THE MIRROR OF ERISED
“What’s all this noise?”
Percy Weasley stuck his head through the door, looking disap-
proving. He had clearly gotten halfway through unwrapping his
presents as he, too, carried a lumpy sweater over his arm, which
Fred seized.
“P for prefect! Get it on, Percy, come on, we’re all wearing ours,
even Harry got one.”
“I — don’t — want —” said Percy thickly, as the twins forced
the sweater over his head, knocking his glasses askew.
“And you’re not sitting with the prefects today, either,” said
George. “Christmas is a time for family.”
They frog-marched Percy from the room, his arms pinned to his
side by his sweater.
Harry had never in all his life had such a Christmas dinner. A hun-
dred fat, roast turkeys; mountains of roast and boiled potatoes;
platters of chipolatas; tureens of buttered peas, silver boats of thick,
rich gravy and cranberry sauce — and stacks of wizard crackers
every few feet along the table. These fantastic party favors were
nothing like the feeble Muggle ones the Dursleys usually bought,
with their little plastic toys and their flimsy pape r hats inside.
Harry pulled a wizard cracker with Fred and it didn’t just bang, it
went off with a blast like a cannon and engulfed them all in a cloud
of blue smoke, while from the inside exploded a rear admiral’s hat
and several live, white mice. Up at the High Table, Dumbledore
had swapped his pointed wizard’s hat for a flowered bonnet, and
was chuckling merrily at a joke Professor Flitwick had just read him.
Flaming Christmas puddings followed the turkey. Percy nearly
broke his teeth on a silver Sickle embedded in his slice. Harry
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