Chapter Fifty – The Firebolt
Harry had no choice but to remain at Hogwarts over the holiday. Someone would need to take Sirius food and keep him company down in the Chamber. Although he would miss spending Christmas with Ms. Zabini, he couldn't dampen his excitement. It would be the first break he'd spent at Hogwarts.
His anticipation for the holiday grew when he learned that Blaise would be staying behind as well. His friend had argued that if one of them returned home without the other, his mother would grow suspicious.
"She won't ask as many questions if we stay together," he explained, "And besides, she's bound to have another one of her grand soirees. She'll invite some of the committee members who'll hear Buckbeak's defense, and I'm sure she'll manipulate them more easily without the two of us underfoot."
"That's surprisingly honest of you. Admitting that you're a nuisance, I mean," Millie quipped. After a month of perfect silence, she began speaking again as if nothing at all was unusual about her behavior. Not wanting to be left out, she had also announced her plans to remain at Hogwarts with the boys.
"And besides," Blaise continued, ignoring Millie's comment, "Christmas at Hogwarts might be interesting! Anything's got to be better than another dull party with my mom's stuffy ministry friends. The Malfoys will be there, of course, and I'll be damned if I have to entertain Draco on Christmas Eve."
Harry stared at him, aghast, "You don't really think she'll invite the Malfoys? They're the ones bringing a suit against Buckbeak!"
Blaise shrugged his shoulders and said, "You know what they say, Harry. Keep your friends close..."
Whether or not the Malfoys would be invited to the Christmas party in Ascending Downs would remain a mystery for the time being. What was certain was that Draco would be returning to his parents' home along with Crabbe and Goyle. Harry was delighted that he and Blaise would have the dorm to themselves. As soon as the rest of the students had left for break, they invited Millie to join them on the boys' side of Slytherin house. She promptly took up residence in Draco's bed, where she prepared for a continuous sleepover for the duration of their holiday.
Most of the student body had gone home, and many of the faculty had left to join family as well. Without classes to attend or students loitering in the halls, Harry had no difficulty sneaking off to the Chamber at every opportunity.
The only impediment was Moaning Myrtle. Harry thought she might say something about their frequent trips in and out of her bathroom, but as it turned out, Blaise merely had to spend a few minutes every day chatting with her to ensure her silence. Blaise complained of having to sit in the girls' bathroom with the ghost while Harry and Millie made their way down to the Chamber ahead of him, but Harry suspected he was growing used to the attention he received from Myrtle.
"It's done nothing to help his ego, which was massive to begin with," Harry joked with Sirius after delivering a fresh pile of baked goods pilfered from the breakfast table one morning.
Sirius, who was starting to look remarkably well for someone living in a secret dungeon, laughed as he stuffed another roll into his mouth.
"Your description of him reminds me of someone..." Sirius said thoughtfully, "Let's see... He was frightfully handsome, devilishly funny, and a favorite of every girl in school... Ah, yes. Now I remember. Me!"
"I knew there was a reason I didn't like you," Millie said, rolling her eyes.
Her sarcastic tone only made Sirius laugh the more, and he kept grinning as he replied, "I wish I could say it's nice to finally hear you speak, but if it's all comments like that, I'd rather you were silent."
"Are you ever going to tell me why you've been so quiet?" Harry asked. He figured that if Sirius brought it up first, it would be safe now to ask.
Millie stared at him like he was the biggest troll on the planet. "Are you serious? You and Blaise thought of it in the first place!"
"I knew it!" exclaimed a voice near the end of the corridor. Blaise had finally concluded his tête-à-tête with Myrtle, and it was his voice that now echoed around the cavernous hall. Harry hissed at him to be quiet, hardly believing anyone would hear his shout this far below the school, but startled by the noise all the same.
"Don't shush me!" Blaise continued, though he lowered his tone this time. He marched toward the reclining trio and stood above them, pointing an accusing finger at Millie, "You've been sucking on mandrake leaf this whole time, haven't you?"
Millie smacked his finger out of her face and smirked up at him, "One whole month. Much longer than either you or Harry. I've already moved on to the next phase."
"You mean you're actually going to do it?" Harry said, impressed with his friend's fortitude.
"Hold on," interrupted Sirius, "Are you three talking about what I think you're talking about?"
He looked to Millie for an explanation, and she smiled, "I hope I won't be a smelly dog like you."
