Chapter 225

Chapter 225

And so the first Hogsmeade weekend came to an end.

On the way back, Neville and Suer once again walked together behind Hannah and Hermione. The scene felt strangely familiar.

This time, however, both boys were carrying several gift bags stuffed with sweets bought in Hogsmeade.

Oh, and there was Ron. After vanishing for the entire day, he had finally rejoined them.

“What did you do? Hermione looks as though she’s in a terrible mood,” Neville asked quietly.

“You noticed?” Suer was rather surprised by Neville’s sensitivity. On the surface, Hermione had been laughing and chatting with Hannah as usual. “It’s nothing. Girls our age can be a little moody.”

“But I never thought you’d actually manage to invite Hannah into Madam Puddifoot’s Tea Shop. Impressive.” Suer gave Neville a thumbs-up.

“I didn’t think she’d agree either.” Neville scratched his head with a smile. “I only asked whether she’d like to go inside for something warm.”

“Your grandmother would be proud if she knew.” Suer nodded and patted his arm. “Once you’ve done it the first time, the second will be much easier.”

“First time? Second time? What are you two talking about?” Ron came over clutching a bag of sweets. “Want to try the new milk fudge? It’s a new product from Honeydukes. I bought a huge bag to take back to Harry.”

“No, thanks, Ron. I’ve already been to Honeydukes.” Suer glanced at Ron’s baffled face. “Would you like me to carry some of those?”

“That’d be brilliant. George and Fred dumped all their things on me too, then ran off Merlin knows where.” Ron grumbled as he handed Suer several bags.

“No trouble. Is Scabbers still with you?” Suer asked casually as he took them.

“Of course.” Ron set the rest on the ground, stretched his aching back and sighed with relief. “He’s fast asleep in my pocket. By the way, did you go to the Shrieking Shack? Seamus and I went exploring there just now.”

“We visited the Three Broomsticks too. A mug of hot Butterbeer after an adventure is absolutely marvellous. I think I saw a troll in there, though, and Madam Rosmerta really is pretty.

“Hogsmeade’s fantastic. We went to the post office as well. There must’ve been two hundred owls perched on the shelves.”

Ron rattled on and on. Suer listened patiently, occasionally encouraging him with, “Really? What a shame I missed it. I’ll definitely have a look next time.”

Having such an appreciative audience only made Ron more enthusiastic.

He finally stopped when the gates of Hogwarts came into view in the distance and turned the question on them.

“Where did you lot go? I looked all over and couldn’t find you.”

“Us?” Suer and Neville exchanged a glance. “Hermione and I spent the afternoon in Madam Puddifoot’s. Neville and Hannah were there too.”

Ron fell silent.

Why did he suddenly feel like a complete fool?

…

A great crowd of third-years and older pupils tramped across the clean, spacious entrance hall, leaving trail after trail of black footprints with their muddy shoes.

They paid no attention whatsoever to poor old Filch standing to one side. Laughing and talking without a care, they scattered through the castle to prepare for the feast.

Filch stood by the doors holding a large mop, his expression thunderous. Every time his gaze fell upon the stone floor, so thickly smeared that its original colour could no longer be seen, one of his eyes twitched.
By the time Suer had changed into his robes and emerged for the feast, old Filch was still attacking the stubborn mud with his mop.

Of course he was getting nowhere. How could a Muggle method possibly deal with mud that had been tampered with by magic?

Suer had seen a redhead throw a black ball onto the floor amid the crowd earlier, though he could not tell whether it had been George or Fred.

“Would you like some help, Mr Filch?”

“No.” Filch raised his head and gave Suer a look, his voice hoarse, before bending back over the mop.

The patch he had scrubbed with all his strength remained as black as ever. Suer sighed.

“That won’t work, Mr Filch. This is probably one of Zonko’s joke products.”

Suer was not overflowing with saintly compassion. Filch was hardly well liked at the best of times. Still, this was the Halloween feast, and if the old man kept labouring away without trying another approach, he might not even get a hot meal.

Filch stopped mopping. Whatever had occurred to him left his face darker than before.

He had probably guessed the culprits too. Only his lifelong enemies, the Weasley twins, would do such a thing in this castle.

“Then I’ll have to trouble you, Mr Bones,” Filch said gloomily.

“Not at all, Mr Filch.” Suer drew his wand and gave it a flick. “Scourgify.”

The black stains vanished from the flagstones under the spell. For good measure, Suer followed it with a whirlwind of cleaning magic, and the entrance hall was soon gleaming.

As for the rest of the castle, including the routes to every house common room… what did anyone suppose the house-elves did when they were not preparing three meals a day?

Perhaps Filch had resorted to a mop because his love for the castle ran very deep indeed.

“Suer, come on! The feast is about to start.” Justin waved to him from the doorway.

“Coming.”

Suer put away his wand and hurried over to his dormitory mates.

“The feast is different tonight,” Morn said mysteriously. “The Hall’s completely transformed.”

He was right. The Great Hall seemed filled with ghostly draughts, except that the wind felt surprisingly warm against their faces.

Pumpkins of every shape and size floated overhead. The candles in their mouths had plainly been enchanted, for their flames burned blue. Thousands of transfigured bats wheeled and swooped among them.

“Wow. Brilliant!” Justin exclaimed.

To house-elves from outside Hogwarts, its kitchens were the pinnacle of the culinary world. The dishes they produced bore no resemblance to the ghastly concoctions one sometimes heard associated with British cooking. Vivid colours and delicious flavours were merely the minimum standard.

The ghosts performed at the end of the feast, and they had clearly been preparing for a long time. Gryffindor’s Sir Nicholas de Mimsy-Porpington staged a lively drama entitled The Execution, which was really a recreation of the scene surrounding his own death.

Hufflepuff’s Fat Friar gave a poetry recital. The verses were rather chilling, but everyone applauded generously all the same, mostly because the Fat Friar was so well liked throughout the castle.

Professor Dumbledore raised his goblet as he shared a joke with Professor McGonagall. Everyone was happy. For this one day, the gloom the Dementors had cast over the start of term seemed to disappear entirely.