Fred and Christina talked in the common room for what seemed like hours. He was both upset and understanding of the situation and Christina was both exhausted yet grateful to stay up to talk with him.
"Why didn't you just shut out the pain? Like you did last summer?" Fred was referring to when Christina and Harry during class both fell asleep and dreamt of Voldemort, the pain woke Harry up, and Harry screaming woke Christina up.
"It would've made the cut worse, and she doesn't know about my natural power I didn't want her to have any inkling that there's something different about me." The last time Christina shut out the pain of her scar it split open and bled freely, however, if she just let the pain affect her the scar would've remained intact. It was a lose-lose situation. Eventually they both headed to bed.
Christina awoke much later after a somewhat restful, but very deep sleep. The first week of term seemed to have dragged on forever, like one gigantic History of Magic lesson. The sound of girls yawning and squeaky beds woke her and she noticed Hermione was already dressed. She quickly got ready and headed down for breakfast, meeting Ron in the common room and without any sign of Harry they left for the Great Hall.
"Ron, you didn't hear anything about Harry's scar hurting-"
"It did!" he interrupted. Christina hoped he wasn't in Dumbledore's office.
"Great." She said worried.
"I wouldn't worry though, he's probably at the Quidditch pitch" Ron added looking slightly ill. Ron being made Keeper had completely slipped her mind but she still flashed a smile and sat at their usual spot at the Gryffindor table.
"Wish you could've seen the try-outs, some blokes really think-Harry!" said Ron.
"Morning," Harry said brightly, joining them at the Gryffindor table in the Great Hall.
"What are you looking so pleased about?" said Christina, eyeing Harry in surprise.
"Erm . . . Quidditch later," said Harry happily, pulling a large platter of bacon and eggs toward him.
"Yeah . . ." said Christina suspiciously. She watched him eat for a second, he looked absolutely giddy. Surely a meeting with Dumbledore about Voldemort couldn't have let to his elated mood.
Ron put down the bit of toast he was eating and took a large swig of pumpkin juice. Then he said, "Listen . . . you both don't fancy going out a bit earlier with me, do you? Just to — er — give me some practice before training? So I can, you know, get my eye in a bit . . ."
"Yeah, okay," said Harry.
"Totally" Christina added.
"Look, I don't think you should," said Hermione seriously, "you're all really behind on homework as it —" But she broke off; the morning post was arriving and, as usual, the Daily Prophet was soaring toward her in the beak of a screech owl, which landed perilously close to the sugar bowl and held out a leg; Hermione pushed a Knut into its leather pouch, took the newspaper, and scanned the front page critically as the owl took off again.
"Anything interesting?" said Ron; Christina smiled — she knew Ron was keen to get her off the subject of homework.
"No," she sighed, "just some guff about the bass player in the Weird Sisters getting married. . . ." She opened the paper and disappeared behind it.
"Wait a moment," said Hermione suddenly. "Oh no . . . Sirius!"
"What's happened?" said Harry, and he snatched at the paper so violently that it ripped down the middle so that he and Hermione were holding half each.
" 'The Ministry of Magic has received a tip-off from a reliable source that Sirius Black, notorious mass murderer . . . blah blah blah . . . is currently hiding in London!' " Hermione read from her half in an anguished whisper.
"Lucius Malfoy, I'll bet anything," said Christina in a low, furious voice. "He did recognize Sirius on the platform. . . ."
"What?" said Ron, looking alarmed. "You didn't say —"
"Shh!" said the others. ". . . 'Ministry warns Wizarding community that Black is very dangerous . . . killed thirteen people . . . broke out of Azkaban . . .' the usual rubbish," Hermione concluded, laying down her half of the paper and looking fearfully at them. "Well, he just won't be able to leave the house again, that's all," she whispered. "Dumbledore did warn him not to."
"Hey!" Harry said, flattening it down so Hermione and Ron could both see it. "Look at this!"
"I've got all the robes I want," said Ron.
