Harry Potter - Fanfiction

Year 4 - Christmas Holidays

The start of December brings wind and sleet to Hogwarts. Thankfully Hogwarts' thick walls and fires are helpful for battling the cold. The Durmstrang ship is still on the lake, which is pitching in the high winds, its black sails billowing against the dark skies. The Beauxbatons caravan should likely be pretty chilly too.

Hagrid is still keeping Madame Maxime's horses well provided with their preferred drink of single-malt whiskey; the fumes wafting from the trough in the corner of their paddock is enough to make us all in the Care of Magical Creatures class lightheaded. Which is unhelpful as we are still tending to the skrewts and need our wits about us.

"I'm not sure whether they hibernate or not," Hagrid tells us as we shiver in bundled groups in the windy pumpkin patch next lesson. "Thought we'd jus' try an' see if they fancied a kip... We'll jus' settle 'em down in these boxes..."

There are now only ten skrewts left; apparently their desire to kill one another has not been exercised out of them; Each of them is now approaching six feet in length. We all look dispiritedly at the enormous boxes Hagrid has brought out, all lined with pillows and fluffy blankets.

However, it transpires that the skrewts do not hibernate and they do not appreciate being forced into pillow-lined boxes and nailed in. Hagrid is soon yelling, "don' panic, now, don' panic!" while the skrewts rampage around the pumpkin patch, now strewn with the smouldering wreckage of the boxes.

Most of the class – Draco, Crabbe, and Goyle in the lead – are fleeing into Hagrid's cabin through the back door and barricading themselves in; Harry, Ron, Hermione, and me, however, are among those few who have remained outside trying to help Hagrid.

Together we all manage to restrain and tie up nine of the skrewts, though at the cost of numerous burns and cuts; finally, only one skrewt left.

While Harry and Ron attempt to catch the last skrewt, with Hagrid shouting at them to not frighten it. A high-pitched voice cuts through the chaos.

"Well, well, well... This does look like fun."

Rita Skeeter is leaning on Hagrid's garden fence, looking in at the mayhem. She is wearing a thick magenta cloak with a furry purple collar and a crocodile-skin handbag over her arm.

Hagrid launches himself forward on top of the skrewt that is cornering Harry and Ron and flattens it; a blast of fire shoots out of its end, withering the pumpkin plants nearby.

"Who're you?" Hagrid asks Rita Skeeter as he slips a loop of rope around the skrewts sting and tightens it.

"Rita Skeeter, Daily Prophet reporter," Rita replies, beaming at him. Her gold teeth glinting.

"Thought Dumbledore said you weren' allowed inside the school anymore," says Hagrid, frowning slightly as he gets off the slightly squashed skrewt and starts tugging it over to its fellows.

I straighten out my robes and rub my arms where the skrewt singed some of my hair. Had it been any closer it would have singed my skin too.

Hagrid and Rita still in conversation as I look over at the cabin windows, where most of the class stands, their noses pressed against the glass waiting to see if the coast is clear.

I chuckle to myself as I make my way to the cabin and open the door, stepping in.

"You're all a bunch of wusses," I say as I look at all of them.

Tracey pipes up, "only until Hagrid ties up that last one."

I sigh as Draco adds, "if anything had to happen to us today because of those awful worms, my father –"