"Brilliant!" Sirius said, clapping his hands together, "And you say you're already on the second phase?"
"I've already charted it out," Millie said, "The next full moon occurs over break. The sky should be clear that night, as well."
"Have you already picked a spot?" Sirius asked quickly, "You know it will all be for nothing if the phial isn't directly under the moon's rays?"
"I thought about that," Millie replied, "And I think it will be safe in Hagrid's cabin. I can leave it in the window, and it won't be disturbed."
"You'll want to be careful about that," Sirius cautioned her, "If the moon's light can reach it there, so can the sun. You'll want to move it out of the way before daybreak, or it could spoil the potion later on."
"Oh, as to that, I'll just borrow Harry's cloak and go out to the cabin while it's still dark."
During this exchange, Harry and Blaise were looking back and forth between Sirius and Millie like spectators at a tennis match. Harry was having a hard time following their conversation. He knew what they were discussing. Millie was trying to become an animagus. But as Harry had never progressed beyond the first step of the ritual, he was bewildered by the details.
"Harry!" Sirius suddenly exclaimed, "What about you? Why aren't you trying to become an animagus like your friend?"
"He did try," Millie said with an uncharacteristic giggle, "But he swallowed the mandrake leaf on the first day."
Sirius looked at Harry with such unfeigned disappointment, that Harry was forced to defend himself by saying, "At least I almost made it through the day! Blaise spit his out after ten minutes!"
"It was longer than that!" Blaise countered, though the argument did little good. Sirius began laughing again at their attempts to vindicate themselves, and resumed questioning Millie about her technique.
"Gathering the dew was difficult for us," Sirius said, referring to the Marauders, "Have you got a place where you can keep it out of the sun?"
"It won't be difficult since our common room is in the dungeon. And if I need to move the cauldron out of sight, I can bring it down here."
"You should!" Sirius said in an encouraging tone, "I can help you with it, if you like. After all, I've done it before. Should be easier a second time!"
It was strange to think that only a few short weeks ago, Harry believed Sirius had broken out of Azkaban to come kill him. Now they saw each other every day, sometimes for hours at a time, and Sirius would tell him stories about his father and the Marauders. Still, there would be times when Harry would come to the Chamber, and Sirius would be leaning against one of the pillars, staring into space and not answering Harry when he called to him several times. It was almost as if he was asleep with his eyes open. Then he would suddenly give a start, shake himself out of his trance, and welcome Harry with a wide smile that did not quite reach his eyes. Harry would often wonder in those moments if Sirius was truly alright after everything he went through. He believed in his innocence, but was it really possible to have stayed in Azakban for so long, and not lose a bit of his sanity?
Harry didn't breathe a word of his reservations to Blaise and Millie, who truly seemed taken with Sirius after their initial distrust, but he worried that their search for the map may come up empty in the end. He believed Sirius when he said he never betrayed Harry's parents, but he admitted that he planned to kill Pettigrew when he went in search of him twelve years ago.
What if he had succeeded? Harry had pictured the scene so many times, he had started to see it in his dreams. Sirius, doggedly stalking Pettigrew. He pictured a boy, short and fat the way Sirius described him. Would he gloat in the role he played in the Potters' deaths? Or had he begged for mercy? And then the blast that followed... The killing spell that could have come from Sirius's wand just as easily as Pettigrew's.
It seemed plausible. Harry had himself experienced what the dementors could do. In the madness of his years in Azkaban, Sirius could have forgotten that he'd already succeeded in his plan to kill Pettigrew, and even now be searching to avenge himself on a man already long dead.
It all came down to the map, and Harry was less afraid that they would never find it, and more concerned for what would happen if it was found, and Peter's name wasn't there.
They needed the map, and soon, but it would have to wait. Fred and George Weasley had left the school with the other students going home for the holidays, and if they had the map, they may have taken it with them. For now, Harry would simply have to keep an eye on Sirius, and hope for the best.
Christmas morning was a welcome distraction from these all-consuming thoughts. Harry awoke to a pile of gifts at the foot of his bed, and Blaise had more of the same by his. Curiously, Millie's gifts were also deposited in a modest pile at the foot of Draco's bed, indicating that whoever was responsible for the delivery of their presents had been aware of her temporary room reassignment. Harry thought vaguely of Father Christmas, but wizards didn't take much stock in muggle traditions like that.
Harry opened the first of his gifts – a bottle of Sleekeazy's Hair Potion – and threw it across the room at Blaise.