"No," said Harry, "look . . . this little piece here . . ." Christina, Ron and Hermione bent closer to read it; the item was barely an inch long and placed right at the bottom of a column. It was headlined:
TRESPASS AT MINISTRY
Sturgis Podmore, 38, of number two, Laburnum Gardens, Clapham, has appeared in front of the Wizengamot charged with trespass and attempted robbery at the Ministry of Magic on 31st August. Podmore was arrested by Ministry of Magic watchwizard Eric Munch, who found him attempting to force his way through a top-security door at one o'clock in the morning. Podmore, who refused to speak in his own defense, was convicted on both charges and sentenced to six months in Azkaban.
"Sturgis Podmore?" said Ron slowly, "but he's that bloke who looks like his head's been thatched, isn't he? He's one of the Ord —"
"Ron, shh!" said Hermione, casting a terrified look around them.
"Six months in Azkaban!" whispered Harry, shocked. "Just for trying to get through a door!"
"Don't be silly, it wasn't just for trying to get through a door — what on earth was he doing at the Ministry of Magic at one o'clock in the morning?" breathed Hermione.
"D'you reckon he was doing something for the Order?" Christina muttered.
"Wait a moment. . . ." said Harry slowly. "Sturgis was supposed to come and see us off, remember?" The others looked at him. "Yeah, he was supposed to be part of our guard going to King's Cross, remember? And Moody was all annoyed because he didn't turn up, so that doesn't seem like he was supposed to be on a job for them, does it?"
"Well, maybe they didn't expect him to get caught," said Hermione.
"It could be a frame-up!" Ron exclaimed excitedly.
"No — listen!" Ron went on, dropping his voice dramatically at the threatening look on Hermione's face. "The Ministry suspects he's one of Dumbledore's lot so — I dunno — they lured him to the Ministry, and he wasn't trying to get through a door at all! Maybe they've just made something up to get him!" There was a pause while Christina and Hermione considered this. Christina thought it seemed far-fetched; Hermione, on the other hand, looked rather impressed and said, "Do you know, I wouldn't be at all surprised if that were true." She folded up her half of the newspaper thoughtfully. When Christina laid down her knife and fork she seemed to come out of a reverie.
"Right, well, I think we should tackle that essay for Sprout on SelfFertilizing Shrubs first, and if we're lucky we'll be able to start McGonagall's Inanimatus Conjurus before lunch. . . ." Christina felt a small twinge of guilt at the thought of the pile of homework awaiting her upstairs, but the sky was a clear, exhilarating blue, and she had not been on her broom for a while. . . .
"I mean, we can do it tonight," said Ron, as she, Harry, and Ron walked down the sloping lawns toward the Quidditch pitch, their broomsticks over their shoulders, Hermione's dire warnings that they would fail all their O.W.L.s still ringing in their ears.
"And we've got tomorrow. She gets too worked up about work, that's her trouble. . . ." There was a pause and he added, in a slightly more anxious tone, "D'you think she meant it when she said we weren't copying from her?"
"Yeah, I do." said Christina darkly.
"Still, this is important too, we've got to practice if we want to stay on the Quidditch team. . . ." added Harry. She nodded in agreement.
"Yeah, that's right," said Ron in a heartened tone. "And we have got plenty of time to do it all. . . ." Christina glanced over to her right as they approached the Quidditch pitch, to where the trees of the Forbidden Forest were swaying darkly. They collected balls from the cupboard in the changing room and set to work, Ron guarding the three tall goalposts, Harry and Christina playing Chaser and trying to get the Quaffle past Ron. Christina thought Ron was pretty good; he blocked three-quarters of the goals Harry attempted to put past him and played better the longer they practiced. He had more difficulty blocking the balls Christina whizzed by him but that's because she was an excellent Chaser, and Harry never played Chaser. After a couple of hours they returned to the school, where they ate lunch, during which Hermione made it quite clear that she thought they were irresponsible, then returned to the Quidditch pitch for the real training session. All their teammates but Angelina were already in the changing room when they entered.
"All right, Ron?" said George, winking at him.
"Yeah," said Ron, who had become quieter and quieter all the way down to the pitch.
"Ready to show us all up, Ickle Prefect?" said Fred, emerging tousle-haired from the neck of his Quidditch robes, a slightly malicious grin on his face.
