2 | CONFESSIONS° HARRY POTTER

9 | CHRISTMAS PARTY

ACT FOUR, grief
CHAPTER NINE, christmas

November passed by in a blur for Iris. The third of November had been a hard day for her, probably the hardest she had in a long time. It would've been her dad's birthday and she spent most of that day holed up in her dorms. Her friends were good at giving her space when she needed it and she was grateful for that. Snow was swirling against the icy windows once more; Christmas was approaching fast. Hagrid had already single-handedly delivered the usual twelve Christmas trees for the Great Hall; garlands of holly and tinsel had been twisted around the banisters of the stairs; everlasting candles glowed from inside the helmets of suits of armor and great bunches of mistletoe had been hung at intervals along the corridors. Iris wasn't too excited for Christmas this year because it made her think of last Christmas and how it had been the best Christmas she had ever had.

Hermione had been spending more time with Iris than she normally did and Iris was fine with that. Hermione proved to be good company and she didn't mind hanging around with Tracey, Sabina, and Willa during their study sessions in the library.

Ron spent most of his time snogging Lavender Brown, according to Harry, and Hermione refused to sit in the common room while Ronwas there, so Harry generally joined her and Iris in the library, which meant that their conversations were held in whispers.

"He's at perfect liberty to kiss whomever he likes," said Hermione, while the librarian, Madam Pince, prowled the shelves behind them. "I really couldn't care less."

She raised her quill and dotted an i so ferociously that she punctured a hole in her parchment. Harry said nothing but exchanged a worried glance with Iris. She shrugged and leaned over his Advanced Potion-Making textbook.

"And incidentally," said Hermione, after a few moments, "youneed to be careful."

"For the last time," said Harry, speaking in a slightly hoarse whisper after three-quarters of an hour of silence, "I am not giving back this book, I've learned more from the Half-Blood Prince than Snape or Slughorn have taught me in —"

"I'm not talking about your stupid so-called Prince," said Hermione, giving his book a nasty look as though it had been rude toher. "I'm talking about earlier. I went into the girls' bathroom just before I came in here and there were about a dozen girls in there, including that Romilda Vane, trying to decide how to slip you a love potion. They're all hoping they're going to get you to take them to Slughorn's party, and they all seem to have bought Fred and George's love potions, which I'm afraid to say probably work —"

"What?" Iris asked out of shock, not jealousy. Slipping Harry a love potion was more than extreme, in her opinion.

"Why didn't you confiscate them then?" demanded Harry. It seemed extraordinary to him that Hermione's mania for upholding rules could have abandoned her at this crucial juncture.

"They didn't have the potions with them in the bathroom," said Hermione scornfully. "They were just discussing tactics. And I doubt whether even the Half-Blood Prince" — she gave the book another nasty look — "could dream up an antidote for a dozen different love potions at once. I don't understand why they don't back off. They know you're with Iris."

"Maybe you should be careful about what you drink." Iris advised. Harry and Hermione nodded in agreement.

"Romilda Vane sounded like she meant business." Hermione said grimly.

She hitched up the long roll of parchment on which she was writing her Arithmancy essay and continued to scratch away with her quill.

"Hang on a moment," Harry said slowly. "I thought Filch had banned anything bought at Weasleys' Wizard Wheezes?"