Harry Potter and the Goblet of Fire

 
 
 
 
 
 
 

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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. 

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“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: