As they made their way into the Entrance Hall, James allowed Millie to fill the air with excitement and planning, warnings of dodgy relatives and promises of amazing sights and experiences. Filch watched them go past with a malevolent glare, leaning on a mop, pausing in his futile attempt to sop up the slush that had accumulated in the wake of the evening’s match. As Millie went on, James wondered if perhaps he’d agreed a bit too easily. He’d meant to break up with Millie over the holiday, not deepen their relationship with a visit to meet her parents. A dull, sinking feeling darkened his already dark mood, but he pushed it away. At least going to the city with Millie meant not having to spend the holiday with his showoff brother and blaming sister. At the mere remembrance of them, his resolve firmed and he determined to send a note to his own mum that night as well, announcing his new plan.
Millie was so caught up in her excitement about the upcoming holiday that she accompanied James all the way to the portrait of the Fat Lady, only then remembering herself. “Oh, I passed my own corridor, didn’t I?” she laughed, and then kissed James again, impetuously. “We’ll have a grand time. You’ll simply love it. I can’t wait!” She gripped his hand and squeaked with delight and James was once again both gratified and slightly worried by her enthusiasm.
A moment later, she turned and skipped back the way they’d come, humming Christmas carols happily to herself.
“Well,” the Fat Lady indulged with a knowing smile. “It looks to me like some body is in love…”
James was still watching Millie as she turned and capered cheerily down the stairs. “That’s what I’m afraid of,” he muttered with a sigh.
James half hoped that his mum would forbid the trip to Canterbury over the holidays, although he knew it was unlikely. She was a born matchmaker, just like his sister, and would likely adore the idea of James partaking in some innocent romance over the break.
Further, as hard as it was for her, James knew that his mum was making a conscious effort to respect her nearly of-age son, and honour his choices.
Thus, it was no great surprise when Nobby returned with her message later the following week, shaking snow from his wings as he landed on the breakfast table. James withdrew the message from the owl’s leg while Nobby himself sniffed and pecked at the remains of a kipper, clearly hungry from his morning’s flight.
The note in his mother’s handwriting was brief but surprisingly illuminating.
Dear James,
We’ll miss you, but I’m certain you will have a lovely time. Your father and I are both familiar with Millie’s family, as Mr. V was Ministry ambassador to the magical government in Norway for several years and Mrs. V is very charitable in central London with both her money and time. Since Albus is bringing his own New Friend home for the holiday, your room will likely be in use anyway. We will all send your gifts to you at the school— look for Kreacher before you leave—but don’t dare make a habit of being away from us for future holidays!
I miss you very much, as does your father, who sends his love and says to be sure not to let things get TOO romantic during the break, for what that’s worth. I reminded him that he married his school sweetheart and things turned out just aces for him.
Grandma Weasley sends her love as well. Oh, and she knows the Countess Eunice Vandergriff from her own days at Hogwarts and says to watch out for her, apparently because ‘the woman hasn’t washed a cauldron or folded a pair of socks in her entire blessed life’.
“What’s your dad mean about not getting too romantic with Millie?” Graham asked with a grin, reading over James’ shoulder. James jerked the letter away, hastily refolding it.
“It means he doesn’t want James getting too handsy with any of the Hufflepuppet Pals while away from school supervision,” Deirdre said wisely, turning to glance back at the Hufflepuff table where Millie sat with a group of her friends.
“You’re all missing the main point,” Rose said, leaning back from the table as Nobby unfurled his wings with a puff of cold air and launched toward the upper windows again. “Apparently Albus is bringing ‘a new friend’ home with him for the holidays.”
Scorpius pointed his chin toward the end of their own table, where Chance Jackson and her friends giggled and conspired in the shadow of the Great Hall Christmas tree. “Indeed, I know at least one Gryffindor who wasn’t too broken up about last week’s big loss to Slytherin. Could that be little Albus’ guest?”
“Got it in one, I wager,” Rose said, vaguely disgusted. “He and Chance have become quite the little item. But still, letting romance come before team…” She shook her head and wrinkled her nose.
“Where’s Hagrid?” James asked, attempting to change the subject as he stuffed his mum’s letter into his knapsack. “We have Care of Magical Creatures this afternoon, right?”
Scorpius shrugged. “Maybe he finally got eaten by one of the monsters he keeps out in that barn of his. All I hear is ‘class dismissed’.”
Rose jabbed Scorpius sharply with her elbow. “The menagerie is mostly empty now, as you well know. The Ministry made him get rid of most of his creatures, just in case any more Muggles come sniffing around the grounds. Ridiculous, of course. Merlin’s fortified the secrecy charms all around. But still, poor Hagrid’s had to send most of his best beasts to some magical preserve in Australia.”
“Wait a minute,” Deirdre said, leaning back and staring up at the teacher’s table. “He’s up there after all. Just… well that’s why we didn’t recognize him at first.”
“He’s…” James furrowed his brow, craning to look up at the dais. “Is he… reading?”
Sure enough, the top of the half-giant’s head could just be seen behind an enormous book, which sat propped upright on the table before him. The book was bound in frayed green cloth, its edges worn almost through. There was no title embossed on the spine or cover, merely a large symbol, tarnished black and illegible.
“I have to say,” Graham said with genuine surprise, “I wasn’t one hundred percent certain that Hagrid could read.”
“Of course he can read,” Rose said tersely, giving Graham a reproachful look. “He reads more than you do, and not just Quidditch scores and Chocolate Frog cards, at that.”
Still, James thought, Graham was right that the sight of Hagrid with his prodigious nose buried in an even more prodigious book was a curious sight indeed, especially at the head table during breakfast. He decided to ask Hagrid about it during that afternoon’s class.
In that endeavor, however, James was disappointed. Just as Ancient Runes was concluding and Professor Votary was announcing the evening’s homework, a message arrived that Care of Magical Creatures was cancelled. The classroom broke into a babble of relief and even a few cheers, until Votary sternly called everyone to attention again.
“You are all still summoned to the South Barn to assist in cleaning duties,” he declared, peering over his spectacles at the note in his hand. “Mr. Filch will be there to supervise.”
The elation of the room immediately melted to dour grumbling.
Ralph looked dolefully past James to the classroom windows, where snow drifted brightly against a dour grey sky.
“And here I thought we were avoiding a tramp out into the tundra,” he sighed.
“Buck up, Ralph,” offered Rose, buckling her bag and slinging it over her shoulder. “Maybe Filch will deputize you as junior muckraker, first order.”
“Har har,” Ralph grumped.