Lunchtime came, so the trio went down to the Great Hall. The House tables had been moved against the walls, leaving room for a significantly smaller table, set for fifteen, in the middle of the room. Professors Dumbledore, Kirkland, McGonagall, Snape, Sprout, and Flitwick were there, along with Filch, the caretaker, who had traded his usual brown coat for a rather moldy looking tailcoat. Five other students were already there. Two extremely nervous looking first years and a sullen-faced Slytherin fifth year, along with Alfred and Matthew.
"Merry Christmas!" Dumbledore said cheerily as Harry, Ron, and Hermione approached the table. "There are so few of us, so I thought it would be rather foolish to use the House tables." The trio sat down together at one end.
The twins were actually sitting closest to Professor Kirkland, who didn't seem to mind. Although he did take the time to correct Alfred's grammar, much to the American's chagrin.
"Dude, could you pass the cookies?" Alfred asked.
Kirkland looked down his nose disapprovingly at the boy. "They're called biscuits."
"Biscuits aren't even the same thing!" Alfred shot back angrily.
"God, you always do this. Like for the word 'trolley'. A trolley is not a tram!"
"A trolley isn't a shopping cart either, weirdo," the American retorted.
"'Shopping cart' shouldn't even exist in English!" the professor said obstinately. "And for that matter, it's my language! En-gl-ish from En-gl-and!"
"I'm speaking American English. From Am-er-i-ca!" Alfred ground out. "Besides, no matter what you say, it's not a pure language. I don't hear you going 'thou' or 'doth' anymore now, do I?"
"My English still makes more sense than yours!" Kirkland yelled. Their argument had raised in volume to where the whole table couldn't help but hear it.
"Riiiight. Remember the cab driver incident?" the Gryffindor boy smirked at Kirkland's expression. "Yeah, you do! What was it you said? 'Gawdon Bennet! That's not right i'was practically around da corner! Thee must be overchargin' me!' What the hell is a 'Gawdon Bennet!?'"
"Well you're one to talk! I caught you in Texas saying ridiculous things like, 'Ya'll got the brit fixin' tuh have a conniption fit if ya don' stop. I know yer all big hat, no cattle anyway.'" Kirkland was sure to drag out his vowels mockingly and make it as goofy as possible. He returned to his regular accent. "There is so much wrong with that sentence I don't even know where to begin! So you can just belt up about that, you yankee-redneck!"
"Shut up! A yankee is not a redneck! They are completely different."
"All the same to me!"
The argument got increasingly ridiculous and nonsensical. Dumbledore was watching with an incredible amount of amusement, which would explain why he hadn't stopped it yet. Flitwick and Sprout were doing their best to ignore it, and Snape just looked on disapprovingly. Mcgonagall reached over smacked them both upside the head, effectively shutting them up.
"I don't know care how you conduct yourselves at home," the stern professor scolded. "But you will both keep civil tongues in your head while you're here!" She huffed and straightened her robes, returning to her meal.
The meal went uninterrupted for the next few minutes. Alfred jumped as he reacted to something under the table. He shot Professor Kirkland a covert dirty look. A few minutes later, the green eyed teacher yelped, his elbow hitting the edge of the table and making it shake. Matthew leaned over and said something to his brother, who gave a small sheepish smile in response.
Dumbledore cleared his throat, earning the undivided attention of the entire table. He picked up a noisemaker off the table. "Crackers!" he said almost childishly, offering the large silver end to Snape. The Potions Master sighed and reluctantly pulled it. The thing released it's contents with a sound akin to a gunshot. Much to Snape's dismay, the contents of this particular one happened to be a pointy hat topped with a stuffed vulture.
Harry and Ron exchanged grins, remembering the boggart. Snape's mouth thinned and he pushed the ridiculous hat towards Dumbledore, who swapped it for his own wizard's hat at once. "Dig in!" he exclaimed, beaming all around.
Harry was helping himself to roasted potatoes, when the Great Hall's doors opened again. Professor Trelawney walked in, clad in a green sequined dress to honor the occasion.
