Bones

Chapter 9

        Harry was furious with Hermione. He had been the owner of the best broom in the world for a few short hours, and now, because of her interference, he didn't know whether he would ever see it again. Harry and I seemed to be on good terms, though he hadn't talked about our second fight. I thought it better to just leave things as it is. Harry seemed to be distracted by the Firebolt to even think about Black. I wasn't so worried anymore about him going after Black and getting himself killed.

        Ron was furious with Hermione too. As far as he was concerned, the stripping-down of a brand-new Firebolt was nothing less than criminal damage. Hermione, who remained convinced that she had acted for the best, started avoiding the common room. Me, Harry and Ron supposed she had taken refuge in the library (which she was) and the boys didn't try to persuade her to come back. I had became the middle man in the group, staying neutral with the three. I didn't care much for the broom but I understood why Ron and Harry were upset about, I also understood why Hermione told Professor McGonagall about it. All in all, we were glad when the rest of the school returned shortly after New Year, and Gryffindor Tower became crowded and noisy again. Wood sought Harry out on the night before term started.

        "Had a good Christmas?" he said, and then, without waiting for an answer, he sat down, lowered his voice, and said, "I've been, doing some thinking over Christmas, Harry. After last match, you know. If the Dementors come to the next one...I mean...we can't afford you to -- well --"

        Wood broke off, looking awkward.

        "I'm working on it," Harry said quickly. "Professor Lupin said he'd train me to ward off the Dementors. We should be starting this week. He said he'd have time after Christmas."

        "Ah," Wood said, his expression clearing. "Well, in that case -- I really didn't want to lose you as Seeker, Harry. And have you ordered a new broom yet?"

        "No," Harry said.

        "What! You'd better get a move on, you know -- you can't ride that Shooting Star against Ravenclaw!"

        "He got a Firebolt for Christmas," Ron said.

        "A Firebolt? No! Seriously? A -- a real Firebolt?"

        "Don't get excited, Oliver," Harry said gloomily. "I haven't got it anymore. It was confiscated." And he explained all about how the Firebolt was now being checked for jinxes.

        "Jinxed? How could it be jinxed?"

        "Sirius Black," Harry said wearily. "He's supposed to be after me. So McGonagall reckons he might have sent it."

        Waving aside the information that a famous murderer was after his Seeker, Wood said, "But Black couldn't have bought a Firebolt! He's on the run! The whole country's on the lookout for him! How could he just walk into Quality Quidditch Supplies and buy a broomstick?"

        "I know," Harry said, "but McGonagall still wants to strip it down --"

        Wood went pale.

        "I'll go and talk to her, Harry," he promised. "I'll make her see reason...A Firebolt...a real Firebolt, on our team... She wants Gryffindor to win as much as we do...I'll make her see sense. A Firebolt...."

        Classes started again the next day. The last thing anyone felt like doing was spending two hours on the grounds on a raw January morning, but Hagrid had provided a bonfire full of salamanders for our enjoyment, and we spent an unusually good lesson collecting dry wood and leaves to keep the fire blazing while the flame-loving lizards scampered up and down the crumbling, white-hot logs. The first Divination lesson of the new term was much less fun; Professor Trelawney was now teaching us palmistry, and she lost no time in informing Harry that he had the shortest life line she had ever seen.