"Shut up," said Ron, stony-faced, pulling on his own team robes for the first time. They fitted him well considering they had been Oliver Wood's, who was rather broader in the shoulder.
"Be nice, he blocked one out of the twelve quaffles I threw at him and I'm the best goddamn Chaser around!" she said jokingly. However, Ron did not find it funny, especially not when she high-fived both Fred and George.
"Okay everyone," said Angelina, entering from the Captain's office, already changed. "Let's get to it; Alicia and Fred, if you can just bring the ball crate out for us. Oh, and there are a couple of people out there watching but I want you to just ignore them, all right?" Something in her would-be casual voice made Christina think she might know who the uninvited spectators were, and sure enough, when they left the changing room for the bright sunlight of the pitch it was to a storm of catcalls and jeers from the Slytherin Quidditch team and assorted hangers-on, who were grouped halfway up the empty stands and whose voices echoed loudly around the stadium.
"I have a distinct feeling they may get a quaffle in the face during this practice. . . "Christina said quietly to Fred, however Angelina overheard.
"Bataskill, if you land yourself in detention again and miss practice you will not be on the team!" Angelina roared.
"I wont!" Christina responded politely then looking up to Fred and winked.
"What's that Weasley's riding?" Malfoy called in his sneering drawl. "Why would anyone put a Flying Charm on a moldy old log like that?" Crabbe, Goyle, and Pansy Parkinson guffawed and shrieked with laughter. Ron mounted his broom and kicked off from the ground and Harry followed him. She mounted her broom as well and kicked off heading their way, Angelina right behind her.
"Okay everyone, we're going to start with some passes just to warm up, the whole team please —"
"Hey, Johnson, what's with that hairstyle anyway?" shrieked Pansy Parkinson from below. "Why would anyone want to look like they've got worms coming out of their head?" Angelina swept her long braided hair out of her face and said calmly, "Spread out, then, and let's see what we can do. . . ." Harry reversed away from the others to the far side of the pitch. Ron fell back toward the opposite goal. Angelina raised the Quaffle with one hand and threw it hard to Fred, who passed to George, who passed to Christina, who passed to Harry, who passed to Ron, who dropped it. The Slytherins, led by Malfoy, roared and screamed with laughter. Ron, who had pelted toward the ground to catch the Quaffle before it landed, pulled out of the dive untidily, so that he slipped sideways on his broom, and returned to playing height, blushing. Christina and the twins exchanged looks, but uncharacteristically none of them said anything.
"Pass it on, Ron," called Angelina, as though nothing had happened. Ron threw the Quaffle to Alicia, who passed back to Harry, who passed to George. . . .
"Hey, Potter, how's your scar feeling?" called Malfoy. "Sure you don't need a lie-down? It must be, what, a whole week since you were in the hospital wing, that's a record for you, isn't it?" Fred passed to Angelina; she reverse passed to Harry, who clumsily caught it in the very tips of his fingers and passed it quickly to Ron, who lunged for it and missed by inches.
"Come on now, Ron," said Angelina crossly, as Ron dived for the ground again, chasing the Quaffle. "Pay attention." It would have been hard to say whether Ron's face or the Quaffle was a deeper scarlet when he returned again to playing height. Malfoy and the rest of the Slytherin team were howling with laughter. On his third attempt, Ron caught the Quaffle; perhaps out of relief he passed it on so enthusiastically that it soared straight through Katie's outstretched hands and hit her hard in the face.
"Sorry!" Ron groaned, zooming forward to see whether he had done any damage.
"Get back in position, she's fine!" barked Angelina. "But as you're passing to a teammate, do try not to knock her off her broom, won't you? We've got Bludgers for that!" Katie's nose was bleeding. Down below the Slytherins were stamping their feet and jeering. Fred and George converged on Katie. "Here, take this," Fred told her, handing her something small and purple from out of his pocket. "It'll clear it up in no time."
