Bones

Chapter 10

        It looked like the end of Ron and Hermione's friendship. Each was so angry with the other that I couldn't see how they'd ever make up.

        Ron was enraged that Hermione had never taken Crookshanks's attempts to eat Scabbers seriously, hadn't bothered to keep a close enough watch on him, and was still trying to pretend that Crookshanks was innocent by suggesting that Ron look for Scabbers under all the boys' beds. Hermione, meanwhile, maintained fiercely that Ron had no proof that Crookshanks had eaten Scabbers, that the ginger hairs might have been there since Christmas, and that Ron had been prejudiced against her cat ever since Crookshanks had landed on Ron's head in the Magical Menagerie.

        Personally, Harry and I were sure that Crookshanks had eaten Scabbers, and when we tried to point out to Hermione that the evidence all pointed that way, she lost her temper with the both of us too.

        "Okay, side with Ron, I knew you would!" she said shrilly. "First the Firebolt, now Scabbers, everything's my fault, isn't it! Just leave me alone, you two, I've got a lot of work to do!"

        Ron had taken the loss of his rat very hard indeed.

        "Come on, Ron, you were always saying how boring Scabbers was," Fred said bracingly. "And he's been off-color for ages, he was wasting away. It was probably better for him to snuff it quickly -- one swallow -- he probably didn't feel a thing."

        "Fred!" Ginny said indignantly.

        "All he did was eat and sleep, Ron, you said it yourself," George said.

        "He bit Goyle for us once!" Ron said miserably. "Remember, Esme, Harry?"

        "Yeah, that's true," I lied, not remembering that at all.

        "His finest hour," Fred said, unable to keep a straight face. "Let the scar on Goyle's finger stand as a lasting tribute to his memory. Oh, come on, Ron, get yourself down to Hogsmeade and buy a new rat, what's the point of moaning?"

        In a last-ditch attempt to cheer Ron up, Harry persuaded him to come along to the Gryffindor team's final practice before the Ravenclaw match, so that he could have a ride on the Firebolt after they'd finished, inviting me as well. This did seem to take Ron's mind off Scabbers for a moment ("Great! Can I try and shoot a few goals on it?") so we set off for the Quidditch field all together.

        Madam Hooch, who was still overseeing Gryffindor practices to keep an eye on Harry, was just as impressed with the Firebolt as everyone else had been. She took it in her hands before takeoff and gave them the benefit of her professional opinion.

        "Look at the balance on it! If the Nimbus series has a fault, it's a slight list to the tail end -- you often find they develop a drag after a few years. They've updated the handle too, a bit slimmer than the Cleansweeps, reminds me of the old Silver Arrows -- a pity they've stopped making them. I learned to fly on one, and a very fine old broom it was too..."

        She continued in this vein for some time, until Wood said, "Er -- Madam Hooch? Is it okay if Harry has the Firebolt back? We need to practice..."

        "Oh -- right -- here you are, then, Potter," Madam Hooch said. "I'll sit over here with Weasley and Cunnington..."

        The three of us left the field to sit in the stadium, and the Gryffindor team gathered around Wood. Once they finished, Harry mounted his Firebolt, and kicked off from the ground.

        The Firebolt turned with the lightest touch; it sped across the field at such speed that the stadium turned into a green-and-gray blur; Harry turned it so sharply that Alicia Spinnet screamed, then he went into a perfectly controlled dive, brushing the grassy field with his toes before rising thirty, forty, fifty feet into the air again --