Jinx Not-So-Malfoy and the Heir of Slytherin

Chapter 4

VAS HAPPENIN?

Just felt like using Zayn's greeting.

I finally feel like writing. I lost my favourite bracelet a couple of days ago and I've been in kind of a funk. I loved that bracelet so freaking much.

I think I can get another one though. I dunno. If it doesn't show up within a month, I'm gonna order another one.

ON THE BRIGHTER SIDE, I ROCKED IT AT MY FIGURE SKATING GALA ON SATURDAY! WHOOP WHOOP!

Things started to go downhill from breakfast in the Great Hall the next day. The four long house tables were laden with tureens of porridge, plates of kippers, mountains of toast, and dishes of eggs and bacon, beneath the enchanted ceiling (today, a dull, cloudy gray). Harry and Ron sat down at the Gryffindor table next to Hermione and I, as usual and Hermione had her copy of Voyages with Vampires propped open against a milk jug.

There was a slight stiffness in the way she said "Morning," which told us that she was still disapproving of the way they had arrived. Neville Longbottom and I, on the other hand, greeted them cheerfully. Neville was a round-faced and accident-prone boy with the worst memory of anyone I have ever met.

"Mail's due any minute--I think Gran's sending a few things I forgot," said Neville. There was a rushing sound overhead and a hundred or so owls streamed in, circling the hall and dropping letters and packages into the chattering crowd. A big, lumpy package bounced off Neville's head and, a second later, something large and gray fell into Hermione's jug, spraying us all with milk and feathers.

"Errol!" said Ron, pulling the bedraggled owl out by the feet. Errol slumped, unconscious, onto the table, his legs in the air and a damp red envelope in his beak. I started to laugh uncontrollably.

"Oh, no -- " Ron gasped.

"It's all right, he's still alive," said Hermione, prodding Errol gently with the tip of her finger.

"It's not that--it's that." Ron was pointing at the red envelope. A Howler.

"Oh ho, you're in for it," I said, laughing harder.

"What's the matter?" said Harry.

"She's--she's sent me a Howler," said Ron faintly.

"You'd better open it, Ron," said Neville in a timid whisper. "It'll be worse if you don't. My gran sent me one once, and I ignored it and" -- he gulped -- "it was horrible."

The letter had begun to smoke at the corners. I laughed at it.

"Open it," Neville urged. "It'll all be over in a few minutes -- "

Ron stretched out a shaking hand, eased the envelope from Errol's beak, and slit it open. Neville and I stuffed our fingers in our ears -- our own ears, that is. A split second later, a roar of sound filled the huge hall, shaking dust from the ceiling.

"STEALING THE CAR, I WOULDN'T HAVE BEEN SURPRISED IF THEY'D EXPELLED YOU, YOU WAIT TILL I GET HOLD OF YOU, I DON'T SUPPOSE YOU STOPPED TO THINK WHAT YOUR FATHER AND I WENT THROUGH WHEN WE SAW IT WAS GONE -- "

Mrs. Weasleys yells, a hundred times louder than usual, made the plates and spoons rattle on the table, and echoed deafeningly off the stone walls. People throughout the hall were swiveling around to see who had received the Howler, and Ron sank so low in his chair that only his crimson forehead could be seen.

"LETTER FROM DUMBLEDORE LAST NIGHT, I THOUGHT YOUR FATHER WOULD DIE OF SHAME, WE DIDN'T BRING YOU UP TO BEHAVE LIKE THIS, YOU AND HARRY COULD BOTH HAVE DIED -- ABSOLUTELY DISGUSTED -- YOUR FATHER'S FACING AN INQUIRY AT WORK, IT'S ENTIRELY YOUR FAULT AND IF YOU PUT ANOTHER TOE OUT OF LINE WE'LL BRING YOU STRAIGHT BACK HOME."