CHAPTER TWELVE
She nibbled his ear in an affectionate sort of way, which was a far
better present than the one that she had brought him, which
turned out to be from the Dursleys. They had sent Harry a tooth-
pick and a note telling him to find out whether he’d be able to stay
at Hogwarts for the summer vacation, too.
The rest of Harry’s Christmas presents were far more satisfac-
tory. Hagrid had sent him a large tin of treacle toffee, which Harry
decided to soften by the fire before eating; Ron had given him a
book called Flying with the Cannons, a book of interesting facts
about his favorite Quidditch team, and Hermione had bought him
a luxury eagle-feather quill. Harry opened the last present to find a
new, hand-knitted sweater from Mrs. Weasley and a large plum
cake. He read her card with a fresh surge of guilt, thinking about
Mr. Weasley’s car (which hadn’t been seen since its crash with the
Whomping Willow), and the bout of rule-breaking he and Ron
were planning next.
No one, not even someone dreading taking Polyjuice Potion later,
could fail to enjoy Christmas dinner at Hogwarts.
The Great Hall looked magnificent. Not only were there a dozen
frost-covered Christmas trees and thick streamers of holly and
mistletoe crisscrossing the ceiling, but enchanted snow was falling,
warm and dry, from the ceiling. Dumbledore led them in a few of
his favorite carols, Hagrid booming more and more loudly with
every goblet of eggnog he consumed. Percy, who hadn’t noticed
that Fred had bewitched his prefect badge so that it now read “Pin-
head,” kept asking them all what they were sniggering at. Harry
didn’t even care that Draco Malfoy was making loud, snide remarks
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