Chapter 3
It was Christmas morning, and Harry had never felt more excited. Not only had he defeated a Hungarian Horntail, he had a date to the Yule Ball with the alluring Adonis Malfoy. How Draco would react when he found out his twin would be dancing with his enemy, Harry didn’t want to know. All he wanted to focus on was later that evening when he would be able to stare into those silvery grey eyes without shame.
The presents at the foot of his bed weren’t all that appealing to Harry for the first time since he had received any, but Ron begged to know what he got, and he tore open the wrappers one by one. While Hagrid had given him an assortment of sweets, his usual Weasley sweater from Ron’s mother was accompanied by a number of mince pies. Dobby had left him a pair of mismatched Quidditch themed socks, and from Hermione he received a book called Quidditch Teams of Britain and Ireland. Ron cracked up when he realized he had gifted him a package of Dungbombs but quieted when Harry opened his smallest gift, a penknife from his godfather.
They admired it together for a few moments until Ron pointed out a final parcel on the floor. “Look, there’s one more.”
That’s odd, thought Harry. He didn’t know anyone else that would send him a present. At least, no one that he wanted a present from. If he got one more pair of Uncle Vernon’s awful, used, smelly socks, he’d lose it.
However, as he stooped to pick up the parcel, Harry saw neat, loopy handwriting on the note above it. His uncle’s handwriting was far from pleasant, and Aunt Petunia’s wasn't as curly. Even so, he didn’t need that knowledge to understand the gift was from someone else. The words were in French.
Unable to decipher the sentence — a month worth of lessons didn’t amount to much when learning a new language, apparently — he tucked it away into his pocket to show Hermione when he saw her at breakfast. Harry opened the wrapping as carefully as possible; anything from Adonis was to be treasured.
He gasped. The most elegant and sophisticated clothes Harry had seen in his life were folded neatly before him. Freeing them from their rectangular confines, he discovered they were dress robes. If he remembered correctly, Harry could have sworn they were the most expensive ones Madam Malkin had to offer in her robe shop, but that was impossible. He had never seen Adonis in Diagon Alley, so how would he know about the distinguished tailor’s robes?
Ron’s groan distracted Harry. “What are those? Dress robes?”
Slowly, Harry nodded.
“Well, they’re alright! I’ll look like my Great Aunt Tessie in the ones Mum sent!” Slowly, Ron sniffed the frilly lace collar of his own dress robes. “I’ll smell like my Great Aunt Tessie!”
Harry couldn’t help the sympathetic chuckle he let out, though Ron didn’t appreciate it. He cleared his throat. “How about we go down to breakfast and see what Hermione got?”
With a huff of reluctant approval, the ginger allowed himself to be led down the stairs of the Gryffindor tower and into the Great Hall.