Percy's Wizarding Heritage

Chapter 9

“SLYTHERIN!” Shouted the sorting hat.

Percy stood up and gave the hat to Professor McGonagall, who accepted it slowly, and quickly walked over to the cheering table and sat next to Draco and Blaise. They were really excited to see him in their house.

They had an excellent feast, but Percy hoped that the gods would forgive him for not sacrificing to them tonight; he had no fire to scrap his offering into. When he looked around he saw that the food was mostly British stuff with some other stuff mixed in. It all looked interesting, with roast beef and chicken, pork chops, lamb chops, sausages, bacon, steak, boiled potato, roast potato, chips, some kind of pudding, peas, carrots, gravy, ketchup and, strangely, mint humbugs. Soon they went up to sleep after hearing a couple of messages from Dumbledore, like how the forest was out of bounds, and that some stuff had been banned by the caretaker. There was also one about his grandfather, Voldemort, that made him cautious about talking to him. He decided that it would be best if he asked his mum about what he heard when he had a chance. He might have to ask one of the others to take the letter for him, so he doesn’t aggravate the owls.

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Percy had a peaceful night sleep, for once. He had no dreams and no one woke him up because of monsters or new demigods at the boundary line. When he got up the next morning he saw there was no one else up. When he looked at the clock he noticed it was around six, almost time for breakfast if what the others told him last night was right. He decided he’d have a shower and hurry down to breakfast now to beat the rush; he could always meet them there. The moment he stepped under the water he felt better, more awake, the water giving him strength. After a few minutes he decided it was time to get out of the water.

Getting up to breakfast was relatively easy, he just backtracked the way he came last night, getting lost about four times. When he made it to the great hall he saw there were only a few people around. Straight away he went to the staff table to ask, the old man, Dumbledore, he reminded himself, about a sacrificial flame for his meals.

“Sir, may I ask you something?” He asked.

“It appears you have, but you may ask another.” Came Dumbledore’s reply.

He shook his head, trying to clear it “Well, I was wondering if I could have a fire near where I eat.”

“Why ever would you need a flame there? Surely you’re not cold?”