Under normal circumstances, Ron would definitely refute the slander of his two brothers at lightning speed.
But today, he just sat on the chair, covering his face with one hand, looking deeply aggrieved.
"What's wrong with you, Little Ronnie?" George asked curiously.
"Did Hermione beat you up?" Fred asked with a mischievous grin.
Ron glared at them, but still said nothing, his face covered.
"He has a toothache." Hermione shook her head helplessly, "Dad checked him out, it's not a dental issue, just some inflammation. I just gave him some meds, but it'll take a while to take effect."
"Looks like our Little Ronnie has something on his mind." George winked at Fred, "Otherwise, why would he have such an inflammation reaction?"
Hermione ignored them and asked Ron with concern, "How are you now? Want me to get you some ointment to apply?"
"Is there such ointment?" Ron asked skeptically.
"If you paid attention in class, Mr. Weasley."
An oily voice suddenly appeared behind Ron.
Ron raised his head in horror, and sure enough—standing behind him was Professor Snape, lips curled.
But what Ron never expected was that Professor Snape took out a small test tube from somewhere, containing a bright green potion.
"Apply it." He said, "It will make you feel better."
Ron was a bit stunned.
He never thought that in a critical moment, the one reaching out to offer him a hand was not Doraemon, but Professor Snape.
However, Professor Snape's next words made Ron's expression drop.
"Two feet of paper on this ointment," he drawled, "submit it to me after school starts."
With that, he billowed his black robes, drifted away like a bat, leaving not a cloud behind.
Ron looked at the ointment in his hand, then at Snape's back, and thought of the extra load of homework he just got...
An anger rose in his heart, fueling his courage, and he twisted open the tube cap, dabbed a bit of ointment, and smeared it on his swollen, aching gums.
Not to mention, it felt fresh and cool as if the pain suddenly diminished.
He had to admit, although Professor Snape had a bit of a temper, his skill in magic potions was undeniably top-notch.
He applied some ointment to his mouth ulcer as well, which immediately began to heal.
"Really nice." Ron screwed the cap back on, genuinely said.
"You should properly thank our headmaster." Draco suddenly said, "Weasley, do you regret not being sorted into Slytherin?"
"A Weasley will never be a Slytherin!" Ron countered sarcastically.
"I don't believe it, your son will surely be a Slytherin in the future." Draco made a face at Ron, "He'll start a new tradition for the Weasley family."
Ron opened his mouth.
"Mom." He turned and asked, "What if my son joins Slytherin in the future?"
"Ronald Weasley!" Mrs. Weasley's hair stood on end as she pointed a carrot she was washing at Ron, "If that happens, my carrots will land on both your faces!"
Ron swallowed hard.
"Actually, there's nothing bad about Slytherin." Harry commented beside him, "See, we're no longer in the era of house prejudices..."
"But this is tradition, dear Harry." Mrs. Weasley smiled warmly at Harry, "I have nothing against Slytherin— even if Ron's child goes to Hufflepuff or Ravenclaw, neither of them will be allowed into my home!"
Oh, it's a Weasley family tradition, only Gryffindor is allowed, right?
Draco looked at Ron, then at Ginny, who was resting on the couch with her eyes closed, wondering what he was thinking.
Harry had no intention of heading back to his room to inspect the presents; he felt that even opening gifts should wait until everyone was gone.
In case something came out that shouldn't be seen, that would be interesting.
Of course, he'd also avoid Annie, as he'd confirmed her dual-agent identity.
Thankfully, it wasn't code-named pangolin.
Christmas at number twelve Grimmauld Square was vastly different, now with a new female hostess—though she's a prospective hostess, she brought a unique change to this old mansion.
Where there was once a gloomy place with house-elf heads on walls, now warm golden star wallpaper covered, and the marks from the removed heads were cleverly hidden by magical murals depicting tranquil mountains and penguins sliding.
The stair railings were entwined with green holly and gold-silver ribbons, magical snowflakes gently fell from the ceiling, softly melting before touching one's skin.
Mrs. Blake was also in high spirits, even wearing a Christmas hat.
"It's Jemma's contribution," Little Sirius explained to an inquisitive Harry, "See, she thought the old mansion should have some fresh air... As for my mom, she's quite happy."
Harry certainly knew that Walburga was very pleased with Miss Fari—not only because she came from a Pure-blood Clan, a Pure-blood Wizard, but also because she was a Slytherin, a Slytherin Class Prefect.
"Merlin finally opened his eyes..."
After learning that Miss Fari was once Slytherin's Class Prefect, Walburga murmured, repeating for several days.