"Sibyll, this is a pleasant surprise!" Dumbledore said, standing up.
"I have been crystal gazing, Headmaster," said Professor Trelawney in her mistiest most faraway voice, "and to my astonishment, I saw myself abandoning my solitary luncheon and coming to join you. I at once hastened from my tower, I do beg you to forgive my lateness..."
"Certainly," Dumbledore said amiably, his eyes twinkling. "Let me draw you up a chair-"
He literally drew a chair in midair with his wand, which resolved for a few seconds before falling with a slight clatter between Kirkland and McGonagall. Professor Trelawney did not sit down immediately. Her enormous eyes rested on Kirkland, Alfred, and Matthew in turn.
"Such old souls...you have all seen so much..." she finally sat down, her eyes never moving from Professor Kirkland, who looked incredibly uncomfortable. "I feel most drawn to you though...tea and rain...ocean water..."
Hermione, who was the last to give Trelawney of all people the benefit of the doubt ever, was leaning forward with interest. And even Dumbledore looked like he was paying attention as he cut his ham into pieces.
Trelawney tore her eyes away from Kirkland and peered closely Alfred and Matthew. "...wheat fields and maple trees...interesting."
Matthew coughed and focused on his plate, while Alfred settled for looking at her like one would a rabid dog.
"Would you please pass the gravy?" McGonagall finally asked impatiently. She was having none of this.
"Hm?" Trelawney seemed to snap out of whatever trance she was in. Her voice was significantly less distant as she said, "Yes, of course." She did as McGonagall asked. Doing this gave her the opportunity to look around the table. "Where is dear Professor Lupin?"
"I'm afraid that the poor fellow is ill again," Dumbledore said. "Most unfortunate that it should happen on Christmas Day."
"But surely you already knew that, Sibyll?" McGonagall said with her eyebrows raised.
"Certainly, Minerva," Trelawney said a bit coldly. "One does not parade the fact that they are All-Knowing. I frequently act as though I am not possessed of the Inner Eye, so as not to make others nervous."
"Explains a lot," Ron muttered. Harry smothered a snicker in his napkin.
"If you must know, Minerva, I have seen that poor Professor Lupin will not be with us for very long. 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 drily.
"I doubt," Professor Dumbledore interjected cheerfully, putting an end to the conversation before it could go any farther. "that Professor Lupin is is any immediate danger. Severus, you've made the potion for him again?"
"Yes, Headmaster," said Snape. Harry thought he sounded rather preoccupied.
"Then he should be up and about in no time...Derek, have you had any of these chipolatas? They're excellent."
The first year boy turned a furious shade of red at being addressed directly by Dumbledore, and took the platter of sausages with shaking hands.
Professor Trelawney behaved almost normally to the end of the meal, two hours later. Full to bursting with Christmas dinner and still wearing their party hats, Harry and Ron got up first from the table to leave.
"Coming?" Harry asked, seeing that Hermione hadn't rose from the table.
"No," Hermione muttered. "I need a quick word with McGonagall and Trelawney."
"Probably trying to see if she can take any more classes," yawned Ron as they made their way into the entrance hall, which was completely empty save for them.
"With Trelawney?" Harry scoffed. "As if."
Later, everyone except Hermione had reunited in common room. Matthew surprised them by sitting right near them. Ron initiated a conversation, about Harry's new Firebolt, of course. Apparently he's gotten over his little grudge against Matthew about Kumajiro. Matthew acted as if nothing had happened that morning, and Alfred started talking to them again as a result, seeing that his brother was okay with it.
Harry smiled to himself as he admired his broomstick. Looks like things had returned to normal with his friends. His hopeful thoughts were interrupted by the portrait hole swinging open. None other than Professor McGonagall swept in, followed by Hermione, who walked around them, sat down, and picked up the nearest book, hiding her face with it.
"So that's it, is it?" Professor McGonagall said, walking over to the fireside and staring at the Firebolt. "Miss Granger has just informed me that you have been sent a broomstick, Potter."