"All right," called Angelina, "Fred, George, go and get your bats and a Bludger; Ron, get up to the goalposts, Harry, release the Snitch when I say so. We're going to aim for Ron's goal, obviously." Christina, Alicia, and Angelina got in position while Harry, Fred and George retrieved the other Quidditch equipment. They returned to the air. When Angelina blew her whistle, Harry released the Snitch and Fred and George let fly the Bludger and the real fun began. Christina loved Quidditch, however, this was not as much fun. She couldn't help but be distracted by Ron, and didn't feel the rush of joy as she triple-scored on Ron's post.
"Stop — stop – STOP!" screamed Angelina. "Ron — you're not covering your middle post!" Ron was hovering in front of the left-hand hoop, leaving the other two completely unprotected and open for Christina to score.
"Oh . . . sorry . . ."
"You keep shifting around while you're watching the Chasers!" said Angelina. "Either stay in center position until you have to move to defend a hoop, or else circle the hoops, but don't drift vaguely off to one side, that's how you let in the last three goals!"
"Sorry . . ." Ron repeated, his red face shining like a beacon against the bright blue sky. "And Katie, can't you do something about that nosebleed?"
"It's just getting worse!" said Katie thickly, attempting to stem the flow with her sleeve. Christina glanced around at Fred, who was looking anxious and checking his pockets. She saw Fred pull out something purple, examine it for a second, and then look around at Katie, evidently horrorstruck.
"Fred. . ." Christina muttered under her breath.
"Well, let's try again," said Angelina. She was ignoring the Slytherins, who had now set up a chant of "Gryffindor are losers, Gryffindor are losers," but there was a certain rigidity about her seat on the broom nevertheless. This time they had been flying for barely three minutes when Angelina's whistle sounded. Christina, who was just seconds from making a pass at Ron whipped around and saw Angelina, Fred, and George all flying as fast as they could toward Katie. Harry and Alicia sped toward her too. It was plain that Angelina had stopped training just in time; Katie was now chalk-white and covered in blood.
"She needs the hospital wing," said Angelina.
"We'll take her," said Fred. "She — er — might have swallowed a Blood Blisterpod by mistake —"
"Well, there's no point continuing with no Beaters and a Chaser gone," said Angelina glumly, as Fred and George zoomed off toward the castle supporting Katie between them. "Come on, let's go and get changed." The Slytherins continued to chant as they trailed back into the changing rooms.
"How was practice?" asked Hermione rather coolly half an hour later, as Christina, Harry and Ron climbed through the portrait hole into the Gryffindor common room.
"It was —" Harry began.
"Completely lousy," said Ron in a hollow voice, sinking into a chair beside Hermione. She looked up at Ron and her frostiness seemed to melt. "Well, it was only your first one," she said consolingly, "it's bound to take time to —"
"Who said it was me who made it lousy?" snapped Ron.
"No one," said Hermione, looking taken aback, "I thought —"
"You thought I was bound to be rubbish?"
"No, of course I didn't! Look, you said it was lousy so I just —"
"I'm going to get started on some homework," said Ron angrily and stomped off to the staircase to the boys' dormitories and vanished from sight. Hermione turned to Christina and Harry. "Was he lousy?"
"No," said Harry loyally and Christina shot him a look. "Well, I suppose he could've played better," Harry muttered, "but it was only the first training session, like you said. . . ."
Katie returned back the next morning and Fred and George could not have been more shocked by the whole incident. Christina, Ron, and Harry spent the whole of Sunday in the common room, buried in their books while the room around them filled up, then emptied: It was another clear, fine day and most of their fellow Gryffindors spent the day out in the grounds, enjoying what might well be some of the last sunshine that year. By the evening Christina felt as though somebody had been beating her brain against the inside of his skull.
"You know, we probably should try and get more homework done during the week," Harry muttered to Christina and Ron, as they finally laid aside Professor McGonagall's long essay on the Inanimatus Conjurus spell and turned miserably to Professor Sinistra's equally long and difficult essay about Jupiter's moons.
"Yeah," said Ron, rubbing slightly bloodshot eyes and throwing his fifth spoiled bit of parchment into the fire beside them.
"If only I didn't have detention for hours on end, I might actually not be suffering right now" Christina said miserably.
