Chapter Twenty-Four.
"Well that's interesting," Harry commented lightly, as he and Ron passed a corridor, in which Malfoy and Blaise Zabini were having a quiet but intense argument.
"That they're fighting?" said Ron dismissively. "I don't think so. Malfoy's been asking for it from just about everyone lately. Git." But he craned his head back as they passed, trying to get one last glimpse. "I hope he thumps him."
"You hope who thumps who?" said Harry. "They're as bad as each other." He still disliked Zabini, remembering his brief encounters with the other boy during the year. "Nasty pieces of work."
"I dunno," said Ron, and he looked somewhat hesitantly at Harry. "I'm feeling a bit sorry for him, actually. Malfoy, I mean."
Harry gaped at him. "You've got to be kidding me. Sorry for Malfoy?! Ever since his dad's broken out of Azkaban he's been worse than ever. Rubbing it in our faces-"
"Except he hasn't," said Ron. "He did at the beginning, but he hasn't done it for weeks. You know what I think? I reckon he's stopped bragging because he doesn't know any more than the rest of us. I bet his dad hasn't been in touch with him at all. Still-"
"I don't believe that," said Harry. "And it wouldn't make a difference if I did. Malfoy's a bastard, no matter what. A chip off the old block. It's why his dad likes him so much."
"Still," Ron said again, "They're not like us, you know. I mean, you know my dad? He can be a bit embarrassing, you know? Won't ever shut up about eckeltricity. It's bad enough when it's just the family, but when he's around other people…" Ron shuddered, and his voice lowered. "I think he's going to actually start sending people plugs for a Christmas present. But no matter how weird he is, he'd always let us know he was alright. He'd never forget about us. Even Percy. The Malfoy's aren't like that. Blood's what's important to them, not family."
Harry couldn't help but feel slightly impressed that Ron would make the distinction between the two, and it must have showed on his face, because Ron shot him a mock sour look.
"Hey, you grow up in a family of pure-bloods, and it's amazing what you hear when you've got your ear to the door. Slag each other right off, we do."
Harry chuckled, remembering the Black tapestry.
"Still," Ron went on philosophically, "even if I do feel a bit sorry for him, I can't help but see things from his dad's point of view. Merlin knows if I had a son like Malfoy, I wouldn't want to speak to him either."
"Probably the only thing you and Lucius can agree on," Harry said sarcastically. "You're not going to start being nice to Malfoy now, are you? Because I don't think my stomach could take that."
Ron snorted. "No fear," he said. "I wouldn't go that far. He's not going to be pleased at what I'm about to do to him on the Quidditch Pitch this weekend - and I can't wait to see it. Teach the ferret that money can't beat out talent…" Ron squinted in satisfaction to himself, and Harry realised that his friend still resented the brooms bought for the Slytherin Quidditch team by Lucius Malfoy. Still, there wasn't something quite right about Ron's delight at the prospect of seeing Slytherin deservedly trounced - and it wasn't because either of them actually felt sorry for them. On the contrary, three quarters of the school took great pleasure in seeing Slytherin House lose at anything.
"But Ron," he pointed out, "we're not playing Slytherin this week. We get to play them after Christmas, remember?" Given Ron's penchant for all things Quidditch, Harry knew that he would have memorised the year's schedule the first night of their return to the castle at the beginning of term, and he found it odd that his friend - whose memory was encyclopaedic when it came to Quidditch, if nothing else (to the constant dismay of Hermione) - had forgotten. "It's Hufflepuff playing them Saturday."
Ron's ears reddened slightly. "Yeah, I know," he said briefly. "Thing is, Harry, they're, well, they're terrible. You know that they are. We thumped them, and Ravenclaw will thump them, and while I'm happy to see that happen, they shouldn't have to lose to Slytherin."
"Are you helping them?" Harry asked. He didn't know whether to be amazed or amused, and settled on being grateful that Oliver Wood wasn't around to see actions that he surely would have perceived as being traitorous through and through.
Ron didn't look at him. "They were good when they had Cedric. He was the only one of them who knew how to play. Now… let's just say that they could use a hand. Coaching and stuff." He shot Harry a sideways look. "And it's not as though I've been teaching them stuff that they can use against us. Gryffindor's not going to suffer. I've got heaps of ideas to counteract them but" - and here Ron's expression turned gleefully smug - "Slytherin won't."
