"That's the post office—"
"Zonko's Joke Shop is just ahead—"
"We can go to the Shrieking Shack—"
"I say," Ron said, his teeth chattering, "how about we go to the Three Broomsticks for a Butterbeer?"
Ron's suggestion was unanimously agreed upon. The cold wind was piercing, and their hands were numb with cold, so they crossed the street and after a few minutes they darted into the small pub.
The pub was extremely crowded and noisy, warm and smoky.
A strikingly beautiful woman was at the bar, watching over a group of rowdy wizards.
"That's Ms. Rosmerta," Ron said, "I'll get the drinks, alright?" he suddenly added, his face a little red.
"Youthful daydreams."
After Ron left, Hermione suddenly giggled and said to Harry and Neville.
The three of them chatted as they squeezed to the back of the pub, where there was a small empty table between the window and a beautiful Christmas tree, next to a warm fireplace. After a full five minutes, Ron finally came over, carrying four large frothy mugs of hot Butterbeer.
"Merry Christmas!"
The boy sat down beside Harry and raised his mug happily.
Harry drank deeply; it was definitely the most wonderful thing he'd ever tasted, and the warm liquid seemed to warm every inch of him.
Suddenly, a cold breeze tousled his stubborn hair as the door of the Three Broomsticks swung open, and Harry looked over the rim of his cup and choked.
"Professor McGonagall? Hide, Harry, quick, hide!"
Hermione, who had been teasing Kabuda, also saw the group entering the pub: Professor McGonagall, Professor Flitwick... and Hagrid?
Professor McGonagall walked in front with a stern face, while Hagrid conversed cheerfully with Professor Flitwick. The massive height difference between the two made their conversation look slightly comical, and trailing behind them was a very familiar plump figure to Harry.
The plump man wore a dark yellow-green bowler hat and a pinstriped cloak—it was Cornelius Fudge, Minister of Magic.
Before Hermione finished speaking, she raised a hand and pressed Harry's head down, shoving him under the table.
Harry, still with Butterbeer on his lips, cautiously hid in the shadows, clutching his empty mug as he watched the professors and the minister's feet heading to the bar, then stopping, and turning this way.
So, Hermione softly muttered, "Mobiliarbus! (Apparition)"
The Christmas tree beside the table rose a few inches off the ground, floated aside, and gently settled in front of their table, shielding them. Through the dense branches beneath the tree, Harry saw four sets of chair legs retreat from the adjacent table, then heard murmurs and sighs as the adults sat.
Next, he saw a pair of feet in shiny turquoise high heels, with delicate blue veins on the pale instep, and heard a woman's voice, "A small glass of violet water—"
"Mine."
Professor McGonagall said.
"Four pints of mead—"
"Thanks, Rosmerta."
Hagrid's voice was rugged and rough.
"A soda water with ice and cherry liqueur syrup—"
"Yeah!"
Professor Flitwick smacked his lips.
"And you are having the red currant rum, Minister."
"Thank you, Rosmerta, dear."
Fudge's voice was very recognizable but seemed a bit muted at that moment, "I must say, it's truly nice to see you again... but we need a bit of privacy now," Fudge paused, and the shadow on the floor faintly trembled, seemingly wiping the sweat off his forehead, "I have some matters to discuss with the professors."
"Oh, of course, Minister."
The turquoise high heels disappeared, leaving Harry feeling the abrupt silence enveloping him. His heart thudded uncomfortably at his throat. How had he not realized this was the teachers' last weekend of the term? How long would they sit here?
And how was he supposed to get back? He hadn't considered this before, especially since the secret passage at Honeydukes was collapsed by himself.
Perhaps William had already fixed it?
"Alright, Mr. Minister, what do you want to say?"
So, amidst Harry's distracted thoughts, the conversation at the adjacent table began, with Professor McGonagall speaking first, her voice flat and slightly distant.
"Minerva, this is just a private gathering."
Harry saw Fudge's plump lower body twist on the chair, seemingly checking for eavesdroppers, then lowered his voice, saying, "I am well aware of Dumbledore's stance and do not wish to defy him..."
"Albus wouldn't like that phrasing."
Professor McGonagall shook her head, interrupting Fudge's next words. Her voice no longer seemed as stiff; Harry sensed she was taking a sip of her violet water, "The headmaster never forced you to do anything, just informed you of the best way to resolve matters."
"Yeah, Fudge, if you're trying to find out something from us..."
Professor Flitwick's sharp voice carried exhaustion, and Harry suddenly remembered. Since the start of term, Flitwick had had heavy dark circles as if beaten, but he said it was from extreme late nights.
"I won't tell you anything."
Hagrid thumped the table loudly, drawing the attention of the entire pub.