A kiss from George for 93 Diagon Alley because she's brilliant and took the time to beta read this for me :)
Chapter Twenty-Six: In which Crookshanks causes problems
"Looks more like a pig with fur."-Ron
"Honestly," Hermione huffed as two identical sets of hands appeared on her shoulders. "Where have you two been? I was beginning to think I'd been stood up."
"Don't worry, Hermione. Freddie here will make sure you never get stood up," George vowed, stepping up beside the frowning brunette. Fred's eyes widened in surprise and his ears turned a slightly pinker tinge.
"Besides, we're both starving, why would we skip lunch?" Hermione didn't answer, she just bit her lip, fighting off a wave of tears. Her emotions had been a lot nearer to the surface recently. She'd been terribly upset to find out that Sirius Black was one of James' best friends, and learning that Buckbeak was destined to be killed had ruined her mood even more. She was searching cases in hopes of saving the poor hippogriff, but she was no fool; she knew the ministry wouldn't let him live.
Then Harry had gotten that broom, there was no way it had been a coincidence. No one would send a broom that was that expensive.
"Come on, Hermione," Fred said, looping an arm through hers while George looped his through her other, "lets go." They headed to the Great Hall, and she felt a little more cheerful. Professors Dumbledore, McGonagall, Snape, Sprout, and Flitwick were there, along with Filch, the caretaker, who had taken off his usual brown coat and was wearing a very old and rather moldy-looking tailcoat. The three of them, Harry, and Ron were the only students still at the school.
"Happy Christmas!" Dumbledore called cheerily as they headed for the table. "As there are so few of us, it seemed foolish to use the House tables… Sit down, sit down!"
Fred, George, and Hermione sat side by side, Harry and Ron took the seat across from them. Ron was still angry at Hermione because Crookshanks had supposedly tried to attack Scabbers again.
"Crackers!" said Dumbledore enthusiastically, offering the end of a large silver noisemaker to Snape, who took it reluctantly and tugged. With a bang like a gunshot, the cracker flew apart to reveal a large, pointed witches hat topped with a stuffed vulture.
Fred and George had to stuff their fist into their mouths to keep from laughing out loud. Hermione had to bite her tongue.
Hermione offered a platter of rolls to Fred, grinning when he took three. She would never understand how all the Weasleys could eat so much. The doors of the Great Hall opened again and Professor Trelawney came in, gliding toward them as though on wheels. She had put on a green sequined dress in honor of the occasion.
"Sybill, this is a pleasant surprise!" said Dumbledore, 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. Who am I to refuse the promptings of fate? I at once hastened from my tower, and I do beg you to forgive my lateness…"
"Honestly," Hermione huffed, shaking her head. George snickered, and Fred winked.
"Certainly, certainly," said Dumbledore, his eyes twinkling. "Let me draw you up a chair —"
He summoned a chair between himself and Professor Snape, who narrowed his eyes distrustfully at the chair. Professor Trelawney stepped forward and then her eyes grew wide. She stepped back and let out a soft scream.
"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 will be the first to die!"
Hermione's eyes widened in surprise while both the twins did a quick headcount.
"She's right," Fred whispered.
"We should make her sit down and then force Filch out of his chair," George whispered, chuckling at the scandalized look on Hermione's face.
"We'll risk it, Sybill," said Professor McGonagall impatiently. "Do sit down, the turkey's getting stone cold."
Professor Trelawney hesitated, then lowered herself into the empty chair, eyes shut and mouth clenched tight.
"Tripe, Sybill?" Professor McGonagall asked impatiently. Hermione had to fight not to laugh at her face.
"But where is dear Professor Lupin?" Trelawney asked, ignoring McGonagall. Hermione let out a breath when she realized that she was right.
"I'm afraid the poor fellow is ill again. Most unfortunate that it should happen on Christmas Day."
Hermione's brain was working very fast suddenly. Fred recognized the look and couldn't help but grin at George who shook his head in amusement. Pieces were fitting together, and Hermione found herself understanding with a terrible since of sympathy and guilt.
Professor Lupin was always sick at the full moon. He had to have a specially made, complex potion. His boggart was a silver orb. He was always tired and he was covered in scars that looked like claw marks.
He had to be a werewolf.
With that horrible understanding and even worse realization came upon her. Snape had known, he had assigned the werewolf paper to her year in hopes that they would find out. He'd been trying to discredit professor Lupin!
She'd never been particularly fond of her potions professor, but the hate that washed over her in that moment shocked her.
"That explains a great deal," Professor McGonagall said tartly, and by the way both twins, Harry, Ron, and everyone else was laughing, she couldn't help but feel she had missed something.
"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," said Professor McGonagall dryly.
"I doubt," said Dumbledore, in a cheerful but slightly raised voice, which put an end to Professor McGonagall and Professor Trelawney's conversation, "that Professor Lupin is in any immediate danger. Severus, you've made the potion for him again?"
"Yes, Headmaster," said Snape.
She couldn't help but glare at him. She even found her hand clenching around her fork.