"Listen . . . shall we just ask Hermione if we can have a look at what she's done?" Harry glanced over at her; she was sitting with Crookshanks on her lap and chatting merrily to Ginny as a pair of knitting needles flashed in midair in front of her, now knitting a pair of shapeless elf socks.
"No," she said heavily, "you know she won't let us." And so they worked on while the sky outside the windows became steadily darker; slowly, the crowd in the common room began to thin again. At half-past eleven, Hermione wandered over to them, yawning.
"Nearly done?"
"No," said Ron shortly. "Jupiter's biggest moon is Ganymede, not Callisto," she said, pointing over Ron's shoulder at a line in his Astronomy essay, "and it's Io that's got the volcanos."
"Thanks," snarled Ron, scratching out the offending sentences.
"Sorry, I only —"
"Yeah, well, if you've just come over here to criticize —"
"Ron —"
"I haven't got time to listen to a sermon, all right, Hermione, I'm up to my neck in it here —"
"No — look!" Hermione was pointing to the nearest window. Christina, Harry and Ron looked over. A handsome screech owl was standing on the windowsill, gazing into the room at Ron.
"Isn't that Hermes?" said Hermione, sounding amazed.
"Blimey, it is!" said Ron quietly, throwing down his quill and getting to his feet. "What's Percy writing to me for?" He crossed to the window and opened it; Hermes flew inside, landed upon Ron's essay, and held out a leg to which a letter was attached. Ron took it off and the owl departed at once, leaving inky footprints across Ron's drawing of the moon Io.
"That's definitely Percy's handwriting," said Ron, sinking back into his chair and staring at the words on the outside of the scroll: To Ronald Weasley, Gryffindor House, Hogwarts. He looked up at the others. "What d'you reckon?"
"Open it!" said Hermione eagerly. Ron unrolled the scroll and began to read. The farther down the parchment his eyes traveled, the more pronounced became his scowl. When he had finished reading, he looked disgusted. He thrust the letter at Christina, Harry and Hermione, who leaned toward each other to read it together:
Dear Ron,
I have only just heard (from no less a person than the Minister of Magic himself, who has it from your new teacher, Professor Umbridge) that you have become a Hogwarts prefect. I was most pleasantly surprised when I heard this news and must firstly offer my congratulations. I must admit that I have always been afraid that you would take what we might call the "Fred and George" route, rather than following in my footsteps, so you can imagine my feelings on hearing you have stopped flouting authority and have decided to shoulder some real responsibility. But I want to give you more than congratulations, Ron, I want to give you some advice, which is why I am sending this at night rather than by the usual morning post. Hopefully you will be able to read this away from prying eyes and avoid awkward questions. From something the Minister let slip when telling me you are now a prefect, I gather that you are still seeing a lot of Harry Potter and Christina Bataskill. I must tell you, Ron, that nothing could put you in danger of losing your badge more than continued fraternization with those two. Yes, I am sure you are surprised to hear this — no doubt you will say that Potter has always been Dumbledore's favorite — but I feel bound to tell you that Dumbledore may not be in charge at Hogwarts much longer and the people who count have a very different — and probably more accurate — view of their behavior. I shall say no more here, but if you look at the Daily Prophet tomorrow you will get a good idea of the way the wind is blowing — and see if you can spot yours truly! Seriously, Ron, you do not want to be tarred with the same brush as Potter and Bataskill, it could be very damaging to your future prospects, and I am talking here about life after school too. As you must be aware, given that our father escorted them to court, Potter and Bataskill had a disciplinary hearing this summer in front of the whole Wizengamot and they did not come out of it looking too good. They got off on a mere technicality if you ask me and many of the people I've spoken to remain convinced of their guilt. It may be that you are afraid to sever ties with them — I know that they can be unbalanced and, for all I know, violent — but if you have any worries about this, or have spotted anything else in their behavior that is troubling you, I urge you to speak to Dolores Umbridge, a really delightful woman, who I know will be only too happy to advise you. As I'm sure you are aware Bataskill has been 'seeing' Fred, which really only speaks to her character further of having no respect for authority and a complete lack of judgement. This leads me to my other bit of advice. As I have hinted above, Dumbledore's regime at Hogwarts may soon