Harry Potter 04 - Harry Potter and the Goblet of Fire

man in a bell-covered hat and orange bow-tie, his wide, malicious face contorted with concentration as he took aim again.
    ‘PEEVES!’ yelled an angry voice. ‘Peeves, come down here at ONCE!’
    Professor McGonagall, deputy headmistress and Head of Gryffindor house, had come dashing out of the Great Hall; she skidded on the wet floor and grabbed Hermione around the neck to stop herself falling. ‘Ouch – sorry, Miss Granger –’
    ‘That’s all right, Professor!’ Hermione gasped, massaging her throat.
    ‘Peeves, get down here NOW!’ barked Professor McGonagall, straightening her pointed hat and glaring upwards through her square-rimmed spectacles.
    ‘Not doing nothing!’ cackled Peeves, lobbing a water bomb at several fifth-year girls, who screamed and dived into the Great Hall. ‘Already wet, aren’t they? Little squirts! Wheeeeeeeeee!’ And he aimed another bomb at a group of second-years who had just arrived.
    ‘I shall call the Headmaster!’ shouted Professor McGonagall. ‘I’m warning you, Peeves –’
    Peeves stuck out his tongue, threw the last of his water bombs into the air, and zoomed off up the marble staircase, cackling insanely.
    ‘Well, move along, then!’ said Professor McGonagall sharply to the bedraggled crowd. ‘Into the Great Hall, come on!’
    Harry, Ron and Hermione slipped and slid across the Entrance Hall and through the double doors on the right, Ron muttering furiously under his breath as he pushed his sopping hair off his face.
    The Great Hall looked its usual splendid self, decorated for the start-of-term feast. Golden plates and goblets gleamed by the light of hundreds and hundreds of candles, floating over the tables in mid-air. The four long house tables were packed with chattering students; at the top of the Hall, the staff sat along one side of a fifth table, facing their pupils. It was much warmer in here. Harry, Ron and Hermione walked past the Slytherins, the Ravenclaws and the Hufflepuffs, and sat down with the rest of the Gryffindors at the far side of the Hall, next to Nearly Headless Nick, the Gryffindor ghost. Pearly white and semi-transparent, Nick was dressed tonight in his usual doublet, with a particularly large ruff, which served the dual purpose of looking extra festive and ensuring that his head didn’t wobble too much on his partially severed neck.
    ‘Good evening,’ he said, beaming at them.
    ‘Says who?’ said Harry, taking off his trainers and emptying them of water. ‘Hope they hurry up with the Sorting, I’m starving.’
    The Sorting of the new students into houses took place at the start of every school year, but by an unlucky combination of circumstances, Harry hadn’t been present at one since his own. He was quite looking forward to it.
    Just then, a highly excited, breathless voice called down the table, ‘Hiya, Harry!’
    It was Colin Creevey, a third-year to whom Harry was something of a hero.
    ‘Hi, Colin,’ said Harry warily.
    ‘Harry, guess what? Guess what, Harry? My brother’s starting! My brother Dennis!’
    ‘Er – good,’ said Harry.
    ‘He’s really excited!’ said Colin, practically bouncing up and down in his seat. ‘I just hope he’s in Gryffindor! Keep your fingers crossed, eh, Harry?’
    ‘Er – yeah, all right,’ said Harry. He turned back to Hermione, Ron and Nearly Headless Nick. ‘Brothers and sisters usually go in the same houses, don’t they?’ he said. He was judging by the Weasleys, all seven of whom had been put into Gryffindor.
    ‘Oh, no, not necessarily,’ said Hermione. ‘Parvati Patil’s twin’s in Ravenclaw, and they’re identical, you’d think they’d be together, wouldn’t you?’
    Harry looked up at the staff table. There seemed to be rather more empty seats there than usual. Hagrid, of course, was still fighting his way across the lake with the first-years; Professor McGonagall was presumably supervising the drying of the Entrance Hall floor, but there was another empty chair, too, and he couldn’t think who else was missing.
    ‘Where’s the new Defence Against the Dark Arts teacher?’ said Hermione, who was also looking up at the teachers.
    They had never yet had a Defence Against the Dark Arts teacher who had lasted more than three terms. Harry’s favourite by far had been Professor Lupin, who had resigned last year. He looked up and down the staff table. There was definitely no new face there.
    ‘Maybe they couldn’t get anyone!’ said Hermione, looking