"All right, all right, I won't touch it." Ron pulled his hand back and walked ahead at a brisk pace, his boots making a crisp, rhythmic tapping sound against the flagstones.
Harry followed behind with his hands in his pockets, his fingers curling unconsciously. He was thinking about the diary. It had been burned. It had been washed away. It was gone.
It should have been gone. It—it couldn't come back.
Only when Harry and Ron reached the Great Hall did they truly feel the Valentine's Day atmosphere. Professor Lockhart had transformed Hogwarts' Great Hall into a dazzling pink nightmare. Huge, gaudy pink heart-shaped balloons floated beneath the ceiling, while enormous posters of Lockhart himself, winking and flashing his gleaming teeth, covered the walls. The air was thick with the overly sweet scent of perfume and candy.
Quite a few people were already seated in the Great Hall. The long tables were laden with food: toast, fried eggs, bacon, sausages, porridge, pumpkin juice, milk, and coffee. Steam rose from the plates, like a thin white veil beneath the candlelight. Harry and Ron sat at the end of the Gryffindor table, where Hermione was already waiting.
An enormous copy of Advanced Potion-Making lay open before her. Her fingernails had pressed several crooked marks into the edges of its pages. Her fingers moved across the paper, and her lips silently formed words as she memorized some formula.
"Here." Ron pushed a plate toward Harry. On it were two pieces of toast, a sausage, a slice of bacon, and a small pat of butter. The butter was still hard, not melted. Harry picked up a piece of toast, tore off a corner, and put it in his mouth.
The bread was cold and no longer crisp. It chewed like cotton. He did not