be over. Your loyalty, Ron, should be not to him, but to the school and the Ministry. I am very sorry to hear that so far Professor Umbridge is encountering very little cooperation from staff as she strives to make those necessary changes within Hogwarts that the Ministry so ardently desires (although she should find this easier from next week — again, see the Prophet tomorrow!). I shall say only this — a student who shows himself willing to help Professor Umbridge now may be very well placed for Head Boyship in a couple of years! I am sorry that I was unable to see more of you over the summer. It pains me to criticize our parents, but I am afraid I can no longer live under their roof while they remain mixed up with the dangerous crowd around Dumbledore (if you are writing to Mother at any point, you might tell her that a certain Sturgis Podmore, who is a great friend of Dumbledore's, has recently been sent to Azkaban for trespass at the Ministry. Perhaps that will open their eyes to the kind of petty criminals with whom they are currently rubbing shoulders). I count myself very lucky to have escaped the stigma of association with such people — the Minister really could not be more gracious to me — and I do hope, Ron, that you will not allow family ties to blind you to the misguided nature of our parents' beliefs and actions either. I sincerely hope that, in time, they will realize how mistaken they were and I shall, of course, be ready to accept a full apology when that day comes. Please think over what I have said most carefully, particularly the bit about Potter and Bataskill, and congratulations again on becoming prefect.
Your brother,
Percy
"Well," Harry said, trying to sound as though he found the whole thing a joke, "if you want to — er — what is it?" (He checked Percy's letter.) "Oh yeah — 'sever ties' with me, I swear I won't get violent."
"Give it back," said Ron, holding out his hand. "He is —" Ron said jerkily, tearing Percy's letter in half, "the world's" — he tore it into quarters — "biggest" — he tore it into eighths — "git." He threw the pieces into the fire. "Come on, we've got to get this finished some time before dawn," he said briskly to Christina and Harry, pulling Professor Sinistra's essay back toward him. Christina was less humored by the letter and more upset. She could count the times she saw Percy in her life on one hand and still he so vehemently despised her . . .it made her sick. Hermione was looking at Ron with an odd expression on her face.
"Oh, give them here," she said abruptly.
"What?" said Ron.
"Give them to me, I'll look through them and correct them," she said.
"Are you serious? Ah, Hermione, you're a lifesaver," said Ron, "what can I — ?"
"What you can say is, 'We promise we'll never leave our homework this late again,' " she said, holding out both hands for their essays, but she looked slightly amused all the same.
"Thanks a million, Hermione," said Christina weakly, passing over her essay and sinking back into his armchair, rubbing her eyes. It was now past midnight and the common room was deserted but for the four of them and Crookshanks. The only sound was that of Hermione's quill scratching out sentences here and there on their essays and the ruffle of pages as she checked various facts in the reference books strewn across the table. Christina was exhausted. She also felt an odd, sick, empty feeling in her stomach that had nothing to do with tiredness and everything to do with the letter now curling blackly in the heart of the fire. She knew that half the people inside Hogwarts thought she and Harry strange, even mad; she knew that the Daily Prophet had been making snide allusions to her for months, but there was something about seeing it written down like that in Percy's writing, about knowing that Percy was advising Ron to drop Harry and her and even to tell tales on them to Umbridge, that made her situation real to her as nothing else had.
She had known Percy for two years, had stayed in his house during the summers, shared a tent with him during the Quidditch World Cup, had even been awarded full marks by him in the second task of the Triwizard Tournament last year, yet now, Percy thought her unbalanced and possibly violent. And with a surge of sympathy for Harry's godfather, Christina thought that Sirius was probably the only person she knew who could really understand how she felt at the moment, because Sirius was in the same situation; nearly everyone in the Wizarding world thought Sirius a dangerous murderer and a great Voldemort supporter and he had had to live with that knowledge for twenty years. . . . Christina blinked. She had just seen something in the fire that could not have been there. It had flashed into sight and vanished immediately. No . . . it could not have been. . . . She had imagined it because she had been thinking about Sirius. . . .
