Dawn Rivera

The Yule Ball

Despite the heavy load of homework that the fourth-years have been given for the holidays, I am in no mood to work when term ends, and spend the week leading up to Christmas enjoying myself as fully as possible along with everyone else. Gryffindor Tower is hardly less crowded now than during term-time; it seems to have shrunk slightly, too, as its inhabitants are being so much rowdier than usual. Fred and George have had great success with their Canary Creams, and for the first couple of days of the holidays, people keep bursting into feather all over the place. Before long, however, all the Gryffindors have learnt to treat food anybody else offers them with extreme caution, in case it has a Canary Cream concealed in the centre, and George confides to Harry and I that he and Fred are now working on something else. I make a mental note never to accept so much as a crisp from Fred and George in future. I still haven't forgotten with tale of Dudley and the Ton-Tongue Toffee.

Snow is falling thickly upon the castle and its grounds now. The pale blue Beauxbatons carriage looks like a large, chilly, frosted pumpkin next to the iced gingerbread house that is Hagrid's cabin, while the Durmstrang ship's portholes are glazed with ice, the rigging white with frost. The house-elves down in the kitchen are outdoing themselves with a series of rich, warming stews and savoury puddings, and only Fleur Delacour seems to be able to find anything to complain about.

"It is too 'eavy, all zis 'Ogwarts food," we hear her saying grumpily, as we leave the Great Hall behind her one evening. "I will not fit into my dress robes!"

"Oooh, there's a tragedy," says Hermione snappily, as Fleur goes out into the Entrance Hall. "She really thinks a lot of herself, that one, doesn't she?"

"Hermione - I'm really sorry about the whole thing of who you're going to the ball with," says Ron.

He keeps springing this apology on her, even though she's already said she forgives him a hundred times already. I frown and say, "Haven't you already said that - oh, I don't know - ten times in the last hour?"

"You're joking, Weasley?" says Malfoy, behind us. "You're not telling me someone's asked that to the ball? Not the long-molared Mudblood? I thought I heard it all when you were asked to the ball, Rivera."

"You weren't so certain when you were dating her," Gregory growls from behind him.

Harry, Danny and Ron all whip around, but Hermione says loudly, waving to somebody over Malfoy's shoulder, "Hello, Professor Moody!"

Malfoy goes pale and jumps backwards, looking wildly around for Moody, but he is still up at the staff table, finishing his stew.

"Twitchy little ferret, aren't you, Malfoy?" I say scathingly, as I, Hermione, Harry, Danny and Ron go up the marble staircase laughing heartily.

"Hermione," says Ron, looking sideways at her, suddenly frowning, "your teeth..."

"What about them?" she says.

"Well, they're different...I've just noticed..."

"Of course they are - did you expect her to keep those fangs Malfoy gave her?" I say.

"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 and I suddenly smile mischievously, Hermione's a very different smile to the one before.

"Well - when we went up to Madam Pomfrey to get them shrunk, she held up a mirror, and told us to stop her when they are back to how they normally are," she says. "And I just...let her carry on a bit." She smiles 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 brace. You know, they're dentists, they just don't think teeth and magic should - look! Pigwidgeon's back!"