Chapter Three
Harry's anger had subsided somewhat by the next morning. He felt betrayed – it was so pointless, and if there was a reason then nobody was letting him in on it. He had really been looking forward to spending Christmas with the Weasleys; they hadn't actually asked him but a few comments Ron had made in passing implied that an invitation was forthcoming. Hogwarts food was no substitute for the wonderful warm feeling a week with the Weasleys left him with.
Ron and Hermione were in odd moods, he noticed groggily over breakfast. Probably fallen out about something, he though glumly, and was immediately shocked by his own reaction. "What's wrong?" he said aloud, in an apologetic tone that made his best friends frown as they broke out of their reveries.
"Nothing," said Hermione and Ron at the same time. Harry stared between them with the niggling feeling that he was missing something.
"You're very quiet this morning," he said, to neither of them in particular.
"So are you," said Ron.
"Yeah." Harry stared into a jug of orange juice until a letter dropped into it. Even through the liquid he could make out Hagrid's handwriting – addressed to him; the school barn out that had delivered it soared out of the Hall. "Hagrid wants to know if we're free this even-"
Something large, grey and fluffy splashed into the jug.
"Errol!" Ron groaned. He groaned again when he opened the letter (which had landed in his lap). "He must have passed Pig on the way. It's a letter from Mum. She wants me to ask you to if you want to come over for Christmas." There was a snarl in that last bit. Ron stuffed the letter into his pocket and began attacking some toast.
Hermione and Harry didn't know what to say. Harry unfolded Hermione's Daily Prophet; Hermione busied herself with reviving Errol.