Ron's coaching proved to be spot-on when Hufflepuff squeaked past Slytherin by ten points, to the great delight of three-quarters of the school. Somehow the fact of his involvement had spread throughout the school (although Harry was distinctly unsurprised at this, having been on the end of the Hogwarts gossip chain more than once), and despite the shrieking from the Slytherins and a few sceptical glances from other Gryffindors (which Harry knew would die down once Gryffindor won their next game), Harry was pleasantly surprised by the reaction that Ron was getting. Most people were actually rather pleased that he had thought to help out another team - although admittedly, they probably wouldn't have been so pleased if the team being ganged up on wasn't Slytherin. Several of the teachers - most noticeably Professor Sprout - had even forebore giving them homework the week after Hufflepuff's win, which was having a morale-boosting effect of its own amongst students. Odd strains of "Weasley is our King" had begun floating down the school corridors in the last couple of days before the match, and for a good week afterwards. Ron had become distinctly more popular, and even Hermione was pleased at his efforts towards inter-House cooperation. She beamed at him for a full week, and even managed to stop herself from commenting sarcastically on Luna Lovegood's new hat: a monstrous chimera of a lion and badger which she had taken great pride in wearing to the game and even - as Harry noted - one of Ron's supposedly closed practice sessions.
It was a big concession on Hermione's part, Harry knew, as he had seen her face freeze at first sight of the hat, and then carefully rearrange itself into something a lot more pleasant. She had still rolled her eyes at it, but only privately to Harry afterwards, when the two of them had shut themselves into an empty classroom to giggle over it.
"It's simply hideous," Hermione had squealed, half-horrified, half-delighted.
"I'm sure Ron appreciates it," Harry had commented, wheezing.
"It could be worse, I suppose," said Hermione. "At least it's not orange."
This had set Harry off again. "I dare you to suggest it to her," he said, but Hermione had refused point-blank.
"I will not!" she said indignantly. "Poor Luna… she'd do it and look like an absolute idiot. You know she would!" Hermione's opinion of Luna had distinctly improved of late, especially in the late-night study sessions that the two girls were holding with Susan Bones. Harry had tried attending one but had just gotten lost, and now simply read what they told him too in the hope of finding out something useful. He hadn't found anything so far, and neither had anyone else, but it was good to see Hermione getting along so well with the other girls. She looked happier than she had in months. He thought that it was partly because she had gotten a weight off her chest, and partly because they and Ron weren't in some combination of disagreement - but he had to admit that it was also possible that she was just happy to have the company of people who liked to study as much as she did. He and Ron had never been particularly up to standard at that as far as Hermione was concerned (something that the two boys were in no real hurry to change. Ron had recently commented to Harry that even the thought of colour coordinated notes and categories of subheadings was enough to put him off his dinner, and Harry was inclined to agree. He much preferred practice to theory).
"Maybe she doesn't care if she looks like an idiot," said Harry. "And orange is Ron's favourite colour…"
"Those blasted Canyons…" Hermione grimaced, and Harry couldn't stop himself from correcting her. Hermione had been their best friend for a long time, but he and Ron had never been able to convert her to what they felt to be a true appreciation for Quidditch. Still, Hermione had seen his point, and grudgingly agreed with it. The next day, Luna's horrible hybrid was seen in the halls of Hogwarts in a bright pumpkin shade.
Ron, both Harry and Hermione noticed, had flushed but pretended not to pay any attention. Hermione was fairly sure that he was just too embarrassed to want to deal with it, but neither she nor Harry were truly convinced. It wouldn't have taken a Blast-Ended Skrewt to realise that Luna had something of a crush on their friend, and Harry, unaccountably, was beginning to support the idea. He didn't care to examine his own motivations too closely on the matter, though.
They had decided to have their celebration on Christmas Eve instead of Christmas Day proper. For one thing, it wouldn't feel the same without Ron and their other Gryffindor friends, who were prepared to put off their trip home until late that night. For another, Harry didn't feel particularly cheerful at the thought of spending what would no doubt be a painfully proper Christmas dinner with the teachers, and the few other students who were remaining at Hogwarts over the holiday. It was something that he had done before and actually enjoyed, but the thought of making small talk with Dumbledore while pretending that nothing had changed between them made his stomach churn. Also, he was rather worried about Hermione. It would be the first Christmas for her without her parents, and the day itself would be hard - especially with McGonagall and the other teachers hovering over her like kindly ghouls.
