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Heavy is the Crown (Harry Potter) Chapter 47: Grand Feast
🕑 Added 2025-05-25 19:13:31 +0000 UTC[Third Person's PoV]
Once the Sorting Ceremony drew to a close, the vast hall quieted down as all eyes turned toward the head table, where Albus Dumbledore had risen to his feet. The aging headmaster stood tall, his eyes twinkling with a mix of mischief and warmth behind his half-moon spectacles. His arms stretched wide, as if to embrace every student present. A beaming smile lit up his face, making him appear both ancient and timeless all at once.
“Welcome!” Dumbledore called out, his voice both gentle and commanding, effortlessly cutting through the murmurs of excitement. “Welcome to a new year at Hogwarts! Before we begin our banquet, I would like to say a few words. And here they are: Nitwit! Blubber! Oddment! Tweak!”
There was a beat of silence, then laughter spread across the room like wildfire. Students clapped and cheered, some confused, some amused, and others simply too hungry to care what it meant.
Harry blinked in surprise and glanced at Arthur, unsure whether to laugh or ask if that had made any sense. Arthur, however, was much more focused on the now magically appearing food, watching as his once-empty plate rapidly filled with a glorious array of dishes—roast beef, mashed potatoes, gravy boats, Yorkshire pudding, and more.
The scent alone was enough to make his stomach rumble.
An entire feast had materialized before them, stretching down the length of every table, each dish more delectable than the last. Arthur picked up his fork with a bit of grace, carefully placing a small portion of roast beef and greens onto his plate. He glanced sideways and caught the look of awe in Harry’s eyes.
Harry, mouth slightly agape, was visibly delighted by the banquet. It was unlike anything he had ever seen—an endless spread of magical cuisine that seemed to shimmer with warmth and flavor.
Arthur began to eat with practiced poise, the result of years spent learning noble etiquette. He glanced over at Ron and nearly flinched. He was hunched over his plate, devouring everything in sight as if he hadn’t eaten in days, food bits flying from the corners of his mouth.
Arthur grimaced internally.
‘Ugh… How barbaric,’ he thought with distaste, mentally reminding himself to avoid watching Ron eat too often.
Still, he returned to his own plate, pushing away the unpleasantries and allowing the rich flavors to distract him.
Suddenly, a translucent figure drifted up between him and Harry—a ghost clad in a stiff, Elizabethan ruff with a long, mournful expression.
“That does look good,” the ghost said wistfully, eyes locked on a particularly golden roast chicken.
“Can’t you—?” Harry started, hesitating.
“I haven’t eaten for nearly five hundred years,” the ghost sighed dramatically. “I don’t need to, of course, but one does miss it terribly. I don’t believe I’ve introduced myself? Sir Nicholas de Mimsy-Porpington, at your service. Resident ghost of Gryffindor Tower.”
“I know who you are!” Ron cut in suddenly, swallowing a massive bite of potato. “My brothers told me about you — you’re Nearly Headless Nick!”
Sir Nicholas gave a stiff little bow, clearly displeased by the nickname. “I would prefer you to call me Sir Nicholas de Mimsy—” he began, but was interrupted again, this time by Seamus Finnigan, whose sandy hair bobbed as he leaned forward eagerly.
“Nearly Headless? How can you be nearly headless?”
A look of wounded dignity passed over Sir Nicholas's face. With an irritated sigh, he grasped his left ear, pulled sharply—and his entire head flopped sideways, hanging off his neck like it was on a hinge. Gasps and cries of surprise erupted around the table.
Clearly pleased with their horrified expressions, Sir Nicholas calmly flipped his head back into place and gave a dignified cough.
“Dude… we’re eating,” Arthur said dryly, recoiling slightly.
A bluish blush rose on the ghost’s pallid cheeks. “Ah—my apologies. In all fairness, though, you were curious.”
Arthur shook his head in mild disbelief before pausing. “Still… it must be awful not being able to enjoy a meal anymore.”
He picked up a spare plate, filled it carefully with food, and set it in front of the ghost. “Here… since I feel bad that you can’t join us properly.”
Sir Nicholas smiled sadly. “I appreciate the gesture, young man, but as I said—”
Arthur cut him off with a subtle flick of his wand, murmuring in a runic tongue under his breath, “ᛏᚢᚱᚾ ᚷᛟᛊᛏᛚᛁ.”
