Hearthlinks

Dad had managed to expand the family dining table to seat nineteen. Xavier was nearly crushed on a two-seater bench between Cecilia and their cousin Luke, but there was room for everyone except me. I wouldn't have had time to sit down anyway, because someone had to serve the food, and serving nineteen people took time!

Lunch had been fine. The tomato soup was hot, with the right amount of basil; the green salad was crisp under the French dressing; the lobster terrine was standing up straight; and the royal icing was shining and solid on the Christmas cake. There was even time for me to eat in the kitchen between brewing the coffee and washing up. Mum would be proud of me, and perhaps Dad would even remember to give me some photographs to show Terry.

The afternoon was much more hectic. I had planned to spend it peeling potatoes and shelling peas, but Ursula and Cecilia kept running into the kitchen with other demands.

"Aunt Messalina would like more mince pies. No, I don't remember where you hid them - you fetch them out!"

"Xavier's just spilt Uncle Polonius's sherry - can you bring up some Mrs Skower's to mop it?"

"Flavian's father was divvy enough to over-eat and now he's asking for alka-seltzer. I suppose that's some Muggle remedy. He's your grandfather - you go and find him some medicine."

"Great-Grandmamma needs a glass of water, chilled but not frozen."

"Cecilia," I said wearily as I topped another sprout, "can't you organise a simple thing like a glass of water?"

Cecilia burst into tears. "Are you calling me lazy?" she sobbed. "I'm bursting for the bog - this was my one chance to scarper before they trapped me for another hour! I'd hoped you wouldn't mind giving up a few minutes of your cooking hobby to help a poor old lady."

"Then can you ask Dad to lay a charm on this knife so that the vegetables will be chopped automatically?"

"Flavian's busy," she protested. "He's entertaining our guests and showing an interest in their lives - something that you never make time to do. Come on, bring Great-Grandmamma that water!"

Terry bothers with people, I told myself as I turned off the tap. This is just one day of my life, and tomorrow I'll be free to be selfish.

But finally the dinner was on the table. Dad had done a good job with laying out crackers and holly wreaths and he also carved for me, and Cressida's mother had wafted cologne around the walls. The prawn salad was piquant. The turkey was succulent; the sausages and potatoes were cooked through, and the carrots and sprouts were not over-cooked; the gravy was free from lumps and the bread sauce was not too bland. When I set a dish of cauliflower next to the cranberry sauce, Aunt Messalina was telling fabulous tales of their life in Brazil, and her father was topping up Aunt Odette's wine glass. By the time I brought the plum pudding to the table, ablaze with blue fire, Grandpa Perks was telling a joke about a wizard, a Muggle and a Squib, and it had become a very merry party.

I was finishing the first round of washing up when Cecilia's voice behind me whined: "No one in Aunt Carduela's family eats parsnips. Didn't you listen to that information before you planned the menu?"

Ursula carried a pile of sticky dishes into the kitchen so that she could ask me, "Why pork sausages? Grandad will have a heart attack if you keep stuffing him at this rate. By the way, Great-Grandmamma was not at all amused by your grandfather's joke - how insensitive to tell a Squib-bashing joke in front of a Squib's widow!"

The blood rushed to my cheeks as I recalled that Terry never told that kind of joke. I couldn't imagine that his parents even knew any anti-Squib jokes.

Cressida loomed up in the doorway. "You really might have left a hint about where the lucky charms were hidden in the pudding. Xavier is in tears because his slice wasn't lucky."

I tried to shut out the sound of their voices. I thought about Mum and Raymond, who would have finished with the parish food parcel distributions by now, so they must be on their way to the late-night carol service. The church choir would put a spiritual dimension as well as music into their celebrations. Tomorrow the family - including Grandma and Grandpa Flourish - would all share the work of cooking Christmas dinner, with Mum and Grandpa using magic to speed up the boring bits. Then on Boxing Day they would take a long walk through the woods and fields to burn off the Christmas calories... A wave of loneliness overwhelmed me and I tried to remember: The week is nearly over. After I've cleaned the kitchen, I can go to bed. Then tomorrow I'm going back to Hogwarts. I'm going to the Yule Ball with Terry.

Terry. Terry could laugh at anything. And Terry really wanted to go to the ball with me.

The visitors had left the house by now, but they would be back in time for breakfast. I checked the froster-box: the pancake batter was mixed. I checked the sink and the stove: both were sparkling clean. I didn't have the energy to climb the stairs to bed. Before I knew what I had done, I dropped to the ground and curled up on the kitchen floor. I fell asleep with my feet virtually in the fireplace.