Mr and Mrs Weasley had invited them both to stay at the Burrow, as they did every year, but Dumbledore had proved reluctant to let Harry leave the castle, and Hermione would not be convinced to leave him behind. Ron was very unhappy about having to do so, but a letter from his father had pointed out to him that his mother would be finding Christmas hard enough without Bill or Percy ("even Charlie is coming, and you know that it's a long way from Romania"), and he felt as if he had to go home. Mrs Weasley had not been very impressed at the thought of Harry and Hermione left at the castle - she had already sent a large hamper to them, to tide them over, and a stack of presents for them - but the continuing minor raids by Death Eaters had prompted her to bow, very ungraciously, to Dumbledore's judgement.
All in all, given the strain Harry expected to occur throughout Christmas Day, they had decided to celebrate on Christmas Eve instead. With only a handful of them, they had first thought to go to Hogsmeade to celebrate, until Ginny rather sadly pointed out that she and Ron still did not have permission to leave school grounds. All the common rooms were in chaos as students prepared to leave, so eventually Ron decided that the Room of Requirement was their best option. It wasn't as if they were going to do anything secret, he pointed out, so it didn't matter if anyone knew where they were. Also, this way Luna, Susan, and anyone else interested could come. Ginny had insisted on bringing Dean Thomas, which made Ron roll his eyes in disgust, and they were all determined not to mention the fact that Seamus was unlikely to make it.
"Bugger him," said Katie Bell succinctly, both before and after a good dose of Harry's contraband Firewhiskey. "He'd only get in the way, what with all that sulking." Along with a wireless, she had sneaked in a Snitch, and trying to catch it (without brooms) as it flitted around the room had proven to be a fun game. Luna, unexpectedly, was most successful - she managed to catch it three times without really trying, as she seemed to spend more time gazing at Ron than at the Snitch itself. Hermione, face flushed with effort, had nudged Harry in the ribs at the sight of her. Harry almost found it amusing, especially as he thought that Ron didn't seem to know quite what to do with all the attention. He seemed to be gluing himself to Hermione's side, whether to fend off the blonde girl or for other reasons Harry was unsure - and he found he didn't like it, but refused to dwell on it. Obscurely, he found himself suddenly grateful that he had gotten her a normal present this time round, something that would draw no attention to either of them.
After all, Hermione was quite adept at handling herself. She was not particularly adept, it turned out, at dancing, although remembering her quite creditable performance at the Yule Ball, Harry was inclined to suspect that she had had slightly more Firewhiskey than was good for her, as he laughed at her attempts to teach Neville and Ginny to "Do the Hippogriff". He couldn't deny, however, that it was nice to see her happy for a change, and quietly congratulated himself on his pre-Christmas Christmas party.
Eventually Hermione was puffed out, and came to sit by Harry in the window seat. Ron had gone to follow her, but had been pulled back into the dancers by Ginny, who had teasingly informed him that, sister or not, he was going to do the decent brotherly thing and let her stomp all over his feet. It became a game between them, seeing who could crush the other's toes most often, and soon a laughing, cheering circle formed around them.
Hermione was fanning herself gratefully with the cold air, and tugged at the window, which didn't seem to open. "D'you think they're fake, Harry?" she asked. "I can never make out just where this room is - whether it is next to one of the outside walls or not."
"Let me have a go," Harry offered, and shoved firmly at the sash. It stuck fast for a second, and then scraped up a couple of inches. Idly, he thought that the house-elves could stand to use some grease on it, but he wasn't silly enough to say that out loud. Cold air seeped in, filling the recess, and Hermione fanned herself gratefully. The room was extremely warm, and there were small beads of sweat on her collarbone. Harry found himself staring at them, a little light-headed.
It must be the Firewhiskey, he thought to himself, and quickly looked away, half-horrified at his own thoughts. He could feel his cheeks flush, and quickly turned his face to the window. "It was just a little stuck," he said, vaguely noting the condensation on the glass, which reminded him inescapably of what he had just seen. Cursing inwardly, he pulled his gaze back to Hermione - to her face, he quickly reminded himself. "I guess I'm a little hot, too," he muttered, hoping that would excuse the colour of his own cheeks. To his amazement, Hermione's cheeks were even pinker, and he suddenly wondered if he was the only one who was blushing.
I hope she didn't see me stare at her, Harry thought uncomfortably, his heart pounding. And then, Why would you even do a thing like that to begin with?
