Chapter 59: The Firebolt

I woke up on Christmas morning delighted. There were presents piled up for the each of us, ready to be opened. I launched a pillow at Harry's head, waking him up.

"Oy! Presents!" I said.

Harry reached for his glasses and put them on as I started opening mine up. "Another sweater from Mum...maroon again...see if you've got one." I said, looking at the ghastly but wonderfully warm Weasley sweater Mum had made me.

Mum had sent Harry a scarlet sweater with the Gryffindor lion knitted on the front, also a dozen home-baked mince pies, some Christmas cake, and a box of nut brittle. As he moved all these things aside, I looked over and saw a long, thin package lying underneath.

"What's that?" I asked.

"Dunno..."

Harry ripped the parcel open and gasped as a magnificent, gleaming broomstick rolled out onto his bedspread. I dropped his socks and jumped off my bed for a closer look.

"I don't believe it." I said, completely in awe.

It was a Firebolt, a motherfucking Firebolt! Its handle glittered as Harry picked it up. It seemed to shake and he let it go. It hung in midair, unsupported, at exactly the right height for him to mount it. There was a golden registration number at the top of the handle, with perfectly smooth, streamlined birch twigs that made up the tail.

"Who fucking sent it to you?" I said in a hushed, amazed voice.

"Look and see if there's a card," said Harry.

I ripped apart the Firebolt's wrappings, searching for a card

"Nothing! Blimey, who'd spend that much on you?"

"Well," said Harry, looking stunned, "I'm betting it wasn't the Dursleys."

"I bet it was Dumbledore," I said, walking around and around the Firebolt, taking in every glorious inch. "He sent you the Invisibility Cloak anonymously..."

"That was my dad's, though." said Harry. "Dumbledore was just passing it on to me. He wouldn't spend hundreds of Galleons on me. He can't go giving students stuff like this."

"That's why he wouldn't say it was from him!" I said, my hand hovering over it, as if it was fragile. "In case some git like Malfoy said it was favoritism. Bloody fuck, Malfoy! Wait 'til he sees you on this! He'll be sick as a pig! This is an international standard broom, this is!"

"I can't believe this." Harry muttered, running a hand along the Firebolt, while I sank onto Harry's bed, laughing my head off at the thought of Malfoy's stupid face scrunching up at the sight of Harry on his Firebolt. "Who-?"

"I know," I said, gaining control of myself, "I know who it could've been - Lupin!"

"What?" said Harry, laughing. "Lupin? Listen, if he had this much gold, he'd be able to buy himself some new robes."

"Yeah, but he likes you," I pointed out. "And he was away when your Nimbus got smashed, and he might've heard about it and decided to visit Diagon Alley and get this for you!"

"What d'you mean, he was away?" said Harry. "He was ill when I was playing in that match."

"Well, he wasn't in the hospital wing." I said. "I was there, cleaning out the bedpans on that detention from Snape, remember? Wretched experience."

Harry frowned at me. "I can't see Lupin affording something like this."

"What're you two laughing about?"

Hermione had just come in, wearing her dressing gown and carrying Crookshanks, who was looking very grumpy but highly amusing with a string of tinsel tied around his neck.

"Don't bring him in here!" I said, snatching Scabbers from my bed and stowing him in my pajama pocket.

But Hermione wasn't listening. She dropped the demon cat onto Seamus's empty bed and stared, open-mouthed, at the Firebolt.

"Oh, Harry! Who sent you that?"

"No idea." said Harry. "There wasn't a card or anything with it."

Even though Harry and I were ecstatic, Hermione did not appear either excited or intrigued by the news. On the contrary, her face fell, and she bit her lip.

"What's the matter with you?" I asked.

"I don't know," said Hermione slowly, "but it's a bit odd, isn't it? I mean, this is supposed to be quite a good broom, isn't it?"

I sighed exasperatedly. Should have known she wouldn't know how to appreciate the quality of the best damn broom in the bloody universe.

"It's the best broom there is, Hermione," I said.

"So it must've been really expensive..."

"Probably cost more than all the Slytherins' brooms put together." I said happily.

"Well...who'd send Harry something as expensive as that, and not even tell him they'd sent it?" said Hermione.

"Who cares?" I exclaimed impatiently. "Listen, Harry, can I have a go on it? Can I?"

"I don't think anyone should ride that broom just yet!" said Hermione shrilly.

Harry and I gawked at her.

"What d'you think Harry's going to do with it - sweep the floor?" I shouted.

But before Hermione could answer, Crookshanks sprang from Seamus's bed, right at my fucking chest.

"GET - HIM - OUT - OF - HERE!" I bellowed as the menace's claws ripped my pajamas and Scabbers attempted a wild escape over my shoulder. I seized Scabbers by the tail and aimed a misjudged kick at Crookshanks that hit the trunk at the end of Harry's bed, knocking it over onto my foot, causing even more pain.

Crookshanks's fur suddenly stood on end. A shrill, tinny, whistling was filling the room. The Pocket Sneakoscope had become dislodged from Harry's uncle's old socks and was whirling and gleaming on the floor.

"I forgot about that!" Harry said, bending down and picking up the Sneakoscope. "I never wear those socks if I can help it."

The Sneakoscope whirled and whistled in his palm. Crookshanks was hissing and spitting at it.

"You'd better take that cat out of here, Hermione!" I said furiously, sitting on Harry's bed nursing my toe. "Can't you shut that thing up?" I added to Harry as Hermione strode out of the room with her nose turned up like it was all my fucking fault.

Harry stuffed the Sneakoscope back inside the socks and threw it back into his trunk. He looked over at Scabbers with a small look of pity. Scabbers for sure looked completely terrible. Once so fat, was now very skinny, and he had lost patches of fur.