"Think you're being funny?" Harry asked him.
Blaise laughed, "I'm only trying to be helpful. You ought to at least try styling your hair once in a while."
"You should keep it, Harry," Millie commented as she opened a gift from Hagrid that turned out to be homemade treacle tart, " Your grandfather invented it, you know."
"I... He... What?"
Millie shook her head, "Fleamont Potter? Sirius mentioned him. Don't you remember?"
Harry dashed across the room to retrieve the bottle, which had landed safely on Blaise's pillow. He was busy inspecting the label for some note that it had been his grandfather's invention as he made his way back toward his bed. Distracted, he hardly noticed when his foot disturbed the pile of gifts still waiting to be opened, and they went sliding to the floor in a jumble.
It was then that he saw a very large gift that had been hiding at the bottom of the stack. It was long, but skinny, and Harry's heart started to beat faster as he instantly recognized it was the exact length of a broomstick.
"Is that what I think it is?" asked Blaise, sitting up as he noticed Harry laying out the box on his bedspread.
Harry shook his head, not wanting to get his hopes up before the package was unwrapped. The paper had a generic, pristine quality that Harry usually associated with his cousin Dudley's gifts when Aunt Petunia had them wrapped at the store. He noted the name of the Quidditch supply store in Hogsmeade, embossed in wax that held a thin bit of twine in place, before tearing the package open. A broomstick rolled out of the box and tumbled into view.
At first, Harry couldn't believe his eyes. Surely this was the same Firebolt he'd seen on display in the window. As he gripped the broomstick firmly in his hand, it trembled slightly, almost like it recognized him as well. He released it, and the boom hovered in the air, at exactly the right height for him to mount.
Blaise dove quickly off his bed and rushed to Harry's side. Millie wasn't far in following his lead, less excited for the broom, but curious all the same.
"That's a Firebolt!" Blaise exclaimed, staring at the brand printed in gold leaf on the handle, "No way, who sent it to you?"
"Well, we know it wasn't Draco," said Harry, as he tried to think of who would most want him to have the new broomstick.
"Check the wrapping," Blaise instructed, "Maybe there's a card."
Harry didn't think he'd seen a card when he opened the package, but then he'd been in such a hurry to open the box he hadn't paid attention to much else. Millie had been shuffling through the loose paper while they spoke. She pulled a small card from the remains of the wrapping and held it up between two of her fingers.
"Found one," she said, then she glanced at the card and made a wry face. Harry didn't understand the expression until she passed the card to him and he read the simple, two-word message:
From Padfoot
"He bought you a Firebolt!" Blaise wailed, slightly vexed, "With what money? The man is dressed in rags, looks like he hasn't had a proper meal in weeks, and was living in the Shrieking Shack!"
"Say it a little louder, will you?" said Harry crossly, "I don't think Dumbledore could hear."
"Not to mention he's a wanted criminal," continued Blaise, "How do you suppose he got the broom in the first place? Walked in and threatened the store clerks till they handed it over?"
"You're just jealous," said Harry, gripping the broomstick in hand once again so he could wave it tauntingly in front of Blaise.
Blaise faked a grab for the broom, but Harry tripped lightly just out of reach, laughing at the look of indignation on his face. He exchanged a smile with Millie as Blaise threw his hands in the air and stalked back to his pile of unopened gifts.
"Well, we can clearly see who's the favorite," he mumbled to himself, "Nevermind that I'm stuck with Myrtle for his sake, or that Millie makes sure to bring him those sweetmeats he likes..."
He continued to grumble as he picked through his gifts. Finding one with a letter attached, he abruptly announced, "It's from Mum."
The letter contained very good news. Mrs. Zabini's annual Christmas Eve party had gone off without a hitch, and she had convinced several members of the Committee for the Disposal of Dangerous Creatures to plead Hagrid's case in the upcoming hearing. Millie was satisfied with this answer, and Blaise was confident in his mother's abilities. Only Harry was less certain. It was a comfort to know they had Mrs. Zabini's support, but he wouldn't feel easy till the trial was over, and he knew Buckbeak was secure.
"Hagrid!" Harry exclaimed suddenly, jolting himself out of this reverie while staring lovingly at the Firebolt. Leaving the broom on his bed, Harry dove toward his trunk and started rifling through his the contents while his friends stared.
"What is it, Harry?" Millie asked, leaning over the edge of his bed, to peer at what he was doing.
