Hippogriffs and Hypocrites
Gryffindor Common Room, December Nineteenth
"But what should we do?"
"Been up there for hours, maybe he caught a cold wandering in the snow with no cloak. Did Emmy check?"
"Emmy checked."
"He must feel awful. Did he say anything before bed?"
"He was dead asleep when I came upstairs."
"You are sure? It would be like him to stew over something like this."
"It's nearly noon, I should go wake him –"
"No, let him sleep. He'll be less likely to do something stupid if he's well rested."
"How would we stop him if he did, we have no idea –"
"What else can we do?"
"What else can he do?"
Ron and Hermione spoke quietly while pretending to eat chocolate frogs, do homework and play chess. Every so often one would cast a glance up the ominously vacant left side staircase. By now the knights and pawns had long since beaten each other to pulp while Jezibell observed in an arm chair by the fireplace and finished Two A.M., book eight of the Time After Time series. Jezibell was going to have to order the next installment as the Hogwarts library stock had a gap between eight and thirteen.
She at least got things done that morning. Earlier, after a deserted breakfast, Jezibell stopped by the owlery to order her Christmas presents for the trio. Then she went back to the common room to finish some holiday homework and sent Emmy on half hour trips to the boy's dormitory to insure Harry was still breathing. She considered having the cat swipe the yet unseen Map of Mysteries for curiosity's sake, but thought better of it. Hermione would see and disapprove and Ron would argue and Jezibell really didn't want to deal with them. Not without Harry there. She took a walk to the library at ten to look up the little known second meaning of the number twenty two for Hermione's Arithmancy and checked out the eighth book as an afterthought.
Now she waited with Ron and Hermione. Waited and played with the feathered tassel on a black velvet bookmark with green and red weaving and golden bells embroidery. Seasonally appropriate, it was something Dobby sent as a Christmas present her first year away. Despite serving a firmly pagan household, the elf had a secret fascination with the holiday that Jezibell shared. She ruffled the partridge plumage then smoothed and ruffled, smoothed again but slightly off and crumpled. Emmy yawned on the opposite side of the hearth from Crookshanks. He cringed, and Emmy arched her eyespots at Jezibell.
"You're worried," She flicked her tongue.
Jezibell rolled her eyes and smoothed out the feathers, "Not."
Emmy narrowed an eye and scratched an ear. "Right," She switched scratching to the carpet, twitching an ear toward the left stairs, "You sorry?"
"No," Jezibell rubbed her head wearily and jerked it at the most awkward chess game ever played, "They're job."
"You will be," Emmy laid her head knowingly on her paws and rattled her tail with a sudden sh-h-h-h-h-h. That was the signal.
"Guys," Jezibell spoke in English, flicking the bells so they ding-dong danced. Ron and Hermione flinched. "He's awake."
Harry came down the steps one at a time, massaging under his glasses to remove sleep from his eyes and decently dressed in seasonally appropriate clothes. A good sign of mental stability. The three hadn't been able to talk to him about what they had heard in Hogsmeade at the crowded dinner table last night, and he went to bed quickly after that. He didn't appear to have made the most of the extra hours. There were hollow sags under his eyes that weighed his thin face down and his hair was even more disheveled than usual. A less definitive disturbance was the hard look to him, mainly about the eyes which were intensely bright despite having just gotten up. If Jezibell saw a person wearing the same look on the street, she'd start to back away slowly.
"Where is everyone?" He asked, eyes darting around the room as through expecting missing persons to jump out of a corner.
Ron informed him it was the first day of winter break and Harry sank into the chair next to Jezibell, turned pointedly away from her. Something was up. She tried to make eye contact with Ron and Hermione who could see his face, but they were too busy watching Harry.
"You don't look to well," Hermione scrutinized.
"I'm fine," he clipped.
"Not even in your dreams," said Emmy derisively. His fist clenched.
Jezibell hissed a quick "You be quiet."
Ron and Hermione glanced at each other. Time to catch the curse.
"Harry, listen, you must really be upset about what we heard yesterday, but the thing is you mustn't do anything stupid," Hermione leaned towards him in earnest.
"Like what?" As if he didn't know. As if he hadn't been mulling the news over in his head all night long, leaking a stench of anger and sadness on an empty stomach Emmy claimed she smelled/tasted (There was a word for the senses combined in parseltongue didn't translate directly to English) during her checkups.
"Like trying to go after Black," Ron barked more forcibly than Hermione. It was a Good Obliviator-Bad Obliviator routine. That made Jezibell the security guard.
"You won't, will you Harry?" Hermione wheedled.
"Because Black's not worth dying for," Ron concluded.
Harry's shoulders tensed, "Do you know what I hear and see every time a dementor comes near me?"
His question felt dangerously out of the blue, putting all three interrogators on edge.
"I hear my mum screaming and pleading with Voldemort," his voice escalated, cracking at 'mum', "And if you heard your mum screaming like that, just about to be killed, you wouldn't forget in a hurry. If you found out someone who was her friend betrayed her and sent Voldemort after her - !"
"The dementors will catch Black," Hermione protested, "He'll go back to Azkaban, and - and serve him right."
Harry scowled, "It doesn't matter to him. You heard Fudge; it doesn't affect him it does for like normal people. It isn't punishment for him like it is to others."
"So, what are you saying?" asked Ron nervously, "You want to kill Black –"
"ENOUGH!"
Security breach. They all turned startled to Jezibell, who was on her feet, unable to stand the exchange any longer.
"Stop beating around the main issue like idiots," She spoke at normal conversation level having gotten their attention, "You sneak out and find Sirius. He finds you more like, but whichever. What now?"
She achieved her intended effect. Harry looked a trifle shaken confronted by the possibility.
"Something, I'd –"
"You'd what? Levitate bricks on his head?"
"If he hasn't got a wand –"
"You don't know that, and even if you caught him stark naked it wouldn't matter. You're a third year sweating over his Charms practical. You don't know a thing about killing. "
"Right, I don't know a stinking thing and you know all there is to it."
That made no sense. What, did he think she murdered someone? "To what?"
"Don't act stupid," Harry balled his fists, "You knew. All along you knew how he betrayed them and you never thought to mention it to me!"
"Where –?"
"Draco, your brother, let slip in potions," he took an aggressive step forward, "He said if it was him he'd hunt Black down himself, he'd want revenge. Not something you can just forget about. So why did you? Why did you keep me in the dark for three months?"
"You told us you knew everything," Jezibell spoke in cool nonchalance to counter his fury. Over his shoulder Ron and Hermione wore similar expressions of shock at the outburst. She couldn't expect support from them, "You told me you knew and were fine with it, and I didn't think to press it."
