What I'm Looking For...

Christmas was coming. One morning in mid-December, we all woke up to find several feet of snow. The lake was frozen solid and Fred and George got punished after I told them to bewitch several snowballs so they followed Quirrell around, bouncing of the back of his turban.

The few owls that managed to battle their way through the stormy sky to deliver post had to be nursed back to health by Hagrid before they could fly again. I wasn’t risking sending Calandra, so he stayed at school.

No one could wait for the holidays to start. While the Gryffindor common-room and the Great Hall had roaring fires, the draughty corridors had become icy and a bitter wind rattled the windows in the classrooms. Worst of all were Professor Snape’s classes down in the dungeons, where our breath rose in a mist before us and we kept as close as possible to our hot cauldrons.

“I do feel so sorry,” said Draco Malfoy, one Potion class, “for all those people who have to stay at Hogwarts for Christmas because they’re not wanted at home.”

While he spoke he looked over at Harry. Crabbe and Goyle chuckled. Harry, who was measuring out powdered spine of lionfish, ignored them, but I pushed up my already rolled up sleeves, starting to walk over to them. Ron pulled me back.

Malfoy had been even more unpleasant than usual since the Quidditch match. Disgusted that Slytherin had lost, he had tried to get everyone laughing at how a wide-mouthed tree frog would be replacing Harry has Seeker next. Then he realised that nobody found this funny, because they were all so impressed at the way Harry had managed to stay on his bucking broomstick. So Malfoy, jealous and angry, had gone back to taunting Harry about having no proper family. It set my teeth on edge.

I wasn’t going home for Christmas, neither was Harry. Professor McGonagall had come round the week before, making a list of students who would be staying for the holidays, and Harry and I had signed up at once. Don’t get me wrong, I love my folks but I’d rather not be home.

“Well,” I said when everyone had asked me why I wasn’t going home for Christmas, “they’re too much like me. Sarcastic, funny, ridiculously good looking...”

The Weasley brothers were staying too, because Mr and Mrs Weasley were going to Romania to visit Charlie.

When we left the dungeons at the end of Potions, we found a large fir tree blocking the corridor ahead. Two enormous feet sticking out at the bottom and a loud puffing sound told us that Hagrid was behind it.

“Hi, Hagrid, want any help?” Ron asked, sticking his head through the branches.

“Nah, I’m all right, thanks, Ron.”

“Would you mind moving out of the way?” Came Malfoy’s cold drawl from behind us. “Are you trying to earn some extra money, Weasley? Hoping to be a gamekeeper yourself when you leave Hogwarts, I suppose – that hut of Hagrid’s must seem like a palace compared to what your family’s used to.”

I dived at Malfoy, just as Snape came up the stairs.

“SAMUELS!”

I let go of the front of Malfoy’s robes.

“She was provoked, Professor Snape,” said Hagrid, sticking his huge hairy face out from behind the tree. “Malfoy was insultin’ Ron’s family.”

“Be that as it may, fighting is against Hogwarts rules, Hagrid,” said Snape silkily. “Five points from Gryffindor, Samuels, and be grateful it isn’t more. Move along, all of you.”

Malfoy, Crabbe and Goyle pushed roughly past the tree, scattering needles everywhere and smirking.

“I’ll get him,” I said, grinding my teeth at Malfoy’s back, “one of these days, I’ll get him –“
“I hate them both,” said Harry, “Malfoy and Snape.”

“Come on, cheer up, it’s nearly Christmas,” said Hagrid. “Tell yeh what, come with me an’ see the Great Hall, looks a treat.”

So Ron, Hermione, Harry and I followed Hagrid and his tree off to the Great Hall, where Professor McGonagall and Professor Flitwick were busy with the Christmas decorations.
“Ah, Hagrid, the last tree – put it in the far corner, would you?”

The hall looked spectacular. Festoons of holly and mistletoe hung all around the walls and no less than twelve towering Christmas trees stood around the room, some sparkling with tiny icicles, glittering with hundreds of candles.

