Bella and the Prisoner of Azkaban

Chapter Twenty Five

Hogsmeade looked like something out of a Christmas card; the little-thatched cottages and shops were all covered in a layer of crisp snow; there were holly wreaths on the doors and strings of enchanted candles hanging in the trees. I shivered; unlike the other two, me and Harry didn't have our cloaks. We headed up the street, heads bowed against the wind, Ron and Hermione shouting through their scarves. 

"That's the Post Office -"

"Zonko's is up there -"

"We could go up to the Shrieking Shack -"

"Tell you what," Ron said, his teeth chattering, "shall we go for a Butterbeer in the Three Broomsticks?"

I was more than willing to; the wind was fierce and my hands were freezing, so we crossed the road, and in a few minutes were entering the tiny inn. It was extremely crowded, noisy, warm and smoky. A curvy sort of woman with a pretty face was serving a bunch of rowdy warlocks up at the bar.

"That's Madam Rosmerta," Ron told us. "I'll get the drinks, shall I?" he added, going slightly red. Aw, does Ron have a crush on Madam Rosmerta?

The three of us made our way to the back of the room while Ron went and got the drinks. There was a small, vacant table between the window and a handsome Christmas tree which stood next to the fireplace. Ron came back five minutes later, carrying four foaming tankards of hot Butterbeer. 

"Happy Christmas!" he said happily, raising his tankard.

I drank deeply. It was the most delicious thing I'd ever tasted and seemed to heat every bit of me from the inside.  A sudden breeze ruffled my hair. The door of the Three Broomsticks had opened again. I looked over the rim of my tankard and choked. Oh no. No. No. No!

Professor McGonagall and Flitwick had just entered the pub in a flurry of snowflakes, shortly followed by Hagrid, who was deep in conversation with a portly man in a lime-green bowler hat and a pinstriped cloak; Cornelius Fudge, Minister for Magic. 

In an instant, Ron and Hermione had both placed hands on top of mine and Harry's head and forced us off our stools and under the table. Dripping with Butterbeer and crouching out of sight, I clutched my empty tankard and watched the teachers' and Fudge's feet move towards the bar, pause, then turn and walk right towards me. 

Somewhere above us, Hermione whispered, 'Mobiliarbus!

The Christmas tree beside our table rose a few inches off the ground, drifted sideways and landed with a soft thump right in front of our table, hiding us from view. Staring through the dense lower branches, I saw four sets of chair legs move from the table right beside ours, then heard the grunts and sighs of the teachers and Minister as they sat down.

Next, I saw another pair of feet, wearing sparkly turquoise high heels, and heard a woman's voice. 

"A small Gillywater -"

"Mine," Professor McGonagall's voice said.

"Four pints of mulled mead-"

"Ta, Rosmerta," Hagrid said. 

"A cherry syrup and soda with ice and umbrella-"

"Mmm!" Professor Flitwick said, smacking his lips.

"So you'll be the redcurrant rum, Minister"

"Thank you, Rosmerta, m'dear," Fudge's voice said. "Lovely to see you again, I must say. Have one yourself, won't you? Come and join us..."

"Well, thank you very much, Minister"

I watched the glittering heels march away and back again. My heart was pounding uncomfortably in my throat. Why hadn't it occurred to us that this was the last weekend of the term for the teachers, too? And how long were they going to sit there? We needed time to sneak back into Honeydukes if we wanted to return to school tonight...Hermione's leg gave a nervous twitch next to me.