"Ha," He gave a short sarcastic laugh to her face, the type that sounded painful, "You think that I'd be able to live with that if I knew? That I could skip along with my days while the person who betrayed and murdered my parents ran free. Don't you know me at all?"
They were toe to toe now, glowering green on grey. No, apparently she didn't know him, Harry Potter, The Boy Who Only Cares When It's About Him. She stepped backwards towards the portrait hole, letting the silence speak for itself. It opened a cavern between them into which their mutual respect plummeted.
"Sirius Black killed thirteen muggles and a wizard in one blow," she said after a moment, "What he did to you changes nothing. Your parents are just two more names on the list. Try not to be a third."
She snatched her winter cloak and scarf from where they were drying by the fire, pushed the portrait frame open and stormed out.
Listening to her boots clomp echo through the empty corridors and still having plenty of glares left, Jezibell considered where exactly she was storming off to. Someplace she could be without human company but still have a sufficient distraction. Something to give the evil eye to. Her feet showed her the way, making a beeline for Hagrid's hut.
Snow was still falling and Jezibell blazed through an average of two feet per step, no heat charms necessary. When she reached the house, which was growing a neat dome of snow and icicles, she waded around the back, circling the place to see if the hippogriffs were in the corral. They weren't, the place was empty but for soft drifts of irritatingly peaceful piling snow. Now what?
Jezibell vehemently kicked a fallen icicle at the house. At the tinkling sound, a deep welling groan came from the dark hut. She shifted the icicle back to where it had been with her boot, before logic caught up with her actions and she went over to inspect a dark window. She peered through the frosted glass, but achieved only foggy shadows for her curiosity. Putting her ear to the glass was more profitable, for frostbite and information. The groaning was distinguishable as sobs. "I'm sorry, Beaky…Beaky… Had so much to live for… ohhh…"
Two and two make hippogriff trial. Hagrid must have gotten the condemning letter from the ministry. Or Beaky died a poisoned ferret and Hagrid now got a reply saying he was off the hook. The latter would be unlikely, but Jezibell didn't put it past possible. She returned to the front, to return to the castle and let Hagrid drown his sorrow and the hut in peace when she saw three figures shuffling down her trench.
"I'm here to ask Hagrid about why my parents died, not to talk to you," groused Harry when Jezibell met them on the makeshift path. She pulled the scarf off her mouth and blew a puff of fog at him.
"Melodrama later. There's a bigger problem."
He rubbed fog off his glasses while Ron and Hermione behind him looked at her hopefully. Anything to keep Harry from going off the deep end with a deadly vendetta.
"Yeah, and do you feel like telling us what those are?" He demanded, once done window cleaning.
Jezibell didn't speak as a loud blubbering like a dying elephant sounded from the hut behind them.
"Oh no," Hermione understood instantly. She was quicker than Ron.
"Is that Hagrid?" Ron's face was flushed with cold and worry, "What's wrong with him? What's happened?"
"Did you tell him I figured it out about Black?" Harry second guessed, "That I know he was in on it too?"
"Oh, never mind that now!" Hermione interrupted, pale and annoyed, "He got the letter."
The hut was a mess, but that was expected. There was fresh spillage of something that smelled stronger than Butterbeer on the floor. The sofa was nearly folded in half and stuffing fluffing out into the sticky liquid, an accidental sponge. Buckbeak himself sat in the corner gnawing on a bloody fur wad. The spools of unicorn hair and other ends of odds Hagrid collected from his trips to the forest , usually in a personal order in nooks and shelves around the hut, sported frazzled neglect. Food cupboards swung open and vacant on their hinges. The flobberworms that were the subject of Care of Magical Creatures classes and methods of wandless torture nowhere to be found. It was nothing compared to Hagrid.
Hagrid let them see the letter after nearly breaking Harry's neck in a hug. It was brief and fairly to the point. Hagrid wasn't sacked but his hippogriff had an axe over its feathered head. There would be a trial in April to tie up any loose ends and give Hagrid a chance to have his weeping done. All very tidy and business; dear Mr. Hagrid, board of governors sign here, upholding the official complaint of Mr. Lucius Malfoy, your bird makes doorknobs look lively – etc. The sofa shuddered out its innards as Hagrid explained how Dumbledore couldn't help him with the case; he was on his own. Hermione comforted dutifully and Harry restrained himself from bringing up Sirius. Good boy. Ron made tea.
Jezibell did what she could by appearing in agreement to the trio's words of kindness and sipping her tea (which wasn't half bad, if a bit sweet for her taste). She could already hear the funeral march. No way could Hagrid alone win a court case against her Father. Even if Father wasn't bribing the judge, blackmailing the school board and sucking up with huge donations to Saint Mungo's, he could still have Hagrid beat all on his own with none of the top notch lawyers he was sure to hire. A far safer bet would be disguising Buckbeak as a dementor and smuggling him out of Hogwarts to live in the Bahamas. She choked when Harry suggested the former.
"Of course we'll help you, I'm sure we can win this case, even without Dumbledore, if we try. I know we'll all help."
"Yeah, Hagrid," concurred Ron, "We'll do all we can. You ok with the tea, Jez?"
"I can start gathering research from the library," offered Hermione, "the Disposal Committee won't know what hit them. Here, Jezibell, take a napkin."
Hagrid smiled through his beard and tears and the trio looked to Jezibell, expecting her support. Well, not so much with Harry. He still housed plenty of contempt and doubt for her. But he really believed they could win. She wiped her mouth and bit her burnt tongue.
"Can't wait to start."
Ronald Weasley
It would be easy. The trio had done loads madder stuff before, even in first year they combed through the library to find out about Nicholas Flamel. Of course turned out Harry cracked the code from the back of a Albus Dumbledore chocolate frog card, a fact Ron was proud to remind Hermione time to time, but that's not the point. Point was they knew the Hogwarts library. Hermione lived for researching, homeworking and whatever else she did in it (Ron didn't believe anyone possibly could have that much homework) and he and Harry went there too when pressed. And this round they had an extra pair of eyes. Jez wasn't the bookworm Hermione was, but she seemed clever enough in her own way. How hard could looking up dead Hippogriffs be?
"I never thought of research as back breaking work," Ron commented as the four returned to Gryffindor tower, balancing huge volumes on Hippogriff history and manticore mauling in their arms. They unloaded onto a side table in the common room.
Hermione picked the topmost one, "We should simply read through the whole list, top to bottom, and take notes on anything useful. That way we can gather an optimum amount of information."
"You're mad if you think I'm going to read all of this –"
"Can we just get started?" asked Harry, roughly grabbing a brown volume about hippogriff breeding rights. The man was still on the Sirius Black thing, but one of the upsides to Hagrid's case is it would give him something else to think about besides revenge for his family. There is really no way to put that so it doesn't sound sad and melodramatic.