"Hagrid gave me an album two Christmases ago. I've got it somewhere... here!" Harry said after shunting several outgrown robes, a locket, and an old shoe out of the way.
The album contained photos of Harry's parents that Hagrid had gathered by asking among the Potters' old friends. Harry spent many an afternoon glancing at the moving photos, trying to learn something of what his parents had been like from the images. He'd never paid much attention to the other people sometimes pictured in the background, but now he tore through the pictures again with eager curiosity.
He finally found the one he was looking for. It was a photo taken of his parents the day of their wedding. His father, with his untidy hair and round glasses, was nearly identical to Harry, while his mother, auburn-red hair and bright green eyes, stood by his side with a beautiful smile. Harry took a closer look at the man at his father's right-hand and made a triumphant sound of recognition.
He was more handsome than he appeared now, with his long hair and dark eyes. But there was no mistaking the laughing face standing next to his father.
"It's Sirius," Harry said, turning the book toward his friends, "That's him, next to my dad. See?"
Blaise and Millie drew closer to get a better look. Millie took the album from Harry's hands as he explained to Blaise how he'd remembered the photo.
"Do you suppose they've got a picture of Pettigrew in there, too?" Blaise asked.
"I dunno," Harry said, "He was a Marauder, so he was their friend, too. I suspect he is in there, somewhere. Maybe we should ask Sirius?"
"Oh, look!" Millie said in a tone of surprise, "Harry, it's Professor Lupin!"
She passed the album back to Harry. She had turned to another page, and was pointing to a picture of Harry's father. Perhaps it had been his mother who had taken the photo, as she wasn't in the picture, but his father was smiling so lovingly that Harry couldn't imagine the photographer being anyone else. Black was in this photo too, though in the background. It seemed to be taken at a dinner party. Sirius was dressed in formal-wear and conversing with a man wearing a loose sweater. The man had fewer scars on his face, and not as much gray in his brown hair, but he was still recognizable. They all seemed so happy in the photo. As Harry watched, the little figures of the professor and Sirius stopped their silent conversation and waved.
He'd had all year to tell Harry about knowing his parents. About knowing Sirius Black. And yet Professor Lupin had told him almost nothing. He'd admitted he was in the same year as Harry's father, but never alluded to how close their friendship really was. Harry knew the truth from Sirius, but hadn't stopped to consider why the Defense Against the Dark Arts teacher was hiding this information from him. He didn't even tell Harry the truth when he'd asked about the black dog. Harry had promised to keep an eye on him during his lessons, but now he looked forward to an earlier opportunity of confronting the professor.
He thought he might get his chance at the Christmas feast. The Great Hall had been fitted up with twelve tall pine trees, their topmost branches stretching toward the vaulted ceiling, which had been enchanted to allow the snow to fall above their heads, melting into nothing long before the snow reached the ground, so that those underneath reaped the benefits of the large, roaring fires in the grates that seemed to appear in the walls overnight.
The meal itself was more fun than he expected. The faculty who remained at Hogwarts were all in attendance, including Hagrid, and as there were so few students remaining over the holiday this year, Headmaster Dumbledore proposed that they all share one table, staff and students alike. Dumbledore entertained them all with festive crackers during as they dined, which were far better than the ones Harry had been used to during Christmas with the Dursleys.
Harry looked up and down the table for Professor Lupin, but was disappointed to see he was the only teacher absent. Even Snape had made an appearance for the feast, and Harry had a hard time keeping his laughter in check when he pulled a particularly ugly hat out of one of the crackers, and looked at it with disgust. Dumbledore cheerfully took it off his hands, and placed it atop his own head. Harry, unable to keep his eyes off the hilarious sight, became drawn into the conversation Dumbledore was having with a first-year boy named Derek. He had asked curiously why Professor Lupin had not joined them. The Defense Against the Dark Arts Professor was as popular among students in the other houses as he had become to Harry. After the stuttering Professor Quirrell, secret Dark Lord puppet, and the marvelously incompetent Gilderoy Lockhart, novelist turned fugitive, the warm and welcoming Professor Lupin was a vast improvement.
"He's taken some time off," Dumbledore said vaguely, though he turned to Snape, seated on his immediate left, who was looking with a sour face at another Christmas cracker that had been shoved into his unwilling hand. "I trust you have made the potion for him again, Severus?"