"Okay, write that down," Hermione said to Ron, pushing his essay and a sheet covered in her own writing back to Ron, "and then copy out this conclusion that I've written for you."
"Hermione, you are honestly the most wonderful person I've ever met," said Ron weakly, "and if I'm ever rude to you again —"
"— I'll know you're back to normal," said Hermione. "Christina, yours is okay except for this bit at the end, I think you must have misheard Professor Sinistra, Europa's covered in ice, not mice — Christina?" Christina had slid off her chair onto her knees and was now crouching on the singed and threadbare hearthrug, gazing into the flames.
"Er — Christina?" said Ron uncertainly. "Why are you down there?"
"Because I've just seen Sirius's head in the fire," said Christina. Harry rushed over and joined her, searching for a face in the flames.
"Sirius's head?" Hermione repeated. "You mean like when he wanted to talk to Harry during the Triwizard Tournament? But he wouldn't do that now, it would be too — Sirius!" She gasped, gazing at the fire; Ron dropped his quill. There in the middle of the dancing flames sat Sirius's head, long dark hair falling around his grinning face.
"I was starting to think you'd go to bed before everyone else had disappeared," he said. "I've been checking every hour."
"You've been popping into the fire every hour?" Harry said, half laughing.
"Just for a few seconds to check if the coast was clear yet."
"But what if you'd been seen?" said Hermione anxiously. "Well, I think a girl — first year by the look of her — might've got a glimpse of me earlier, but don't worry," Sirius said hastily, as Hermione clapped a hand to her mouth. "I was gone the moment she looked back at me and I'll bet she just thought I was an oddly shaped log or something."
"But Sirius, this is taking an awful risk —" Hermione began.
"You sound like Molly," said Sirius.
"Burn! Ha, fire pun" Christina said, Hermione shook her head.
"This was the only way I could come up with of answering Harry's letter without resorting to a code — and codes are breakable." At the mention of Harry's letter, Christina, Hermione and Ron had turned to stare at him.
"You didn't say you'd written to Sirius!" said Hermione accusingly.
"I forgot," said Harry."Don't look at me like that, Hermione, there was no way anyone would have got secret information out of it, was there, Sirius?"
"No, it was very good," said Sirius, smiling. "Anyway, we'd better be quick, just in case we're disturbed — your scar."
"That's right you felt it too!" Christina said excitedly.
"Yours hurt too?" Harry asked incredulously.
"What about — ?" Ron began, but Hermione said quickly, "We'll tell you afterward, go on, Sirius."
"Well, I know it can't be fun when it hurts, but we don't think it's anything to really worry about. It kept aching all last year, didn't it?"
"Yeah, and Dumbledore said it happened whenever Voldemort was feeling a powerful emotion," said Harry.
"So maybe he was just, I dunno, really angry or something the night I had that detention." Christina said slowly.
"Well, now he's back it's bound to hurt more often," said Sirius.
"So you don't think it had anything to do with Umbridge touching me when I was in detention with her?" Christina asked.
"I doubt it, especially since Harry wasn't there and felt it as well," said Sirius. "I know her by reputation and I'm sure she's no Death Eater —"
"She's foul enough to be one," said Christina darkly and Harry, Ron and Hermione nodded vigorously in agreement.
"Yes, but the world isn't split into good people and Death Eaters," said Sirius with a wry smile. "I know she's a nasty piece of work, though — you should hear Remus talk about her."
"Does Lupin know her?" asked Harry quickly, remembering Umbridge's comments about dangerous half-breeds during her first lesson.
"No," said Sirius, "but she drafted a bit of anti-werewolf legislation two years ago that makes it almost impossible for him to get a job." Christina remembered how much shabbier Lupin looked these days and his dislike of Umbridge deepened even further.
"What's she got against werewolves?" said Hermione angrily.
"Scared of them, I expect," said Sirius, smiling at her indignation. "Apparently she loathes part-humans; she campaigned to have merpeople rounded up and tagged last year too. Imagine wasting your time and energy persecuting merpeople when there are little toerags like Kreacher on the loose —" Ron laughed but Hermione looked upset.