Ron shrugged and took a slimmer blue one. Skimming, that's what he would do. The title read Beastes to be Condemnede. He opened it and scanned the introduction. Though hard to tell as it was written in ye olde indescipherableth English, the author seemed to have a very bad attitude toward "interesting" creatures. She said it was "Thy duty doth magick masters to slaughteth thy beaste, daemon moste wikked". Ron wondered how it even wound up in their pile seeing the title.
"Ok, which one of you checked this rubbish out? I know we're doing a thorough search, but I doubt we'll find anything helpful in a book that wants to start chopping animal heads the sooner the better."
He pushed the book to the end of the table and Jez pushed it back.
"Keep it," she said, "The opposition will be quoting from something like. Know the enemy."
"Thought we had you for that," Harry wasted a glare on Jez as she kept her eyes on the text. They hadn't exactly made a proper apology, and Ron couldn't blame him much for still being angry. True, he needed some sense slapped into him after considering going to find Black, but Jez had kicked him in the gut by saying his parents were just another casualty. Harry snorted, "So what are you so focused on, then?"
As Harry pointed it out, Ron looked over and saw Jez had already copied down half a page of notes from a large binder. He shifted over to see the cover and made out Wizengamot Records 1950 – 1990.
"Wow, you've done a lot," Hermione craned her neck to looking over at her notes, "What do the names and dates mean?"
Jez swiftly shifted the parchment aside, "Means you're doing this wrong. Research is useless if you can't put it into note cards and defensive statements that the jury will buy."
"Well, that doesn't sound so hard," Ron didn't see why she was making it out to be so difficult, "all we do is write what we learn from these books about Hippogriffs and their rights and say it was all Malfoy's fault."
"Exactly," agreed Hermione, "There are laws against persecuting an animal if it was knowingly provoked. I looked it up when Hagrid first said there might a hearing. We witnessed it; we can surely prove that much. We'll show the Wizengamot we're right."
"Right isn't enough," said Jez, "We're minors; we can't leave the school without special permission and Ron's the only one who might be able to get that in time. Hagrid will be alone with his papers, our papers, with the lawyers who are paid to know every trick in the book. Think of as a game of chess," She slid a glance at Ron, "But instead, we have to guess at everything the prosecution will try."
Ron thought about the comparison. In chess, it's part of the strategy to have a ready plot for how you expected your opponent to react to your moves. You couldn't really play the game proper otherwise. There are loads of different combinations that you string together, depending on what the other player did, and hoped he didn't catch you at it. But having to play a game where you had to guess everything would be mental. You can't do it, unless you're Dumbledore or someone.
"All right, what do you want us to do then?" Harry asked, "You make winning sound impossible."
"Not impossible, but we need to hold nothing in reserve if we aim to win. We're up against adults, so we need to think like adults and when adults enter a court room all bets are off. And Harry's right; that's what you've got me for."
After that, Jez was given charge of the Buckbeak project. Ron didn't mind, it was clear she knew what she was talking about and they hadn't a clue. She divided them into sections of the case; Harry dug in the library archives for more information keeping him busy, Hermione organized this information into papers and general notes and Jezibell wrote Hagrid's note cards against her dad based on them. Ron's job was to feed these cards Hagrid and saw firsthand their cunning. They were very short and simple, when Hagrid read them he sounded smart but he also sounded like him. They were stern, shaming Wizengamot for condemning an innocent animal while playing on the jury's emotion by going on about his fuzzy wuzzy friend and all the great times they'd had. A those bits, Jezibell instructed Hagrid to adlib, make it real, while having him sneak little fraises from magical creature activists in there. According to Jezibell, there was trouble going on at the ministry about werewolf rights, a law or something was passed that attracted backlash. Odds were on someone in court would be sympathetic to this larger issue. Jezibell planned to tie it in to Buckbeak's persecution by snowballing Hagrid's small case in to something large, nasty and political. Brilliant stuff, explained loads about the Malfoys too. If Jez got all she knew about law and disorder from her dad, no wonder Lucius Malfoy won all his cases.
"I don't see why you can't just post your dad and explain the whole thing," He asked her after reporting how Hagrid was coming along after a few days. "I know he's evil and all with suspending Dumbledore and everything, but he'd listen to family, right?"
"He's not my dad," Jez corrected while cross-referencing a couple of books about hippogriffs and training, "He's my father."
"Ok, so don't ask him. I was only wondering since you said we shouldn't hold stuff in reserve."
She refilled her quill and Ron leaned on a nearby shelf, uncomfortably waiting out the silence for the next set of notes. He caught himself absentmindedly leafing through one of the doorstops Jez had put aside and hastily set it back down.
"It's not going to be enough," she muttered to herself.
"You're out of ink?"
Her eyes cut a vicious look through the bangs that said moron.
"You mean the case. Right. I wouldn't worry about it. I mean you should worry about Buckbeak, but don't think we're doomed. Did you get word back from the Prophet about making the article?"
She nodded, "A rejection."
"Well, you said it yourself. It's going to be hard, but not impossible."
"I lied. Of course it's impossible. My father is popular in the ministry for his pocketbook. The Prophet rejected my scoop because he is paying them to keep quiet. Without a ministry backer, we are mute."
"You've got money."
"It's not my money."
"Harry's does too."
"Not enough."
"You don't even –"
"I do."
"I could post my dad if it would help," Ron felt he should pat himself on the back for coming up with the idea, "He works in the Misuse of Muggle Artifacts Office, practically invented most of the job. I'm sure he'd want to help Hagrid."
"Don't," She spread the notes out on the table. She had said it helped her see how they would be ordered for the interrogation, "Publicity is one thing. If this turns into Weasley vs. Malfoy your father could lose his job."
She didn't need to tell him how deep and wide a problem that would be.
"If you don't think we can do this, why try so hard? Don't pretend you're not. Even while we're talking right now you're working like a house elf on probation. Seems a load of effort for something you don't believe in."
"It's not me, it's Harry. Since the project started he hasn't spoken about Sirius."
"So this whole case, for you, is just an elaborate scheme to keep Harry safe? That's… nice, in a weird way. That you'd go through all this for a friend. But what happens if you're right and Hagrid loses the case with Buckbeak in the end. He'll be even angrier than before."
"Not at me."
That kind of killed the heartwarming factor. Hermione came over then, taking the conversation by force with several large rolls of parchment in battalion.
"Jezibell, while I was working on the essay, I also wrote down everything Hagrid has to say to your father. It's all right here," she held out her work earnestly, "It starts with a summary of our side of the case, then quotes Hippogriff Training For Dummies here, to show how you're never supposed to insult one. In the next paragraph, he'll tell them how their point of view is flawed with a reference to this essay here and –"
"Read it," Jez interrupted, shuffling through her cards.