Christmas at Dad's house was finally over. The guests had eaten breakfast, exchanged presents, eaten lunch and said goodbye. I had scrubbed the kitchen clean again. Dusk was falling, and Ursula and Cecilia were whispering and giggling about the Yule Ball.

"Should we change into dress-robes now?"

"No, let's do it at Hogwarts. You don't want to lose your pearls on the way."

"Besides, Flavian might work out what the robes really cost."

"No, he won't; he's clueless about prices. But it's boring here, so let's leave soon."

"Yes, let's go while Sally-Anne's still busy, so that we don't have to take her with us."

"We won't be taking her with us. Mummy promised..."

I carried the last bag of kitchen rubbish to the dustbin as the clock was striking four. When I re-entered the tiny house, it suddenly seemed very silent. Was that just in contrast to the noise of yesterday? Or had Ursula and Cecilia been serious about leaving for Hogwarts without me? Not that it mattered. I could take a Portkey by myself. I would go and fetch my trunk, which I had kept packed through the week.

Cressida stopped me on the landing. "Young lady, where are you going?"

"Upstairs. Why is it so quiet?"

"Because Xavier has finally admitted defeat and lain down for a much-needed nap. And your father has gone to his parents' house - some tosh about a burst pipe that needs magic to be fixed. Ursula and Cecilia have returned to Hogwarts, but before you stir from this house, you can clean up the kitchen properly."

"It's clean, Cressida."

She snorted furiously. "Let me judge that. You are not leaving this house until it's in a state that can be left." She half-pushed me down the stairs and followed me through the kitchen door.

She saw at once that the kitchen was clean. She ran her hands over the table for dust, peered into the sink for grease, pulled at the oven door for burnt crumbs, slid open drawers of saucepans... but she was disappointed. Even her exacting eye could not find a fault. Her kitchen was far cleaner than she had ever managed to scrub it herself, even though she could use magic to do it.

"You are not returning to Hogwarts until I say. You have done enough mischief to Cecilia, and you are not following her there to disrupt her big night."

I blinked.

"Stop looking so innocent! You did your best to steal her escort. Blaise Zabini, wasn't that his name? You see, everyone knows about it. It would be unspeakable if you arrived at the ball on the arm of the young man who originally invited her."

I was so enraged that I forgot to be afraid of Cressida. "I am not going to the ball with Blaise Zabini. I've found someone better!"

"So you say. But why should we trust you? I am keeping you at home this evening so that Cecilia can enjoy the ball. You need not look for the Portkey; it's where you won't be able to find it."

"But I promised..." That was a stupid thing to say, since Cressida did not care about promise-keeping. "Cressida, I promised my friend that I would be there!"

The triumphant curl of her lips told me that she had never intended me to go to the Yule Ball. She was so convinced that I would spoil the evening for Cecilia that she had planned in advance to keep me at home. Perhaps even the family Christmas dinner had been an elaborate ruse to lure me away from Hogwarts. Just how desperate was Cressida to see her daughters dance with eligible wizards? Did it already matter, even though Cecilia and I were only fourteen?

"Children have no right to promise anything without their parents' permission. Meanwhile, you can start putting your family first. Accio!" Something swirled, and a huge bowl of something black landed in Cressida's hands. "See? Someone has interfered with Xavier's creature collections - most likely Ella-Jane - and the beetles are mixed up with the spiders. Xavier is heartbroken. You are to sit here and separate them out again." She glared at me, as if the point were not quite obvious. "Without using magic. You have one hour."

I shuddered; Cressida knew that I hated touching creepy-crawlies. But there was no chance of being released from her house unless I obliged her, so I lifted a couple of spiders into an empty bowl. A spider-leg crumbled off in my fingers: I knew at once that I wouldn't be able to complete the task safely within an hour.

Perhaps I should just run away? If I couldn't go to the ball, at least I didn't have to stay in this house. I threw a handful of Floo powder onto the kitchen fire and called for Mum's house.

Molly-Rose's head appeared in the fireplace. "Sally-Anne, why aren't you back at Hogwarts?"

I explained the situation. "Molly-Rose, I want to come home. I can't go to the ball, but I can't stay here..."

"And you can't come home!" Molly-Rose interrupted. "Imagine how much trouble Mum would be in if the Wizengamot found out that you'd broken access! Besides, you promised Terry, and we don't have a way of getting you to Hogwarts from home. Wait a minute - Ella-Jane - do you have a wand?"

