Right Now Could Last Forever

“Potter! Samuels! Will you pay attention?”

McGonagall’s irritated voice cracked like a whop through the Transfiguration class on Thursday, and Harry and I both jumped and looked up.

It was the end of the lesson; we had finished our work; the guinea-fowl we had been changing into guinea-pigs had been shit away in a large cage on 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 Harry and I, who had been having a sword fight with a couple of mine and the twins’ fake wands at the back of the class, looked up, Harry holding a tin parrot, and me a rubber haddock.

“Now Potter and Samuels have been kind enough to act their age,” said McGonagall, with an angry look at the pair of us as the head of Harry’s haddock drooped and fell silently to the floor – my parrot’s beak had severed it moments before – “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 Patil nudged her hard in the ribs, her face working furiously as she, too, fought not to giggle. They both looked around at Harry, McGonagall ignoring them, which I thought was distinctly unfair, as she had just told me and Harry off.

“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 –“

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. I could see what was funny this time; 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,” 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 everyone packed their bags and swung them onto their shoulders.

I heard McGonagall call Harry, and I quickly said goodbye to him, before heading out of the class room. I had only just started walking down the hallway when two red-heads caught up with me.

“We have a name,” George said.

“What is it?” I said excitedly, looking between their two grinning faces.

-

The last week of term became increasingly boisterous as it progressed. Rumours about the Yule Ball were flying everywhere, though I didn’t believe half of them – for instance, that Dumbledore had bought eight hundred barrels of mulled mead from Madam Rosmerta. It seemed to be fact, however, that he had booked the Weird Sisters. The only reason I knew who the Weird Sisters were, was because Ginny had been playing them over the WWN (Wizarding Wireless Network); they were a very famous musical group.

Some of the teachers, like little Flitwick, gave up trying to teach us much when our minds were so clearly elsewhere; he allowed us to play games in his lesson on Wednesday, and spent most of it talking to Harry about the perfect Summoning Charm he had used during the first task. Other teachers were not so generous. Nothing would ever deflect Binns, for example, from ploughing on through his notes on goblin rebellions – as Binns hadn’t let his own death stand in the way of continuing to teach, we supposed a small thing like Christmas wasn’t going to put him off. It was amazing how he could make even bloody and vicious goblin riots sound as boring as Percy’s cauldron-bottom report. McGonagall and Moody kept us working until the very last second of our classes, too, and Snape, of course, would no sooner let us play games in class than adopt Harry. Staring nastily around at us all, he informed us that he would be testing us on poison antidotes during the last lesson of the term.

“Evil, he is,” I said bitterly that night in the Gryffindor common room. “Springing a test on us on the last day. Ruining the last bit of term with a whole load of revision.”

“Mmm... you’re not exactly straining yourself, though, are you?” said Hermione, looking at me over the top of her Potions notes. I was busy building a card castle out of my Exploding Snap pack – a much more interesting pastime than with Muggle cards, because of the chance that the whole thing would blow up at any second.

“It’s Christmas, Hermione,” said Harry lazily; he was re-reading ‘Flying with the Cannons’ for the tenth time in an armchair near the fire.

Hermione looked severely over at him, too. “I’d have thought you’d be doing something constructive, Harry, even if you don’t want to learn your antidotes!”

“Like what?” Harry said.

“That egg!” Hermione hissed.
“Come on, Hermione, I’ve got ‘til February the twenty-fourth,” Harry said.

“But it might take weeks to work it out!” said Hermione. “You’re going to look a real idiot if everyone else knows what the next task is and you don’t!”

“Leave him alone, Hermione, he’s earned a bit of a break,’ said Ron, and he placed to two last cards of my pack on top of the castle and the whole lot blew up, singeing his eyebrows.
“Nice look, Ron... go well with your dress robes, that will.”

It was Fred and George. They sat down at the table with Harry, Ron, Hermione and I, as Ron felt how much damage had been done, and I laughed.

“Ron, can we borrow Pigwidgeon?” George asked.

“No, he’s off delivering a letter,” said Ron. “Why?”

“Because George wants to invite him to the ball,” said Fred sarcastically.

“Because we want to send a letter, you stupid great prat,” said George.

“You can borrow Calandra,” I told the boys, who instantly said their thanks.

“Who d’you two keep writing to, eh?” said Ron.

“Nose out, Ron, or I’ll burn that for you, too,” said Fred, waving his wand threateningly. “So... you lot got dates for the ball yet?”

“Nope,” said Ron.

“Well, you’d better hurry up, mate, or all the good ones will be gone,” said George.

“Who’re you going with, then?” said Ron.

“Angelina,” said George promptly, without a trace of embarrassment.

“What?” said Ron, taken aback. “You’ve already asked her?”

“Good point,” said George. He turned his head and called across the common room, “Oi! Angelina!”

Angelina, who had been chatting to Alicia Spinnet near the fire, looked over at him.

“What?” she called back.

“Want to come to the ball with me?”

Angelina gave George an appraising sort of look.

“All right, then,” she said, and turned back to Alicia and carried on chatting, with a bit of a grin on her face.

“There you go,” said George to Harry and Ron, “piece of cake.”

He got to his feet, yawning, and said, “We’d better go send this letter, Fred, come on...”

“I’ll come with you,” I said, standing up as well.

“Hey, can I ask you something?” Fred said shyly; which was very uncharacteristic of him; while pulling me away from George while he went to find Calandra.

“Of course,” I said.