"He's not looking too good, is he?" Harry said.

"It's stress!" I yelled, pointing at the door. "He'd be fine if that big stupid furball left him alone!"

We got dresses in our new jumpers and walked down to the common room. Hermione had surprisingly shut Crookshanks in her dorm, but was furious with me for trying to kick him.

"Well, he shouldn't be trying to kill my rat!" I yelled.

"He's a cat, Ronald. That's what they do!"

"All these bloody rats in this castle and he has to always go for mine? You must be mental if you don't believe he has it out for Scabbers!"

I got tired of arguing and sat down at the chessboard, not wanting to say another word to her.

Harry had given up trying to make us talk to each other and instead devoted himself to examining the Firebolt, which he had brought down to the common room with him. For some reason this seemed to annoy Hermione as well. She didn't say anything, but she kept looking darkly at the broom as though it too had been criticizing her stupid cat.

At lunchtime, we went down to the Great Hall, to find that the House tables had been moved against the walls again, and that a single table, set for twelve, stood in the middle of the room. 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. There were only three other students, two extremely nervous-looking first years and a sullen-faced Slytherin fifth year.

"Merry Christmas!" said Dumbledore as Harry, Hermione, and I approached the table. "As there are so few of us, it seemed foolish to use the House tables...Sit down, sit down!"

We sat down side by side at the end of the table, me sitting on the other side of Harry. I still didn't want to be near her.

"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.

Harry caught my eye and we both grinned, thinking about Neville's boggart. Snape's mouth thinned and he pushed the hat toward Dumbledore, who swapped it for his wizard's hat at once.

"Dig in!" he advised the table, beaming around.

As I was helping myself to some turkey, the doors of the Great Hall opened again. It was Professor Trelawney, gliding toward them as though on wheels. She had on a green sequined dress in honor of the occasion, making her look like some Christmas tree ornament.

"Sibyll, this is a pleasant surprise!" said Dumbledore, standing up.

"I have been crystal gazing, Headmaster." said Professor Trelawney in a 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..."

"Certainly, certainly," said Dumbledore, his eyes twinkling. "Let me draw you up a chair -"

And he did indeed draw a chair in midair with his wand, which revolved for a few seconds before falling with a thud between Professors Snape and McGonagall. Professor Trelawney, however, did not sit down; her enormous eyes had been roving around the table, and she suddenly uttered a kind of 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!"

"We'll risk it, Sibyll," 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, as though expecting a thunderbolt to hit the table. Professor McGonagall poked a large spoon into the nearest tureen.

"Tripe, Sibyll?"

I bit my lip as I held in my laughter.

Professor Trelawney ignored her. Eyes open again, she looked around once more and said, "But where is dear Professor Lupin?"

"I'm afraid the poor fellow is ill again," said Dumbledore, indicating that everybody should start serving themselves. "Most unfortunate that it should happen on Christmas Day."

"But surely you already knew that, Sibyll?" said Professor McGonagall, her eyebrows raised.

Harry buried his face in my arm.

Professor Trelawney gave Professor McGonagall a very cold look.

"Certainly I knew, Minerva," she said quietly. "But one does not parade the fact that one is All-Knowing. I frequently act as though I am not possessed of the Inner Eye, so as not to make others nervous."

"That explains a great deal," said Professor McGonagall tartly.

I quickly stuck food into my mouth. This was the most amusing dinner I had ever had.

"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.

"Good," said Dumbledore. "Then he should be up and about in no time...Derek, have you had any of the chipolatas? They're excellent."

The first-year boy went furiously red on being addressed directly by Dumbledore, and took the platter of sausages with trembling hands.

Professor Trelawney behaved almost normally until the very end of Christmas dinner, two hours later. Full to bursting with Christmas dinner and still wearing their cracker hats, Harry and I got up first from the table and she shrieked loudly.

"My dears! Which of you left his seat first? Which?"

"Dunno." I said, looking uneasily at Harry.

"I doubt it will make much difference," said Professor McGonagall coldly, "unless a mad axe-man is waiting outside the doors to slaughter the first into the Entrance Hall."

I couldn't hold it in any longer, and I laughed loudly. Professor Trelawney looked put out.

"Coming?" Harry said to Hermione.

"No," Hermione muttered. "I want a quick word with Professor McGonagall."

"Probably trying to see if she can take any more classes." I said yawning, as we made our way into the Entrance Hall, which was completely empty of mad axe-men.

When we went though the very drunk knight's open portrait hole, Harry went straight up to the dorm, collected his Firebolt and the Broomstick Servicing Kit Hermione had given him for his birthday, brought them downstairs and tried to find something to do with the Firebolt; however, there were no bent twigs to clip, and the handle was so shiny already it seemed pointless to polish it. He and I simply sat admiring it from every angle, until the portrait hole opened, and Hermione came in, accompanied by Professor McGonagall.

Though Professor McGonagall was Head of Gryffindor House, we had only seen her in the common room once before, and that had been to make a very grave announcement. Harry and I stared at her, both holding the Firebolt. Hermione walked around them, sat down, picked up the nearest book and hid her face behind it.

"So that's it, is it?" said Professor McGonagall 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."

I looked around at Hermione, glaring harshly at her. I should have known. I should have bloody known.

"May I?" said Professor McGonagall, but she didn't wait for an answer before pulling the Firebolt out of our 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." said Harry in almost a whisper.

"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."

"Strip it down?" I repeated as though Professor McGonagall was mad.

"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.

I pushed Hermione's book into her lap.

"What did you go running to McGonagall for?" I yelled down at her.

Hermione threw her book aside as she got up and stared up at me.

"Because I thought, and Professor McGonagall agrees with me, that that broom was probably sent to Harry by Sirius Black!"