"It's a wonderful party," Hermione blurted suddenly, and then seemed to cringe slightly at her own stilted outburst. Her confusion seemed to mirror his own, and oddly enough, it didn't make Harry feel any better - just more nervous. "I mean…" Hermione's voice faltered slightly and dropped, and Harry had to lean in to hear her better. "It's just, tomorrow's going to be so strange, and I know that you wanted to try and make it better, and I appreciate it, I really do, and it's nice to have someone who knows how it feels, I suppose, but, oh, Harry!"
"Breathe, Hermione," he joked weakly, and felt himself relax a little when she took in a comically large breath. He could feel her exhalation, and it was so close, and he suddenly, desperately wanted to make her happy, to touch her...
The kiss was light, a bare brushing of lips, and it surprised them both. Harry could hear, over the beating of his heart, a soft sound of exclamation from her throat, and a faint pressure as she leaned, ever so slightly, into his mouth for the briefest of moments. It seemed over before it began, and Harry found himself staring at her - he was suddenly, belatedly afraid that he was gaping like an idiot. His only, brief consolation was that he wasn't the only one gaping like he'd just been hit with a Bubble-headed charm. Hermione was staring at him in shock, and suddenly shot to her feet, glancing around her quickly, seeming half in panic.
It brought Harry to his senses, and he immediately looked at the others. Of all the places to kiss someone! Luckily, it seemed that no-one had noticed, as the sound of the music and the laughing of the circle of their friends washed over him in a rush. Hermione squeaked, and stumbled over to the group, all the time hesitating and looking back at him and then turning away again.
Harry knew precisely how she felt. This was something that he hadn't expected to happen, and he had no idea how to deal with it. Hermione was his best friend… how would this change things between them? Would it? Did he even want it to?
Drawing in deep gulps of cold air, he turned to the window to hide his confusion and try and settle his expression before returning to the party. What he saw jolted him back to reality. Far below, a small group of familiar redheaded people, laden with baggage, were disembarking from a carriage like the ones students arrived in every year, complete with Thestral. Harry immediately realised that the Mr. and Mrs. Weasley had brought their family to Hogwarts for Christmas, come to make sure that he didn't have to spend another one alone. He felt a sudden burst of gratitude to them, for their willingness to take him into their family without reservation.
It seemed that the window was real, after all.
* * *
Although Harry, clad in a new green jumper ("Why does it always have to be me that gets maroon?" Ron had groaned) felt himself to be buoyed by the presence of the Weasley family over Christmas dinner (it stopped him from having to so obviously avoid making conversation with Dumbledore), the expected awkwardness between him and the headmaster had merely been transferred to Hermione. She had obviously been reluctant to sit by him at dinner, but the others had seated themselves so fast that her only other choice was the seat next to Mrs. Weasley, and Hermione had quickly plonked herself down next to Harry, staring fixedly at her plate. He knew that as confused as she was around him (Harry was sure he was equally confused) Mrs. Weasley's well-meant mothering would do nothing but remind Hermione of the mother that she no longer had.
Hermione was very quiet over the first course, simply refusing to look up from her plate, and giving quiet monosyllabic answers to Mr. Weasley, who was sitting across from her and watching her with sympathy that he was trying not to express. Harry noticed with gratitude that Mr. Weasley was rambling on enough to her that it looked like she couldn't get a word in edgewise when in fact no response was required, and his wife, although shooting anxious looks in Hermione's direction, saw her husband talking with the "poor dear" and thus didn't feel it necessary to overwhelm her with kindness. McGonagall was equally concerned, and halfway through the meal turfed Fred out of his chair, taking the seat on the other side of Hermione on the pretext of dicussing schoolwork and books. Hermione promptly perked up, and began to show some animation. Harry wondered, a trifle grumpily but also partly relieved, whether or not the fact that she had to turn her back to him to talk to their teacher was making the prospect of rehashing the fourteenth Goblin War of 1777 more attractive.
Either way, it let him listen to Ron, who had thankfully started on Quidditch. Harry could listen to him, and offer his own opinions, while being able to (mostly) ignore the pit in his stomach at the thought of the girl next to him.
What had possessed him? It had become abundantly clear that Ron had his own feelings for Hermione, despite his reaction to Luna. Harry wasn't stupid. He had noticed that Ron had been overprotective of their best friend for years now, and he had a disturbing tendency to jealousy around her. Until now, however, the thought of them developing a deeper relationship didn't seem quite real. Now he was confronted with the possibility that Hermione might one day have a relationship where he was not her primary object, and the thought was oddly disturbing.