"'Course," said Ella-Jane's voice, "but I can't use it in the school holidays, can I?"

"Never mind that. Sally-Anne, stand by with those bugs. I'm coming through the Floo!"

It didn't seem very safe, but there was a swirl of green and Molly-Rose stepped out into Cressida's kitchen. She grabbed the bowl of creatures and stepped back into the fire before it had time to change colour. Presumably she landed at home, because I soon heard her talking to Ella-Jane.

"If you do a spell, will you be in trouble?"

"No, we'll say that Mum did it. No one will ever know."

"I read that Diffindo might separate things."

"Rip them up, more likely. There is a Summoning Charm, but I haven't learned it yet."

"Mum, how do you separate spiders from beetles?"

"Girls, whatever possessed you to attempt magic outside of school? Here, let me... Accio, Arachnai!"

Two minutes later, my sisters were both hurling through the Floo, Ella-Jane bearing a bowl of dead spiders and Molly-Rose one of beetles.

"That'll show Cressida! You didn't use magic!"

"And it wasn't me that mixed the beetles with the spiders. Xavier did it himself when he was having a tantrum."

"We'd better leave - she'll murder you if she catches us here!"

Ella-Jane grabbed a much larger handful of Floo powder than was strictly necessary, and they jumped back into the hearth together. The flames were still green when Cressida walked in to check up on me.

"You had help," she hissed. "Who've you been letting into my house?"

"No one." She loomed up over me, wand aloft, and for a moment I thought she would hex me. "I didn't invite anyone in," I repeated. "But the task is finished."

"You spoke to someone," she raged. "No matter - Intercludo! There, I've blocked the Floo. You can prove to me that you didn't use magic by handing over your wand and repeating the task. Accio!"

A stream of shimmering dust sailed out of nowhere and landed on the kitchen table, enough to fill two of those large bowls. I looked more closely. It wasn't dust: it was metallic glitter from my stepsisters' childhood craft kits, the type that sticks to the fingers a hundred grains at a time.

"Your wand, Sally-Anne, or I will hex you with rabbit-ears. You can have it back after you've separated the silver glitter from the gold. If you can do it in half an hour without magic or any other help, I'll even give you back your Portkey."

She flounced out triumphantly, twirling my wand because she was so certain that I could not succeed.

I was certain too. I stared dumbly at the huge pile of gold and silver glitter, trying not to cry and praying for help to come. I had no idea what I expected to happen - surely not even God could solve this kind of problem! It was so senseless. Ursula and Cecilia hadn't cared about their glitter for years, yet Cressida had mixed it deliberately just to set me a task. The Floo was blocked, I had no wand, and Dad wouldn't be home until the ball was over. Meanwhile, Terry would be waiting for me at Hogwarts, and I didn't even have a way of owling him my apologies.

"Is your Floo connection broken?"

I startled at the voice behind my ear and whirled around.

"Aunt Odette! What are you doing here? No, the Floo isn't broken; Cressida's just blocked it for the evening."

"I won't ask why." Dad's sister moved to stand in front of me, still holding her wand, but she didn't sit down. "I'm sorry to Apparate into your house like that, Sally-Anne, but I had to ask if you were all right. I didn't like the flavour of last night's party... the way they kept you waiting at table without offering you so much as a potato for your dinner."

I didn't know how to begin telling Odette that I was not all right, but my silence must have spoken for me.

"Can I get rid of all this glittery stuff?" she asked.

"No! That is... it needs to be separated... the gold and the silver in these two bowls."

She waved her wand without verbalising any incantation, and the glitter all swirled up into the air. It landed neatly in the two bowls, the gold and silver completely and perfectly separated.

"So what is Cressida playing at? Weren't you supposed to be at this Yule Ball by now?"

Haltingly, I explained the situation. "Don't blame Dad," I finished. "He doesn't seem to know what Cressida does behind his back."

"Then he doesn't want to know," said Odette. "He always was lazy. Anyway, let's bring back this wand of yours." She waved hers again, and mine sailed right into my hand. "And the Portkey." This time nothing happened, even when Odette repeated the Summoning Charm out loud. "Bother, she must have put a Staying Charm on it. All right, no Portkey. Well, how about your trunk?"

We both stood back as my neatly-packed trunk crashed onto the kitchen floor.

"If I put a Weightless Charm on it, you can lift it one-handed. Good. Now hold me round the waist and don't let go. I'm taking you there Side-Along."