"'Mr. Malfoy, I am afraid this case has been called on a very grave misunderstanding. You accuse an animal of hostilely attacking your son without considering why this may have occurred. Animals do not behave irrationally, there is a process of cause and effect; in this case your son was the cause. Do not presume that at the beginning of the lesson that I neglected to explain –
"Stop."
"Thank you," said Ron, "I was getting a headache. Honestly, you think I'm going to get Hagrid to repeat all that waffle?"
"It's not waffle, I wrote it exactly how you're supposed to write an essay – it had a good introduction and a thesis, which you didn't even let me get to. Why'd you stop me after five seconds?"
Jezibell tapped a book with her wand, sending it back to its shelf, "That's how much time my father is going to give Hagrid before he interrupts. Anything beyond is moot."
"So I did all this work and you just throw it away for the sake of brevity?"
"No. Hagrid will still need a defensive statement separate from the oral testimony. Shouldn't be hard to convert, it has to be long enough so the judges won't bother reading it and assume accuracy." Jez handed the fresh stack of notes to Ron and left the library without further ado.
"I don't believe her!" Hermione huffed, "She refuses to even consider my input."
"How dare she?" Ron rolled his eyes while checking the new notes. These ones had to do with flipping the case around and focusing it on Draco Malfoy's problems with following directions, "Not wanting to listen to that novel of joy. Hagrid's supposed to have notecards Hermione, not the works of Shakespeare. Jez was handling it fine, why'd you have go and to stick your nose in?"
"I wasn't sticking my nose, I was trying to help. Frankly she could use it; this case is becoming much too personal for her."
Ron snorted a laugh, "You're joking, right? Jez doesn't care about anything enough for it to be personal."
"Really, Ron, don't you pay attention at all? She volunteered to head a case against her father. How can it be but personal?"
Ron thought about what Jez had just told him; about doing all the work to get Harry off her back. Being Jez, it made sense.
"I dunno, maybe you're reading to deep, Hermione. Jez seems the type to have her own agenda with this sort of thing."
"That's exactly what I'm saying. She's making the whole case revolve around evening the score with her father. I'll bet she has a complex over him, probably to do with why she lies so much."
"She lies because she spent a year where her only friend was a cat. I know what this is really for. You're trying to make this all about you. You always have to be the one who does everything, don't you? Just come out and say it, you want Hagrid to read your essay."
"That's not the point!" She spluttered, "All I'm saying is Jezibell should be open to advice and not make Hagrid's case all about her."
"This is just like the Trelawney thing, isn't it? You can't stand admitting someone might be more experienced at something than you are!"
"Ugh!" Hermione set down the parchment in her hands so she could throw them up in frustration before gathering the essay up again, "I don't know why I even bother telling you these things!"
She stalked out of the library with unraveling parchment brushing her knees and leaving Ron behind her. He didn't know either.
Outside the Land of Cobwebs, Christmas had been brewing in the castle for days now. Orders for presents were taken out. Ron was eighty five percent sure Harry was getting him a Chudley Cannons themed card pack. He spent some time figuring out what he was getting for people too. Ginny wanted a Holly Head Harpies poster and he saw an advert in the Prophet. Fred and George were getting cockroach clusters along with Hippogriff Tracks fudge as false peace offering (it had truffles that disguised themselves quite cleverly as chocolate chips. The twins hated truffles) Percy and Charley liked their licorice, the more bitter and rubbery the better. Bill was being sent a pair of very cool and weirdly cheap sunglasses that literally showed fire in your eyes. Mum needed a new apron and Dad new gloves, so Ron took a used pair and sewed "World's Best Mum/Dad" on them (Hagrid was teaching him how to do it manually after the notecard sessions at it was actually pretty fun) Harry and Hermione were easy; books and Quidditch things. As for Jez, who knew what she liked. Ron had exhausted his Father Christmas budget already and what do you buy for someone who probably already has three of it? He'd ask Hagrid sometime. If the big guy could find the right gift for Dumbledore he should have an idea.
The rest of Hogwarts was at its usual maximum Christmas cheer capacity. The house elves had to be working overtime to make such hearty and delicacies in the days leading up. Coming down to a breakfast of hot cinnamon buns on Christmas Eve, Ron could smell the feast of yet to come and a sticky sweet bun. He inhaled two and encouraged Harry to join him for a third.
"Cheer up already, mate," He nudged Harry who was flipping morosely through the racing broom catalog Wood had given him, "It's Christmas Eve! Who knows? You might get a broomstick tomorrow with the rest of the haul. And if you don't, at least you'll have the benefits of good nutrition."
"Nutrition?" scoffed Hermione, who was stroking Ole' Squashnose in her lap. They and Jez were the population of the Gryffindor table, save a couple of second year girls Ron didn't know. Hermione said it was because most people wanted out of the castle incase Sirius Black tried to get in again, but Ron didn't see the trouble. Hogwarts was the safest place save Gringotts, according to Hagrid and he should know. The attack on the Fat Lady was fluke and it failed, Black didn't even get in the dormitory and security was upped since then.
"Why, of course. Cinnamon buns deliver the perfect quotient of all major food groups for healthy Quidditch players. You've got your bread, your nuts, your icing, your cinnamon sugar and marmalade, if you want it." He demonstrated, holding the pastry up and pointing to each component in turn. Hermione rolled her eyes at him and scooped a dollop of marmalade for her toast. Her cat filched a bit a sausage from a nearby platter. He brushed the plate of cinnamon buns with his tail, giving them a glaze of orange hair.
"Does he have to be at the table?" Ron ripped out the outer ring of his bun.
"Yes, yes he does." Hermione scratched behind the ginger tom's ears smugly. Scabbers was up in the dormitory, but the cat still bugged Ron. He could've sworn the beast smirked at him, "Emmy's always at meals, why not Crookshanky?"
"Emmy isn't exactly what you'd call a normal cat. No offense," he added for Jez's benefit. A sudden strangled hooting noise came from above them and Ron looked up in time to see two post owls collide midflight.
"In coming!" Harry lifted the broom catalog over his head as a quick method for shelter from the feathers and ice raining down. Ron hastened to protect the cinnamon buns, sliding his napkin over the plate, making a little tent. One of the owls was knocked out by the crash and with a weak hoot echoing kamikaze fighters before him, Errol dive-bombed the breakfast table.
"Why is it always my porridge?"
Ron put his elbows back on the table carefully, feeling the gross squish of warm porridge that sprayed everywhere when Errol hit Jez's bowl. Good thing he did, really, least he was still alive. Or could be. Jez didn't pay the owl much mind as she extracted the small envelope from her breakfast, examined it, and held it out to Ron, dripping with oat paste and non-amusement. He took it from her gingerly, and made to slit it open.
