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THIRTEEN MERMAIDS
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IN HOLLY'S ENTIRE wizarding-school career, she has never seen so many people complaining about it being a little cold.
Vests and long-sleeved t-shirts are being worn underneath school shirts. Groups of friends are standing closer to each to keep warm, like they're penguins. Everyone seems to be wearing a scarf, gloves, and a hat, and if you're not, constantly frowns get sent in your direction. Like you're strange, for having a little bit of warm blood.
This weather is not cold, not for Holly's standards. She's gotten used to the winter weather at Durmstrang, where teachers got fussy about wearing scarves and such in lessons, so everyone had to figure out how they can keep warm in a freezing castle. Holly's under the impression that you can find out who attended Durmstrang because they'll know the warming spell they all taught each other, the spell that no one else seems to be aware of — the legend goes that one student came across a book that had been untouched since the Tudors, and found it amongst spells that tried to curse Henry VII.
Although, having said this, Holly isn't complaining about the amount of blankets that have seemed to appear around the Slytherin quarters of the school. She sits on her bed with the light-pink blanket, and Pansy sits opposite her, both of them looking down at the golden egg.
It's still a mystery. How is she supposed to figure out what this egg does, when every time she attempts to open it, it begins to screech like a vampire in the sun? Maybe she's not thinking through this logically, maybe she's missed something so simple. Maybe there's a little engraving on the egg, a cryptic code describing the next task.
She checks. There isn't.
Holly loudly grumbles and moves, lying down, curled-up, where she was sitting. She looks up at Pansy, who's still frowning at the egg.
"This is ridiculous," says Pansy, and her expression moves from a frown to a look of anger, like she wishes the egg could combust into flames. Maybe that's what they're supposed to do. "Why is this so difficult to understand? It's an egg. An egg. How can an egg be so difficult to decipher?"
Susannah, from above Millicent's four-poster bed, snorts. "Maybe you're just overthinking it," she suggests. Holly wishes she could glare at the ghost. Overthinking? That's an understatement. "Maybe you just need to boil it, or something. Like a boiled egg."
"I've lost the will to live," Holly declares, her face buried in her duvet. "Maybe they'll have some unwashed grapes leftover in the kitchen, I can eat one of those, die, and get dropped in the ocean at noon..."
"Okay," says Pansy, a little confused. Holly tilts her head, and Pansy's still looking at the egg, as if staring at it for long enough will entice it to open up. But, unfortunately, it does not work. Pansy sighs, and Holly sits back up. "I suppose it's a good thing we're looking at it in here, every time you've opened it in the common room the mermaids look like they're going to break through the windows—"
