The Prisoner of Azkaban

The Firebolt

Harry stared in horrified disbelief as Professor McGonagall carried his Firebolt, the greatest broom in the world, which he hadn't even had a chance to fly on, out of the common room, her statement about 'stripping it down' ringing in his ears.

As he struggled to comprehend what had just happened, he heard Ron scream at Hermione

'What did you go running to McGonagall for?'

As Harry turned to look, quite wanting to know the answer to that himself, he saw Hermione through her book aside. A tiny part at the back of his brain noted she must be very agitated to treat one of her books like that. She was pink in the face, from the cold outside or from anger, Harry couldn't tell, as she stood and stared defiantly at Ron.

Because I thought – and Professor McGonagall agrees with me – that that broom was probably sent to Harry by Sirius Black!'

That brought Harry up short, his righteous anger disappearing in a flash. 'W-What?' he stuttered out through his surprise.

Hermione turned to Harry, her expression changing to an odd mix of apologetic and determined. 'Harry, everyone knows Black is out to kill you. And everyone knows that your broom was destroyed in your last match. What better way to get rid of you and get away than to send you a jinxed broom?'

Harry stared at the ground for several long moments, a civil war raging in his mind, between the part of him that was crushed and angry at losing the greatest broom in the world, and the part of him that argued back that Hermione was hardly ever wrong, and that if she thought it was jinxed, it probably was.

The fight was shorter than he would have expected.

Harry looked up, a pout on his face 'Why do you always have to make so much sense?' he whined.

Hermione, who had been expecting an outraged explosion, looked startled by his response, before she threw herself at him, engulfing him in a tight hug 'Thank you so much, Harry! I thought you'd be angry, but your life means even more to me than your friendship' she whispered in his ear, before pulling back, her cheeks now stained bright red, but a beaming smile on her face.

Harry, looking at her, felt that funny flip-floppy sensation in his stomach that he'd come to associate with Hermione since it started last year, and couldn't help but return her grin, confused as to why he was blushing himself. He noticed her look become shy when he smiled back, and she looked down, tucking an errant strand of hair behind her ear as she did.

She looks so pretty when she does that. Harry thought Wait, I don't think of Hermione as pretty… do I?'

Before Harry could answer his own internal question, Ron, who had been gaping in shock at the pair, recovered and promptly exploded again.

'WHY ARE YOU TAKING HER SIDE? SHE JUST LOST YOU YOUR BLOODY FIREBOLT' he screamed, making the other two take a subconscious step back at his obvious rage, and although Harry didn't realise he done it, he also moved sideways, placing himself firmly between Ron and Hermione.

'Ron, how often is Hermione ever wrong?' Harry said, calmly, as if he was trying to placate a wild beast 'If she says Sirius Black might have sent it, I believe her'.

'BUT THERE'S NO WAY, HE COULDN'T HAVE!' Ron bellowed back, barely even registering what Harry was saying in his, in his mind, righteous anger.

'Ron, it's my broom, I think I have more of a right to be angry over this than you, and I'm not, so-'

'FINE, TAKE THE KNOW-IT-ALL'S SIDE, JUST DON'T COME CRYING TO ME WHEN IT TURNS OUT SHE'S WRONG!' Ron finished with a roar, spittle flying from his lips, before storming up the stairs to the boys dorms.

Harry and Hermione stared after him, one in shock and the other in hurt, for several seconds, before they both collapsed back onto a couch and turned to look at the other.

"Thank you, Harry" Hermione said again, after a few awkward seconds of silence.

"What for?" Harry asked, slightly startled by the statement, which startled him out of his musing about just when he started thinking of Hermione as 'pretty'.

"For giving me a chance to explain, for believing me, for defending me" she said, looking down at her hands, folded in her lap.

"Hermione, you've never led me wrong before." Harry began slowly, clearly thinking each sentence through before giving voice to it, "so why would I doubt you now?' I admit, I am annoyed you just went to McGonagall, and didn't tell me first, but I'm not that annoyed".

Hermione stared into Harry's eyes, willing him to feel how apologetic she was "I'm really sorry about that Harry, I… I just… I guess I sort of panicked when I thought of it… I… I was terrified when you fell off you broom before, and I just couldn't stand it if it happened again. I ran straight to Professor McGonagall after I realised Black might have sent it."

Harry had paled slightly at the reminder of his near-death experience on his old Nimbus 2000, earlier in the year. "It's alright Hermione, don't worry about it. Like I said, I wasn't that annoyed anyway, and I certainly don't want to repeat that fall."

"Well, you could always quit Qudditch, then" Hermione joked, trying to lighten the mood a little. Nothing could have prepared her for his response.

"I've been thinking about it."

"B-but I thought you loved Quidditch" Hermione managed to stutter out through her shock.

"Nah, it's always been the flying I enjoyed, and I think a near-death experience is sort of life's way of telling you 'you probably shouldn't be doing that'." He looked thoughtful for a few moments, before he nodding to himself. "You know what, I think I will quit" he concluded, looking at her with a small smile, clearly waiting for her reaction.

Hermione grinned at Harry before engulfing him in a hug tight enough he could have sworn he heard a rib crack. "Oh, Harry I'm so happy you won't be risking you life in that silly sport anymore, I – Oh, we've got to tell Professor McGonagall right away" She pulled back, grabbed his hand and pulled Harry up and towards the portrait hole. Harry just chuckled and allowed himself to be dragged along.

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"You what?" The aghast Transfiguration professor said.

"I want to quit the Quidditch team." Harry said calmly, a still grinning Hermione standing beside him.

"Mr Potter, if this is about the Firebolt, I can assure you it will be returned to you in perfect working order before next match."

"Professor, it's not the Firebolt. It's that I've realised I just don't want to play Quidditch anymore. I nearly died in the last match, and it made me realise I was risking a lot doing something I don't even particularly enjoy. Quidditch was always just an excuse to go flying to me."

"I-I'm sorry to hear that, Mr Potter. I was looking forward to finally having the trophy in my office again this year, and I don't know if the team can manage it without you. But, if this is your final decision, I will of course respect it."

"It is, Professor."

"Then I accept your resignation from the team. I'll owl Mr. Wood and tell him, he'll need to set up tryouts when he gets back."

"Thank you, Professor, I wasn't looking forward to telling him."

"I can imagine" Professor McGonagall responded, dryly. "Be prepared for him to attempt to convince you to change your mind, especially if he hears about your new broom. Now, you two go and enjoy the rest of your Christmas morning. Remember, dinner is at 3pm today."

As Professor McGonagall watched them leave, she wondered if they even realised they had been holding hands since they entered her office. I'll also need to owl the Weasley Twins and double my bet. This year might not turn out to be a complete loss afterall.

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