"Gemma, Healer Jordan taught me the Scribunt loqui spell!" As soon as he said it, Harry wanted to kick himself.

Obviously, you dork, she can see it.

"I wanted to answer your question from before," he rushed on as warmth crept up his neck.

Gemma squeezed his arm.

"You asked about my sister and dad earlier?" he asked, "They are friends, not my family. My friend Hermione and her dad, Dr. Granger. Dr. Granger is a Dentist and he had to go to work, so they weren't able to stay."

Gemma took his hand and spelled, "D-A-D?" space "M-U-G-G-L-E?".

Harry was a bit taken back by this and it must have shown on his face. She hastily wrote, "M-I-N-E" space "T-O-O."

"Oh, yes. Hermione is muggle-born, too." Harry was relieved.

As Gemma was explaining "M-U-M" space "W-I-T-… ," on his palm, someone across the table snorted. Harry reflexively looked toward the noise. He felt Gemma pause as she was writing and then finish with "C-H." He decided to ignore the snort.

"Oh, I was raised by Muggles, but my parents were wixen," Harry explained.

"W-E-R-E? W-I-X-E-N?" Gemma asked.

"Yes, they died. And wixen means Witch or Wizard or both," Harry answered.

Gemma squeezed his arm. "W-H-Y" space "Y-O-U-R" space "F-A-M-I-L-Y" space "N-O-T" space "C-O-M-E?"

Harry deflated a bit and Gemma squeezed his arm. Someone across the table was muttering something that Harry was trying hard to ignore. He wished he knew who was sitting across from them and also wished that they weren't listening in on their conversation.

He sighed.

"My aunt, uncle, and cousin weren't able to come," he said as quietly as he could, not really wanting to get into it with strangers eavesdropping.

Apparently, Mrs. Boot was also actively following the conversation, because she leaned over Gemma and patted his knee (knocking Gemma against him in the process—he realized that Gemma was even more petite than he had originally guessed) and said, "Well, dear, that's too bad. It's good that Gemma took you under her wing. She's always collecting waifs."

Harry heard Gemma blow out an exasperated breath.

"Oh, don't look at me like that, Gemmie—you are. You have a heart of gold." Mrs. Boot's voice sounded a bit weepy and Gemma leaned away from Harry. He thought she might be hugging her mom.

Harry took issue with being described as a waif. Though, now that he thought about it, he probably was looking pretty waifish—in Dudley's baggy hand-me-downs, bruises on his face, who knows what his hair looked like (he resisted the urge to try to flatten it), and then there was the weight he lost during the month with the Dursleys.

I sure wish lunch would be served. I'm so hungry.

He actually felt a little lightheaded.

It's good I nibbled on that sandwich with Hedwig.

"I wonder when lunch will be served," Harry said to Gemma. He kept feeling the table to see if platters of food had magically appeared as they did at Hogwarts, even though he knew he'd smell it and hear it first.

She tapped his arm with her fingers.

"What is it?" Harry asked.

"F-O-O-D" space "H-E-R-E," she spelled into his palm.

"Where is it?" He felt the table with his free hand, reaching out farther to see if he had missed anything and felt the vase that Hermione had described in the center of the table, but no silverware or platters.

"B-U-F-F-E-T"

Oh, well that sounds like a train-wreck waiting to happen.

"Where is it? I can't hear it or smell it." The food aromas were the same as when they entered the dining hall. He started sniffing the air around him and then stopped abruptly as the person across the table from him broke out into guffaws of laughter. He felt the table shake and marveled that they thought it was so funny.

Glad I can provide some entertainment.

"F-L-O-A-T-I-N-G" space "T-R-A-Y-S" space "C-O-M-E," she pulled at his arm, urging him to stand up.

Harry grimaced. Floating trays sounded like a disaster. Would his staff warn him in time before he ran into someone's floating tray?

Mrs. Boot, who had been thankfully engaged in a conversation with someone on her other side, now seemed to notice that Gemma and Harry were getting up.

"Oh, is it our turn to get our food?" she asked. "It smells divine!"

While Harry took Gemma's left arm with his right, which took a bit of rearranging as he had been sitting on her right, her mother had gone on ahead of them. Gemma had learned a lot in the short amount of time that she'd guided him before and he felt more comfortable, even though she was so much shorter than he was and his hand was nearly up to her armpit. He realized that she was about the size of Ginny, maybe a little smaller and wondered if she was also a first year. He saved that question for later, though, she wouldn't be able to answer while they were walking. He wasn't even certain she'd see the slip of paper since he was a step behind her.

There was a moment where she pulled him quickly to her side, shoring up the distance between them and he felt something graze by his forehead at the same time that his staff warned him of the danger.

A floating tray. Only wixen would think of such a thing. What's wrong with having food magically appear on the table? That seemed like a reasonable use of magic.

"Thank you, Gemma!" Harry said, hoping she saw the slip of paper hovering by his mouth. He was tempted to grab it and hand it to her to be sure.

She laid her other hand on his, letting him know that she'd seen it.

Her mother was talking to them from a distance. As they approached, Harry could make out some of what she was saying, but other people were talking, too. It sounded like she was reading food labels from the buffet to them.

I'm impressed that Gemma knew how to spell buffet.

Harry didn't care what the food was—he just wanted something to eat.

"Here you go, dear," Mrs. Boot pushed something thin and hard across his chest and he let go of Gemma's arm to figure out what it was, his other hand was holding his staff.

Oh! The tray.

"Thanks?"

"No problem, dear."

He held onto the tray, and tapped his staff three times on the floor to collapse it and put it in his pocket. Gemma didn't leave his side and he was glad. And then he realized they were standing in a line. He could hear people ahead of them handling china and the clang of metal against metal.