"Let's hope this is good," Hermione was having difficulty siphoning the sticky porridge out of her curly hair. The cat had fled, having been given the same treatment. Ron was sure to give the mistress the smuggest smile in his arsenal.
The cause for the madness was the Weasley Christmas card, fittingly enough. When Ron opened it up, the paper did a polka-waltz across the table, belting out in the voices of Mum and Dad "O Joy Come to You". A heavenly host of stick angels tooting what could be horns or bananas twirled in the air and red and green confetti mixed with the porridge and everyone's hair. The paper ended with a "Merry Christmas, from the Weasley home, and have a happy new year!" and folded itself smartly in the palm of Ron's hand.
"Your parents are such nice people," Hermione popped her toast crust in her mouth, "It's really good of them to send homemade cards around. My parents always use store bought, but I think it's much more personal and special if you make it yourself. I'm going to need shower. How do you eat this stuff every day, Jezibell? Will he be alright?"
She poked the feathery lump in Jez's bowl. Errol stirred briefly, opening his orange eyes enough so they knew he was more of less ok, before collapsing back in the oat dregs. Jez pushed the dish aside with the tips of her fingers as Hermione left. Harry nodded and turned back to his manual, this time minus the moody scowl. Jez continued to stare at Ron. At it.
"It's the family Christmas card," he told her a bit defensively, handing it to her, "have a look. Mum sends one around to everyone we know about this time. My delivery must be one of the later ones. That's why Errol's so tired."
Not just because he's pathetic, and my family's too cheap to get a new owl. She opened it, receiving an extra toss of confetti in the face, some of it sticking to the oatmeal on her hair and nose.
"How do you make one?" she asked without looking up.
"You get a sheet of paper, draw some Christmas stuff, and use an animation charm, put in a recording and few handfuls of confetti. Blimey, haven't you seen a Christmas card before?"
She nodded, "Worked in a factory for them."
She gave him back the card.
Later on his way to the library (This hippogriff business had him sounding just like Hermione), Ron passed her at the chess table in the common room working on something. He thought it was for the case until he heard Jez mumbling "Anima papyrus" while tapping a piece of regular paper, not parchment. He went to look over her shoulder and saw she was making a card of her own. It wasn't a bad job, though Jez wasn't much of an artist. She'd drawn an evergreen of scribbles on the cover and multicolored circular shapes she was making to dance around it and had two squares in blue and orange with gold crisscrosses over them at its base. The blue one said 'To Father' the orange one 'And Mother'. She then opened it up and started on the inside. She printed a deliberated 'Happy Holidays' as he watched and added a shaggy wreath with some spiky boughs of holly and more ornaments.
"Are you going to add a song?" Ron asked without thinking.
"Can't sing," She told him in her low monotone. It was likely the most truthful thing he'd heard from her.
"Good call. Maybe you should order something for them, say a pair of earrings for your mum."
"My mother has five hundred and sixty eight pairs of earrings for every day of the year and for each of her ball gowns," Jez dotted dull red berries and Ron felt his face mimic the color, "I'll stick with the card."
Jez paused a moment then, holding her quill aloft a spot in the bottom right corner where you put your name. She seemed unsure what came next.
"You're supposed to say you love them and it's from you," Ron hinted to her a bit sarcastically and a drop of ink stained the paper. She took a down stroke from the glob and wrote in rapid cursive that was nearly illegible, especially with a lot of smeared ink at the start. Jez blew on the card, helping her sentiment of Christmas cheer dry and passed it over her shoulder to Ron in the indifferent way you do papers to someone behind you in class. He took it, flipping front to back quickly. He stopped at the ending cursive, unable to tell if it said 'From Jezibell' or 'Love, Jezibell'. Guessing the former, he asked, "Do you want to put in "And Ron Weasley" too?"
"It's to surprise, not give heart attacks."
Ron could see her smirking slightly as though she liked the sound of it. The heart attacks part. Ron set the card up on the table and they looked at it a second longer together. Then Jez snatched it up and into her pocket. She left the common room, probably for the owlery. From Jezibell or Love, Jezibell. He assumed her parents would know.
Girls' Dormitory, December Twenty-fifth
Jezibell woke to screaming.
It came from the wall to her right, high pitched and far, far happier than any sane creature should be at the hour. She rolled over and buried her head in a pillow, folding it hallway on her ear to smother the unholy noise into giggles and occasional squeals. But no, peace could not be sustained for long and the curtains were thrown open, javelining light unto the dark sanctuary..
"– stop the sleeping act, you don't fool anyone. There are presents for you too, you know. I think there's one even for Emmy. "
Jezibell raised her face to glare at the bushy head of Hermione through gummed eyes. The head grinned.
"I knew you could do it," The smiling head nodded and withdrew. Picking and rubbing out rough sleep, Jezibell reluctantly sat up as Emmy plunked her watch on her lap. 6:18. Bless us everyone. She emerged from the four-poster to find a collection of presents under the evergreen in the corner.
"Here's one for you from Ron and Hagrid. Catch," Hermione tossed a small shapeless bundle in purple dragon wrapping paper with a card attached. The card simply stated "From Ron and Hagrid" so Jezibell looked to Emmy for a better informant.
"Wool," She hissed after a sniff, "probably clothing. Weak magic, likely a weaving charm. Safe to open."
So the givers went the homemade route. Good for them. Jezibell tore open the package and saw a couple items. A rich indigo scarf with cat silhouettes patterned squarely with gray beads at the ends was on top. Jezibell took a moment to feel the soft wool, before focusing on the second more intriguing item. A bookmark, tightly woven though bit off kilter in places, but altogether not half bad a job. Like the scarf, it was personalized with black and indigo pattern, though some red in it too, and a vague central image of a black cat with gray beads on the tail. The screaming started up again. It was coming from behind a wall on Jezibell's side where the second year dormitory was.
"I can't believe got them for me! I love you! You're the best friend ever!"
"I got the right color, Liz? I could return it if you think it's off –"
"Noooo, don't you dare! It's perfect!"
"Noooo, what you got for me is perfect! I was looking everywhere for it!"
"Jezibell, thanks for the supplies – they're exactly what I needed," Hermione came over to Jezibell's bed leaving the baggy orange sweater she had been holding up to herself under the tree, "So what did they get you? Wow, that's a beautiful scarf, Hagrid must have knitted it. It's a hobby of his. And what's this from Ron – a bookmark? You collect them, don't you? And it looks homemade. That's… that's nice of him."
