Thanks to the magical flair brought by several professors, the Christmas feast had helped the students temporarily forget about the report cards they'd received that morning.
The teachers sat together, chatting and enjoying the meal. Throughout it all, Professor Snape barely spoke—even when Dumbledore told several of his best jokes. He merely offered Douglas a thin, forced smile. Whenever their eyes met, both men would snort coldly and look away.
As the feast was winding down, Draco Malfoy left the Slytherin table. Pretending to pass by Gryffindor, he raised his voice for all to hear:
"Hard to believe the Potions class rep only managed a passing grade. Next lesson, he'll be chopping vegetables like a house-elf… Sigh, as a fellow class rep, I'm honestly ashamed!"
If not for the smug grin plastered across his face, some might've almost believed him.
A hush fell over the Gryffindor table. For reasons everyone knew, most Gryffindors had seen their Potions marks knocked down a peg.
Harry and Ron both sprang to their feet. But after a quick glance at the staff table, Harry wisely kept his temper in check and instead called out, "Oh? The vegetable-chopping method was invented by Professor Snape himself. So, in your opinion, Draco Malfoy, does that make Professor Snape a mad house-elf?"
The Ravenclaws at the next table heard this and stared, wide-eyed, at Professor Snape.
Sensing every eye on him, Snape turned with a glacial glare.
Draco, catching that look, blanched. Without another word, he grabbed his cronies and beat a hasty retreat.
A wave of applause erupted from the Gryffindor table.
Ron clapped Harry on the back, both of them grinning. George and Fred performed an exaggerated bow, one holding a platter of roast meat, the other a glass of juice.
"Oh, our valiant hero!"
"Snape's a mad house-elf—ha! I mean, Slytherin's completely out of line, no respect for professors at all!"
The commotion didn't go unnoticed at the staff table. Professor Snape looked as if he'd like nothing more than to march over and investigate, convinced all this Gryffindor merriment had something to do with him. But Dumbledore kept him firmly in his seat, insisting he listen to just one more joke…
The feast was lively, especially once the drinks started flowing. Hagrid, true to form, downed glass after glass until he was thoroughly drunk—then began hugging and planting kisses on everyone within reach. Douglas made his escape before Hagrid's enormous lips could find him. No way was he risking a "friendly" smooch from Hagrid, not even for the sake of politeness.
After the feast, everyone had had a fair bit to drink. Even Professor Snape, usually so pallid, now sported a faint blush.
The students scattered across the castle.
George and Fred slipped outside into the snowy grounds, hawking their latest invention—snowball bombs. Light one, and it would gather nearby snow into a flurry of snowballs for a full minute. The idea had come from Professor Holmes's snow monster stunt last time.
Students who'd witnessed that legendary event all flocked outside, shouting about snowball fights as they left the hall—casting hopeful glances at Douglas. But in the end, he didn't join them.
At seven o'clock sharp, Douglas arrived at the Burrow via the fireplace in Honeydukes, grateful to Mr. Weasley for arranging a private Floo Network trip just for him.
No sooner had he stepped out than Ginny shouted, "Mum! Professor Holmes is here!"
Mr. Weasley, who'd been chatting with Percy, strode over and gave Douglas a hearty hug. "Douglas, Merry Christmas!"
"Merry Christmas, Mr. Weasley!"
Just then, Mrs. Weasley poked her head out from the kitchen. "Merry Christmas, Douglas! Everything's almost ready—have a seat! No, no, you're not helping today, I've got it all under control!"
Mrs. Weasley would brook no argument.
During dinner, Douglas shared the twins' and Ron's grades, and praised both Ginny and Percy for their excellent performance at school. Mrs. Weasley beamed with pride.
The adults spent the evening discussing the Weasley children's academic interests and individual strengths. When it came to George and Fred's penchant for inventing, Mr. Weasley called it a gift, but Mrs. Weasley insisted it was a distraction that needed correcting.
Sensing her steely resolve, Douglas offered diplomatically, "Don't worry, Mrs. Weasley, I'll keep a close eye on them at school. Honestly, I don't think their hands-on skills are a bad thing. As long as they keep up with their studies, a little personal passion can be a good thing."
Mrs. Weasley smiled. "Of course, I'm not unreasonable. If they ever get grades like Percy's, I'll support whatever they want to do!"
The rest of the table chuckled.
That evening, Douglas learned the Weasleys had originally planned to visit Bill in Egypt for Christmas, but had postponed the trip to summer—and invited Douglas to join them.
He politely declined. "Sorry, I've already got some plans for the summer. But you should stay as long as you like. I actually bought a house in the Muggle part of Egypt a while back—Bill's been looking after it for me. You're welcome to use it while you're there…"
In truth, Douglas had also bought a Muggle house near the dragon reserve in Romania and left it in Charlie's care. Both homes were fully equipped with modern appliances, and Bill and Charlie could reach him any time by phone or computer. Not that Douglas spent much time at home, even when he was in England—they'd only spoken twice by phone.
After dinner, Douglas received a mustard-yellow jumper from Mrs. Weasley, complete with a big letter "D" on the front. Percy handed over a bundle of Christmas gifts sent by Douglas's friends. His favorite, by far, was the pair of dragon-hide boots from Charlie.
Back at Hogwarts, students frantically crammed in the common rooms, realizing the new term began tomorrow. All the tension of the three-week holiday seemed to come crashing down in a single night.
Returning students brought mixed moods with them.
"Heh, I finished all my homework already. When my mum saw my report card on Christmas, she said I'd shamed the family and made me finish my homework that day—otherwise, I couldn't go to Christmas dinner!"
"Sigh, I had it better. When Mum saw I got one Exceeds Expectations, two Acceptables, and two Poors, she was in a decent mood. She still made me finish my homework on Christmas, though—said it was the only way to keep up my 'good student' reputation."
A new term began.
The first class, as always, was with the fifth years.
Douglas pointed to the countdown at the back of the classroom. "There are only one hundred and fifty days left until your O.W.L.s.
Now is not the time for panic or carelessness. 'For a journey of a hundred miles, ninety miles is only halfway'—that's the wisdom here. The closer you get to the finish line, the more you must keep your cool.
So, today we'll start with a simple exercise. Here's a six-foot-long worksheet, packed with material from past O.W.L. exams.
This isn't a real test—just a way to help you get back into the groove after the holidays. Answer as much as you can; I'm not expecting you to finish it all…"
~~~~❃❃~~~~~~~~❃❃~~~~
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