"Good," said Dumbledore. "Then he should be up and about in no time… "
The rest of the lunch passed by pleasantly enough. Fred and George got Hermione laughing quickly, and she put her thoughts about the werewolf, Buckbeak, and broomstick aside. She let herself enjoy her best mates' company, and let herself laugh.
Professor Trelawney even behaved almost normally until the very end of the Christmas dinner, two hours later. Full to bursting with Christmas dinner and still wearing their cracker hats, Harry and Ron got up first from the table and she shrieked loudly.
"My dears! Which of you left his seat first? Which?"
"Dunno," Ron said slowly, looking uneasily at Harry.
"I doubt it will make much difference, unless a mad axe-man is waiting outside the doors to slaughter the first into the Entrance Hall." Hermione couldn't help but smile at her professor.
"Coming?" Harry said to Hermione. She glanced at professor McGonagall and made up her mind. She would tell her, she couldn't risk Harry. He was to special, and he was too stubborn to even think of the possibility of that broom being dangerous.
"No," she muttered. "I want a quick word with Professor McGonagall."
They left and she waited for the door to close. She turned in her seat to see Professor McGonagall looking as her expectantly.
"What is it, Miss Granger?"
"Harry was sent a broom this morning. It came without a note, card, or signature of any sort. It's… it's a firebolt." Fred and George sucked in deep breaths, looks of shock crossing their identical faces. "I-I think Sirius Black might have sent it." She hadn't even finished the last statement before McGonagall was standing.
"With me, Miss Granger." She started down the hall, and Hermione had to run to keep up with her.
She had never seen her professor look so serious, and it frightened her a little. She wasn't sure how to feel, she felt guilty, but she knew it could be dangerous.
"Scurvy curr!" The portrait swung open and McGonagall stepped into the Common Room. Hermione followed her quietly, stepping around her professor and heading towards the couch.
"So that's it, is it?" she asked beadily, walking over to the fireside and staring at the Firebolt. "Miss Granger has just informed me that you have been sent a broomstick, Potter."
Hermione clutched her book more tightly, barely registering that the twins were stepping into the room as well.
"May I?" McGonagall asked, but she didn't wait for an answer before pulling the Firebolt out of Harry's hands. She examined it carefully from handle to twig-ends. "Hmm. And there was no note at all, Potter? No card? No message of any kind?"
"No," Harry said slowly. Hermione jumped when she felt Fred and George's hand on her shoulder.
"I see…" said Professor McGonagall. "Well, I'm afraid I will have to take this, Potter."
"W — what?" said Harry, scrambling to his feet. "Why?"
"It will need to be checked for jinxes," said Professor McGonagall. "Of course, I'm no expert, but I daresay Madam Hooch and Professor Flitwick will strip it down —"
The grips on her arm tightened, and she felt terrible. She knew beyond a shadow of a doubt it wouldn't hurt the broom, but she felt like she'd stolen his best friend from him.
"Strip it down?" repeated Ron, as though Professor McGonagall was mental.
"It shouldn't take more than a few weeks," said Professor McGonagall. "You will have it back if we are sure it is jinx-free."
"There's nothing wrong with it!" said Harry, his voice shaking slightly. "Honestly, Professor —"
"You can't know that, Potter," said Professor McGonagall, quite kindly, "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."
Professor McGonagall turned on her heel and carried the Firebolt out of the portrait hole, which closed behind her. Harry stood staring after her, the tin of High-Finish Polish still clutched in his hands. Ron, however, rounded on Hermione.
"What did you go running to McGonagall for?"
Hermione threw her book aside. She was trembling and she felt terrible, but she stood up and faced Ron defiantly.
"Because I thought — and Professor McGonagall agrees with me — that that broom was probably sent to Harry by Sirius Black!"
"You're bloody mental!" Ron yelled, Harry was just staring numbly at the portrait hole.
"That's enough, Ronald," Fred said forcibly, stepping up behind Hermione. "She's right, it probably was sent by him."
"It won't hurt the broom any!" Hermione added.
"How could you?" Harry asked quietly, his voice broken. Hermione clenched her fist as her heart tightened. She hadn't meant to hurt him, but he wouldn't listen! No one ever listened to her!
"I had to! It could have killed you! I won't let you get hurt if I can help it!" With those words she ran up stairs, leaving the common room as tears streamed down her face.
-o-O-o-
Once again life seemed to get unbearable for Hermione. School started again and she had to bury herself further within it, now only having Fred, George and Neville talking to her. The other Gryffindors seemed to agree with Harry and Ron; she couldn't understand why.
She spent all her free time studying, and even with that, it was only thanks to Fred and George that she didn't drown. George was brilliant with Arithmancy and an immense help to her, and Fred was brilliant at DADA and Transfiguration. They could often be found sitting beside her, helping her study late into the night.
It went like that for four weeks, and then, everything got ever so much worse.
Harry was given the Firebolt back, and Ron was taking it up stairs. He had come over to her, telling her he forgave her and that he was sorry, when a terrible scream was heard from upstairs.
Scabbers was missing. All they could find was a bit of blood on the bedsheet, and a few ginger cat hairs beside it.
A/N: Mwahaha! I always felt like Crookshanks handled that whole thing wrong. Still, it'll be fun to write ;) Don't forget to leave a review, Hermione would!