The aroma of food was almost more than he could take. He found himself drumming on the tray with his fingers trying to distract himself. The tray was kind of floating at chest level though he was holding onto it. He switched hands so that he could hold onto Gemma's arm again. He didn't want to let the tray go.

Where would it end up? I'll never eat, he thought.

Behind him, he could hear Mei approaching with her mother.

Ahead of him, Harry could also hear Tony arguing with a parent. Harry caught a bit of what Tony was saying in a low hiss that was still audible, "… don't want to eat out here where everyone can see me… " and he felt a slight pang of empathy, which he quickly dismissed.

He wondered if it had been Tony who'd been snorting at their conversation about muggles.

Gemma moved forward and Harry followed.

Mei was a couple people behind them in the line. She was continuing to complain about the food. Harry tried to block her out.

It must be nice to be able to turn up your nose at free food, he thought.

As they got closer to the food, he began to wonder how he was going to tell what there was to eat. He could ask Gemma, but they'd stall the line with that process. He could imagine having to listen to Mei behind them complaining loudly about how long they were taking. He could ask Mrs. Boot for help, but cringed at the thought. She seemed a bit oblivious anyway.

It sounded like the family with children was getting their food now. He listened carefully to a mother who was patiently trying to coax a small child to take a spoonful of peas on their plate.

Mmm. I love peas. Dang! How am I going to eat peas? he thought.

The rhyme "I eat my peas with honey, I've done it all my life. They do taste kind of funny, but it keeps them on my knife," ran through his head. He chuckled to himself as he thought about actually employing that method. Gemma touched the back of his hand on her arm and drew a question mark.

"I was just thinking about how I'm going to eat peas," he explained as the charmed paper flapped by his mouth. She drew another question mark on the back of his hand.

"It's just really hard to get small things that roll to your mouth when you can't see them. I'm just learning. I'm sure I'll get better at it," he reassured himself as much as Gemma. "Can you see what the food is?"

He felt Gemma straining to see around people, leaning one way, then another, and then getting up on her tiptoes. She took his hand and turned it face up, then started tracing letters in his palm, "S-H-E-P-H-E-R-D-P-I-E" space "P-E-A-S" space "C-A-R-R-O-T-S" space "S-A-L-A-D" space "F-R-U-I-T-S-A-L-A-D" space "R-O-L-L-S" space "S-O-U-P."

"Thank you! Can you see what kind of soup?" Harry asked. She was up on her tiptoes again and then she dropped his hand and seemed to be getting the attention of her mother.

"What's that, Gemmie? Oh, the name of the soup? Lemme see, oh, yes, it's Minestrone," Mrs. Boot answered. Harry wondered how Gemma was communicating with her mom. It seemed faster than how she and Harry were talking. Maybe with sign language? Harry remembered a couple students at his primary school using signs—they also had hearing aids. He wondered if the wixen community had anything similar.

They were finally nearing the food. Harry heard Mrs. Boot put her tray on something metal and start sliding it. She was giving a running commentary about the food—so Harry was feeling more comfortable about what he was about to encounter.

Gemma moved forward and Harry heard her put her tray on the metal sideboard. He dropped her arm and moved to her other side. She reached across him and he heard a plate land on her tray—a bit loudly and he winced. She put her hand on his left arm and helped him find the sideboard. The floating tray seemed to stick to the sideboard—that was handy. Gemma took his hand and guided it toward the plates. He placed one on his tray. She took his hand and wrote: "S-O-U-P?" He shook his head.

"Soup seems like it would be a mess and take forever to eat. I'll wait."

She guided his hand to something and his aftí spoke in his ear, surprising him, "Forks," it said. He pulled out one and put it on his tray.

"Gemma, my aftí is speaking to me." He touched his ear where the aftí was attached to his ear helix.

"This must be a charmed buffet. It's telling me where things are."

Gemma tapped his arm twice to let him know that she understood and let him find the rest of the silverware on his own.

She moved down the buffet, he followed by keeping his shoulder brushing against hers. He could feel her reaching and then hear her placing food on her plate.

He was so hungry, but he knew from previous experience that overeating would make him sick. He had to pace himself. He could put some rolls in his pockets and save them for later, maybe go share them with Hedwig in the owlery when he had a chance.

He tentatively stuck his hand forward and his aftí said, "Shepherd's pie, serving spoon to your right." He found it without sticking his fingers in the Shepherd's pie, which he considered a victory and put a small scoop on his plate.

Harry proceeded down the buffet and even felt brave enough to try a small scoop of peas. He had to remember where he'd placed things on his plate and felt as though he'd done a pretty good job. He resisted the urge to start nibbling on the food while he was in the line. His legs were weak and his hands trembling as they reached the end of the line. Gemma guided his hand to her arm and handed him his floating tray to hold lightly as they made their way back to their table. Her mother was deep in conversation with the person in front of her. They were talking about the best place to buy robes for school and seemed oblivious to anything around them and in fact, stayed a few feet away from the buffet debating whether Madam Malkins was better than Twilfitt and Tattings.

Gemma deftly guided Harry and his floating tray (and he imagined, her own) back to their table. There they unloaded their trays at their place settings and the trays floated away. Harry hoped that he didn't need to do anything except let it go, because that's what he did with Gemma's nonverbal urging.

He had been careful to set down his plate so that he knew what was where. He was really hoping he wouldn't make a mess of his first meal in front of Gemma. He realized that he had managed to block Mei's complaints successfully during the whole process. He wondered if he actually had, or if she had finally stopped moaning.

That would be nice, he thought, as he dug into the Shepherd's pie—blissful as the savory warmth filled his mouth.