Disclaimer: Buckbeak the Hippogriff belongs to JK Rowling.
Chapter 11: Burbage
The Firebolt
"Chapter Eleven: The Firebolt," Professor Burbage began, and Hermione turned pink at her memory of how that episode had gone down.
Understandably, Harry did not take the revelations about Sirius Black well, not speaking or acknowledging anyone at dinner, poring over his photo album in the evening, and lying awake through the night imagining the whole sordid tale.
"A hatred such as he had never known before was coursing through Harry like poison. He could see Black laughing at him through the darkness, as though somebody had pasted the picture from the album over his eyes. He watched, as though somebody was playing him a piece of film, Sirius Black blasting Peter Pettigrew (who resembled Neville Longbottom) into a thousand pieces."
Harry winced. "Sorry, Neville," he said. He'd have to talk to Sirius later, too. He'd forgotten the vitriol he'd felt for him back then, the memory washed away by the prospect that he still had family who loved him and might finally take him away from the Dursleys. Hearing his thoughts recited back to him, he sounded downright murderous. He'd hated Sirius. He'd hated that he supposedly wasn't affected by dementors so that Azkaban wasn't a punishment for him. He vividly pictured the whole affair of his betrayal. He wanted to hunt Sirius down and kill him just like Malfoy said, in spite of the advice of everyone he cared about and all good sense.
He'd suddenly understood, as the book said, just why everyone was telling him not to go after Black, and it was clear to the school now why Malfoy had been egging him on. And that he'd nearly succeeded. Ron and Hermione tried to talk Harry down, but he was only snapped out of his plotting for revenge by Hagrid's distress at Buckbeak being taken to court—and that after wanting to interrogate Hagrid for everything he know about the whole thing.
No one said anything now. He didn't think anyone would begrudge him his thoughts of revenge based on what he knew at the time—well, Dumbledore would still disapprove, he was sure. But it was jarring to hear it—his own thoughts read back to him when he now felt the complete opposite.
"I get it, Harry," Neville said, leaning over and whispering to him. I've felt that way about the Lestranges since I was old enough to understand it. And I bet Bellatrix is crazy enough that the dementors don't do much to her."
"I dunno if anyone's that crazy, Nev," Harry said. Fudge had been disturbed by Sirius's sanity in particular. He hadn't mentioned anyone else—although Sirius was the only one at interest at the time. Still, Harry remembered the Penseive memory he'd seen of the Lestranges' trial, how Bellatrix Lestrange had sat in the prisoner's chair like a queen, certain of her superiority and unafraid of the worst place in the wizarding world. What had she been like when Voldemort broke her out of there? Was she as ragged and disturbed as Sirius had been? No one had seen the escapees in the past two months, but that didn't mean much with Voldemort lying low.
"It's different for you, though," he added. "Not saying it wasn't as bad, but…Bellatrix was caught in the act, proudly told everything she did and why she did it in front of everyone. With Sirius—what I thought it was, was betrayal—the way everyone said he did that to his best friends. And once I had time to think it over, I wanted to know why almost as much as I wanted to kill him." He remembered their confrontation that night. "Almost."
Neville sucked in a breath softly. "Yeah, that's gotta suck," he agreed.
Either way, as he had recalled, Harry's rampage of revenge (or at least demanding answers) was only stopped (or put on hold) when he saw Hagrid in actual distress. To his credit, the fire left him pretty much immediately, although part of that may have be the fact that Hagrid had all but fallen on top of him with grief.
"Harry, about to collapse under Hagrid's weight, was rescued by Ron and Hermione, who each seized Hagrid under an arm and heaved him back into the cabin."
"How did you manage that? He's huge!" exclaimed Natalie.
The Trio looked at each other. Hermione looked like she was calculating something and finding it didn't add up. "Er…" Harry said dumbly. "Not as hard as it sounds as long as he's not complete dead weight?" he speculated.
Hagrid revealed that the Committee for the Disposal of Dangerous Creatures (which he already disagreed with on principle) was going to have a hearing on whether to "dispose" of Buckbeak, which Hagrid believed (correctly) that Lucius Malfoy had rigged.
"What did Lucius get out of all that, anyway?" Harry wondered.
Ron just shrugged: "As if those gits need a reason?"
Meanwhile, Hermione hummed to herself. "Moral victory over Hagrid and Dumbledore?" she offered. "Or just indulging Draco in…"
"Being an arse?" said Ron.
"Yes, that."
In the story, meanwhile, the trio were trying to comfort Hagrid and also devise a plan to help with the hearing.
"'Er—shall I make a cup of tea?' said Ron.
"Harry stared at him.
"'It's what my mum does whenever someone's upset,' Ron muttered, shrugging."
"That really was very sensitive of you, Ron," Hermione told him at the Gryffindor Table.
"Always the tone of surprise," he replied.
"'I've not bin meself lately,' said Hagrid, stroking Fang with one hand and mopping his face with the other. 'Worried abou' Buckbeak, an' no one likin' me classes—'
"'We do like them!' lied Hermione at once."
Hermione turned beet red. Looking up at the High Table, Hagrid was, if anything, even redder. And Harry was swiftly turning a similar colour. He hadn't realised all their complaints would be read out here.
"'Yeah, they're great!' said Ron, crossing his fingers under the table. 'Er—how are the flobberworms?'
"'Dead,' said Hagrid gloomily. 'Too much lettuce.'"
"Wait, I thought they were supposed to eat lettuce," said Parvati.
"I'm pretty sure you can overfeed them just like you can a fish," Hermione told her.
At the High Table, they were having a similar conversation. "Well, that is…definitely an indicator problems," said Professor Grubbly-Plank.
"Hagrid is usually very good with animals," Professor Sprout told her. "He must have been more out of it than we thought."
"Hm, I suppose it could be a resource problem," Grubbly-Plank said. "Hagrid did you have enough Flobberworms for all of your classes separately?"
"Er, well, no. I s'pose I didn't," Hagrid admitted.
"There's your problem: having every class feed them for practice, but they were the same worms every time."
However, the conversation in the book quickly turned from classes to Hagrid's time in Azkaban, and how much he was affected by the dementors after having been there.
"'Yeh've no idea,' said Hagrid quietly. 'Never bin anywhere like it. Thought I was goin' mad. Kep' goin' over horrible stuff in me mind…the day I got expelled from Hogwarts…day me dad died…day I had ter let Norbert go…'"
"Okay…not sure about his priorities," Neville muttered.
"Yeh can' really remember who yeh are after a while. An' yeh can' see the point o' livin' at all. I used ter hope I'd jus' die in me sleep—oh, Merlin, this is wrong," Professor Burbage stopped, unable to keep reading. "I am so sorry, Hagrid. And what was that, a month?"
"I…I think I lost track in the first week, meself," Hagrid said quietly.
"Three weeks," came the slightly hollow voice of Professor Vector, and everyone looked at her. "It was three weeks—from the eighth of May to the early morning of the thirtieth."
Was it that short? Harry wondered. That time while Hermione was petrified had felt like forever, but it was after Easter; he remembered that much. And by a couple weeks, at least, since they'd had Quidditch practice. That didn't leave much time in between since the year had also ended early with no exams.
"Merlin's pants," Hermione hissed, quickly scratching out notes with her quill. "Only three weeks did that to him? And Sturgis Podmore got six months for trying to break into a secure area? We have got to do something about Azkaban."
"Uh, Hermione?" Ron said nervously. "Can we fight one war at a time, please? And maybe leave the massive political crusades until we're out of school?"
"I mean it Ron," she said, shooting him a fierce look. "The way they treat even the most minor prisoners in Azkaban compared with the muggle world is—" She stopped writing and looked up for a moment. "I think that might meet the legal definition of torture in the muggle world. I'd have to ask my parents."
Dean's eyebrows shot up. "You're not gonna tell them, are you?" he demanded.
"Well…" She bit her lip. "Not right away. I guess that can wait until after the war."
Ron looked at Harry: "This is gonna be SPEW again, isn't it? Mind, I can see the point a lot better than SPEW."
Hermione glared at him, but said nothing.
With a perhaps questionably effective plan in place to help Buckbeak, the story proceeded onward to Christmas, when Harry was unaccountably sent a Firebolt as a present. Most of the school knew at least part of this story, but Harry noticed one thing that he'd forgotten. Hermione had tried to tell him immediately not to ride the broom because it looked suspicious, but she was interrupted by Crookshanks's antics. If she'd had time to finish telling him then, before he'd got too worked up about it, the might have had an easier time of it that Christmas. Maybe.
"How did Sirius get the money for a Firebolt?" Hermione asked at the Gryffindor Table.
"Owl order, remember?" said Harry. "He said at the end of the year it was a gift for me, but only gave his Gringotts vault number, not his name."
"But surely the goblins would have noticed the vault belonged to a fugitive. And they must have had some way of verifying his identity. Otherwise, anyone could just give any vault number."
"Well, he told us he used my name and his vault, didn't he? I guess maybe I have legal access to his vault since he's my godfather."
"What, so they thought it was you making a purchase for yourself?"
"Yeah, and if it weren't, I could've just sent it back."
Hermione didn't look like she believed that, but Harry thought it was as good an explanation as any.
In the book, Scabbers still was not doing well from all the stress. In fact, even by human standards, Wormtail looked like he was being run into an early grave, though Harry had been sure at the time that it was old age.
"And despite Ron's frequent complaints that Scabbers was both boring and useless, he was sure Ron would be very miserable if Scabbers died."
Ron shuddered and made a slight gagging sound. "I still feel dirty thinking about that."
"To be honest, carrying your rat in your pocket everywhere is a little weird even if he were a real rat," Fred pointed out. "You were really attached to him."
