On the very last day of the holidays Harry

On the very last day of the holidays Harry was sweeping up Hedwig's owl droppings from the top of the wardrobe when Ron entered their bedroom carrying a couple of envelopes.

‘Booklists have arrived,’ he said, throwing one of the envelopes up to Harry, who was standing on a chair. ‘About time, I thought they'd forgotten, they usually come much earlier than this....’

Harry swept the last of the droppings into a rubbish bag and threw the bag over Ron's head into the wastepaper basket in the corner, which swallowed it and belched loudly. He then opened his letter. It contained two pieces of parchment: one the usual reminder that term started on the first of September; the other telling him which books he would need for the coming year.

‘Only two new ones,’ he said, reading the list, ‘The Standard Book of Spells, Grade 5, by Miranda Goshawk, and Defensive Magical Theory, by Wilbert Slinkhard.’

Crack.

Fred and George Apparated right beside Harry. He was so used to them doing this by now that he didn't even fall off his chair.

‘We were just wondering who assigned the Slinkhard book,’ said Fred conversationally.

‘Because it means Dumbledore's found a new Defence Against the Dark Arts teacher,’ said George.

‘And about time too,’ said Fred.

‘What d'you mean?’ Harry asked, jumping down beside them.

Well, we overheard Mum and Dad talking on the Extendable Ears a few weeks back,’ Fred told Harry, ‘and from what they were saying, Dumbledore was having real trouble finding anyone to do the job this year.’

‘Not surprising, is it, when you look at what's happened to the last four?’ said George.

‘One sacked, one dead, one's memory removed, and one locked in a trunk for nine months,’ said Harry, counting them off on his fingers. ‘Yeah, I see what you mean.’

‘What's up with you, Ron?’ asked Fred.

Ron did not answer. Harry looked round. Ron was standing very still with his mouth slightly open, gaping at his letter from Hogwarts.

‘What's the matter?’ said Fred impatiently, moving around Ron to look over his shoulder at the parchment.

Fred's mouth fell open, too.

‘Prefect?’ he said, staring incredulously at the letter. ‘Prefect?’

George leapt forward, seized the envelope in Ron's other hand and turned it upside-down. Harry saw something scarlet and gold fall into George's palm.

‘No way,’ said George in a hushed voice.

‘There's been a mistake,’ said Fred, snatching the letter out of Ron's grasp and holding it up to the light as though checking for a watermark. ‘No one in their right mind would make Ron a prefect.’

The twins’ heads turned in unison and both of them stared at Harry.

‘We thought you were a cert!’ said Fred, in a tone that suggested Harry had tricked them in some way.

‘We thought Dumbledore was bound to pick you!’ said George indignantly.

‘Winning the Triwizard and everything!’ said Fred.

‘I suppose all the mad stuff must've counted against him,’ said George to Fred.

‘Yeah,’ said Fred slowly. ‘Yeah, you've caused too much trouble, mate. Well, at least one of you's got their priorities right.’

He strode over to Harry and clapped him on the back while giving Ron a scathing look.

‘Prefect ... ickle Ronnie the prefect...’