly faded once Ron was sorted into the house.

After all, Harry had enjoyed spending time with the three of them on the train. Since the four of them were destined to be together and had all been placed in Gryffindor, that in itself was something to be happy about.

An amusing moment occurred when the Sorting Hat was placed on Ron's head. He had been muttering something under his breath, though it was unclear exactly what. However, the hat had barely touched his head before it shouted, "Gryffindor!"

Harry noticed the visible relief on Ron's face. He guessed Ron had probably been repeating to himself, "I want Gryffindor, I want Gryffindor."

The thought made Harry chuckle.

When Ron reached the Gryffindor table, his serious older brother, Percy, proudly announced to those around him, "That's my brother, my younger brother. Another Weasley in Gryffindor!"

Once the last student had been sorted into Slytherin, Professor McGonagall rolled up the scroll in her hands, picked up the Sorting Hat, and left the center of the Great Hall.

Harry, meanwhile, had already started eyeing the elegant tableware in front of him. The nervousness he had felt earlier had vanished, replaced by an overwhelming hunger. Despite having eaten plenty at lunchtime and snacked throughout the day, he was still ravenous.

At that moment, Professor Albus Dumbledore stood up at the center of the faculty table.

Unlike the serious depictions of wizards in books and portraits, Dumbledore, the real Dumbledore, wore a constant smile. This was quite different from the impression Harry had of Neil.

Harry wasn't sure if Neil had always been naturally intimidating or if he had just appeared that way when trying to take over his body.

Either way, in Harry's mind, Neil seemed like a stern old man, whereas Dumbledore appeared to be a kindly, smiling grandfather figure.

Between his odd glasses and that slightly crooked nose, Dumbledore's presence even helped ease some of the lingering fear Harry had toward Neil.

At first, Harry had expected Dumbledore to give a long, boring speech, something he was used to from his primary school principal, who did so every year when new students arrived.

But to his surprise, Dumbledore's speech was remarkably brief. In fact, it ended with a bizarre and nonsensical phrase: "Nitwit! Blubber! Oddment! Tweak!"

As applause erupted around him, Harry turned cautiously to Percy and asked, "Is Dumbledore a little…?" He twirled his finger near his temple, making a gesture to suggest something was off.

Unfortunately, it seemed that the wizarding world didn't recognize that particular gesture, as Percy only looked confused.

Lowering his voice, Harry tried again: "Is he a bit mad?"

Percy let out a small chuckle, then replied in a hushed voice, "Mad? No, he's a genius. One of the greatest wizards in the world, maybe the greatest. You see, ordinary people can never truly understand how a genius thinks. But… you're not entirely wrong. He can be a bit mad sometimes. Actually, he's probably like that most of the time."

Harry blinked in surprise. It seemed that the legendary figure known as the Light of British Magic was not quite as he had imagined.

But before he could dwell on the thought, something changed at the table before him.

Moments ago, the plates had been empty. Now, they were piled high with food. And not just any food, extraordinary food.

The dishes before him weren't merely delicious, they were accompanied by desserts, too.

Back at the Dursleys', the food had always been quite good, Aunt Petunia fancied herself a bit of a gourmet, though Harry personally thought her cooking was only mediocre. At the very least, he believed it was far inferior to what was served at the Leaky Cauldron.

Of course, even the Leaky Cauldron couldn't compare to the high-end restaurants Harry had occasionally been taken to. After Uncle Vernon's salary had increased significantly, the family had begun dining at upscale establishments from time to time, and Harry had even eaten at Michelin-starred restaurants.

And yet, even those meals seemed to pale in comparison to the feast now laid out before him.

Harry, whose stomach was already protesting, naturally didn't care about anything else at that moment. He grabbed the nearest pieces of sausage and stuffed them into his mouth. However, as soon as he did, he realized that such behavior wasn't exactly refined for a wizard.

But that thought quickly faded when he noticed that Percy, sitting beside him, had casually picked up a grilled lamb chop with his hands, pulled it apart, and taken a large bite.

Well, it seemed that wizards didn't care much about fancy things like table etiquette.

Had Harry's eyesight been better, he might have noticed the Slytherin students dining elegantly at the long table across the Great Hall. If he had, he probably would have felt some internal conflict about whether wizards should pay attention to etiquette at all.

