No one could wait for the holidays to start. While the Gryffindor common room and the Great Hall had roaring fires, the drafty corridors had become icy and a bitter wind rattled the windows in the classrooms.
Tyrion clambered awkwardly to his feet. " A cold night, " he said casually, " and the High Hall is so drafty. I don't wish to catch a chill. Mord, if you would be so good, fetch my cloak. "