She shut up then, for a moment at least, before returning to her sweater and telling Jezibell that there were some other presents for her if she wanted to see. Jezibell folded the scarf and bookmark up in the wrapping paper and shoved it under her pillow.
Her other presents were few, but not in all a disappointment. From Harry there were books nine through twelve in the Time and After Time series and Hermione a self-help novel on communication and relationships with family and friends. Well, Jezibell did get her quills. There was an extra smaller package that went ignored until all else had been cleared through. Hermione rediscovered it when searching for extra paper scraps to dispose of.
"This is the one for Emmy," she passed it to Jezibell, "I don't see a card."
Having more than enough experience last year to be suspicious towards unmarked items of charity, Jezibell held out the item to Emmy for the sniff test.
"It's sealed. No taste. I say we let fuzz bucket bat it around first."
"Hermione, where did you say Crookshanks was?"
"Crookshanky?" She looked around herself, expecting to see him there, "I don't know. He may have gotten out when they brought the presents in."
Brought the presents in? Hermione may be a muggleborn, but surely she knew about –
"Well, help me find him," Hermione insisted impatiently, getting down on her knees to check under the bed. This lead to a search of the dormitory where it was quickly founded that the large ginger tom was not present, leading to a search of the common room below, leading to the conclusion that Crookshanks was likely in boys dormitory.
"Oh dear," Hermione looked up the staircase reluctantly, "He must've gone after Scabbers again."
"But you think Crookshanks is innocent as pumpkin pie," Jezibell called Hermione's stance on the undead hatchet she and Ron regularly sparred with.
"Yes, but Ron won't think so. Oh, come on, we may as well go see them anyhow."
"We can do that?" Jezibell crossed her arms self-consciously and Emmy stuttered a chuckle. There was no pretending she was at ease with going up there in just her Stonehenge tee-shirt and shorts during a red week.
"Of course we can, it's only the girls' the founders blocked," Hermione started up the stairs. Jezibell and Emmy followed. At the third year door they found Crookshanks mewling and pawing like it would help him spontaneously evolve thumbs. Jezibell picked up Emmy to take her out of the equation. Hermione cuddled the tom as a large stuffed animal and opened the door. The boys' dormitory was a bit larger than the girls', accommodating an additional bed, but just as empty. The guys were on the floor by the bedside Jezibell knew to be Harry's beneath the disaster zone of wrapping paper and Christmas cheer. Their backs were to the door, crowding around something unseen. When Hermione began her "Happy Christmas", Ron spotted them and he jumped up with a cry.
"Jez, you're brilliant! I can't believe you actually managed to get it, had to cost a fortune. Then again you do have a fortune, don't you? Whatever. It's bloody beyond brilliant! Don't ever mind spending money on us again."
Jezibell took an alarmed step back and Emmy rattled her tail, "Didn't know you were that big a fan of Marvin Miggs."
"Good one, Jez," Ron chortled, "But seriously, when do I get a turn to ride it?"
"Ride what?" demanded Hermione, setting down Crookshanks on a neighboring four poster and moving toward what Harry was still examining.
"Oi, don't bring him in here!" Ron patted the quivering lump in his chest pocket nervously. Jezibell and Emmy exchanged a glance and she considered giving him advice on hiding his rat in a place people outside the blind and deaf would have trouble finding.
Hermione wasn't paying him attention, and then neither was Jezibell. Both gaped at the what Ron was referring to.
The Firebolt, perfect pristine picturesque as in Diagon Ally, floated two feet in the air shimmering like a mirage. It was Harry's. Jezibell could tell by the way he stared at it in disarmed disbelief, his hands quivering slightly around where it hovered as if when he touched it would turn to dust. She could see his amazed ownership as clearly as though printed on an overhead projector.
"His," Emmy whispered.
Ron was still talking, "It's made from the most aerodynamic birch, every twig has a flying charm on it, can go from zero to a hundred and fifty in less than ten seconds, the best of the best and an international standard, I can't believe you -"
"Don't," Jezibell cut him off, "I didn't buy that broom."
They all looked at her, even Harry.
"Oh," Ron walked back around to the Firebolt and glanced rapidly from it to her, "You didn't? I mean, are you sure?"
"I would know if I ordered a Firebolt."
"This is ridiculous," sighed Hermione, "Wasn't there a card that said –"
"It's not marked," Harry handed her the long rectangular box without taking his eyes off the broom. He had the oddest look to him after hearing it hadn't been Jezibell, almost relieved. Hermione took a moment to examine the package, her eyes wide and worried. Jezibell deposited Emmy on the floor so she could take a sniff too.
"If we take Jezibell's word that she didn't give it to you, then who did?"
Harry juggled his shoulders, "We don't know. Before we thought of Jez we figured it might be McGonagall or Dumbledore. Or Lupin, maybe. But they can't just be giving stuff to students like this, not so expensive. Ron thought Jez might've cause, well, he thought she was –"
"The obvious suspect," Jezibell crossed her arms again. She understood why they thought it was her. She had the money, was a wild card when it came to presents and Harry probably hadn't seen the socks yet.
"Yeah, that," Harry turned back to the broom. Emmy appeared very interested in the box, sniffling all over the inside of it and pawing the wrapping paper.
"So who, then?" Hermione bit her lip nervously, asking more herself than them.
"Who cares?" Ron went back to raving, "After the noon feast, we take it out for a test ride, and then can I have a go on it, Harry? Can I?"
"I don't think anyone should be riding it just yet!" Hermione interrupted, quite panicked.
"What do you think Harry's going to do with it? Sweep the floor?"
Retrospectively, would have been nice for Hermione to have dealt with the issue then and there. It may have saved a lot of mess, tears and missed homework later. But this remains unknown as Crookshanks then, with his usual sense of theatrical timing, attacked Ron.
"Get him OUT OF HERE!"
Ron twisted around madly to brush off the huge cat attached to his pajama front. This move didn't prove very profitable for Crookshanks in achieving his goal. In one particularly wild swing, Scabbers flew out of the chest pocket, over the shoulder and straight at Jezibell. Reflexively, she caught the rat head-up. The once obese animal had no fat on him at all, the body felt little more than a fuzzy sack of bones. There was disarmingly human emotion on the whiskered face. Help me.
Scabbers wouldn't be the only one needing help in a moment. Before Crookshanks's eyes could find his query, Jezibell quickly tossed Scabbers in Harry's direction who promptly chucked the rat at Emmy. The hybrid coiled protectively around the rodent, fangs barred and claws unsheathed.
During this lightning round of hot potato, Ron continued his herky jerky battle with Crookshanks. He tripped over Harry's propped up trunk, spilling himself and a pocket sneak-o-scope on the floor. Crookshanks squirmed from under Ron and into Hermione's arms, spitting at the unleashed whistling gold top. Emmy's tail shook like a maraca and she seemed hypnotized by its movement.
