 great," said Harry. "Let me know, will you?"
And he went back over to Ron, feeling that this ball was a lot more trouble than it
was worth, and hoping very much that Padma Patil's nose was dead center.
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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:
Dear Harry,
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Congratulations on getting past the Horntail. Whoever put your name in that
goblet shouldn't be feeling too happy right now! I was going to suggest a
Conjunctivitus Curse, as a dragon's eyes are its weakest point - "That's what Krum
did!" Hermione whispered - but your way was better, I'm impressed.
Don't get complacent, though. Harry. You've only done one task; whoever put you
in for the tournament's got plenty more opportunity if they're trying to hurt you.
Keep your eyes open -particularly when the person we discussed is around and
concentrate on keeping yourself out of trouble.
Keep in touch, I still want to hear about anything unusual.
Sirius
"He sounds exactly like Moody," said Harry quietly, tucking the letter away again
inside his robes. "'Constant vigilance!' You'd think I walk around with my eyes
shut, banging off the walls. ..."
"But he's right, Harry," said Hermione, "you have still got two tasks to do. You
really ought to have a look at that egg, you know, and start working out what it
means. . . ."
"Hermione, he's got ages!" snapped Ron. "Want a game of chess, Harry?"
"Yeah, okay," said Harry. Then, spotting the look on Hermione's face, he said,
"Come on, how'm I supposed to concentrate with all this noise going on? I won't
even be able to hear the egg over this lot."
"Oh I suppose not," she sighed, and she sat down to watch their chess match,
which culminated in an exciting checkmate of Ron's, involving a couple of
recklessly brave pawns and a very violent bishop.
Harry awoke very suddenly on Christmas Day. Wondering what had caused his
abrupt return to consciousness, he opened his eyes, and saw something with very
large, round, green eyes staring back at him in the darkness, so close they were
almost nose to nose.
"Dobby!" Harry yelled, scrambling away from the elf so fast he almost fell out of
bed. "Don't do that!"
"Dobby is sorry, sir!" squeaked Dobby anxiously, jumping backward with his long
fingers over his mouth. "Dobby is only wanting to wish Harry Potter 'Merry
Christmas' and bring him a present, Sir! Harry Potter did say Dobby could come
and see him sometimes, sir!"
It's okay," said Harry, still breathing rather faster than usual, while his heart rate
returned to normal. "Just - just prod me or something in future, all right, don't bend
over me like that. .."
Harry pulled back the curtains around his four-poster, took his glasses from his
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bedside table, and put them on. His yell had awoken Ron, Seamus, Dean, and
Neville. All of them were peering through the gaps in their own hangings, heavyeyed
and tousle-haired.
"Someone attacking you, Harry?" Seamus asked sleepily.
"No, it's just Dobby," Harry muttered. "Go back to sleep."
"Nah . . . presents!" said Seamus, spotting the large pile at the foot of his bed. Ron,
Dean, and Neville decided that now they were awake they might as well get down
to some present-opening too. Harry turned back to Dobby, who was now standing
nervously next to Harrys bed, still looking worried that he had upset Harry. There
was a Christmas bauble tied to the loop on top of his tea cozy.
"Can Dobby give Harry Potter his present?" he squeaked tentatively.
"'Course you can," said Harry. "Er. . . I've got something for you too."
It was a lie; he hadn't bought anything for Dobby at all, but he quickly opened his
trunk and pulled out a particularly knobbly rolled-up pair of socks. They were his
oldest and foulest, mustard yellow, and had once belonged to Uncle Vernon. The
reason they were extra-knobbly was that Harry had been using them to cushion his
Sneakoscope for over a year now. He pulled out the Sneako-scope and handed the
socks to Dobby, saying, "Sorry, I forgot to wrap them..."
But Dobby was utterly delighted.
"Socks are Dobby's favorite, favorite clothes, sir!" he said, ripping off his odd ones
and pulling on Uncle Vernon's. "I has seven now, sir. . . . But sir ..." he said, his
eyes widening, having pulled both socks up to their highest extent, so that they
reached to the bottom of his shorts, "they has made a mistake in the shop, Harry
Potter, they is giving you two the same!"
"Ah, no, Harry, how come you didn't spot that?" said Ron, grinning over from his
own bed, which was now strewn with wrapping paper. "Tell you what, Dobby -
here you go - take these two, and you can mix them up properly. And here's your
sweater."
He threw Dobby a pair of violet socks he had just unwrapped, and the handknitted
sweater Mrs. Weasley had sent, Dobby looked quite overwhelmed.
"Sir is very kind!" he squeaked, his eyes brimming with tears again, bowing
deeply to Ron. "Dobby knew sir must be a great wizard, for he is Harry Potter's
greatest friend, but Dobby did not know that he was also as generous of spirit, as
noble, as selfless -"
"They're only