“How many days you got left until yer holidays?” Hagrid asked.

“Just one,” said Hermione. “And that reminds me – Harry, Ron, Corey, we’ve got half an hour before lunch, we should be in the library.”

“Oh yeah, you’re right,” I said, tearing my eyes away from Professor Flitwick, who had golden bubbles blossoming out of his wand and was trailing them over the branches of the new tree.

“The library?” said Hagrid, following us out of the hall. “Just before the holidays? Bit keen, aren’t yeh?”

“Oh, we’re not working,” Harry told him brightly. “Ever since you mentioned Nicolas Flamel we’ve been trying to find out who he is.”

“You what?” Hagrid looked shocked. “Listen here – I’ve told yeh – drop it. It’s nothin’ to you what that dog’s guardin’.”

“We just want to know who Nicolas Flamel is, that’s all,” said Hermione.

“Unless you’d like to tell us and save the trouble?” I added. “We must’ve been through hundreds of books already and we can’t find him anywhere – just give us a hint – I know I’ve read his name somewhere.”

“I’m sayin’ nothin’,” said Hagrid flatly.

“Just have to find out ourselves, then,” said Ron, and we left Hagrid looking disgruntled and hurried off to the library.

We had indeed been searching books for Flamel’s name ever since Hagrid had let it slip, because how else were we going to find out what Snape was trying to steal? The trouble was, it was very hard to know where to begin, not knowing what Flamel might have done to get himself into a book. He wasn’t in Great Wizards of the Twentieth Century, or Notable Magical Names of Our Time; he was missing, too, from Important Modern Magical Discoveries, and A Study of Recent Developments in Wizardry. And then, of course, there was the sheer size of the library; tens of thousands of books; thousands of shelves; hundreds of narrow rows.

Hermione took out a list of subjects and titles she had decided to search while Ron strode off down a row of books and started pulling them off the shelves at random. Harry and I wondered over to the Restricted Section. We had been wondering for a while if Flamel wasn’t somewhere in there. Unfortunately, you needed a specially signed note from one of the teachers to look in any of the restricted books and I knew we’d never get one. These were the books containing powerful Dark magic never taught at Hogwarts and only read by older students studying advanced Defence Against the Dark arts.

“What are you looking for?”

“Nothing,” said Harry.

Madam Pince the librarian brandished a feather duster at us.

“You’d better get out, then. Go on – out!”

Wishing we’d been able to be a bit quicker at thinking up some story, Harry and I left the library. The four of us had already agreed we weren’t going to ask Madam Pince where we could find Flamel. We were sure she’d be able to tell us, but we couldn’t risk Snape hearing what we were up to.

Harry and I waited outside in the corridor to see if the other two had found anything, but I wasn’t very hopeful. We had been looking for a fortnight, after all, but as we only had odd moments between lessons it wasn’t surprising we’d found nothing. What we really needed was a nice long search without Madam Pince breathing down our necks.

Five minutes later, Ron and Hermione joined us, shaking their heads. We went off to lunch.

“You will keep looking while I’m away, won’t you?” said Hermione. “And send me an owl if you find anything.”

“And you could ask your parents if they know who Flamel is,” said Ron.” It’d be safe to ask them.”

“Very safe, as they’re both dentists,” said Hermione.

---

Once the holidays started, Ron, Harry and I were having too good a time to think much about Flamel. I had my dormitory all to myself and the common-room was far emptier than usual, so we were able to get the good armchairs by the fire. We sat by the hour eating anything we could spear on a toasting fork – bread, crumpets, marshmallows – and plotting ways of getting Malfoy expelled, which were fun to talk about even if they wouldn’t work.

