Harry Potter: From Baldur's Gate to Hogwarts

Albus Dumbledore stood up, his face beaming with joy as he gazed at the young faces staring back at him. He stretched out his arms as if nothing delighted him more than seeing the students gathered together.

"Welcome!" he said, "Welcome to Hogwarts for a new school year! Before the feast begins, I'd like to say a few words, and they are: Nitwit! Blubber! Oddment! Tweak! Thank you!"

Dumbledore sat back down, and the room erupted into applause and cheers. Harry, who had also raised his hands to clap, froze in place.

"Is he... a bit mad?" Harry hesitantly asked Percy.

"Mad?" Percy looked around and then lowered his voice. "He's a genius! The greatest wizard in the world! But, yes, you're right—he's a bit mad. Oh, by the way, want some potatoes, Harry?"

Unnoticed by Harry, the plates in front of everyone had magically filled with food. Harry had never seen so much food he loved spread out at once: roast beef, chicken, pork chops, lamb chops, sausages, steak, boiled potatoes, roasted potatoes, chips, Yorkshire pudding, peas, carrots, gravy, ketchup, and for some peculiar reason, peppermint humbugs.

To be honest, Harry had never had the chance to eat his fill, whether during his time with the Dursleys or in Faerûn.

At the Dursleys', Dudley always grabbed all the food Harry wanted, even if Dudley ended up sick from overeating.

As for Faerûn, the only time Harry had the chance to eat as much as he wanted was after they cleared out a goblin camp. But surrounded by corpses, facing roasted meat of questionable origin—whether human or animal—even Astarion, the vampire spawn, lost his appetite.

Seeing the tempting dishes in front of him, Harry took a bit of everything and started eating enthusiastically. He also pocketed some peppermint humbugs.

"Looks amazing!" said a ghost in a ruffled collar, watching Harry spear half a steak and stuff it into his mouth.

"Can't you eat living people's food?" Harry asked.

"I haven't eaten anything for 400 years," said the ghost. "We ghosts don't need to eat, but, oh, how I miss the taste. By the way, I haven't introduced myself. I'm Sir Nicholas de Mimsy-Porpington, the resident ghost of Gryffindor Tower."

"I know who you are!" Ron suddenly exclaimed, holding two lamb chops. "My brothers told me about you—you're Nearly Headless Nick!"

"I'd prefer if you called me Sir Nicholas," the ghost said, looking a bit flustered. But Seamus Finnigan, with his sandy hair, chimed in: "Nearly headless? How can you be nearly headless?"

Sir Nicholas looked annoyed, clearly not wanting to discuss the topic.

"Like this." He grabbed his left ear and pulled. His head wobbled off his neck and dangled on his shoulder as if connected by hinges.

"Looks like someone tried to behead you but didn't quite finish the job," said Harry, sipping pumpkin juice. "Must've hurt, being hacked at with a blunt axe."

Sir Nicholas glanced at Harry, then seemed lost in thought, a faint glimmer of regret in his eyes.

"It did hurt. But honestly, I wish they'd gone through with it. At least then my head would've been fully separated... Anyway, let's not dwell on such sad matters," he said, noticing the wide-eyed expressions of the young wizards around him. He looked quite pleased with their reactions.

He popped his head back into place, cleared his throat, and said, "Now, Gryffindor first-years! Let's aim to win the House Cup this year, shall we? Gryffindor hasn't won in ages. Slytherin's had a six-year streak! The Bloody Baron's unbearable—oh, he's Slytherin's ghost, over there."

Harry glanced at the Slytherin table and saw a terrifying ghost sitting beside a blond boy. The ghost's hollow eyes and emaciated face were marked by silvery bloodstains on his robes.

"Why's he covered in blood?" Seamus asked with interest.

"I've never asked," said Nearly Headless Nick awkwardly.

"Judging by those marks," Harry said, studying the Bloody Baron with keen interest, "he must've attacked his enemy's major arteries at close range. Looks like it was one-sided."