The food and plate shimmered faintly, their appearance shifting. The meal took on a silvery, translucent glow—the same ghostly hue as Sir Nicholas himself.
“Quick, grab it before it sinks through the table!” Arthur urged with a grin.
Startled, Sir Nicholas lunged forward just as the plate began slipping downward, catching it with trembling hands. His eyes widened in shock.
“Go on,” Arthur encouraged, “give it a try.”
The ghost stared at the spectral food for a moment before cautiously picking up a piece of pie and raising it to his lips. The moment he took a bite, his eyes shimmered with sudden emotion.
“THIS IS SOOOO GOOOD!” he howled, flying upward in delight and doing a dramatic somersault midair.
A wave of murmurs spread through the hall as students turned their attention to the joyful ghost. When Sir Nicholas finally floated back down, tears streaming from his see-through face, he looked at Arthur with unrestrained joy.
“Young man—no, Arthur, was it? I haven’t tasted food in centuries! Do you mind terribly if I share this with the others?!”
Arthur gave a gracious smile. “Go right ahead. I’d be happy if others could enjoy it too.”
Moments later, Percy leaned forward with a baffled expression. “What did you just do?”
Arthur dabbed his mouth with a napkin and replied nonchalantly, “I used transfiguration magic to convert the food’s composition into a semi-ectoplasmic state. In short, it’s now edible for ghosts.”
Before anyone could respond, Arthur’s section of the table was suddenly surrounded by floating, translucent figures—ghosts from all four houses, and even a few who hadn’t shown themselves in years.
They gathered excitedly around Arthur, whispering in awe and offering their heartfelt thanks, while the rest of the students looked on in shock.
From that moment on, Arthur wasn’t just the new Gryffindor student—he was the boy who fed the dead.
Dumbledore watched the lively scene with an amused twinkle in his eye. From his seat at the head table, he could barely make out Arthur, now entirely engulfed in a cloud of ghosts from all four houses, their ethereal forms shimmering in the flickering candlelight above. The boy was nearly invisible beneath the transparent crowd.
"Just what is all this commotion!?" Professor McGonagall’s stern voice sliced through the air like a sharp quill. Her brows furrowed deeply as she rose from her seat, peering down toward the Gryffindor table. “First, there was an interruption during the song of the four houses, then the unusual incident with the Sorting Hat, and now this! The new school year has barely even begun, for heaven’s sake!”
Dumbledore chuckled again, stroking his beard. “I have a feeling you'll be seeing quite a lot of that boy, Minerva.”
Meanwhile, Arthur was laughing along with the ghosts as he transfigured plate after plate of food into ghost-friendly meals. Spirits were weeping tears of joy, hovering excitedly above and around him, cheering and praising his magical generosity. Some even tried to shake his hand, their hands phasing through his, but that didn’t seem to bother them in the slightest.
“Shoo! Shoo now! Scatter!” McGonagall called as she marched toward the Gryffindor table, trying to disperse the crowd of spectral figures. “Let the first years dine in peace!”
But just as she arrived, she paused, eyes narrowing as she witnessed Arthur once again perform the peculiar spell. With a precise flick of his wand and an incantation in an ancient runic tongue, he transformed a glass of pumpkin juice into a ghostly version. The glass shimmered with a bluish glow, and before it could fall through the table, Nearly Headless Nick snatched it gleefully, gulping it down in one go.
“Aaaaah~ Refreshing!” Nick declared with dramatic flair as the juice spilled down his translucent robes from the partially severed line around his neck. “HUZZAH! LET'S GIVE IT UP FOR GRYFFINDOR'S OWN ARTHUR KING!!”
“ARTHUR! ARTHUR! ARTHUR!” The ghosts echoed in harmony, raising their mugs and plates with glowing enthusiasm, the dining hall echoing with their otherworldly chant.
Arthur blushed fiercely at the attention, rubbing the tip of his nose with a modest yet slightly smug grin.
“Just what is going on at this table!?” Professor McGonagall shrieked, eyes darting from the ghostly feast to the boy responsible for the pandemonium.
“Minerva!” Nearly Headless Nick exclaimed, floating beside her with a spectral grin and a raised glass. “We’re simply having a little celebration! You’ve acquired a truly gifted student in your house this year!”
“Aye, that boy’s magic is one of a kind,” rumbled the Bloody Baron from nearby, his somber voice oddly reverent. “He has granted us a gift we thought lost to time—a place at the feast. He reminded us of joy... and taste.”