Ron pushed himself up and ordered Hermione to put the monster out. Harry gathered up his sneak-o-scope, Emmy loosened up and matters returned to a manageable level of sanity. Jezibell silently helped him repack the other items, wondering what the dark detector was chipping its paint over. The times she'd seen it, on the Hogwarts express and now, it was with just their little quartet and the thing consistently went berserk. Ron said it was cheap quality, but that would mean the charm was dull and reacted only to large problems in close proximity. So what or who was the problem?
Hermione left the boys' dormitory with Crookshanks after Ron's insistence, indignant in stride, but the worry mark still present. Jezibell lingered in the doorway. Stay or follow?
"Scabbers, where's Scabbers?" Ron remembered what he endured frontal assault for.
"Emmy", said Jezibell and Harry, one as a command, the other an explanation. Emmy obliged to reveal the rat lying limp against her stomach. She nudged him forward to Ron with her blunt nose.
"He fainted, wretched bit of lint."
Ron cradled his rat tenderly, smoothing what fur was left and confirming his relative health.
"Doesn't look too good, does he?" Harry looked up from setting his trunk back up, distasted at the rat's shriveled frame.
"It's stress that's doing it to him. If Hermione would just keep that stupid furball under control, he'd be fine," Ron reached over to Emmy as if to pat her on the head, but caught himself halfway, "Eh, erm thanks, Emmy."
Emmy winked at him and hunkered down on her haunches, settling for a nap. Harry cracked a smile. Stay.
Hermione didn't return to the boys' dormitory, and Jezibell spent the morning there. She watched Ron and Harry drool over the Firebolt and open their other presents. Alright, some of the drool might have been hers too. The guys both had several wooly clothes from Ron's mother (knitting must run in the family) and books on Quidditch from Hermione. Ron three times as many presents than Harry, but nobody commented on it. They seemed to like Jezibell's. Ron thanked her for the Marvin Miggs comics at any rate, and Harry did the treacle. The socks were a tougher sell.
When Harry opened the pack, Ron laughed, "And I thought you got him a Firebolt."
Harry grinned and put a two on, exchanging fresh set for the huge crud brown pair he had been wearing, "Comfy. How'd you know my size?"
"Lucky guess," Jezibell shrugged.
"Sure, it's not like you went through my drawers or anything." He said dubiously and Ron guffawed. Apparently he'd been told about last year.
"Put a sock in it," She indicated the six remaining pairs.
"Why don't you take out yours," Ron said, "Who gave you that?"
He pointed at little paw print box that she'd been fiddling with.
"It's Emmy's," Jezibell showed them the label, "Neither of you did?"
"No," Harry denied.
Ron looked a little guilty, "Sorry, we hadn't thought of her as wanting anything. So is that from Hermione?"
Jezibell shook her head, "Doesn't say who."
"Open it then, go on. What's the worst it can be?" Ron paused, realizing the asinine implications of what he said, "Oh, go on. Harry got one unsigned and it turned out to be a Firebolt."
Fair point. She opened it. The contents were a white cylindrical container, similar to the type used for paprika and spices, with little holes on the ends that were too small for the contents to poke through.
"Nepeta cataria: catnip" Jezibell read from the side label, before making the vast mistake of holding it out to Emmy.
"!" The hybrid's usual sophistication broke into incoherent yowls of kitty delight. She pounced, batting the canister around the tree. She frolicked and played and meowed.Ron and Harry doubled over at the same time. They clutched their sides to hold the laughter in, their faces rebelling against grins. Someone really should tell them it was alright before they gave themselves internal bleeding. Emmy looked up at them with glazed eyes and twitching paws, sucking blissed on her present. Murrow. Jezibell laughed, long hard and real.
She returned to the girl's dormitory not long after. It had undergone a cleaning in her absence; the waste basket was enjoying a feast of wrapping paper. Neither Hermione nor her pet was to be found. Jezibell changed into the regular jumper and robes for the noon feast, remembering to bring spare pads.
It was dinner and a show, thanks to the arrival of resident seer Sybil Trelawney. The elusive oracle was quite the act. Her first trick was to predict the death of the first person to rise from table once she sat down. This appeared to be disproven when it was pointed that Jezibell made the head count fourteen, not thirteen. The seer then made a gesture – either to fold her arms dramatically or straighten her glasses – dislodging her card pack and sending the Hanged Man fluttering face-up squarely on Jezibell's plate. This revelation caused a new round of hysterics which took several shufflings of tarot cards to settle.
Lupin was absent. Again. Dumbledore claimed he was under the weather and mentioned Snape making a potion for him. Jezibell wasn't satisfied. It's not common for a wizard to be sick every few weeks. The seasonal flu is one thing and granted, Lupin wasn't the pinnacle of good health, but so consistently was decidedly odd. Maybe even suspicious. The feast was well done as last year's and even less populated. Jezibell persuaded Emmy minus the catnip to join them with the promise of turkey neck. She was grumpy about it, but lightened up when receiving the live mice from a cracker Hermione and Jezibell pulled. Christmas Dinner lasted a couple hours and Emmy was asleep by the end of it, recovering from her catnip high. Harry and Ron stood up first, ready to return to the Firebolt.
"Coming?" Harry asked Hermione.
"No, I want a quick word with professor McGonagall first," She said it while looking down at her barely touched pie, avoiding their eyes and Jezibell supposed it had to do with the Time-Turner.
"Jez?"
She looked from Hermione to them, debating. Stay or follow?
Hermione Granger
Jezibell stood up too after a brief pause. Hermione felt a bit uncomfortable with all of them leaving despite that being what she wanted. Professor Trelawney gave a sudden yelp when she saw the three vacating the table. The woman leaned towards them, stretching out a shaking hand dramatically and dipping her sleeve in the pudding. Really, how did anyone take her seriously?
"This could be the greatest mistake of your life!" Her voice trembled and she pointed at Jezibell, "The cards - think of the cards! My dear, are you sure you want to go?"
"Exponentially," Jezibell said, looking quite bored with the display. Of course, she never appeared to take pleasure in anything, but Hermione was glad somebody was able to tell that phony off. Sybil Trelawney may be a professor but she certainly didn't act like it. The three left the hall together, likely to go back up to the boys dormitory to look at the Firebolt. Hermione needed to act quickly.
"Professor, there's something I need to tell you and do hear me out."
Professor McGonagall gave her full attention. Hermione shrunk in her seat a bit under the sharp eyes but she took pride that the deputy Headmistress would believe her more willingly than a less reliable student.
"Is this to do with your schedule, Miss Granger?" The professor straightened her glasses, "I daresay you might be over your head at this point."