"Harry, how do you know that?" Ron asked curiously.

"Experience~" Harry replied, grabbing a roast chicken and tearing into it.

Ron didn't press further, though his appetite noticeably diminished after that.

Later, the group discussed an article in the Daily Prophet titled Dumbledore's Big Blunder—Muggle Influx at Platform Nine and Three-Quarters: Should the Ministry Take Responsibility?

Percy gave a seven-minute speech on the topic, though few listened.

Once everyone had eaten their fill, the leftover food vanished, and the plates were spotless again.

After a while, dessert appeared—every imaginable kind of pudding: ice cream in various flavors, apple pie, treacle tart, chocolate éclairs, jam doughnuts, trifle, jelly, rice pudding, and more.

Harry took a jelly while the first-years began sharing stories about their families.

"I'm half-and-half," said Seamus. "Dad's a Muggle. Mom didn't tell him she was a witch until after they married. That was a nasty shock for him."

Everyone laughed except those still eating.

"What about you, Neville?" Ron asked.

"Oh, I live with my gran. She's a witch," Neville said. "But for years, my family thought I was a Squib. Uncle Algie kept trying to catch me off guard, hoping I'd do some magic—he once pushed me off the pier at Black Lake and nearly drowned me. Nothing happened, though. Then, when I was eight, he came for tea, dangled me out the window by my ankles, and dropped me. I bounced across the garden and landed on the road! They were so happy. Aunt Enid even cried. When I got my Hogwarts letter, you should've seen their faces. Uncle Algie was so thrilled he bought me a toad."

On Harry's other side, Percy and Hermione were discussing coursework.

"I hope it's straightforward—there's so much to learn," Hermione said. "I'm particularly interested in Transfiguration. You know, turning one thing into another. Of course, it must be very hard."

"You should start small, like turning matches into needles," Percy suggested.

Harry, now full, yawned and glanced at the staff table. Hagrid was drinking deeply, Professor McGonagall was speaking with Dumbledore, and Professor Quirrell, his head wrapped in a ridiculous turban, was talking to Snape.

Snape briefly locked eyes with Harry before looking away as if nothing had happened.

Finally, Dumbledore stood up again, and the hall fell silent.

"Now that we're all fed and watered, I have a few start-of-term announcements. First-years should note that the Forbidden Forest is off-limits to all students. Some of our older students would do well to remember that."

Dumbledore's twinkling eyes swept toward the Weasley twins.

"Second, Mr. Filch, the caretaker, has asked me to remind you that no magic is to be used in the corridors between classes.

"Third, Quidditch tryouts will be held in the second week of term. Anyone interested should contact Madam Hooch.

"Finally, a word of caution: anyone who does not wish to suffer a most painful death should avoid the third-floor corridor on the right."

At this, a few students laughed.

Harry raised his eyebrows in surprise and then glanced at Percy, whispering, "He can't be serious, right? Facing life-threatening dangers at school? I thought Hogwarts was supposed to be the safest place in the world."

"I'm not sure," Percy replied, frowning as he looked toward Dumbledore.

"What's strange is that whenever there's somewhere we're not allowed to go, he usually explains why. For example, everyone knows the forest is filled with dangerous creatures. Still, I think he should at least make things clear to us prefects."

"Now, before everyone heads to bed, let's sing the school song together!" Dumbledore announced with arms wide open. At the same time, Harry noticed the other teachers' smiles seemed to freeze awkwardly.

Dumbledore gave his wand a light flick, and a long golden ribbon unfurled from it, twisting and curling like a snake above the tables to form lines of text in midair.

"Everyone pick your favorite tune," Dumbledore said. "Ready? Sing!"

And so, all the staff and students belted out the school song in various melodies:

Hogwarts, Hogwarts, Hoggy Warty Hogwarts, teach us all you know,

Whether we are balding elders or children with skinned knees,

Our minds can absorb a bit of interesting stuff.

