Cedric and Cho returned only as evening fell.
Fred and George had gone to Hogsade to buy several large bottles of Butterbeer to celebrate their return to school. Each person in the group of six—or rather, the team—received a bottle, with only Kyle left out.
“You guys are holding a grudge a little too long,” Kyle said, eyeing the Butterbeer in everyone else's hands, his lips pursed. "It was just a joke, and you’re still mad about it?”
“Oh, if it isn’t Kyle, the new Order of rlin recipient,” Fred said in an exaggeratedly surprised tone. “You should’ve told us sooner. I assud soone of your noble rank wouldn’t lower themselves to drink Butterbeer.”
“Wait a minute, I don’t think he’s actually a Order of rlin recipient,” George added. “In the Trophy Room, he only has a trophy for the Special Award for Services to the School.”
“And it’s from last year…”
“Practically ancient history…”
“I said that’s enough!” Kyle sighed, rubbing his forehead. “It’s just one Order of rlin. Believe or not, I’ll be knocking so sense into your heads with it every day.”
After a brief, strange silence…
“Ha…” George let out a strange snort, then burst into laughter, clutching his stomach. “I can’t take it… hahaha… Fred, did you hear that?”
“Loud and clear, George,” Fred replied, wiping away tears of laughter. “Quick, let’s get the last bottle of Butterbeer out. He’s starting to lose it.”
“I thought the sa thing…”
“Knocking us with Orders of rlin—now, that’s the best joke I’ve heard all year…”
“I’ll be laughing about that for ages…”
Kyle raised an eyebrow as they finally handed him a bottle. He took a calm sip and asked, “What if I actually could?”
“Then we’ll be taking your Butterbeer every single ti!” Fred replied nonchalantly.
“If soone could really get an Order of rlin in the second year, I’d fly around the school tap-dancing while balancing three trophies,” George chid in.
“Count in!”
The two of them could hardly keep from laughing at their own jokes.
Kyle rely raised an eyebrow and took another sip of his Butterbeer without a word. It was indeed delicious, a bit like hot cocoa, rich with the taste of butter, but not too heavy—no wonder it was so popular. Perhaps they could make this a daily ritual… though he wasn’t sure if the Weasley twins’ wallets could keep up.
...
Not long after the students returned to Hogwarts, dinner began.
Hermione frowned as she watched Ron piling food onto a large plate. “What are you doing? And where’s Harry? Isn’t he going to eat?”
“That’s what I’m saying,” replied Ron, holding a chicken leg in his hand. “Harry’s asleep in his dorm. I called and called, but he’s out cold. If we don’t bring him so food now, he’ll wake up starving.”
“Asleep... now?” Hermione looked even more puzzled. She knew Harry was prone to dozing off, often falling asleep in the library, but why would he be sleeping at a ti like this?
“Wait—you’re not planning on sneaking out tonight, are you?” Hermione asked suspiciously.
“Of course not, we stopped doing that ages ago!” Ron’s face reddened. “It was Kyle. He gave Harry so Draught of Living Death, saying it would help with his nightmares.”
Then Ron explained what had happened earlier that afternoon in Hagrid’s hut.
“...except Harry drank a bit too much and has been asleep for four hours.”
“How much did he drink?”
Ron thought for a mont. “I don’t know, maybe a small glass. It wasn’t much, really.”
“A glass?” Hermione’s frown deepened. “I’ve read in books that just a small spoonful of Draught of Living Death can put soone to sleep for two hours, and he drank a whole glass?”
“Yeah, I know; Kyle said the sa thing,” Ron sighed. “So, what do we do now?”
“There’s not much we can do,” Hermione replied. “We’ll just have to wait until he wakes up on his own, but that might not be until late tonight or even early morning.” She eyed the massive plate in Ron’s hands. “Are you sure you need to bring that much?”
“Of course. What if he’s really hungry when he wakes up?” Ron said casually. “It takes a bit longer, but if you toast them in the fireplace, they’ll taste as good as fresh. That’s what we always did on holiday.”
Hermione gave him a hard look, a dangerous glint in her eyes. “So you spent the whole holiday figuring out how to toast food instead of looking for Nicolas Flal, is that it?”
“We did look!” Ron protested quickly. “We even snuck into the Restricted Section! Just so you know, the books there scream when you open them. We almost got caught by Filch.”
Hermione raised a skeptical eyebrow. This was the first she’d heard of books that scread, and she couldn’t help doubting Ron’s story. But Ron patted his chest in assurance, insisting it was true. After all, Harry had told him so himself, and Ron seed absolutely certain.
After the opening dinner, everyone returned to their dormitories.
Hermione was right: it was late at night before Harry finally stirred and opened his eyes. He tried to speak but felt his throat was dry. Thankfully, there was a half-full glass of pumpkin juice beside him. Not knowing whose it was, Harry took a big gulp without a second thought.
“This is… the dormitory?” He set down the glass and took in his surroundings. Beside the pumpkin juice, there was a plate full of hearty food.
A wave of hunger hit him, and Harry’s stomach rumbled painfully, a feeling he hadn’t experienced since leaving the Dursleys’ house. He grabbed a baked potato, eating it skin and all in just a few bites, which made him feel considerably better.
He noticed Neville and Seamus asleep, while Ron was sitting at the table, chin propped on his hands, nodding off. Harry walked over and gave him a nudge. “Ron, what are you doing sleeping here?”
Ron blinked groggily, then, seeing Harry, exclaid, “Hm... Harry… Oh, thank goodness you’re awake…”
“How long was I asleep?” Harry asked.
“I don’t know…” Ron rubbed his eyes. “But it must’ve been more than eight hours. How do you feel?”
“Fantastic!” Harry said with enthusiasm. “That’s the most restful sleep I’ve ever had, and I didn’t dream a single thing.”
“That’s great…” Ron yawned, stumbling over to his own bed. He looked like he wanted to say more, but he was so exhausted that he fell asleep before he could utter another word.
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