Ron stared at Harry’s plate with deep, genuine bewilderment. There lay a solitary slice of wholemeal toast and a modest portion of fruit salad. He shifted his gaze to Dean and Seamus — they, as if in conspiracy, were poking at baconless omelettes and chewing apples.
‘Have you all lost your minds?’ he asked, heaping his own plate with a steaming mountain of sausages that dripped grease and adding a couple of fried tomatoes for good measure. ‘This is Hogwarts! Food appears out of thin air here and it’s delicious!’
Harry merely shrugged and took a bite of his apple. Ron rolled his eyes. It was all Morgan’s influence. He glanced at the newcomer: Morgan sat ramrod straight, eating something vaguely wholesome and washing it down with water. Ron snorted. Life was already too short and full of miseries — Snape, homework, a wand that kept snapping, spiders — without denying oneself a proper breakfast on top of it. If he was fated to die young, at least he’d die full, not nibbling on a lettuce leaf like some flobberworm.
At that moment the hum in the Great Hall grew louder. Ron turned and saw Cedric Diggory approaching the doors.
He had to admit the boy looked irritatingly good. Tall, well-built, with that annoyingly perfect hair. A dense crowd of girls from various houses surrounded him. They kept a respectful distance, giggling and whispering, creating an aura of adoration around him.
Cedric reached the Goblet of Fire, gave his admirers a sheepish smile as though apologising for his popularity, and dropped his parchment into the flames. The Goblet flared red, accepting the name. The hall applauded.
Ron felt a pang somewhere under his ribs. It wasn’t quite black envy, no. More a wistful, gnawing feeling: Wish it were me. Simply to step forward, drop your name and have everyone look at you like that — with admiration, not with the expectation that you’d drop something or say something stupid. To be the hero, not just the hero’s friend.
‘He always gets everything,’ he muttered, shoving a piece of sausage into his mouth. ‘Pretty-boy Diggory.’
But before he could finish chewing, the doors burst open again and Fred and George charged in. The Gryffindor contingent greeted them with a joyful roar.
‘We did it!’ Fred shouted, brandishing a phial of murky liquid. ‘Just brewed it!’
‘Ageing Potion!’ George added. ‘One drop per month! We’re just a couple of months shy of seventeen!’
They dashed to the Age Line Dumbledore had drawn. Lee Jordan danced beside them, egging them on.
‘Ready?’ Fred asked. ‘Bottoms up!’
They downed the potion in one gulp and, hand in hand, leapt across the golden line.
Nothing happened.
‘Yes!’ the twins bellowed and proudly flung their scraps of parchment into the flames.
But in the next instant came a loud hiss, as though water had been splashed onto a red-hot pan. Fred and George were hurled backwards out of the circle like rag dolls. They flew three metres through the air and crashed onto the stone floor. A loud pop followed, and both immediately clutched their faces.
When they raised their heads the hall exploded with laughter. Both now sported long, thick grey beards that reached nearly to their waists.
Ron, forgetting his envy of Cedric, laughed so hard he nearly choked on pumpkin juice.
‘Serves them right!’ he managed through his mirth, wiping tears from his eyes. There was a vindictive satisfaction in it. After years of being turned into spiders, having teddy bears hexed and books singed, seeing his brothers in such a state was balm to the soul. ‘About time they got what was coming!’
Lee Jordan, also choking with laughter, dragged the bearded twins off to the hospital wing amid applause from the entire hall.
‘I did warn you,’ came a prim voice from the left.
Ron stopped laughing and turned to Hermione. She wasn’t even smiling; her expression was one of supreme self-satisfaction.
‘It was perfectly obvious,’ she continued, spreading jam on her toast with surgical precision. ‘Dumbledore himself drew the Age Line. Did you really think a pathetic Ageing Potion brewed by schoolboys could fool such powerful magic? It was simply foolish.’
‘Oh come off it,’ Ron snapped, though deep down he knew she was right. But admit it aloud, in that tone? Never. ‘At least it was funny! And anyway, they tried. Not everyone’s as boring and perfect as you.’
‘It isn’t about being boring, it’s about having sense,’ Hermione retorted.
‘Hermione’s right,’ Kieran put in calmly, not even looking up from his plate. ‘Fooling Dumbledore’s charms with such a crude method is impossible. It’s like trying to crack a Gringotts vault with a hairpin. The levels of magic aren’t comparable.’
Ron ground his teeth. There he was again. Morgan chiming in, agreeing with Hermione. Look how clever I am, I understand Dumbledore’s greatness too. Smarmy git.
‘No one asked you,’ Ron wanted to say, but held his tongue. Instead he stabbed his remaining sausage with vicious force, imagining it was someone’s excessively calm opinion.
‘Yeah, yeah, we’re all idiots,’ he muttered under his breath, chewing aggressively. ‘Surrounded by geniuses and master strategists. I’m off to History of Magic. At least Binns doesn’t lecture anyone on life — he’s already dead.’