Chapters 41-50

A White and Woolly Christmas

Outside, the world was drowning in white. It had been snowing for three days straight now. The lake was completely frozen and some of the icicles hanging from the merlons of the parapet were as big as First Year students.

Inside, fires blazed in every room, and the flagstones in the hallways and dungeons of the castle had been enchanted to function as magical underfloor heating.

Now, just a week before Christmas, everyone was in high spirits. The students that had returned to Hogwarts for the accelerated Seventh Year had sat their NEWTs just a week ago. They would receive their results on Christmas day—a present most of them looked forward to with very mixed feelings.

Most of them, that was. Neville Longbottom was standing behind Professor Sprout right now and grinning like a fool.

‘…if he gets to have an apprentice,’ Professor Sprout was saying, ‘then I don’t see why I shouldn’t have one, too. I’m as much a Master of my subject as Professor Snape is, and I have just as much work teaching and as head of house as he does.’

‘I rather doubt that handling a handful of harmless Hufflepuffs amounts to quite the same challenge as supervising Slytherins,’ Professor Snape sneered, crossing his arms in front of his chest and looking down his long nose at the dumpy, wild-haired witch.

Instantly the glow on Neville’s face diminished, like a Muggle light bulb being turned down a notch. Hermione snorted, then sheepishly ducked her head when her master directed a dark scowl at her. She knew very well that Professor Snape would have no say in the decision of whether or not Professor Sprout took Neville on as her apprentice. If Neville passed his NEWTs with satisfactory grades and Headmistress McGonagall agreed, there was no reason why he shouldn’t get the position if Professor Sprout was willing to take him on.

Headmistress McGonagall cleared her throat and irritably narrowed her eyes at Snape over the rims of her glasses. ‘I think the results of Mr. Longbottom’s NEWTs are due on Christmas day, Pomona. Maybe we should resume this conversation then?’

oooOooo

Peals of laughter caught her attention. Headmistress McGonagall looked down at the long tables of the Great Hall and frowned. Not far from the dais, a group of students occupied the end of one of the tables, playing an enchanted board game. Two Slytherins—Alina Petrel and Geilis Duncan—along with a Ravenclaw girl, Prudentia Halleywell, all of them First Years, and a Hufflepuff Second Year. Percely Parkinson was the younger brother of Pansy; originally an embarrassment to his family for having been Sorted into Hufflepuff, he now served as their favourite proverbial fig leaf.

‘Tadaaa! I proudly present…the monopoly card! And now I want to see sheep, ladies and gentleman, give me your sheep, come on, herd them over!’ Alina’s voice rang with bright with glee.

Geilis sighed, Prue scowled, but both girls tapped the small wooden sheds set up on the table before them with their wands and proceeded to prod what looked like miniature sheep over towards Alina’s shed. Percely didn’t move, but glowered at Alina instead.

‘Come on, Perce, I know you’ve got some sheep in there. Hand them over!’

Percely still didn’t budge.

McGonagall felt her eyebrows rise. Sometimes Hufflepuff steadfastness went hand in hand with Hufflepuff pigheadedness in a rather unfortunate way.

‘Peeerce. Perce! Oh, for GOD’S SAKE! I’ll hex you into that desert down there if you don’t give me your sheep right now.’

Percely, by now in full denial, had crossed his arms in front of his chest and was shaking his head. ‘I need my sheep.’

Alina had had enough. She whipped out her wand, pointed it at Percely’s shed and cried, ‘Accio sheep!’

Unfortunately she flicked her wand rather too energetically, and a number of tiny woollen objects zoomed past her head towards the teachers’ table.

Hot tea spattered over Minerva’s hand. A marble-sized something was paddling frantically in her cup, bleating with fright.

‘Merlin’s ba— beard!’ the Headmistress cried, plucking the tiny creature out of her cup and holding it away from her with stiff, elegant fingers, so the droplets of tea dripping from the animal’s sodden coat wouldn’t hit her frilly blouse.

‘Miss Petrel!’ She stalked down to the long table. ‘Five points from Slytherin. We do not threaten to hex other students. And a detention to be served with Professor Flitwick. By now you really should have more control with that charm. If you do play with games with enchanted figures, treat them respectfully.’

‘Yes, Headmistress.’ The small face paled, the dark eyes growing huge and frightened. Minerva ignored her, and turned to Percely Parkinson. ‘And ten points from Hufflepuff. If you agree to join in a board game, Mr. Parkinson, you will follow the rules of that game.’

oooOooo

Snape and Harry had arrived early for the Order meeting. While Harry expected Hermione to show up on time, he also knew that she was doing some last minute Christmas shopping in Diagon Alley.

Probably buying something for her master, he thought with some discomfiture. But of course she would. It was only proper, and given The Plan…

He sighed and pretended to be intensely interested in the showers of sleet that were pounding the high windows of the library in Grimmauld Place No.12. But out of the corner of his eye he unobtrusively observed the Potions master, who was hiding behind the latest issue of the Daily Prophet.

Snape looked weary and sick.

Small wonder. There had been another attack. Another family of Muggle-born wizards killed in their beds. Father, mother, two children, one of them just a baby. All dead, and no sign of whoever had murdered them.

Finally Snape lowered the paper. Their eyes met, and when Snape failed to utter one of his customary acerbic remarks, Harry sighed again. Snape not snarky? That was not a good sign. Not a good sign at all.