Of course, even if such a contradiction had arisen, it likely wouldn't have changed Harry's eating habits.

During the meal, Harry met Gryffindor's house ghost, Sir Nicholas de Mimsy-Porpington.

As the knight demonstrated why he was called Nearly Headless Nick, Harry was in the middle of chewing a bite of foie gras. Watching the ghost's translucent body and the way his severed neck wriggled, Harry suddenly felt that the once-delicious foie gras in his mouth had lost all its appeal.

All around the Great Hall, young witches and wizards ate and chatted happily. At least a third of the students in the entire hall, however, kept stealing glances at Harry.

Harry had grown used to being stared at since he was six or seven years old, though back then, it had been because of his appearance. Perhaps that was still part of the reason now. Either way, he had long since become accustomed to it, so it didn't bother him much. He could still eat as much as he wanted.

As he reached about sixty percent fullness and started slowing down, Harry began glancing around the room, particularly toward the staff table.

Beside him, Hermione was deep in discussion with Percy about Transfiguration. Harry had skimmed the Transfiguration textbook but had found it somewhat dull, so he hadn't paid much attention to it. As a result, he didn't really understand what they were discussing and quickly lost interest. His eyes wandered back to the faculty seats.

There were several figures at the table that immediately caught Harry's attention.

Aside from Dumbledore, who sat at the center, the most noticeable was Hagrid, seated at the far end due to his enormous size.

Another point of interest was the empty seat beside Dumbledore, where Professor McGonagall was currently heading.

And then, on the opposite side of the table, there was.

A dwarf? A goblin? Or something else?

There was a remarkably short wizard engaged in conversation with a slightly plump witch beside him, occasionally laughing.

Beyond them, however, another group of professors caught Harry's attention.

Three of them stood out in particular.

One looked as if he had just returned from outside. He was thin and pale, wearing a thick robe, a scarf, and even a large headwrap, almost resembling the attire of certain religious figures.

Next to him sat a strikingly beautiful professor. However, she didn't seem particularly sociable. She kept her head lowered and ate elegantly, avoiding conversation with the others.

And then, on the other side of the turbaned man, was another professor.

This one had sallow skin and shoulder-length black hair, hair that clearly hadn't been washed for quite some time. Even from a distance, Harry could tell it was oily.

Harry felt a bit nauseated.

The greasy-haired professor was speaking to the turbaned man when his gaze suddenly shifted toward Harry.

The man in the turban turned as well, seeming to say something in a hurried, anxious manner. He gestured animatedly, looking somewhat flustered.

The greasy-haired man's cold, emotionless eyes scanned the Gryffindor table before settling on Harry.

His expression was stiff, almost frozen. His eyes, dark and lifeless like shards of black glass, held an eerie stillness. But when they landed on Harry's face, his facial muscles twitched ever so slightly.

That confirmed to Harry that the man didn't suffer from facial paralysis or anything of the sort.

Even so, his gaze made Harry deeply uncomfortable.

At first, his eyes had seemed utterly vacant, but the moment they locked onto Harry, something flickered to life within them, an emotion too complex for Harry to decipher.

Harry had never been particularly good at reading people's expressions. However, if he was close enough, and if the emotions were strong enough, he could sometimes sense them. But deciphering someone's thoughts just by looking at their face or eyes? That wasn't one of his abilities.

Still, there was something unsettling about the way the greasy-haired man was staring at him.

And then, without warning.

A dull pain flared in his forehead. Or, more precisely, in his scar.

Though the pain was faint, it was enough to irritate him. He frowned slightly and muttered under his breath toward the greasy-haired professor:

"Take a picture, it'll last longer."

The professor's expression changed abruptly. Clearly, he had understood Harry's lip movements.

But just as suddenly as his face had tensed, he schooled his features back into a near-expressionless state. At the same time, he raised a hand, gesturing for the turbaned man to stop talking.

The man in the turban seemed relieved and turned back to his meal.

And oddly enough, the moment the greasy-haired man looked away, Harry's scar stopped hurting.

"What's going on?"

Harry frowned in confusion. He nudged Percy, who was still engaged in an intense discussion with Hermione.

"Percy... Head Boy, who's that professor with the black hair?"

At the mention of Head Boy, Percy immediately brightened and beamed proudly.

"Oh, that's Professor Snape…"

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