Still stunned, McGonagall turned her eyes to Arthur, who was scratching the back of his neck in embarrassment.
“I... I just felt bad that they couldn’t eat like the rest of us, Professor,” Arthur explained sheepishly. “So I used transfiguration to alter the food’s properties into ectoplasmic form—something the ghosts could actually interact with.”
The stern professor blinked in surprise. “You... transfigured food into an ectoplasmic state?”
Arthur gave a small nod and then offered a brief demonstration, transforming another glass into its ghostly counterpart right before her eyes.
McGonagall stood silent for a long moment. Then, after clearing her throat, she turned to the rest of the Great Hall and announced, “Ten points to Gryffindor... for an impressive and unprecedented display of Transfiguration.”
At the far end of the hall, the massive hourglass bearing the Gryffindor lion insignia sparkled as ten brilliant red rubies dropped into place. A chorus of cheers erupted from the Gryffindor table, the students ecstatic to earn the first house points of the year—always a good omen.
But McGonagall’s expression swiftly hardened once more. “Now then,” she said, loud enough to be heard over the cheering, “let the boy enjoy his meal in peace. And no further use of magic at the table.”
The ghosts, although clearly disappointed, nodded and murmured their thanks before floating away, many of them still glancing wistfully back at Arthur. As they dispersed, Professor McGonagall returned to the high table, a faint smile tugging at her lips despite herself.
“A little early in the year to be awarding house points, don’t you think?” came a silky, slow drawl from the far end of the staff table.
Professor Snape sat reclined in his chair, his long, greasy black hair framing his pale face. His hooked nose twitched slightly, and his dark eyes gleamed with coldness.
“I don’t know what you mean,” McGonagall said primly, lifting her chin. “It was truly an exceptional use of magic—creative, compassionate, and expertly performed.”
Snape’s lips curled into a faint sneer, but he said nothing further, turning his gaze elsewhere.
Roughly half an hour passed as the students finished their meals, the lively chatter and laughter slowly winding down. Plates had begun to clear themselves, and goblets sparkled as they refilled one last time.
Then, at long last, Dumbledore rose to his feet, arms spreading with gentle command.
The Great Hall fell instantly silent.
“Ahem — just a few more words now that we are all fed and watered. I have a few start-of-term notices to give you. First years should note that the forest on the grounds is forbidden to all pupils. And a few of our older students would do well to remember that as well”
Dumbledore’s twinkling eyes flashed in the direction of the Weasley twins.
“I have also been asked by Mr. Filch, the caretaker, to remind you all that no magic should be used between classes in the corridors.”
“Quidditch trials will be held in the second week of the term. Anyone interested in playing for their House teams should contact Madam Hooch.”
Arthur’s eyes sparkled at the mention of Quidditch, ‘I don't care if I have to bribe the professor, I want to try out for Quidditch!’
“And finally, I must tell you that this year, the third-floor corridor on the right-hand side is out of bounds to everyone who does not wish to die a very painful death.”
Only very few students laughed at Dumbledore’s words, the rest knew he was being serious.
“And now, before we go to bed, let us sing the school song!” cried Dumbledore. The other teachers’ smiles had become forced by this point.
Dumbledore gave his wand a little flick, and a long golden ribbon flew out of it, which rose high above the tables and twisted itself, snakelike, into words.
“Everyone pick their favorite tune,” said Dumbledore, “and off we go!”
And mostly everyone sang:
“Hogwarts, Hogwarts, Hoggy Warty Hogwarts,
Teach us something please,
Whether we be old and bald
Or young with scabby knees,
Our heads could do with filling
With some interesting stuff,
For now they’re bare and full of air,
Dead flies and bits of fluff,
So teach us things worth knowing,
Bring back what we’ve forgot,
Just do your best, we’ll do the rest,
And learn until our brains all rot.”
Everybody finished the song at different times. At last, only the Weasley
twins were left singing along to a very slow funeral march.
Dumbledore conducted their last few lines with his wand and when they had finished, he
was one of those who clapped loudest.
“Ah, music,” he said, wiping his eyes. “A magic beyond all we do here!
And now, bedtime. Off you trot!”
And with that the grand feast came to a nightly end.
Comments
Bryan Vargas
I always loved the Quidditch sections in the books though... and I haven't seen my people do it 😕 🥺
Green223
Please don't do Quidditch it's the dumbest sport ever made as all the positions are pointless except for the Seeker pretty much also they are really boring to read through.