Harry and Ron looked around at Hermione. They could see her forehead reddening over the top of her book, which was upside down. Alfred and Matthew watched the scene with twin expressions of impassiveness. It was a bit disconcerting, actually.
"May I?" said Professor McGonagall, but she didn't wait for an answer before pulling the Firebolt away fro them. She examined it carefully from handle to twig-ends. "Hmm. And there was no note? No card? No message of any kind?"
"No," Harry said blankly.
"I see..." she studied it for a moment more. "Well, I'm afraid I will have to take this, Potter."
"W-what?" Harry said, scrambling to his feet. "Why?"
"It will need to be checked for jinxes," Professor McGonagall answered almost apologetically. "Of course, I'm no expert, but I daresay Madam Hooch and Professor Flitwick will strip it down-"
"Strip it down?" Ron repeated, as though the Professor were completely mad.
"You will have it back in a few weeks time, when we are sure it hasn't been tampered with," McGonagall said.
"There's nothing wrong with it!" Harry insisted, his voice shaking slightly. "Honestly Professor-"
"You can't be sure of that until you've flown it," McGonagall said kindly. "And since that's out of the question, this is how it must be. I shall keep you informed." With that, she turned on her heel and carried the Firebolt out of the portrait hole.
Harry stood, staring after her, completely devastated. The best and most meaningful Christmas gift he'd ever gotten...taken away.
Ron rounded on Hermione angrily. "What did you go running to McGonagall for?"
Hermione's face was still red as she lowered the book and stood up defiantly. "Because-and McGonagall agrees with me-that broom was probably sent by Sirius Black!" She turned and marched up the stairs.
Hermione crashed onto her bed in the girls' dormitory, absolutely refusing to cry. Couldn't they look past their Quidditch obsession for a moment and see? God, how could anyone be so bloody thick? Now Harry and Ron hate her because she was trying to keep Harry from getting killed!
Although...Matthew seemed to be of similar opinion, even if he hadn't said anything. At least he wasn't being so immature about it...
Come to think of it, he's never had a single moment of boyish immaturity, despite his age. When they talked...it was like she was talking to a professor almost. She thought back to what she had spoken to Trelawney about.
Hermione steeled herself for what she felt was probably a waste of time. But she had her suspicions...as did Trelawney, apparently. "Professor?"
The cooky woman looked down at the Gryffindor girl in minor surprise. She knew of Hermione's opinion of her. "Yes, dear?"
Hermione looked around to be sure no one would hear. "I'm investigating Professor Kirkland. I was hoping you had some idea about...him."
Trelawney cocked her head, much like a small bird would. "You and the entire staff apparently."
"Oh?" Hermione frowned. "Is he an object of suspicion among the faculty?"
"He just...came out of nowhere. He claims to have been to Hogwarts, but no one remembers him." Her voice gained a misty and detached quality. "And there's a certain...something about him..."
Hermione resisted the urge to snap her fingers. She did not come here for a prophecy! Instead she tried to advance the conversation further. "Is there anything ah...material you can give me? Something I can work with?"
Trelawney peered at Hermione through her owlish glasses. "Poor dear...you just have no future in Divinations...that much I can see. But...you work well with books, I understand..."
Hermione leaned forward slightly in anticipation.
"Something I read once...and an old legend I've heard...look for 'Are They Real: Disputed Beings And Their Possible Whereabouts'. I sense that it is still in the Library."
Hermione nodded, surprised at getting an actual clue from the spacey teacher. "Thank you, Professor."
Hermione wondered what she would find in that book, and what it could possibly have to do with anything. She glanced at the small clock on her bedside table. It wasn't curfew yet...she had time to make a trip to the Library.
Of course, she could make time if she needed to.
Another chapter! And this one was kinda hard to write...I wasn't sure about how to go about the Christmas Dinner bit...but I managed.
Thank you all for reviewing, following, and favoriting! It's greatly appreciated.
Later dudes ^J^