"No!" Ron snapped reflexively, but it was hard to deny. "I mean. It wasn't about Scabbers so much. It's just…well, when you don't have that much, especially when it comes to pets…"
"I have heard that pet rats need a lot of socialisation," Hermione admitted. Several people looked at her. "Some muggles keep them, too," she added.
However, the Hermione in the book didn't follow up on her concerns about the Firebolt as Harry and Ron continued examining it in the Common Room, which quashed Harry's earlier thoughts about the situation.
"Why didn't you say anything then?" he asked her.
Hermione stared at him uncomfortably, trying to process her own thoughts. "I…didn't think you'd listen to me," she said.
"Sure sounds like you wanted to tell us," Ron pointed out.
"Well, as long as you didn't try to ride it…"
Naturally, they didn't try to ride the broom in the book because they were indoors, and they eventually pulled themselves away to go to lunch. Although Hogwarts had set its usual Christmas feast, the effect of the dementors was so severe that the castle was almost entirely empty—far more so than even the previous year when the Heir of Slytherin was on the loose. There were only six students in the entire school—at least those who came down for lunch—three of whom were Harry, Ron, and Hermione, so Dumbledore had brought the staff who were still there down from the High Table to sit with the students—the only time he had done that in Harry's time at Hogwarts—with the arguable exception of the Yule Ball.
Dumbledore also somehow managed to get a hat with a stuffed vulture on it out of a Christmas Cracker and perched it on his own head, much to Snape's consternation.
"Are you sure he didn't set that up?" asked Fred.
"Sounds like a great prank on Snape. Wish we could've seen it," George agreed.
Professor Trelawney also made a rare appearance at lunch, but she was reluctant to join them.
"'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!'"
"Where did she get that, anyway?" asked Ron.
"Biblical tradition, of course," said Lavender, and her house-mates turned to her in surprise. "What? Judas was the first to rise from the Last Supper, and he hanged himself a few hours later. That's basic omen-reading. Haven't you been paying attention in class?"
McGonagall managed to convince Trelawney to stay, but she couldn't help needling her over her divination skills.
"'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."
That got snickers from the Great Hall, and Hermione shot Lavender a sceptical look.
Ultimately, Ron and Harry rose first from the table at the same time, to Trelawney's alarm, but her "prediction" was soon forgotten as Hermione brought McGonagall up to Gryffindor Tower to confiscate the Firebolt on the grounds that it was probably sent by Sirius Black. (Which…was entirely correct.)
"'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—'"
That caused uproar from a number of Quidditch fans around the Great Hall who hadn't heard that detail at the time.
"Strip it down?!" Tonks said, outraged. "Is that even allowed?"
Even Percy agreed: "It does sound like it would void the warranty."
"I don't see how you could strip down a thousand-galleon broom without breaking it!" said Tonks. "I mean, no offence, Professor Flitwick, but I'm sure the Firebolt has loads of proprietary spells on it that even you wouldn't know about. What if Harry had crashed because you broke the Unbreakable Braking Charm?"
Professor Flitwick knew enough about charms and countercharm that he at least had the sense not to make the obvious retort.
"Did you at least have someone from the company come to take a look at it," Kingsley asked.
McGonagall hesitated, but shook her head. "We…didn't, Kingsley, I'm afraid. There was no Firebolt reported stolen, and if the company had sent it willingly on Black's behalf, from what we knew at the time, they might have been in on it."
"If you couldn't trust them, you might have involved the Aurors, Minerva," he told her. "And you still should have called the company after your own checks came back clean. In fact, you should probably call them now, even if Mr. Potter has been flying it safely for the past two years."
Harry's eyes widened with horror, and the rest of the Quidditch term turned to stare at him. Of all the bad things he thought might come of this book reading, this was the last one he'd expected. They were going to take his broom to check it again? It was working fine!
Angelina's gaze was the harshest. "Harry, you had better not lose your broom again right after you got back on the team," she warned him.
"Hey, I didn't know that would happen!" he protested. "I dunno what they did to check it, but it's never had a problem."
"You really should, Harry," Hermione said, ignoring the annoyed stares being directed her way for her actions in the book. "I mean to say, if it were a car…well, a car you want to have someone look over once a year regardless…And from what I've seen of the school brooms they should do those too if they aren't already."
It was clear the argument wasn't going to be resolved anytime soon. Luckily, that was the last chapter for the day. McGonagall rose from her seat and addressed the Hall: "Thank you all again for your patience. That was very…illuminating, and I believe we have much to discuss, so we are finished with the reading for the day. We will reconvene as usual tomorrow morning."
Under her breath, she muttered, "Only two more days of this."
"It can't have really been Sirius Black who sent the Firebolt, can it?" Seamus asked Harry as they filed out of the Great Hall. "I mean, we know your broom wasn't jinxed."
"It was him," Harry groaned. "I've been saying he's innocent from the start. Just listen to the rest of the book. They'll explain it."