Ron had started teaching us wizard chess. It is exactly like Muggle chess except that the figures were alive, which made it a lot like directing troops in battle. Ron’s set was very old and battered. Like everything else he owned, it had once belonged to someone else in his family – in this case, his grandfather. However, old chessmen weren’t a drawback at all. Ron knew them so well he never had trouble getting them to do what he wanted.

Harry and I played with chessmen Seamus Finnigan had lent us and they didn’t trust Harry at all. He wasn’t a very good player yet and they kept shouting different bits of advice at him, which was confusing; ‘Don’t send me there, can’t you see his knight? Send him, we can afford to lose him.” I didn’t have as much trouble as I was a pretty good player myself.

On Christmas day, I woke up extra early. I jumped out of bed and found a heap of presents at the end of my bed. My parents had sent me a letter, and a charm bracelet, which I put on straight away. There was a large bag of Bertie Botts every flavour beans, from Hermione. Lastly I picked up a very lumpy parcel. Inside was a thick, hand-knitted, baby blue sweater and a box of some homemade fudge. I pulled the jumper over my head. I’m guessing it was from Mrs Weasley.

I bounded down to the twins dormitory and jumped on Fred’s bed, who’s was closest to the door. I jumped up and down a couple of times before sitting down on top of him.

“Wake up, wake up!” I demanded. “It’s Christmas!”

I got off Fred’s bed and did the same to George, who was already awake from my yelling, and was rubbing his eyes. I got up and stood in between their beds, beaming at them.

“Merry Christmas guys!”

“Merry Christmas, Blondie,” they both chimed sleepily.

“Oh, come on guys, get up!” I said impatiently, pulling their covers onto the ground.

“OK, we’re up, we’re up,” Said George, swinging his legs to the ground.

I picked up their presents and handed them over. They got all sorts of things, including a sweater like what I was wearing.

“Mum makes them every year,” Fred explained. “Ours are always blue.”

The twins’ jumpers had a large, yellow ‘F’ and a ‘G’ on them, which stuck out from the blue, and they both put them on. I went down into the common-room while they quickly got changed. They bounded happily down the stairs, obviously having woken up. I jumped on George’s back, like normal, and we headed off to Ron and Harry’s dormitory.

Fred flung the door open, and we entered the room. Harry quickly stuffed something behind his back.

“Merry Christmas!” the three of us chimed.

“Hey, look – Harry’s got a Weasley jumper, too!” I said.

“Harry’s is better than ours, though,” said Fred, holding up Harry’s jumper. “She obviously makes more of an effort if you’re not family, considering Corey’s looks pretty good, too.”

“Why aren’t you wearing yours, Ron?” George demanded, after I’d climbed off of his back. “Come on, get it on, they’re lovely and warm.”

“I hate maroon,” Ron moaned half-heartedly as he pulled it over his head.

“You haven’t got a letter on yours,” George observed. “I suppose she thinks you don’t forget your name. But we’re not stupid – we know we’re called Gred and Forge.”

“What’s all this noise?”

Percy Weasley stuck his head through the door, looking disapproving. He had clearly come half-way through unwrapping his presents, as he, too, carried a lumpy jumper over his arm, which Fred seized.

“P for prefect! Get it on, Percy, come on, we’re all wearing ours, even Harry and Corey got one.”

“I – don’t – want –“ said Percy thickly, as the twins forced the jumper over his head, knocking his glasses askew.

“And you’re not sitting with the prefects today, either,” said George, “Christmas is a time for family.”

They frog-marched Percy from the room, his arms pinned to his side by his jumper. As soon as they were gone, I turned to Harry and Ron.

“Alright, what is it?” I asked, looking at Harry.

“No, ‘Merry Christmas’, or anything?” Ron said, but I ignored him.

“Come on Harry, show me,” I demanded.

Harry slowly pulled out a shiny, silvery-grey piece of cloth out from behind his back. I walked up to him, and grabbed it from his hands. It was strange at the touch, like water woven into material.

“It’s an invisibility cloak,” said Ron.

I smiled evilly, as many plans formed in my head.