Odette's arm was flung tightly around my shoulders; the kitchen went black; my insides squeezed themselves out; and before I knew what had happened, we were outdoors in the dark, open countryside. I shivered before I could help myself.

"Where are we?"

"Somewhere between Hogsmeade and Hogwarts, of course!" She pointed her wand, the tip now lit, and I saw the snowy path, with the gates of Hogwarts a hundred yards ahead. "It's cold here, but before you go... I'm sorry I didn't have a chance to give you your Christmas present this morning."

She held out a purple box bristling with rosettes. With trembling fingers, I pulled at the silver ribbon and tore the paper, which Aunt Odette Vanished with a wave of her wand. I lifted the lid and saw, by the beam of wand-light, a flash of sparkling glass.

"Shoes? Of glass? But how did you know my size?"

"Gallus Cobbler is an old friend of mine. He put three charms on these shoes. First, they are a perfect fit for their true owner, even if she grows - and they won't fit anyone else at all, even if her feet are the same size as yours. Second, the crystal is Unbreakable. Third, they are dancing shoes, charmed with the pattern of every dance. Just whisper the name of the dance whenever the music starts, and the shoes will tread it out flawlessly. I thought they were a good idea for a ball."

"Especially as I missed all the dancing lessons," I said. "Oh, thank you, Aunt Odette! Thank you so much for rescuing me - for doing that stupid chore - for bringing me here - for the shoes - for everything!"

"Think nothing of it. After all, I am your godmother! Make sure your young man treats you well tonight. Goodbye!"

Aunt Odette Disapparated before I had time to hug her, and I skimmed down the footpath into Hogwarts. A few boys were still throwing snowballs at each other; they hardly noticed when I slid through the front door and across the Entrance Hall, through the Hufflepuff entry and down to the warm cellar.

Down in our dormitory, Hannah was asking, "So you're quite sure this will be all right?"

"Yes, it's exactly right!" said Susan. "Your pattern was definitely a Twilfitt number, and that's a very flattering neckline for you... Sally-Anne! You're here!"

"I'm here." I dropped my trunk onto my bed. "You all look very..." But my voice died away. It was only at that moment, safe at Hogwarts with nothing to do but dress for the ball, that I remembered that I didn't own any dress-robes.

I stared and stared at my friends' good taste. Susan's robes were very obviously new, buttercup-yellow with black badgers bordering her wrap-over neckline and hem. Megan said that hers, which were two shades of red with a subtle interwoven pattern of dragons, were a hand-me-down from her sister, but they looked as good as new. Hannah's were home-made, white lace floating over sky-blue silk, but Susan was right about the pattern: it was a tried-and-true classic. Even Sophie, who had entered a second-hand robe shop with no knowledge of wizarding fashions and next to no money, had sensibly opted for an ultra-simple line in blush-pink that would look right on anyone anywhere.

But I hadn't had a minute to think about robes all through the holidays, and now it was too late. I still had nothing to wear except Ursula's discarded pumpkin-gold Muggle cocktail dress. Before I could hide my embarrassment, I found my well-dressed friends all swirling around me and asking what was wrong.

"I don't know what to wear." My voice sounded very small. "I only have... this."

Megan couldn't suppress a gasp of horror as they all inspected the hideous strip of cloth with dismay.

Then Sophie said, "So what's magic for, then? There must be spells to fix that robe! Put it on, Sally-Anne."

Haltingly, I stripped off my Muggle jeans and pullover and drew the cocktail dress over my shoulders, while Susan leafed through Intermediate Transfiguration.

"Here we are - how to increase the amount of fabric. Cresco!"

The hem of the dress obligingly shot downwards. With a neat flick, Susan turned her wand away, and the hem rested stably on the carpet.

"Let's try again with the sleeves."

This was harder, since the Muggle dress was sleeveless, but after several experiments with lengthening, shortening, tightening and loosening, the sleeves and the neckline were finally decent.

"You shouldn't wear that colour," said Megan. "Caesius Coloro!"

Immediately the unflattering pumpkin colour shimmered into pale grey-blue. I couldn't believe it. It had actually become a pretty dress-robe. It looked right with the crystal shoes. Sophie helped me put my hair up, and Hannah scattered some of her silver stars over it.

A glance in the mirror was astonishing. It was impossible to tell whose robes were new, old or downright faked. We all looked good!

"Time to go upstairs," said Susan.

I was floating. I hardly heard when Hannah whispered to Sophie, "I hope those charms will hold."