Harry sighed. Ron was going to kill him. And from the looks that Mrs. Weasley was shooting to him and Ginny, he wasn't going to be the only one. Harry was grateful that Ginny seemed to be sturdily ignoring her mother's less than subtle hints (mistletoe was popping out of odd places at embarrassing times, and Harry was sure that no one else but Mrs. Weasley would hide it in the trifle - at least, he was sure after seeing the reactions of the twins finding it in their bowls and giving each other a disgusted look). In fact, Ginny's only reaction was to talk even louder to George about Dean Thomas. Harry devoutly hoped that her mother would get the hint. Now that Ginny had gotten over her crush on him (he still cringed at the thought of `fresh-pickled toads') and had begun to act as, Ron put her, "her usual annoying self" she was actually quite pleasant to be around, and Harry liked spending time with her. However, she was still Ron's little sister, and by extension his own. He didn't want to get involved with her.
He shook his head to himself again. "What?" said Ron, clearly noticing. "You think the Cannons can't beat them?"
"That's not it," said Harry automatically, and then internally cursed himself for not taking the out when it was offered to him. He cast about, and settled on waving haplessly at the trifle. "It's just that I, uh, think I swallowed some mistletoe." He made a face, and Ron nodded in understanding.
"She's gone completely barmy," he said, under his breath. He nodded over at Ginny. "I'm sure she's started wedding plans already." Ron shot him a jaundiced look. "I hope you like roses."
Harry blanched, and tried to hide his choking in a deep draught of pumpkin juice. Ron belted him on the back. "It wouldn't be so bad, you know," he said. "I know that she's my little sister and she can be a bloody nuisance sometimes, but-"
"No," Harry hissed, trying to keep his voice down. He couldn't believe that Ron was doing this to him now, over Christmas dinner of all things. He desperately hoped Hermione couldn't hear this, but the set of her shoulders was slightly more tense than it had been all evening (and that was saying something), and he rather suspected that she could.
"You'd be family," Ron pointed out reasonably, and Harry couldn't help but remember the train ride home at the end of fifth year, when Ron had encouraged his sister to choose someone "better". His eyes had flickered to Harry as he said it, though the other boy hadn't thought anything about it at the time.
"No", he said again, slightly more forcefully, and shot a weak smile at Mrs. Weasley, who was glancing curiously in his direction. She had apparently noticed their discussion, but his smile (fake as it felt) seemed to mollify her, and her attention shifted back to Dumbledore.
"What's wrong with her?" Ron asked, looking slightly offended. "She's not ugly. No spots. Nose in the centre of her face, and all that. Plays Quidditch. What more could you want?"
"Not interested, Ron," Harry ground out in a pleasant tone, trying to convey with his eyes what he couldn't with his voice at a table full of relatives of the girl he was, by proxy, turning down. His glare seemed to get the message through, as Ron subsided slightly, with a look that was clearly unconvinced. Harry couldn't help but wonder if Ron's desire to pair him off with Ginny was genuine, or related to the fact that it cleared the way for Ron to get involved with Hermione. In fact, Harry couldn't help but wonder if his own motives for not wanting to get entangled with Ginny were all that dissimilar. He floundered, not wanting to give Ron cause for any suspicion. He liked them all being on good terms again, too much to upset the apple-cart.
"Look," he said eventually, hoping that Ron would take the hint and drop any idea of matching Harry up with his sister, "I'm just not interested in going out with anyone now, you know? Given, well, you know… I don't want to string anyone along, or put them in danger." For a moment, Harry felt quite proud of himself. He knew that Ron's brotherly instincts would go along with anything that kept Ginny out of the way of Voldemort, even if she was only marginally less capable than himself. But his moment of pride was truly only momentary, as Harry realised that he had fallen into a new trap. The effect of his little speech was not what he intended.
The effects of this were two-fold, and he had only foreseen one of them. Ron did indeed nod his head in resignation, and Harry was fairly confident that he would drop the matter, and privately resolved to be more cautious about not doing anything that would bring it up again in future. On the other hand, or more accurately, his other side, he felt Hermione stiffen even more than ever.
Harry came to the inescapable conclusion that she had heard his and Ron's conversation. And more than likely, that she also thought it applied to her - if she didn't go away with the impression that something might have happened with Ginny under different circumstances. Harry barely stifled a groan, and clamped his hands in his lap to prevent himself from covering his face in horror.