Because right now, they're filled with air, dead flies, and petty fluff,

Teach us some valuable knowledge, restore what we forgot,

You do your best, and we'll do the rest, until we rot.

The song concluded haphazardly as everyone finished at different times. Only the Weasley twins kept going, singing in the slow, mournful tune of the funeral march. Dumbledore waved his wand to conduct their final notes, applauding them enthusiastically when they finished.

"Ah, music," he said, wiping his glasses. "It has a magic far greater than anything we do here! And now, bedtime. Off to your dormitories!"

The first-year Gryffindors followed Percy through the noisy crowd, out of the Great Hall, and up the marble staircase. Harry, both full and exhausted, felt as if his legs had turned to lead.

Yawning repeatedly, the young wizards trudged up countless stairs. Just as Harry began to wonder how much farther they had to go, the group came to a sudden halt.

In front of them floated a bundle of walking sticks, suspended in midair. Percy was just one step away, and the students behind him stumbled into each other, nearly knocking him over.

"It's Peeves," Percy whispered to the first-years. "A ghost who loves playing pranks." Then he raised his voice, saying, "Peeves—show yourself!"

A loud, rasping noise like air escaping a balloon answered him.

"Do I need to fetch the Bloody Baron?" Percy threatened.

With a sudden pop, a small, mischievous ghost appeared—a short, squat figure with a pair of malevolent black eyes and a wide mouth. Floating cross-legged in the air, he clutched the bundle of walking sticks tightly. "Oh ho ho! First-year brats! What fun!"

He swooped toward them, cackling.

The students froze, too shocked to react.

Then, as though struck by an invisible force, Peeves' advance came to an abrupt halt. The sticks he had been holding clattered to the floor as a translucent pale blue hand materialized before him.

"Who was that? Who hit me?!" Peeves clutched his face, angrily scanning the walls as if searching for the source of the mysterious hand—or its ghostly owner.

"No need to look," a lazy voice drawled from the crowd. It was Harry, speaking without much enthusiasm. "I hit you. I'm tired and cranky, so don't test my patience, okay?"

Peeves stared at Harry, his eyes flickering to the green energy swirling faintly in Harry's hand. Though he couldn't identify what it was, the aura emanated a potent sense of danger.

With a snort, Peeves made a face at the group before disappearing through a wall.

"Well done, Harry," Percy said, patting him on the shoulder. "I don't know what spell you just used, but scaring Peeves off is no small feat. He doesn't even listen to us prefects. The only one who can really deal with him is the Bloody Baron, and honestly, I'd rather not bother the Slytherin ghost if I can avoid it."

The group continued down the corridor, stopping before a painting of a rather plump woman dressed in pink.

"Password?" the portrait asked.

"Dragon dung," Percy said.

The painting swung forward, revealing a circular hole in the wall. The students clambered through one by one—Neville needed a bit of help—and found themselves in the Gryffindor common room.

It was a cozy, round space filled with plush armchairs and a large fireplace, though the fire inside was only a faint glow now.

Percy directed the girls to one door leading to their dormitories and then led the boys to another. At the top of a spiral staircase, they reached their room.

The dormitory had five four-poster beds draped with deep crimson velvet curtains. Their trunks from the train were already waiting for them. Too exhausted for conversation, everyone changed into their pajamas and collapsed into bed.

"The feast was incredible, wasn't it?" Ron murmured to Harry through the curtains. "Hey, Scabbers! Stop chewing my sheets!"

The night passed uneventfully.

At five the next morning, Harry woke up as if on instinct. His years of adventuring had ingrained the habit of rising early.

Seeing the dormitory still shrouded in darkness, Harry quietly made his way to the bathroom. After washing up and changing into his robes, he grabbed his books for the day and left the room.

Standing in the corridor, he looked down at the labyrinth of constantly shifting staircases below.

After a moment's thought, he cast a Featherlight Charm on himself.

Then, with a decisive leap, he vaulted over the railing.

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