"Yes." Snape replied tersely. And he left it at that.
Harry thought of the black, foul-smelling potion he'd seen Professor Lupin drink before, and didn't see how it could be helping him feel any better. He turned to ask Blaise's opinion, and saw that Blaise was looking toward Snape with a deeply suspicious air. Harry wanted to ask him if he knew anything about the potion, thinking he was also wary of Snape's motivation for helping Lupin. But at that moment, Noodle, who had been draped around Blaise in imitation of a necktie, lifted her head and demanded attention.
I'm cold, she hissed, loud enough for even Harry to make out over the noisy dinner conversation. I want to go back to the fire.
"Fine," Blaise hissed back, his practice in parseltongue having progressed rapidly over the previous summer, "We'll head back now."
"No parseltongue at the table, boys. If you please," Dumbledore gently chided.
Harry hadn't realized the brief transaction had drawn anyone's attention, but the students of the other houses were looking at them with very uncomfortable glances. Poor Derek had turned so pale he looked like he might faint.
"It's OK, professor," Blaise said, standing from the table, "We were just leaving. Ouroboros seems to have caught a chill. I'd like to get her somewhere warm."
Dumbledore wished them all a pleasant Christmas. Harry, Blaise, and Millie began to take their leave, but not before unobtrusively stuffing their pockets with treats for Sirius.
Harry thought they were being discreet, until Dumbledore called out to them, "Harry! Blaise! Millicent! If you're going to take food back to your rooms, perhaps you'd enjoy a few of the crackers, as well?"
Harry froze, momentarily horrified that they'd been caught out, until the headmasters words had time to sink in. He thanked the headmaster for the suggestion, and willingly loaded his arms with a few of the Christmas crackers. Blaise and Millie did the same, before the three of them scurried out of the hall.
"That was scary," Blaise commented. "You don't think he suspects anything, do you?"
"You mean do I think Dumbledore knows we're hiding a wanted criminal in a hidden chamber under the school?" replied Harry ironically though the thought had also crossed his mind, "No, if Dumbledore really suspected us, do you think he would tell us to take him crackers?"
Once Noodle had been safely deposited in the empty common room, curled up fast asleep next to the fire that was always burning in the grate, Harry and his friends made their way back down the hall toward Moaning Myrtle's bathroom. It was growing late, and there was no telling if some of the teachers were still patrolling the halls after the feast. They took the cloak to be sure.
"Harry!" Sirius said in greeting when they arrived. He lifted his arms and took two steps toward Harry, as if prepared to give him a hug. Harry flinched. He had grown to like Sirius, and trusted in his innocence, but that didn't stop him from shying away from this demonstration of intimacy. They were still too strange to one another.
Sirius, seeing Harry's discomfort, checked his progress and allowed his arms to fall to his sides. "What brings you here? Did you get your Christmas present?" he said, the smile still on his face. If he was hurt by Harry's reaction, he did not show it.
"I did," said Harry, unable to prevent a grin from spreading over his own features, though he felt compelled to say, "You shouldn't have sent it. What if you'd been seen?"
Sirius waved away the concern impatiently, saying only, "I haven't remained free this long by making reckless decisions. You don't have to worry about me. Now, tell me about the broom. Have you had a chance to ride it?"
Harry almost argued with him further. Hadn't confronting Harry in the hospital wing been the most reckless thing Sirius could have done? But the point wasn't worth arguing now, and Harry was delighted to have a chance to talk about his new broomstick.
"How did you know I wanted one?" Harry asked, after explaining that he hadn't had a chance to ride the broom, but planned to take it out the first chance he got.
Sirius laughed, "I saw you making eyes at it outside that shop in Hogsmeade. Your father played Quidditch too, you know. I thought it'd make the perfect gift."
"But I didn't get you anything," he said, feeling guilty the second he admitted the truth.
Sirius merely smiled, "You've already given me a gift by believing me, Harry."
This was almost too embarrassing to bear, and Harry thankfully remembered that he had brought something more than food and crackers for Sirius.
"Here," Harry said, pulling the album out of the bag he'd used to bring their haul of supplies, "I've got something to show you. It was a gift from Hagrid."
Sirius accepted the album. A sad smile overcame his features as he opened to the first page. It was a picture Harry had spent many an hour gazing at whenever he couldn't sleep. It was a simple portrait of his mother and father, laughing together. Sirius continued to turn the pages, until gradually he began to make certain comments.