What on earth had possessed him?
And why was he feeling guilty about it? It's not as if he wanted to get involved with Hermione, after all, he told himself feverishly. One kiss didn't mean anything, surely? But the stiffness of her back as she conversed with McGonagall let Harry know in no uncertain terms that even if she was just as confused as he was, he had managed to upset her.
It wouldn't do, Harry thought grumpily, cursing his inexperience with girls. It's not fair that I'm so hopeless at this, he thought, remembering Cho, and scowling at Charlie as he flirted with the two Ravenclaw girls with what looked like a decent amount of success. All they want to do is cry on me - when I'm not managing to piss them off.
Confused, he applied himself to a second helping of pudding (avoiding the trifle), when he realised that he was not the only one who had noticed Hermione's sudden freezing of demeanour. Mrs. Weasley had apparently picked up on the drop in temperature, and, assuming the worst, had managed, in her well-meaning manner, to get Hermione's mind off Harry's unknown defection and onto something even worse.
"I understand how you feel, dear," she said compassionately, reaching over the table to pat Hermione's hand. Stiffly, Hermione withdrew it and hid it under the table, and Mrs. Weasley's smile faltered for an instant. "With Bill and Percy, well… Christmas just doesn't seem the same without them. It doesn't seem right when family isn't all together- Oh Arthur, really!"
For Mr. Weasley had managed to knock his flagon of beer all over the table, dousing the fruit salad. Harry suspected that he had done it deliberately, although Mr. Weasley was being suitably contrite. "So sorry, Molly, terribly clumsy of me. Perhaps you could help me mop it up?" And he shot a worried look at Harry, while Mrs. Weasley tried to find her wand and rescue the remains of the dessert.
Hermione was - again - staring blankly at her plate, and this time she was not even pretending to pay much attention to McGonagall, who seemed unsure of what to say herself. Ron, having noticed nothing, was chuntering away beside him, having given up on the topic of Ginny and having returned to Quidditch. Harry could no longer bear it. His hand shot under the table and clamped on Hermione's. Her fingers were wrapped tightly in the napkin in her lap, and he forced them open before the material could rip. Hermione jumped slightly, and tried to yank her hand away, but she was hampered by the fact that there wasn't a lot of space under the table and she couldn't wrench herself away while being discreet.
After a few moments she gave up fighting and glared at him, her hand stiff in his. Harry, knowing that she didn't want anyone at the table paying any attention to her at the moment, merely returned his gaze to Ron and made as if her were listening to a blow by blow account of the Chudley Cannons' Christmas Parade, nodding in all the right places but not really listening. He just held on tight to Hermione's hand, and eventually her fingers relaxed in his, and then tightened again. It felt to Harry as if she was holding on for dear life, and he wasn't about to let go. Soon she began to talk to McGonagall again, and he could see the look of concern fade on his teacher's face. Mr. Weasley nodded slightly at him and Harry smiled back tightly, half-kicking himself.
What on earth had possessed him? Hadn't he just decided that it had all been a mistake? Merlin only knew what impression he was giving to her now, and he didn't even want to think how Ron would react. But he simply couldn't help himself…
Christmas dinner wound down without further incident, with the table cleared for mince pies and nuts. Mrs. Weasley's attentions had been successfully diverted by some rather interesting crackers provided by Fred and George, but Harry supposed that dinner with the Weasley's wouldn't be the same without some small eruption. He rather admired the crackers, himself, and poking at them with his free hand (somewhat gingerly, because one never knew what the twins would spring on him) he was surprised to see his cracker bulge, with strange movements beginning to be seen inside. A faint smell of gunpowder wafted from it, and Harry braced for the explosion. There was a loud, sudden crash, and for a moment Harry was surprised to see the cracker still intact, before a tug from Hermione's hand redirected his attention to the doors of the Great Hall, which had been flung open.
A large, snowy shape lumbered in, and Harry automatically half-rose from his seat, alarmed. Then the hood was thrown back, ice crackling, and a familiar face appeared.
"Hagrid!" he exclaimed, happily.
"Afternoon, all," said Hagrid, beaming. "I don' suppose there's any chance o' Ron there havin' left us somethin' to eat?" Fang appeared around his legs, barking joyously, and Harry's cracker exploded in his face, showering him with pink, snapping feathers. Hermione laughed up at him, and still hidden by the table, he felt her fingers squeeze his.
Harry's expectations for Christmas Day suddenly got a lot brighter.
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