45
The first feast
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Everyone on Ravenwing table is delighted to have you in their house, and welcome you warmly.

"Welcome to Ravenwing Arthur!" says one girl, who looks like she is in the oldest year. "Congratulations on your intelligent choice. You will find your new house mates very convivial companions I'm sure!" The girl shakes your hand and pats you on the shoulder.

The children around the table spontaneously break into the Ravenwing House chant, flapping their hands like wings at the side of their heads while chanting the House chant.

"Mind over matter, Ravenwings comin' at yaaaa!"

You have a huge grin on your face and it only gets wider when - the rest of the House Sorting complete - Slumblebore magically conjures up an incredible feast for dinner.

From out of thin air materializes platters of roast beef and boiled sprouts, Yorkshire pudding and mashed turnips, shepherds pie and boiled broccoli, toad in the hole and boiled potatoes, bubble and squeak and boiled carrots, apple crumble with strawberry ice cream, and spotted dick drowning in custard.

"Yorkshire pudding, my favourite!" says Daniel Colliers-Wood who was also chosen for Ravenwing House, and licks his lips. Before long you are chatting like old friends.

In a rite of initiation all the first years crack open the eggs they received from Percy the Picking Pigeon and guzzle the contents raw.

Then you eat more than you have ever eaten before, enjoying yourself immensely. You wonder if Slumblebore is somehow making the food magically disappear after it enters your stomach, in a similar way to how he made the food appear on the table. But finally you realise you can't cram anything more into your belly, and let out a huge belch.

"Children!" Slumblebore stands, his beard streaked with mashed turnips and the odd boiled potato. He raises his hands for silence. "Children! Now we have eaten our fill it is time for bed. Prefects lead the students to the House towers. And remember: the dungeons are off limits this term. We don't know what's down there, and neither do we want to."

The children rise to their feet, clutching their distended tummies, and prepare to leave the hall.

You turn to Daniel Colliers-Wood and say: