December — I love this month. But not in England, not on the islands.
December, for me, is associated with snow as white as white can be, falling in large flakes, covering everything around with a thick layer; with cold of at least fifteen to twenty degrees Celsius below zero; with winter fun; with mittens stiffened from melted snow; with all these winter games, since we're talking about it. I won't even mention January, with its ringing morning frost, when even sounds become denser and richer.
What do you get in England? The beginning of December is a wind that is neither a breeze nor a blizzard, but some continuous misfortune; wet snow that associates not with snow, but with rain miraculously frozen in mid-fall; and dampness. Morning frost settling on withered grass strives to turn into mud right after breakfast if there's too much of it. And in a really bad scenario, you might not really see snow here at all during the winter. Doing physical exercises outside in such weather, you hope that at least for two or three weeks, during Christmas and the holidays, everything around will finally be covered with a thick layer of snow. Although, it seems to me, the locals won't understand me.
The guys from Durmstrang and Beauxbatons walked around dissatisfied with such weather. While the French wanted visual warmth, wrapping themselves in thick clothes against rain or wet snow, against excess humidity, the Durmstrang students were clearly unhappy that it wasn't cold enough at this time of year, not snowy enough, and excessively windy, even though we aren't by the sea or even close. But if you judge globally, then everything on the British Isles is one way or another quite close to the sea.
From the very first days of December, Hogwarts began to transform, preparing for Christmas. Too early, and much more globally than in previous years—the teachers decided to go all out, and such early preparation, it seems to me, clearly demonstrates their own desire to wait for Christmas, holidays, and rest at least a little as soon as possible.
In general, through the efforts of our teachers, Hogwarts began to turn into a kind of ice palace. Gradually, stage by stage, step by step, but every day, starting from the first of December, waking up and leaving the common room, you could see something new that wasn't there before. Good thing the epicenter of such a desire for decorations was the Great Hall, the corridors around it, the courtyard, and its galleries.
For example, non-melting snowflakes began to appear here and there, gathering into sort of snow caps on railings or other protruding surfaces. The illusion on the ceiling of the Great Hall was now always seasoned with light snowfall, and the ceiling itself, barely visible at the border of the blurring of illusion and reality, began to seemingly turn into opaque ice, and this ice descended lower and lower every day. Various characteristic Christmas decorations gradually appeared, which you don't notice at first, but they began to set the atmosphere.
And of course, the "date for the ball" crisis escalated—guys really started to worry that they would be left without one.
"We need to do something," I heard a conversation between two Ravenclaw boys. "Or all the pretty ones will be taken."
The older guys didn't have much trouble with this. At the beginning of December, many of them invited girls. Some by all the rules, some as simply and friendly as possible, and some invented something not particularly noticeable but original. But still, about a third of the Hogwarts guys walked around like stunned mullets and didn't know how to approach girls who walked in groups.
The library remained for me a kind of center of tranquility. The Christmas bustle did not touch it; the interior did not change here, it was always cozy and quite quiet. But this did not negate the fact that girls continued to hunt for Krum, and hunt strangely—find him, keep a distance, and just watch, that's what they did. But not only girls were a bit touched in the head.
So I'm sitting at one of the tables between rows of bookcases, but this time closer to the central aisle separating the library into two wings—left and right. Sitting, reading one of the books, memorizing everything, ignoring the girls who are watching Krum, who appeared here twenty minutes ago, from a respectful distance. And suddenly my table was chosen as a cover by Potter and Weasley.
"What are you doing?" I looked up at them.
"Shh," Ron gestured for me to be quieter. "Do you think, Harry, Krum will give me an autograph?"
"You've been asking that since the very first day they arrived."
"Yeah, I think so too, mate... Wait, what?" Ron clearly let his friend's answer go in one ear and out the other.
"I say that if you don't go up and ask, he won't give it."
"Sigh... it would be cool if I had an autograph from Krum himself..."
"Ron," I addressed the redhead, tearing him out of his dreams. "Go and ask."
"Easy for you to say, but this is Krum himself!"
"So what?"
"So..."
"You're disturbing my studying. Are you Gryffindors or spineless wimps? Go up and say: 'Krum, give me an autograph.' That's it, end of conversation."
"What do you know," Ron waved me off, peeking out from behind the bookcase, checking if Krum had disappeared.
"I know that if you do squat, you get squat. Or do you think Krum will see you and say: 'Oh, it's Ron Weasley himself, the most famous slacker of Hogwarts! Let me give him my autograph.'"
"Hey, I'm not a slacker," the redhead resented, but weakly, concentrating his attention on Krum.
"Hector is right," Potter smiled. "If you don't go up, that will be the only option in which you can get an autograph. You understand yourself, the option is too fairytale-like and impossible."
"Sigh..."
Concentrating on the book, I pretended these sloths didn't exist. Seemed to even work. They continued to sit at my table, whispering about their own things and sighing about the autograph or whatever.
"...and if I had a normal broom," Ron broadcasted, "I would ask Krum to sign it. Imagine, mate, how cool it would be, huh?"
"Ron," I looked up at the redhead again. "You would have gone up and asked for an autograph ten times already if you weren't sitting here and goofing off. Or do you think he'll tell you to get lost?"
"I'm not afraid of anything."
"Hmm..." I let one spider out of my pocket, which I keep just in case.
The transfigured arthropod deftly ran across the floor into the aisle between the sections.
"Oh, a spider," I nodded at the spider.
"What?! Where?" Ron literally jumped in place in fright, and following my gaze and seeing the spider, turned pale altogether. "I hate spiders."
"Uh-huh," Potter hid a smile. "Not afraid of anything, he says..."
The characteristic and familiar clacking of heels drew my attention, and a moment later Miss Delacour appeared in the aisle in her sky-blue Beauxbatons uniform, and her silver long hair was simply and surprisingly elegantly tied back with an elastic band in a low ponytail. Naturally, seeing me, she decided to approach. Wonder what she needs? Although, it seems to me, I'll find out anyway, whether I want to or not.
"Monsieur Granger, good evening," she nodded with a smile, although for a moment it seemed to me she would curtsy—they have quite a drill there at Beauxbatons too, just like at Durmstrang, only the emphasis, it seems to me, is on something else.
Ron gulped so loudly, staring stupidly at the Veela, that I wanted to compare him either to a toad or a pigeon, and Delacour barely kept her face straight, not giving in to the desire to grimace.
"Right," Potter controlled himself, although notes of quite justified admiration for the girl could be read in his gaze. "Looks like it's time for us..."
Potter stood up and pulled Ron along.
"Let's go, Ron, your brain is boiling..."
"Uh-huh," he nodded like a fool, reluctantly getting up from the table and allowing Potter to drag him away without any desire, not taking his eyes off the Veela. "And where are we going?"
"Krum is there, let's ask for an autograph."
"And why do we need Krum? We're fine here..."
Potter led Ron away, and I'm sure that in a couple of meters, the redhead's consciousness will return to its place. Probably. Hopefully.
"Miss Delacour," I smiled politely, but not feignedly. "Good evening."
"I would like to discuss an important point."
"Then, have a seat," I pointed to the chair opposite me.
"Merci."
Settling in the chair opposite, Delacour glanced briefly at the books I was studying, was momentarily surprised by something, drew some conclusions... Or maybe she didn't. Doesn't matter.
"The ball is less than a month away," she began the conversation.
"That is so."
"Our outfits are not coordinated in any way. And that is important."
"Hmm... I assume you are interested in colors?"
"Yes," Delacour nodded. "The design is classic or close to it one way or another, as far as I know."
"Dominance of dark blue shades and black, or dark green and black. I will be able to say only in..." mentally estimating the ripening time of my tree, I continued the thought, "...two days."
"Oh, that is good," the girl smiled. "I have good options for such a color scheme."
"Indeed, good..."
What surprised me in the next second was the appearance of Daphne in the company of Pansy. Seeing me, they purposefully moved in my direction.
"Granger," Daphne nodded, sitting at the table. "Miss Delacour."
"Greengrass," I nodded. "Parkinson."
Fleur also greeted Daphne, and was introduced to Pansy.
"I wanted to know," Daphne spoke, "what colors you will be wearing to the ball."
Fleur smiled, looking at Daphne. The fact that we communicate quite a lot and constantly, for students of different houses, is no secret to anyone, and we were seen together in Hogsmeade.
"Sigh... You, Parkinson, are also interested in this?" I smirked.
"Don't hold your breath, insolent one," the girl turned up her nose. "I love pink, I'm going in pink, and if someone doesn't like it, that's not my problem."
"Cute. Who's the victim?"
"Draco, naturally."
"And why am I not surprised?" I shifted my gaze to Daphne with a smile. "Don't know yet, will say for sure in two days. But it will be either dark green with black, or dark blue with black."
"That is good," Daphne nodded with a light smile, which caused me a feeling of déjà vu, and Fleur smiled even brighter. "By the way, the Head of House asked to convey to you that there will be no additional classes this month, but here..."
Daphne held out a small sheet of parchment, covered in the professor's handwriting.
"...A list of additional ingredients."
Taking the parchment in my hands, I read the list.
"He wants to finish us off so we won't bother him anymore, no other way," I shook my head.
"I think," Daphne clearly perked up, as usually happens with her when discussing potions. "He wants to create a sort of final exam. Perhaps this will be a good chance to ask to be apprentices."
"Oh, do they practice beneficial mentorship conditions at Hogwarts too?"
"Of course," Pansy started to answer with an important and proud look, as only she can, but quickly realized that this was completely out of place right now. "Professors are obliged by contract with Hogwarts and incentives from the Ministry."
"Not exactly directly obliged," Daphne corrected her. "But close to it..."
When Hermione appeared in the aisle, clearly looking for someone, and upon seeing me, headed towards our table, I had stopped being surprised.
"If my sister also asks me about the outfit," I rubbed my temple with a finger, "I don't even know what I'll do..."
Hermione quickly approached, greeted everyone as politely as she could given her worldview regarding overly beautiful girls, Slytherins, purebloods, and the rest, and addressed me.
"Hector, I have an important question."
"Dark green with black or dark blue with black," I answered in advance, which caused quiet giggles from the girls, and complete misunderstanding from Hermione.
"Um... No. I wanted to ask your opinion. Which dress should I wear? Blue or pink..."
"Not pink," I answered almost simultaneously with the other girls.
"Um..." Hermione looked around at us somewhat hesitantly. "Okay. I don't like it either... Lavender is pressuring my brain with the color pink... And what are you doing here?"
"Obviously," I smiled. "Discussing clothes colors."
"All together?"
"Yes."
"That's strange. Perhaps I won't disturb you..."
And sideways, sideways she retreated, looking at us with suspicion and bewilderment.
"We-e-ell..." I drawled. "At least my sister won't spread rumors."
On this positive note, the girls decided to change the topic of conversation, switching to charms and spells close to the topics on which the books lay on my table. Parkinson, it seems, was present nearby only and strictly because of Daphne, but every now and then she tried to discern something in me. There was no interest in her gaze, which I noticed in some other girls. It was as if she wanted to understand something, but couldn't, and it annoyed her. Not much, but palpably.
Two days later, another evening visit to the tree showed that it had borne fruit. In the light of Lumos, I can observe strange things, more like elongated cocoons of spider web or the finest thread like silk. Collecting everything in the backpack, I tore a thread from one of them and sent a little life energy along it, asking to change the color from gray to dark blue. It worked. And since this worked, the rest will work too. It's time to create, but the main thing is not to go all out, but only slightly change the design of the classic tuxedo. Or else I know myself—the creative process can lead too far.
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