CHAPTER TWENTY-THREE
The Yule Ball
Despite the very heavy load of homework that the fourth years had been given for the holidays
Harry was in no mood to work when term ended, and spent the week leading up to Christmas
enjoying himself as fully as possible along with everyone else. Gryffindor Tower was hardly less
crowded now than during term-time; it seemed to have shrunk slightly too,
as its inhabitants
were being so much rowdier than usual. Fred and George had had a great success with their
Canary Creams, and for the first couple of days of the holidays, people kept bursting into feather
all over the place. Before long, however, all the Gryffindors had learned to treat food anybody
else offered them with extreme caution, in case it had a Canary Cream concealed in the center,
and George confided to Harry that he and Fred were now working on developing something else.
Harry made a mental note never to accept so much as a crisp from Fred and George in future. He
still hadn’t forgotten Dudley and the Ton-Tongue Toffee.
Snow was falling thickly upon the castle and its grounds now.
The pale blue Beauxbatons
carriage looked like a large, chilly, frosted pumpkin next to the iced gingerbread house that was
Hagrid’s cabin, while the Durmstrang ship’s portholes were glazed with ice, the rigging white
with frost. The house-elves down in the kitchen were outdoing themselves with a series of rich,
warming stews and savory puddings, and only Fleur Delacour seemed to be able to find anything
to complain about.
“It is too ‘eavy, all zis ‘Ogwarts food,” they heard her saying grumpily
as they left the Great Hall
behind her one evening (Ron skulking behind Harry, keen not to be spotted by Fleur). “I will not
fit into my dress robes!”
“Oooh there’s a tragedy,” Hermione snapped as Fleur went out into the entrance hall. “She really
thinks a lot of herself, that one, doesn’t she?”
“Hermione - who are you going to the ball with?” said Ron.
He kept springing this question on her, hoping to startle her into a response by asking it when she
least expected it. However, Hermione merely frowned and said, “I’m not
telling you, you’ll just
make fun of me.”
“You’re joking, Weasley!” said Malfoy, behind them. “You’re not telling me someone’s asked
that to the ball? Not the long-molared Mudblood?”
Harry and Ron both whipped around, but Hermione said loudly, waving to somebody over
Malfoys shoulder, “Hello, Professor Moody!”
Malfoy went pale and jumped backward, looking wildly
around for Moody, but he was still up at
the staff table, finishing his stew.
“Twitchy little ferret, aren’t you, Malfoy?” said Hermione scathingly, and she, Harry, and Ron
went up the marble staircase laughing heartily.
“Hermione,” said Ron, looking sideways at her,
suddenly frowning, “your teeth…”
“What about them?” she said.
“Well, they’re different… I’ve just noticed…”
“Of course they are - did you expect me to keep those fangs Malfoy gave me?”
“No, I mean, they’re different to how they were before he put that hex on you… They’re all…
straight and - and normal-sized.”
Hermione suddenly smiled very mischievously, and Harry noticed it too: It was a very different
smile from the one he remembered.
“Well… when I went up to Madam Pomfrey to get them shrunk, she held up a mirror and told
me to stop her when they were back to how they normally were,” she said. “And I just… let her
carry on a bit.” She smiled even more widely.
“Mum and Dad won’t be too pleased. I’ve been trying to persuade them to let me shrink them for
ages, but they wanted me to carry on with my braces. You know, they’re
dentists, they just don’t
think teeth and magic should - look! Pigwidgeons back!”
Ron’s tiny owl was twittering madly on the top of the icicle-laden banisters, a scroll of
parchment tied to his leg. People passing him were pointing and laughing, and a group of third-
year girls paused and said, “Oh look at the weeny owl! Isn’t he cute?”
“Stupid little feathery git!” Ron hissed, hurrying up the stairs and snatching up Pigwidgeon.
“You bring letters to the addressee! You don’t hang around showing off!”
Pigwidgeon hooted happily, his head protruding over Ron’s fist. The
third-year girls all looked
very shocked.
“Clear off!” Ron snapped at them, waving the fist holding Pigwidgeon, who hooted more happily
than ever as he soared through the air. “Here - take it, Harry,” Ron added in an undertone as the
third-year girls scuttled away looking scandalized. He pulled Sirius’s reply off Pigwidgeons leg.
Harry pocketed it, and they hurried back to Gryffindor Tower to read it.
Everyone in the common room was much too busy in letting off more holiday steam to observe
what anyone else was up to. Ron, Harry, and Hermione sat apart from everyone
else by a dark
window that was gradually filling up with snow, and Harry read out:
Dostları ilə paylaş: