Chapter 11

Chrys cried all the way back through the dark tunnel. Harry kept tripping over rocks and roots in the dirt. At one point, she tried to grab his hand, but he jerked like she'd burned him. She didn't touch him after that.

She didn't follow him as he moved towards the Great Hall. Students were getting back from Hogsmeade. It was almost time for dinner.

Chrys made a beeline for the restroom. She gargled water until the taste of sick diminished somewhat. Then she eyed her face in the mirror.

"Chrys?"

Chrys looked up to see Padma looking at her concernedly. Chrys wiped her eyes on the sleeve of her jumper and smiled vaguely at her.

"Hi," she croaked out. "Haven't seen you in a while."

"We both could've been more proactive about that," Padma said, straightforward as always. Chrys smiled a little more genuinely at her. "Are you crying about anything in particular?"

Chrys shrugged. "Don't want to talk about it." Actually, she might like to, but it's not the sort of topic she could just bring up. She splashed some water on her face.

"Hmmm… come on, then." They stepped out of the restroom. A few of the students glanced at Chrys curiously. "You look horrible."

"Thanks."

"Here." Padma spotted someone in the crowd and waved them over.

"Chrys?" Parvati frowned at her. "What's wrong?" Lavender opened her mouth.

"She doesn't want to talk about it," Padma told them. She looked at Chrys. "Lav can do something about your face, if you want." Chrys looked at Lavender.

"Oh, yeah, I've got this potion that removes most of the redness and swelling…" Lavender rummaged through her bag. "Here." She held up a small pink vial. "Two drops in each eye, okay?" Chrys nodded and took it from her.

"There you are!" Hermione said, pulling Chrys into a hug as they reached the table. "Harry wouldn't say where you went." Chrys looked at Harry. He was poking at a potato on his plate, still not looking at her.

"She was with us," Lavender said, sitting down across from them. Parvati nodded.

"Chicken, Chrys?"

"Okay, thanks," Chrys said as Parvati placed some chicken on her plate. She had no desire to eat, but growing up with the Dursleys had taught her never to pass up food. So, she took small bites as Ron and Hermione watched her and Harry nervously. "You know… I'm not going to explode," she told Ron. Ron stiffened.

"I wouldn't blame you if you did…"

"If you want to talk about it," Hermione said. "We—" Ron shushed her as Percy leaned over the table.

"Pass the vegetables, Ronald."

"Yeah, yeah, turnip-head," Ron muttered, picking up the bowl.

"What was that?" Percy squinted at him. For once, Chrys was glad Percy was there.

Back in Gryffindor tower, a crowd had gathered around Fred and George, who had set off a dungbomb to celebrate the end of term. Chrys maneuvered past the festivities and went straight to bed.

She pretended to be asleep when Hermione came to check on her.

She must have actually drifted off at some point, because it was dark when she woke from her nightmare. Her heart thudded in her chest. In her dream, Chrys walked down a street covered in rubble. Buildings were crumbling. Sirius Black was laughing, standing on the top of a pile of dead bodies. As Chrys got closer she saw the faces of her mother, her father… and Harry…

She moved down to the common room. It was empty, except for Hermione's cat setting on Chrys' favorite windowsill. Crookshanks mewed up at her.

"Go away," Chrys said tiredly, settling onto the seat. Crookshanks ignored her words and hopped onto Chrys' lap. The cat was warm and vibrating as he purred. Chrys didn't push him off.

She wasn't surprised to see Harry coming down the stairs. He paused on the bottom step and then held something up. It was the leather bound photo album that Hagrid had given them at the end of their first year. It was filled with pictures of their parents. Chrys wiped her watering eyes and gave Harry a nod. He sat next to her and started turning the pages, scanning the images quickly. Chrys knew what he was looking for.

He found it on one of the pictures of their parents' wedding. Chrys had seen it before, but never connected the man standing arm and arm with her father with the man in the wanted poster. It had been thirteen years, but still… the younger Black was handsome, long hair well kempt and smile glowing.

"Azkaban changed him," Harry figured. "…But the dementors don't affect him. He doesn't have to hear our mum screaming whenever they get close—" He snapped the book shut.

They had fallen asleep on the sofa. Not an uncommon occurrence, but Chrys was surprised to see the common room empty, even as the sun streamed through the frosted windows.

"You two look horrible," Ron said as they rubbed their eyes. He burped, a pile of sweet wrappers sitting in front of him.

"Yeah, well, you're going to get fat," she replied weakly. Ron chuckled, rubbing his stomach.

"She's right, you know." Hermione eyed him disapprovingly. Hermione had all her books and homework spread out over the floor.

"Where is everyone?" Harry wondered, still glancing around the room.

"Gone! It's the first day of the holidays, remember?" Ron said. "It's nearly lunchtime, we were going to wake you up in a minute."

"I guess I should get changed," Chrys decided. She looked down at Crookshanks, who didn't seem to want to move. Hermione squinted at her.

"You really don't look well, you know."

"I'm fine," Chrys lied. Hermione didn't look convinced. She exchanged a look with Ron.

"Harry, Chrys, listen," she said. "You must be really upset about what we heard yesterday, but the thing is, you mustn't go doing anything stupid."

"Like what?" Harry said blankly.

"Like trying to go after Black," Ron said sharply. Harry pursed his lips.

"You won't, will you, Harry?" Hermione said.

"Cause Black isn't worth dying for, right, Chrys?" Ron added. Harry frowned.

"D'you know what Chrys and me hear whenever the dementors get close?" He said. Ron and Hermione shook their heads apprehensively. "We can hear our mum screaming and pleading with Voldemort. If you heard your mum screaming like that, just about to be killed, you wouldn't forget it in a hurry. And if you found out someone who was supposed to be a friends of hers betrayed her and sent Voldemort after her—"

"There's nothing you can do!" Hermione snapped. Her eyes were wide. "The dementors will catch Black and he'll go back to Azkaban and—and serve him right!"

"You heard what Fudge said. Black isn't affected by Azkaban like normal people are," Harry reminded her. "It's not a punishment for him like it is for the others."

"So what are you saying?" Ron asked. "You want to—to kill Black or something?"

"Don't be silly," Hermione squeaked. "Harry doesn't want to kill anyone, do you, Harry?"

"Malfoy knows," Harry said, not answering her. Chrys studied him. "Remember what he said in potions? If it were me I'd hunt him down myself… I'd want revenge."

"You're going to take Malfoy's advice instead of ours?" Ron asked, getting angry. "Listen, you know what Pettigrew's mother got back after Black finished with him? Dad told me—the Order of Merlin, First Class, and Pettigrew's finger in a box. That was the biggest bit of him they could find. Black's a madman, Harry, and he's dangerous—"

"Malfoy's dad must have told him," Harry continued. "He was right in Voldemort's inner circle—"

"Say You-Know-Who, will you?" Ron interjected, shivering. Chrys frowned.

Harry ignored him.

"—So obviously, the Malfoys knew Black was working for Voldemort—"

"—And Malfoy'd love to see you blown into about a million pieces, like Pettigrew!" Ron said over him. "Get a grip. Malfoy's just hoping you'll get yourself killed before he has to play you at Quidditch." Chrys snorted.

"Harry, please," Hermione choked out. Tears streamed down her face. "Please, be sensible. Black did a terrible, terrible thing, but d-don't put yourself in danger, it's what Black wants… oh, Harry, you'd be playing right into Black's hands if you went looking for him. Your mum and dad wouldn't want you to get hurt, they'd never want you to go looking for Black!"

"I'll never know what they'd wanted, because, thanks to Black, I've never spoken to them," Harry said darkly. Chrys glanced at the album, and then over at Harry.

"What about what I want?" She said quietly. They turned to her.

Hermione sniffled hopefully.

"What do you want?" Harry grunted. "You've been awfully quiet…"

Chrys grimaced. "I agree with Ron and Hermione," she told him. Harry's brow furrowed. She held up her hand. "Maybe I'm selfish, Harry, but our parents are already dead. I never got to know them, but I know you, and I know I'd miss you horribly if you died avenging them. Sirius Black already took them away from me, don't let him take you too."

Harry grew quiet. Crookshanks finally got off of Chrys and stretched his legs.

Ron's pocket quivered.

"Look!" Ron said. "It's the holidays! It's nearly Christmas! Let's—let's go down and see Hagrid. We haven't visited him for ages!"

"No!" Hermione said sharply. "Harry and Chrys aren't supposed to leave the castle, Ron—"

"Yeah, let's go." Harry stood up. "And I can ask him how come he never mentioned Black when he told us about our parents!" He glared at Chrys. "Unless you're too worried I'll go chasing after Black and explode into a million pieces?"

"No." Chrys stood up. "I'd like to ask him some questions too. I'm tired of being treated like a baby. Somebody should've told us about this as soon as Black escaped." Harry looked somewhat vindicated. "Let me just change first…" She glanced out the window. "It's cold out there." Harry nodded.

"Er, wait—" Ron said. "We could play a game of chess instead. Or Gobstones, Percy left a set—"

"Who wants to play Gobstones?" Chrys wondered distastefully. "We're going to see Hagrid. I need answers."

The four of them trudged across the grounds, the snow up to their ankles. Hagrid's hut, covered in snow, looked like an iced cake.

Ron knocked. There was no answer.

"He's not out, is he?" Hermione wondered. A gust of wind disturbed the snow, spraying their faces. She tugged her cloak further up her neck.

Ron pressed his ear to the door. "There's a weird noise. Listen—is that Fang?"

Chrys, Harry and Hermione shuffled around to try and make space for everyone to listen at the door.

"No," Chrys said suddenly. "That's Hagrid—he's crying." Ron looked stricken.

"Think we'd better go and get someone?"

"Hagrid!" Harry thumped on the door. "Hagrid, are you in there?" Footsteps thumped up into the door.

Sure enough, when Hagrid opened the door they saw that his eyes were red and swollen. His leather coat was wet with tears.

"Yeh've heard?" He sobbed. And he flung himself into Harry's arms. Harry let out a grunt, pinned under most of Hagrid's considerable weight. The other three grabbed at Hagrid's arms and gently led him back inside.

Hagrid continued to wail. "Hagrid, what is it?" Hermione asked nervously. Harry glanced at the table, picking up an official looking letter.

"What's this, Hagrid?" He asked. Hagrid's sobs grew louder. He motioned at Harry to read it.

"Dear Mr. Hagrid,

Further to our inquiry into the attack by a hippogriff on a student in your class, we have accepted the assurances of Professor Dumbledore that you bear no responsibility for the regrettable incident."

"Well, that's okay then, Hagrid!" Ron figured, clapping him on the shoulder. Hagrid shook, waving at Harry to continue.

"However, we must register our concern about the hippogriff in question. We have decided to uphold the official compliant of Mr. Lucius Malfoy and this matter will therefore be taken to the Committee for the Disposal of Dangerous creatures."

"Disposal!" Chrys said in a hushed voice.

Harry went on. "The hearing will take place on April 20th, and we ask you to present yourself and your hippogriff at the Committee's offices in London on that date. In the meantime, the hippogriff should be kept tethered and isolated.

Yours in fellowship…" Harry didn't bother to read out the extensive list of school governors. He threw down the letter in disgust.

There was a pause, and then, "Oh, but you said Buckbeak isn't a bad hippogriff, Hagrid, I bet he'll get off—" Ron said, being overly optimistic in Chrys' opinion.

Hagrid agreed with her. "Yeh don' know them gargoyles at the Committee fer the Disposal o' Dangerous Creatures!" He choked. "They've got it in fer interestin' creatures!"

Hagrid was interrupted by a loud snapping noise. The quartet jerked their heads around to find the hippogriff in question munching on some bloody meat and bones in the corner of Hagrid's hut. Hermione looked at him doubtfully. "I couldn' leave him tied up out there in the snow!

Hermione pulled a handkerchief out from her pocket. Hagrid blew his nose loudly. He offered it back to her but she eyed it and shook her head.

"Er, keep it, Hagrid." She cleared her throat. "Anyway—what we need is a good strong defense, Hagrid. I'm sure you can prove Buckbeak is safe."

"Bless yeh, Hermione." He sniffled a bit. "But it won't make no diff'rence! Them Disposal devils, they're all in Lucius Malfoy's pocket. Scared o' him. An' if I lose the case, Buckbeak…" Hagrid sliced his finger over his throat. Chrys swallowed.

"What about Dumbledore, Hagrid?" Harry suggested.

"He's done more'n enough fer me already," Hagrid figured. "Got enough on his plate what with keepin' them dementors outta the castle, an' Sirius Black lurkin' around—" Hagrid frowned, turning to the twins.

Chrys gave Harry a look like 'don't you dare confront him about Black right now.' Harry shot a look back at her: 'of course not!'

"Listen Hagrid," Harry said quickly, before Hagrid could scold them about leaving the castle. "You can't give up. Hermione's right, you just need a good defense. You can call us as witnesses—"

"I'm sure I've read about a case of hippogriff-baiting," Hermione said thoughtfully. "… Where the hippogriff got off. I'll look it up for you, Hagrid, see exactly what happened."

Hagrid let out another helpless roar. Harry and Hermione looked at Ron, at a loss.

"Er—shall I make a cup of tea?" Ron offered. Harry stared at him. Ron shrugged, ears going slightly pink. "It's what my mum does whenever someone's upset." Chrys swallowed a nervous laugh.

After several cups of tea, Hagrid's sobbing finally dwindled.

"Hang in there, Hagrid," Chrys said. "Buckbeak needs your support right now."

"Yer right." Hagrid had abandoned Hermione's handkerchief in favor of one the size of a tablecloth. "I can' afford to go ter pieces. Gotta pull meself together…" As Hagrid quieted down, Fang peeked out hopefully from underneath the table. Hagrid patted his head a bit. "I've not bin meself lately," Hagrid admitted. Worried abou' Buckbeak, an' no one likin' me classes—"

"We do like them!" Hermione lied strongly.

"Yeah, they're great!" Ron echoed, crossing his fingers under the table. "Er—how are the flobberworms?"

"Dead," Hagrid said gloomily. "Too much lettuce."

"Oh dear." Ron was trying not to smile.

"An' the dementors make me feel ruddy terrible an' all," Hagrid continued, shuddering. Chrys patted his shoulder. "Gotta walk past 'em ev'ry time I want a drink in the Three Broomsticks. 'S like bein' back in Azkaban…" He cut himself off, having another large gulp of tea. Harry and Hermione looked curious.

"Is it awful in there, Hagrid?" Hermione couldn't help but asking.

"Yeh've no idea." Hagrid's voice was barely a whisper now. "Never bin anywhere like it. Thought I was goin' mad. Kep' goin' over horrible stuff in me mind… the day I got expelled from Hogwarts… day me dad died…. Day I had ter let Norbert go…" Tears started to well up again. "Yeh can' really remember who yeh are after a while. An' yeh can' see the point o' livin' at all. I used ter hope I'd jus' die in me sleep…" Chrys felt her chest get tight. However horrible it had been with the Dursleys, she had never felt like giving up. Harry was there for her, and she was there for him… but Hagrid, stuck in Azkaban with criminals and dementors… "When they let me out, it was like bein' born again, ev'rythin' came floodin' back. It was the bes' feelin' in the world. Mind, the dementors weren't keen on lettin' me go."

"But you were innocent!" Hermione said indignantly. Hagrid snorted.

"Think that matters to them? They don' care. Long as they got a couple o' hundred humans stuck there with 'em, so they can leech all the happiness out of 'em, they don' give a damn who's guilty an' who's not…" Hagrid stared into his cup. "Thought o' jus' letting Buckbeak go… tryin' ter make him fly away… but how d'yeh explain ter a hippogriff it's gotta go into hidin'? An'—an' I'm scared o'breakin' the law…" His tears were flowing freely again. "I don' ever want ter go back ter Azkaban."

"We won't let that happen," Chrys said firmly. "Never." Hagrid gave her a watery smile.

The next day, the four of them went up to the library. They gathered up every book that even mentioned cases against the Disposal of Dangerous Creatures.

Not many people had signed up to stay in the castle over break, so they had plenty of space to spread out over the carpet in the common room.

"Here's something," Ron said, looking up from a dusty volume the size of his head. "There was a case in 1722… but the hippogriff was convicted—ugh, look what they did to it, that's disgusting—"

"No thank you," Chrys said, feeling her stomach lurch. "What about this one? A manticore savaged someone in 1296, and they let him off… oh…. No… that was only cause everyone was too scared to go near it." She grimaced.

"Why don't we take a break?" Harry suggested. It was Christmas Eve. The smell of cooking drifted all the way up to the tower.

Scabbers poked his nose out of Ron's pocket to get a sniff.

"Alright," Hermione said reluctantly. They walked down to the Great Hall. Chrys tried to enjoy the directions. The suits of armor were decked out with strings of lights. Garlands of holly and milestone hung down from the ceiling. Twelve giant Christmas trees lined the Great Hall, each topped with its own golden star. "You know, in Arithmancy we learned that 12 is representative of reincarnation. Because there are twelve months in the year, and the New Year is a time to start again."

On Christmas morning, Chrys woke to the nearly empty girls' dormitory. She smiled at the pile of presents on the end of her bed. Then she debated whether to wake Hermione up or let her sleep. In the end, Chrys remembered that Hermione had forgone seeing her parents to spend the holidays with her friends. So Chrys threw her present at Hermione.

"Oof," Hermione said as the present hit her stomach. "What on earth…?" She sat up and stared at the book shaped package.

"Merry Christmas!" Chrys said cheerfully.

"Oh, yes. Merry—" Hermione yawned. "—Christmas."

"Come on, let's go see if the boys are up yet," Chrys said. She gathered her presents in her blanket and threw that over her shoulder like Santa's sack. Hermione snorted.

"Okay, okay."

Ron and Harry appeared to be having a pillow fight.

"Who's winning?" Chrys said curiously. Harry sheepishly lowered his pillow. Ron smacked him in the face.

"Me," Ron decided. "Presents?"

"Presents," Chrys agreed, unwrapping her blanket over the floor. Harry groped around for his glasses. Hermione took pity on him and handed them over.

"Thanks…"

Ron was tearing open the wrapping on his presents with impressive speed.

"Another sweater from mum… maroon again…" He let out an exasperated, yet fond sigh. Harry, Chrys and Hermione had each received a hand-knitted sweater from Mrs. Weasley as well.

"Have to remember to send her a thank you card," Hermione muttered sleepily. Her sweater was a pretty gold that complimented her dark skin. Chrys laughed.

"Ron, are you sure you don't want to trade with Hermione?" She held up Hermione's sweater, motioning at the image of Crookshanks' ugly squashed face that Mrs. Weasley had knitted onto the front. Ron gave her a look. Chrys shrugged and pulled her own sweater over her head. Her sweater was an inverted version of Harry's. Gold like Hermione's, with a red Gryffindor lion on the front. Harry's sweater was red with a gold lion on it.

Harry munched happily at Mrs. Weasley's homemade Christmas cake.

Suddenly, Harry froze, staring at a long thin package on the end of his bed.

"Is that what I think it is?" Ron said hoarsely, pushing away the pair of maroon socks he'd just opened.

"Dunno…" Harry ripped open the package and gasped. Ron dropped his box of nut brittle.

"It's a broomstick," Hermione said unnecessarily. "Well, that's good, Harry. You've been complaining about the school brooms."

"Hermione, that's not just any broomstick!" Ron told her excitedly. Even Chrys recognized the shiny new broomstick. Ron looked at Harry. "I don't believe it…who sent it to you?"

Harry shot Chrys a questioning look. She shook her head.

"I thought about it, but you told me not to spend the money," she reminded him. Harry frowned thoughtfully. "Check and see if there's a card." He and Ron rummaged through the discarded wrapping paper.

"Nothing!" Ron said. "Bilmey, who'd spend that much on you?"

"Well." Harry looked stunned. "I'm betting it wasn't the Dursleys." Chrys laughed loudly.

"I bet it was Dumbledore," Ron thought, holding the broom aloft.

"Why would he do that?" Chrys wondered.

"He sent you and Harry the Invisibility Cloak anonymously…"

"That was our dad's, though," Harry reasoned. "Dumbledore was just passing it on to us. He wouldn't spend hundred of Galleons on me. He can't go giving students stuff like this—"

"That's why he wouldn't say it was from him!" Ron thought. "In case some git like Malfoy said it was favoritism."

"Well, it would be," Hermione thought. Ron glared at her. "I'm only saying—"

Ron let out a roar of laughter. "Malfoy! Wait till he sees you on this! He'll be sick as a pig! This is an international standard broom, this is!"

"I can't believe this," Harry muttered. He took the broom back from Ron, running his hand over the smooth wood. "Who—"

"I know," Ron said, suddenly stopping laughing. "I know who it could've been—Lupin!"

"What?" Now Harry laughed. "Lupin? Listen, if he had this much gold, he'd be able to buy himself some new robes." Hermione frowned.

"Harry, that isn't very polite."

Harry had the grace to look somewhat admonished.

Ron waved his hand dismissively. "Yeah, but he likes you. And he was away when your Nimbus got smashed, and he might've heard about it and decided to visit Diagon Alley and get this for you—"

"What d'you mean he was away?" Harry interrupted. "He was ill when I was playing in that match."

"Well, he wasn't in the hospital wing when you fell off your broom," Ron pointed out.

"Or for the rest of the weekend," Chrys reminded him.

"Still…" Harry shook his head. "I can't see Lupin affording something like this."

Ron looked up suddenly. "Oh, don't let him in here!" He tucked Scabbers into his pajama pocket as Crookshanks slunk in, looking even grumpier than usual.

Chrys thought she knew why. The poor cat had silver tinsel strung around his neck. She bent down to take it off. Crookshanks let out a thankful purr.

"Did you do this?" Chrys asked Hermione, holding up the tinsel.

Hermione looked a bit guilty. "I thought it was festive."

"He could choke," Chrys pointed out. Ron considered this. "Open my present," Chrys told Hermione. She did. It was a book on cat care. "I had Ginny write some notes in the margins, since I reckon experience is sometimes better than academia in this case."

Hermione nodded thoughtfully, glancing at Harry's broom again. She chewed at her lip.

"What's the matter with you?" Ron wondered. "The dumb cat didn't choke, so it's fine, right?" Crookshanks rubbed against Hermione's leg to support this.

"It's not that," Hermione said slowly. "I just… it's a bit odd, isn't it? Who would send Harry such an expensive gift without telling him?"

"Who cares?" Ron decided. "Listen, Harry, can I have a go on it? Can I?"

"I don't think anyone should ride that broom just yet!" Hermione said sharply.

They looked at her.

"What d'you think Harry's going to do with it—sweep the floor?" Ron asked, incredulous. Hermione opened her mouth, but was interrupted by Crookshanks, who leapt suddenly at Ron.

"Get—him—out—of—here!" Ron howled as Crookshanks claws ripped through his pajamas. Scabbers was trying to escape over Ron's shoulder. Ron seized him by the tail and aimed a kick at the cat. He missed and kicked open Harry's trunk.

Harry and Hermione dove down to grab Crookshanks, but weren't having any luck.

"Er…" Chrys said, at a loss as Ron hopped up and down holding his foot. Crookshanks swatted at them from under the bed, his fur standing on end.

Harry's sneakoscope had been knocked out of his trunk and was whirling around noisily. Chrys snatched it up as Hermione finally grabbed hold of her cat.

"You'd better take that cat out of here, Hermione," Ron said in calm fury. Then he glared at Chrys. "Can't you shut that thing up?" Chrys shoved the sneakoscope back into Uncle Vernon's old socks in Harry's trunk.

Ron sunk down onto his bed, trying to catch his breath. Scabbers shivered in Ron's hands. He was quite skinny now, and missing patches of fur.

"He's not looking too good, is he?" Harry observed.

"It's stress!" Ron insisted. "He'd be fine it that big stupid furball left him alone!" Harry and Chrys exchanged a grimace.

"I'll go check on Hermione," Chrys said, hesitant as Ron looked at her like she'd betrayed him.

Hermione, meanwhile, was furious that Ron had tried to kick Crookshanks. She reluctantly locked the cat in the girls' dormitory, but was now refusing to talk to Ron.

He and Hermione sat at opposite ends of the common room, Chrys and Harry awkwardly in the middle. Harry was examining his broomstick, which didn't appear to be improving Hermione's mood at all.

"Not like the poor Firebolt's been criticizing her cat as well," Harry muttered to Chrys.

Chrys was glad to leave to lunch, where there would be more people to maybe buffer Ron and Hermione's mood. However, it wasn't much of a buffer.

There were only twelve people in total, including themselves, the professors, Filch, a nervous first year and a grumpy Slytherin fifth year.

"Merry Christmas!" Dumbledore announced, motioning them towards the single table that had been set up in the middle of the Great Hall. "As there are so few of us, it seemed foolish to use the House tables… sit down, sit down!" The four of them settled down at the end of the table. "Crackers!" Dumbledore continued excitedly. He offered one end to a less enthusiastic Snape. Snape tugged and the cracker went off with a bang that made Chrys jump. A pointed witch's hat topped with a stuffed vulture appeared on his head. This was the same hat Snape's boggart had been made to wear. Chrys covered her mouth to stop from laughing. Snape snatched it off and shoved it towards Dumbledore, who gleefully swapped it for his own wizard's hat. "Dig in!"

And so they did.

"Potatoes?" Harry offered the first year, holding the platter aloft. Before the kid could answer, the doors to the Great Hall opened.

Professor Trelawney glided in, her jewelry glittering in the sunbeams flittering down from the enchanted ceiling.
"Sibyll, this is a pleasant surprise!" Dumbledore said, standing to greet her.

"I have been crystal gazing, Headmaster," she informed him. "And to my astonishment, I saw myself abandoning my solitary luncheon and coming to join you. Who am I to refuse the promptings of fate?" Chrys wondered if Trelawney had just gotten a little lonely in her tower on Christmas. "I at once hastened from my tower, and I do beg you to forgive my lateness…"

"Certainly, certainly. Let me just draw you up a chair." He waved his wand, making a chair appear in midair, spinning before it landed with a thud between Snape and McGonagall. Professor Trelawney glanced around the table, her eyes widening as she let out a gasp.

"I dare not, Headmaster! If I join the table, we shall be thirteen! Nothing could be more unlucky! Never forget that when thirteen dine together, the first to rise ill be the first to die!" Harry looked very much like he was trying not to roll his eyes.

"Thirteen has some unlucky connotations," Hermione admitted in a reluctant undertone to Chrys. She pursed her lips. "However, the last bit sounds like a load of hogwash, as usual."

"We'll risk it, Sibyll," Professor McGonagall told her. "Do sit down, the turkey's getting stone cold." Professor Trelawney hesitated, but sat this time, her jaw clenched tight. Professor McGonagall held up a spoon of the nearest dish. "Tripe, Sibyll?"

Professor Trelawney opened and closed her eyes. "But where is dear Professor Lupin?"

Chrys had been wondering this a bit herself.

"I'm afraid the poor fellow is ill again," Dumbledore said lightly. "Most unfortunate that it should happen in Christmas Day."

"But surely you already knew that, Sibyll?" Professor McGonagall said, eyebrows raised. Chrys snorted into her potatoes.

Professor Trelawney gazed coldly back at the other woman.

"Certainly I knew, Minerva. But one does not parade the fact that one is All-Knowing. I frequently act as though I am not possessed of the Inner Eye, so as not to make others nervous."

"That explains a great deal," Professor McGonagall thought. Professor Trelawney's gaze went from cold to hot.

"If you must know, Minerva, I have seen that poor Professor Lupin will not be with us for very long," she responded. Chrys frowned at her. "He seems aware, himself, that his time is short. He positively fled when I offered to crystal gaze for him—"

"Imagine that," Professor McGonagall said dryly.

"I doubt," Dumbledore said, his cheerful voice raising over both of theirs. "That Professor Lupin is in any immediate danger. Severus, you've made the potion for him again?"

"Yes, Headmaster."

"Good. Then he should be up and about in no time…" Dumbledore said. Chrys thought this nixed Harry's theory that Snape was trying to poison Lupin. If Dumbledore thought the potion was fine, then it should be fine… probably. "Derek, have you had any of these chipolatas? They're excellent."

The first year kid went red and took a sausage with shaking hands.

The rest of the meal went fairly well. Chrys split a cracker with Hermione, and convinced her to keep the beret that emerged. Ron and Harry, meanwhile, were sporting party hats.

"Merlin I'm full," Ron muttered.

"That's a first," Hermione said, her lips twitching. Ron shrugged.

"Wizard's chess?" He offered. Hermione chewed at her lip.

"I suppose…"

"The common room fire does sound nice right about now," Harry thought. He and Ron stood.

Professor Trelawney shrieked.

"My dears! Which of you left his seat first? Which?"

"Dunno…" Ron glanced nervously at Harry.

"I doubt it will make much difference," Professor McGonagall figured. "Unless a mad axe-man is waiting outside the doors to slaughter the first into the entrance hall." The entire table laughed. Ron relaxed. Chrys stood too.

"Coming?" Harry asked Hermione. She was lagging behind.

"No. I want a quick word with Professor McGonagall."

"Probably trying to see if she can take any more classes," Ron said. Chrys snorted. They moved out into the entrance hall.

"Completely devoid of mad-axe men," Harry remarked cheerfully. Ron grimaced.

"Anyway, even if Trelawney's stuff is up to snuff, it isn't like she said when you would die," Chrys pointed out. "Her silly superstition could simply mean you and Harry will die within moments of each other… at the ripe old age of 170."

"Doesn't sound too bad," Ron decided.

At the portrait hole, a drunken Sir Cadogan wished them a Merry Christmas.

"I always wondered how portraits could get drunk," Chrys mused as they climbed inside. Ron shrugged.

"Well, they seem to have drawn a better lot than ghosts, at any rate." His nose wrinkled. Chrys figured he was remembering the rotten fish heads from Nick's deathday party last year. Hermione had figured they liked rotten food, as it was almost strong enough to taste.

Speaking of Hermione, she and Professor McGonagall arrived in the common room, just after Harry had gotten out his firebolt again.

"I suppose it doesn't need any maintenance yet," Harry thought, almost disappointed as he looked from the broom to the maintenance kit Hermione had given him for his birthday.

"I'm not certain I agree, Mr. Potter," Professor McGonagall said. Harry jumped, just noticing her. "Miss Granger informed me that you have been sent a broomstick." Harry and Ron looked confusedly at Hermione. She flushed and grabbed a book, holding it in front of her face. The book was upside down. "May I?" Professor McGonagall didn't wait for an answer before snatching up the broomstick. "Hmmm… And there was no note at all, Potter? No card? No message of any kind?"

"No…"

"I see… well, I'm afraid I will have to take this, Potter."

"What?" Harry jumped to his feet. "Why?"

"It will need to be checked for jinxes," she told him. Chrys frowned. "Of course, I'm no expert, but I daresay Madam Hooch and Professor Flitwick will strip it down—"

"Strip it down?" Ron's eyes bugged out.

"It shouldn't take more than a few weeks," Professor McGonagall continued. "You will have it back if we are sure it is jinx-free."

"There's nothing wrong with it!" Harry said shakily. "Honestly, Professor—"

"You can't know that, Potter." Professor McGonagall's tone was almost gentle. "Not until you've flown it, at any rate, and I'm afraid that is out of the question until we are certain that it has not been tampered with. I shall keep you informed." With that, she turned and left with the firebolt. Ron and Harry watched, as if this were the broom's funeral procession.

Harry clutched his broom kit, apparently at a lost for words.

Ron whirled on Hermione.

"What did you go running to McGonagall for?"

Hermione threw aside her book. Her cheeks were still pink, but she stood face to face with him. "Does this have anything to do with Sirius Black?" Chrys said tiredly. Hermione and Ron froze. Hermione nodded slowly. "You think he may have sent the broom in order to jinx Harry?" Hermione nodded again.

"Well, Professor McGonagall agreed it was a possibility," she said. She chewed at her lip, looking hopefully at Harry. "You understand, don't you, Harry?" He sighed, shaking his head as he disappeared up into the boys' dorm. Ron gave Hermione one last glare before he followed. Hermione turned to Chrys.

"I think you really put your foot in it this time," Chrys said, sinking into the couch. Hermione crossed her arms over her chest.

"Would you rather Harry got jinxed?"

"No… I'm not saying I disagree with you… but Quidditch is really important to Harry. He may well have wanted to risk a jinx, in order to ride that broom." She grimaced. "So much for a pleasant holiday."