"Oh, no, not at all," Hermione said in defense. She wasn't over her head. Her marks were perfect, exemplary. Except for that one homework assignment for ancient runes she mistranslated a letter, but she'd been working double time to make up for it since. Professor McGonagall should know Hermione was capable, she chose her alone for the Time-Turner after all, "No, Professor, it's about Harry, actually. You see, for Christmas he got a new broom – a Firebolt."
"A Firebolt. That's excellent, Granger; he'll be ready to play for Gryffindor then. Quite excellent, I'd like to thank personally whoever indulged in their pocket to send him a Firebolt."
"That's the problem, Professor, the package wasn't labeled. We don't know who it came from."
"I see. So Potter has secret admirer. You don't think Miss Malfoy –?"
"No, we asked Jezibell and she said she hadn't. Granted she isn't the most reliable, but I doubt she would have that kind of money on her person," Hermione took a deep breath, "Professor, I have reason to believe that the broomstick is jinxed and was sent by Sirius Black. I know I might be jumping to conclusions, but you did say that any suspicions should be taken directly to you."
"I did indeed say that, and you did very well by coming to me, Miss Granger," McGonagall said after a pensive pause and Hermione's confidence swelled, "Tell me, has Potter ridden on his new broom yet?"
"No, he and Ron looked it over, but they haven't actually gotten on it as of now."
"I see," She repeated, her mouth tightening, "I'll have to take a look at this Firebolt."
She stood up, righted her hat with dignity and made for the corridor. Hermione, reminding herself again that they'd thank her for this later, followed. The walk to Gryffindor Tower seemed longer than usual. Hermione realized this was mostly because Professor McGonagall didn't use the shortcuts Harry found with his invisibility cloak, but might also be because Hermione was working herself into a little ball of nervous tension. Stop. It won't be terrible. Relax. Professor McGonagall might take one look at the broom and deem it entirely secure. Or maybe Harry rode it already and it was fine. Or maybe Harry rode it already and it was right now attempting to strangle him.
"Scurvy cur."
The substitute portrait, Sir Cadogan, who had indulged in some Christmas mead during the feast swung open, "Enter, noble queen!"
Harry, Ron and Jezibell were in the common room with the Firebolt and Broomstick Servicing Kit out. Even Hermione could tell the latter was utterly pointless as the broom couldn't be more new and the sand paper and twig clippers had indeed been abandoned on the floor. They didn't seem to be in any immediate danger, though should really be more careful about where they set those sharp clippers.
The three started when she and Professor McGonagall came in, and Hermione found she wasn't able to quite meet their eyes. She spotted a book on a chair in the corner and made for it around the Firebolt setup, keeping her eyes forward. She sat down, opening the book to conceal her face.
"So, that's it, is it?" She heard Professor McGonagall say followed by footsteps, "Miss Granger just informed me you have been sent a broomstick, Potter."
Hermione didn't lower the book, but she intuitively felt their eyes on her. Upon closer observation, the book in question was one of Jezibell's magic fictions, though she couldn't read the title as it was also upside down. Hermione face went warm in realizing her mistake. If they hadn't known something was up, they were sure to now. Professor McGonagall then requested to see the Firebolt and Harry handed over it without fuss. She took her time examining. Hermione peeked above the edge of the eggplant binding and could see the deputy headmistress was doing a very thorough search for any obvious enchantments. Jezibell skewered her gaze in a moment's observation and Hermione promptly lifted the book again. She wanted to flip it right side, but didn't wish to draw attention.
"And there was no note at all, Potter" queried the Professor, "No card, no message of any kind?"
"No."
"I see…"
Hermione hoped Ron and Harry would. She gripped the book more tightly for the moment of truth.
"I'm afraid I will have to take this, Potter."
"What?" Harry stammered, "Why?
Professor McGonagall explained it had to be checked for jinxes and it would need to be stripped down to do so properly. Ron and Harry both protested, even as she explained the only way for them to tell would be to fly it. Out of the question. The Professor exited the common room, taking the Firebolt and leaving silence. Hermione waited at baited breath for one of them to speak.
"Please give back my book."
Hermione lowered the magic fiction reluctantly and Ron exploded.
"WHAT DID YOU GO RUNNING TO MCGONAGALL FOR?"
She tossed it aside, not caring for mistreatment of a fantasy novel, and rose.
"Because I thought, and Professor McGonagall agrees with me – that that broom was probably sent to Harry by Sirius Black!"
They quieted and Hermione's ears rung with the abruptness. Harry's mouth fell open and Jezibell quickly looked to him and back again.
"Have you gone completely mental?" Ron put a figure to his temple and made a face, "Black is criminal being hounded by the dementors and you think he can just walk into Quidditch Quality supplies to place an order?"
"You don't know what he's capable of. He could have stolen it, or disguised himself or made a copy," In all honesty, Hermione knew that how Black could have access to a Firebolt was a flaw to her theory. But that didn't matter. Professor McGonagall agreed it was a risk. Hermione knew she was right.
Harry folded his arms and glared too, "Well, you could have told us what you thought before you went running to –"
"Stop calling it that!" Hermione was betrayed. She was sure that Ron would be beyond reason, but Harry usually agreed with her, "I did not 'go running' I just had suspicion and the more I thought about it the more it made sense. Since he already failed at direct attack, Black's next best move would be the roundabout method. You're lucky I acted quickly, if I'm right and you had ridden that broom you could've been killed."
"It was a good broom, Hermione, there was nothing life threatening about it. I could tell."
"Yeah," Ron chimed, "You don't know about Quidditch and brooms, how would you tell if it there was something wrong."
"By riding on it, I suppose," Hermione adopted heavy sarcasm, "Because clearly there is nothing wrong with it until it starts doing the twist midflight!"
This argument went on, Ron becoming increasingly bombastic and Harry kept shaking his head, his voice quivering in frustration. Hermione knew she was losing ground, losing them. They couldn't see that she only cared for Harry's safety and if Ron just stopped to think instead of being so stupid and careless over a stupid broom that didn't matter how good it was if it could have been sent by Black and Professor McGonagall agreed and how would they possible know if Black had done anything to it or not and they weren't listening to her. Why wouldn't they listen?
Hermione felt herself coming to tears, and she hurried to the dormitory to discover Jezibell already there reading her magic fiction. Hermione supposed that in the heat of argument, neither she nor the boys noticed Jezibell take her novel and retreat. Jezibell ignored Hermione as she went to bed, but Hermione knew the reclusive girl was paying attention. She always paid attention and people always did to her. She never felt frustrated or confused. She was completely collected in every way all the time. Hermione pulled the curtains on her four-poster closed and had her cry quietly as she could.