Christmas dawn arrived; the weather was cold, and everything was covered in white. Hogwarts was as heavily silent as the snow on the ground. A somber atmosphere enveloped the entire Castle, and the students seemed like frost-bitten eggplants; the successive petrification incidents had left them somewhat unable to get excited for the long-awaited Christmas.
Early in the morning, Harry was woken up by Hermione. He instinctively looked toward Ron's bed, which was still empty. He sighed and thought, "Today we might be able to find the culprit."
"Merry Christmas to you," Hermione said to him, tossing a gift to Harry, and then confirmed the exciting good news—the potion was ready.
Harry sat up, suddenly wide awake.
"Draco had better pray he hasn't done anything bad, otherwise I won't let him off," Harry clenched his fists. Then he teased Ron's pet—Scabbers. Perhaps because its owner had been petrified, Scabbers seemed a bit listless.
"Mm," Hermione just nodded slightly.
Just then, Hedwig swooped into the room, a small package held in her beak. It looked like a Christmas present for Harry. In a very affectionate manner, Hedwig gently nipped his ear; this greeting was much more precious than the gift she had brought him.
A toothpick and a letter from his awful relatives certainly wouldn't make anyone happy.
The other Christmas presents Harry received were much more satisfying. Hagrid gave him a large bag of Treacle Fudge, which Harry decided to soften by the fire before eating. Hermione bought him a luxury quill. Harry unwrapped the last gift, which turned out to be a brand-new hand-knitted sweater from Mrs. Weasley, along with a large Plum Cake. He propped up Mrs. Weasley's card, a surge of guilt rising in his heart again. He thought of Mr. Weasley's car, which had been missing ever since it crashed into the Whomping Willow. He also thought of Ron lying in a hospital bed, which made him feel even worse upon receiving the gifts.
He saw the unopened copy of Flying with the Cannons on Ron's desk. He knew it was the gift Ron had prepared for him, but now he wasn't there.
At the Hogwarts Christmas feast, everyone ate with great relish. Food was quite good at distracting people, and the delicious meal made them temporarily forget the previous gloomy atmosphere.
The Great Hall looked magnificent. Not only were there a dozen frost-covered Christmas trees and thick garlands of mistletoe and holly crisscrossing the ceiling, but there was also enchanted snow, warm and dry, drifting gently from the ceiling. Dumbledore led them in singing a few of his favourite Christmas carols, and after Hagrid gulped down glass after glass of Eggnog, his voice grew louder and louder.
"Hermione, it's time," Harry said to Hermione, estimating that the timing was right.
"Mm," Hermione nodded.
Draco and Pansy were enjoying the delicacies of the Christmas feast at the Slytherin table when suddenly screams broke out in the crowd, then spread to the Slytherin table.
A pen had spun out of control, darting wildly through the air and frantically splattering black ink everywhere. The students were in an uproar. It also brought a long-absent liveliness to the Great Hall. It kept moving toward the Slytherin table, finally arriving in front of Pansy.
"My goodness!" Pansy screamed, quickly standing up to avoid this "source of all evil." But she wasn't fast enough and was sprayed all over with black ink. As for Draco, he was focused on his own thoughts at the time and only instinctively cast a spell on himself to avoid trouble, not even considering Pansy.
"Who did this?" Pansy shrieked like a ruffled kitten, looking around to find the culprit. No one would be in a good mood after encountering such a thing on a pleasant holiday, let alone while eating.
"I'm sorry,
Fred and George were just teaching me how to use this pen when a small problem occurred." Harry walked over from the crowd and bowed his head in a sincere apology.
"Eh?" Draco wasn't in the mood to care about such things. He was still thinking about how to find an opportunity to solve the diary and the Basilisk once and for all, so he looked up slightly. He said to Pansy's robes, "Scourgify." It seemed he wanted to make light of the matter and settle it, intending to persuade Pansy not to hold it against Harry.
As it turned out, it was completely ineffective.
"I'm really sorry," Harry bowed even lower. "The ink in this pen is special; it requires a special potion to wash it clean."
"Oh, well, nothing for it then," Draco shrugged and said to Pansy, "Go find our Dean; I'm sure he'll have a way."
"How disappointing," Pansy grumbled, looking at her wizard robes splattered with ink.
Draco didn't suspect a thing. Not to mention that all his energy was currently focused on the diary, he witnessed the Weasley twins' pranks go haywire almost every week. It was quite commonplace; someone always got caught. Now that the plot had changed like this, Crabbe and Goyle had been sent who-knows-where by him. He had no idea that someone would soon be trying to trick information out of him.
History is always strikingly similar.
Harry, looking dejected, led Pansy out of the Great Hall, then secretly gave Hermione a "mission accomplished" sign. Hermione understood and hurried toward the girls' bathroom. She had to hurry; the time Harry could buy was limited.
There wasn't much difference between her and Pansy's build, but she still stole a robe from the Slytherin changing room. After all, the clothing between the two houses wasn't the same.
In the bathroom, the bubbling, syrup-thick potion was gurgling. Hermione was a bit nervous alone. If Ron and Harry were there, she might not be so anxious, but one was currently in a hospital bed, and the other was drawing attention for her.
With her trembling hand, she held the spoon, scooped up a large dollop of the potion, and poured it into the glass she had prepared.
The potion made a loud noise, like a pot of boiling water, and foamed vigorously. A second later, it turned a slight shade of purple.
Perhaps because their builds were similar, Hermione, who only slightly adjusted her stature, didn't suffer too much pain, only a slight itching on her face. She walked to the mirror to examine herself.
Flawless.
But she couldn't go out right away; that would be too strange. Hermione suppressed her urgent desire to leave and paced back and forth in the bathroom. She could only choose to believe that Harry would buy enough time for her.
About twenty minutes passed before Hermione slowly walked out of the girls' bathroom. When she came out, she tried her best to avoid being discovered, constantly glancing around. She gasped for air, trying to calm her heart, which was about to jump out of her chest. This nervousness probably wasn't just for one reason.
Before the doors of the Great Hall, she took another deep breath and pressed her hand to her chest, as if trying to hold it in place. Perhaps because the distance to the truth was so close, she felt herself becoming more and more afraid. She even had thoughts of running away, but then she thought of the petrified students and one of her best friends—Ron—lying unconscious in a hospital bed, and her wavering heart became firm again.
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