THE ALCHEMIST OF HARRY POTTER

The first-years were awed by Dumbledore's effortless magic, but hunger soon took priority over curiosity as they turned their attention to the feast that had magically appeared before them.

Albert, however, knew how the food had arrived. The Hogwarts house-elves in the kitchens below had sent it up through enchanted passageways—spells likely dating back to Helga Hufflepuff herself. It was said that her enchanted cup, later turned into a Horcrux by Voldemort, had been used to enhance food-related magic.

Albert decided to test the knowledge of the prefect beside him, but the older student was too busy stuffing his mouth with roast beef to respond.

The feast was lavish.

Though not the most refined, it was certainly enough to satisfy everyone.

Albert casually cut into his steak, eating at a leisurely pace. Unlike the others, he wasn't particularly hungry—he had been snacking throughout the train ride.

His fellow Gryffindors, however, ate with gusto. Lee Jordan, seated across from him, grinned as he gnawed on a chicken leg in one hand and reached for a shepherd's pie with the other.

As the meal progressed, ghosts began drifting in from the castle walls, greeting the new students and causing a stir among the Muggle-borns.

Gryffindor's resident ghost, a nobleman dressed in ruffled finery, floated above the table. He was none other than Sir Nicholas de Mimsy-Porpington—better known as Nearly Headless Nick.

"Sir Nicholas," Albert greeted politely, swallowing a bite of beef.

"I must say, young man, I much prefer that to 'Nearly Headless Nick,'" the ghost said, clearly pleased.

"Sir Nicholas de Mimsy-Porpington," Albert repeated smoothly, satisfied with his own memory. "May I ask—can ghosts be photographed? I mean, do they appear in pictures?"

Nick looked taken aback. "What? Boy, I don't believe I've ever been asked that before."

"Would you mind taking a picture with me someday?" Albert asked.

"Well, if you remember, you know where to find me." Sir Nicholas looked amused.

"May I ask another question?"

"Go on, my boy."

"What exactly is a ghost? Are they… souls of the dead?"

Sir Nicholas hesitated. "Wizards who leave behind an imprint of themselves may linger where they once walked, but only a rare few choose such a fate."

"So… they aren't memories, but they aren't quite souls either," Albert murmured, thinking of Voldemort, whose soul had been fractured.

When he glanced up, he realized that the students around him were staring.

"What?" he asked, puzzled.

"Nothing," they all said quickly.

"I still think you should've been sorted into Ravenclaw," Fred said bluntly.

"Swallow your food before you talk," Albert retorted.

"Why are you so curious about ghosts?" a first-year asked.

"Muggles don't have ghosts—not like this, anyway," Albert explained. "Now that I have the chance to learn about them firsthand, I don't want to waste it. By the way, be careful—ghosts feel ice-cold if you pass through them."

He had discreetly poked Nick's translucent form and found his fingertip had gone numb. The thought of being completely enveloped by a ghost was hardly appealing, especially in the dead of winter.

"That's true, there are no ghosts in the Muggle world," a girl two seats away spoke up. Her name was Shanna Wilson.

"When I got my letter, my family thought it was a prank. They nearly threw Professor McGonagall out when she came to explain," Shanna added with a laugh. "They didn't want me to come."

"Same here. My mother nearly called the police on Professor McGonagall," Albert said, grinning. "People who rely on science don't handle magical surprises very well. They wanted me to go to Eton."

"Eton? The Eton College?" Shanna looked impressed.

"What's that?" Lee Jordan asked, puzzled.

"It's one of the most prestigious schools in Britain," Shanna explained.

"Hogwarts is better," George said smugly.

"Well, obviously," Shanna said, rolling her eyes. "But in the Muggle world, there are thousands of schools, and Eton ranks among the top three. That's saying something."

"Sounds fancy," George said dismissively. He clearly wasn't interested.

"Enough about me—what about you lot?" Albert turned to another girl at the table.

"I'm a half-blood," Angelina Johnson said. "My mum's a witch, my dad's a Muggle. He knew about magic from the start, so there was no shock when I got my letter. We've always lived in the Muggle world, though."

Alicia Spinnett, seated beside her, added, "I'm from a wizarding family, so I grew up around magic. My parents were thrilled when I got accepted. They even bought me an owl."

By the time everyone had eaten their fill, the remaining food vanished from the plates, replaced by an array of desserts.

Albert helped himself to a treacle tart, listening to the others swap stories.

After the feast, the plates cleared once more—as if, Albert thought, Tom the innkeeper had licked them clean.

Dumbledore stood, drawing the students' attention. "I am pleased to welcome a new professor to our staff. Professor Bud Broad will be taking the post of Defense Against the Dark Arts teacher."

The applause was polite but subdued.

Professor Broad was an elderly wizard with thinning hair and a stiff posture.

"There are a few more announcements," Dumbledore continued. "First-year students should take note that the Forbidden Forest is strictly off-limits. Also, our caretaker, Mr. Filch, reminds you that magic is not to be used in the corridors between classes. Lastly, Quidditch tryouts will be held in the second week of term. Those interested should speak to Madam Hooch."

"Why can't we go into the Forbidden Forest?"

"Probably because it's dangerous," Albert said, glancing at the Weasley twins, who looked far too intrigued.

"If you two even think about sneaking in, I'll write to Mum," Percy Weasley said sternly, narrowing his eyes at his brothers.

"We wouldn't dare," the twins said in unison, feigning innocence.

Albert wasn't convinced. He had a feeling that before long, Fred and George would find a way into the Forbidden Forest—letter to their mother or not.