"Sirius!" she said reproachfully. "Honestly, if you made a bit of an effort with Kreacher I'm sure he'd respond, after all, you are the only member of his family he's got left, and Professor Dumbledore said —"
"So what are Umbridge's lessons like?" Sirius interrupted. "Is she training you all to kill half-breeds?"
"No," said Harry, ignoring Hermione's affronted look at being cut off in her defense of Kreacher. "She's not letting us use magic at all!"
"All we do is read the stupid textbook," said Ron.
"Ah, well, that figures," said Sirius. "Our information from inside the Ministry is that Fudge doesn't want you trained in combat."
"Trained in combat?" repeated Harry incredulously. "What does he think we're doing here, forming some sort of wizard army?"
"That's exactly what he thinks you're doing," said Sirius, "or rather, that's exactly what he's afraid Dumbledore's doing — forming his own private army, with which he will be able to take on the Ministry of Magic." There was a pause at this, then Ron said, "That's the stupidest thing I've ever heard, including all the stuff that Luna Lovegood comes out with."
"So we're being prevented from learning Defense Against the Dark Arts because Fudge is scared we'll use spells against the Ministry?" said Hermione, looking furious.
"Yep," said Sirius. "Fudge thinks Dumbledore will stop at nothing to seize power. He's getting more paranoid about Dumbledore by the day. It's a matter of time before he has Dumbledore arrested on some trumped-up charge." This reminded Christina of Percy's letter. "D'you know if there's going to be anything about Dumbledore in the Daily Prophet tomorrow? Only Ron's brother Percy reckons there will be —"
"I don't know," said Sirius, "I haven't seen anyone from the Order all weekend, they're all busy. It's just been Kreacher and me here. . . ." There was a definite note of bitterness in Sirius's voice.
"So you haven't had any news about Hagrid, either?" Harry added.
"Ah . . ." said Sirius, "well, he was supposed to be back by now, no one's sure what's happened to him." Then, seeing their stricken faces, he added quickly, "But Dumbledore's not worried, so don't you four get yourselves in a state; I'm sure Hagrid's fine."
"But if he was supposed to be back by now . . ." said Hermione in a small, worried voice.
"Madame Maxime was with him, we've been in touch with her and she says they got separated on the journey home — but there's nothing to suggest he's hurt or — well, nothing to suggest he's not perfectly okay." Unconvinced, Christina, Harry, Ron, and Hermione exchanged worried looks.
"Listen, don't go asking too many questions about Hagrid," said Sirius hastily, "it'll just draw even more attention to the fact that he's not back, and I know Dumbledore doesn't want that. Hagrid's tough, he'll be okay." And when they did not appear cheered by this, Sirius added, "When's your next Hogsmeade weekend anyway? I was thinking, we got away with the dog disguise at the station, didn't we? I thought I could —"
"NO!" said Harry and Hermione together, very loudly.
"Sirius, didn't you see the Daily Prophet?" said Hermione anxiously.
"Oh that," said Sirius, grinning, "they're always guessing where I am, they haven't really got a clue —"
"Yeah, but we think this time they have," said Harry. "Something Malfoy said on the train made us think he knew it was you, and his father was on the platform, Sirius — you know, Lucius Malfoy — so don't come up here, whatever you do, if Malfoy recognizes you again —"
"All right, all right, I've got the point," said Sirius. He looked most displeased. Christina felt bad, she would've loved for Sirius to visit but Harry and Hermione seemed so adamant. "Just an idea, thought you might like to get together —"
"I would, I just don't want you chucked back in Azkaban!" said Harry. There was a pause in which Sirius looked out of the fire at Harry, a crease between his sunken eyes.
"You're less like your father than I thought," he said finally, a definite coolness in his voice. "The risk would've been what made it fun for James."
"Look —"
"Well, I'd better get going, I can hear Kreacher coming down the stairs," said Sirius, but Christina was sure he was lying. "I'll write to tell you a time I can make it back into the fire, then, shall I? If you can stand to risk it?"
"Sirius, wait!" Christina said but there was a tiny pop, and the place where Sirius's head had been was flickering flame once more.