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Aurora Areli
"POTTER! WEASLEY! WILL YOU pay attention?"
Professor McGonagall's irritated voice caused me to look up from the piece of spare parchment I was doodling on to see Harry and Ron looking quite like children caught with their hands in the cookie jar. They were both holding one of Fred and George's fake wands, and appeared to have been having a sword-fight with them.
It was the end of the lesson; we had finished our work; the guinea-fowl we had been changing into guinea-pigs had been shut away in a large cage on Professor McGonagall's desk (Neville's guinea-pig still had feathers); we had copied down our homework from the blackboard ("Describe, with examples, the ways in which Transforming Spells must be adapted when performing Cross-Species Switches"). The bell was due to ring at any moment, and it was plain that few were paying attention any more.
"Now Potter and Weasley have been kind enough to act their age," Professor McGonagall said, with an angry look at the pair of them as the head of Harry's wand-turned-rubber-haddok drooped and fell silently to the floor (Ron had a tin parrot with no beak), "I have something to say to you all.
"The Yule Ball is approaching — a traditional part of the Triwizard Tournament and an opportunity for us to socialise with our foreign guests. Now, the ball will be open only to fourth-years and above — although you may invite a younger student if you wish —"
Lavender Brown let out a shrill giggle. Parvati nudged her hard in the ribs, her face working furiously as she, too, fought not to giggle. Much to my annoyance, they both looked around at Harry. Why couldn't Professor McGonagall make them pay attention, too?
"Dress robes will be worn," Professor McGonagall continued, "and the ball will start at eight o'clock on Christmas Day, finishing at midnight, in the Great Hall. Now then —"
Professor McGonagall stared deliberately around the class.
"The Yule Ball is of course a chance for us all to — er — let our hair down," she said, in a disapproving voice.
Lavender giggled harder than ever, with her hand pressed hard against her mouth to stifle the sound. Even I had to bite down on my lip to keep from showing my amusement — Professor McGonagall, with her hair in a tight bun, looked as though she had never let her hair down in any sense.
"But that does NOT mean," Professor McGonagall went on, "that we will be relaxing the standards of behaviour we expect from Hogwarts students. I will be most seriously displeased if a Gryffindor student embarrasses the school in any way."
The bell rang, and there was the usual scuffle of activity as we all packed our bags and swung them over our shoulders.
Professor McGonagall called above the noise, "Potter — a word, if you please."