"I remember this day!" he would say, and at another point, "Merlin, I do miss that bike."
"What bike?" Harry asked. He'd allowed Sirius to peruse the album in his own time, without interruption, while he and his friends got comfortable on the various cushions they'd gradually brought into the Chamber for Sirius' comfort. Something about the tone of Sirius's voice finally compelled him to ask about the pictures. Sirius turned the album to face him, and Harry saw a familiar picture of his dad, who was busy waving a wand over a black motorcycle. As he did, a matching sidecar attached itself to the body of the bike. James Potter looked quite pleased with himself.
"I bought it myself from a muggle," Sirius explained proudly, "But James helped me make a few modifications to it."
"A side car?" Harry asked.
Sirius laughed, "Oh, that was a surprise for my birthday that year. I was referring to... Well, if the ministry knew what we were doing, we'd have been turned over to the Misuse of Muggle Artifacts Office. Lily and Remus joined forces and lectured us both for six hours when they found out, but I got to keep the bike. Never did convince Remus to ride it, though..."
Harry wondered what other stories were behind the many photos he'd spent hours memorizing. There were a few that still mystified him, an only a handful of the photos had anything written on the backs or margins. When Sirius trailed off, thinking about his old motorbike, Harry made free to mention the photo of the wedding party.
"There's a photo of you at my father's wedding," Harry told him. He took the book from Sirius's yielding grip to turn to the right page. "See? You're there."
Sirius nodded, looking down at the page fondly, "I was his Best Man."
"I was wondering..." Harry began, but he faltered. He was going to ask Sirius if Pettigrew were pictured among the other guests, but it didn't seem right to mention him now. Not when Sirius was enjoying the memories these pictures brought him.
"I was wondering why Professor Lupin wasn't there?" he said instead.
"He was. He's the one who took this photo," Sirius explained.
"Why didn't he become an animagus like the rest of you?" Blaise interrupted.
He had been oddly quiet since they'd left the feast. Now it seemed as if he'd been waiting for an opportunity to ask the question that had been on his mind. Sirius said before that Lupin was a Marauder, but never clarified why Lupin hadn't taken on an animal form like the rest of them.
Put on the spot, Sirius looked a bit confused and asked Blaise what he meant.
"Well, it just seems odd. The four of your form this little club, and Lupin is the only one left out?"
"Oh, as to that, he didn't become a Marauder until after we'd all decided to be animagi." Sirius said with ease. Harry got the sense that there was still something he wasn't telling them, and he could tell from the look on Blaise's face that he thought so, too.
Perhaps their conversation would have gone further, had not Millie tapped Harry's shoulder that same moment.
Harry looked at her, and she stared pointedly back at him.
"A rat?" she said in a questioning tone.
Harry had been Millie's friend for two and a half years now. In that time, he had learned many of her quirks. Millie was a girl of few words, but that no longer stopped Harry from understanding her meaning in an instant. He turned to Sirius to ask the question he knew his friend was trying to ask.
"Sirius, you said before that you saw Pettigrew in the paper?"
Sirius had been preparing himself to fend off Blaise's inquisition, and was caught off-guard by Harry's sudden change of subject.
"Yes..." he said slowly.
"Was he a rat at the time?"
"Yes, of course. He couldn't very well show his face when he's supposed to be dead, can he? But there's no way I would mistake him. The number of times I saw him transform..."
"But what about the family?" Harry pressed, "You said you saw him with a boy and his family, right?"
Sirius acknowledged that he had, and Harry looked to Millie with nervous excitement. He felt that they might be getting somewhere. If they could identify the family Pettigrew was hiding among, they may not need to get the Marauder's Map, after all.
Harry asked if Sirius remembered anything about the family in the photo, but Sirius merely shook his head.
"I remembered it saying something about the the children returning to Hogwarts in the Autumn... That the whole family were members of Gryffindor house. Not surprising, even if it was a large family. These things do tend to run in families."
Harry exchanged another look with Millie, then stared at Blaise. He knew what they were all thinking. Traditionally, the familiars of Hogwarts were either an owl, a cat, or a toad. Plenty of students had the first two. Toads were out of fashion, and Harry could think of only one student, Neville Longbottom, who owned one. Exotic pets, like Blaise's snake, were almost unheard of. There was only one student in all of Hogwarts that Harry had seen carrying a rat around in his pocket. A Gryffindor student, from a very large family of redheads...