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┄┄ .•* 𝐂𝐇𝐀𝐏𝐓𝐄𝐑 𝟏𝟎 *•. ┄┄

𝒎𝒆𝒓𝒓𝒚 𝒄𝒉𝒓𝒊𝒔𝒕𝒎𝒂𝒔, 𝒚𝒂 𝒇𝒊𝒍𝒕𝒉𝒚 𝒂𝒏𝒊𝒎𝒂𝒍!

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Hermione ate dinner with a frown plastered on her face. Harry was pretty much numb and she was worried about that too. But she was more worried about the fact that Sirius pretty much lost everybody, including his own family, and apart from being stuck in Azkaban for twelve years, wrongly accused from a murder he didn't commit, Harry, the last bit of family he had, believed him to be a murderer who betrayed his parents.

When they returned to the common room that night, it was to find that Fred and George had set off half a dozen Dungbombs in a fit of end-of-term high spirits. Hermione watched as Harry went up to the dorm soon followed by Ron and she sat down on a sofa looking at the fire; like she did when she had a lot on her mind.

"Existential crisis, again?" a voice asked beside her and she smiled as she saw Fred sitting down next to her.

"Just thinking. It's frustrating how people can be so bloody fucking ignorant sometimes," Hermione said bluntly and Fred chuckled.

"What do you mean, Granger?" He asked and Hermione put on a thoughtful expression before shifting on the couch so she was facing him properly.

"Would you think I'm mad if I thought Black was innocent?" She asked him and he frowned.

"You think he's innocent?" He asked baffled.

"Right, then. Just forget it. . . ." She sighed.

Of course, he would think she was mad. He didn't know what she knew. To him and apparently everybody on the face of the planet, Sirius was just a mass murderer that escaped.

"No, I won't," said Fred scoffing, "You can't just tell me a mass murderer is innocent and not elaborate Granger."

Hermione eyed him for a few moments, and when his gaze on her didn't waver she continued.

"Well, think about it," Hermione began, "Black was caught by a fragile guy in the middle of a war. Then he didn't even get a trial. They could have at least checked the last spell on his wand or something. Or try Veritaserum. And how come the only piece you find of a body is a toe? There should be more. A body doesn't just vanish and decides to leave a toe behind," Hermione ranted. "The ministry is a bunch of daft fuckers who are corrupted to the bone—well, with exception of some people."

"You're right," Fred said cracking a grin. "They are quite daft."

"Right?"

"Black didn't get a trial?" Fred asked suddenly, a frown on his face.

"Nope. He was immediately thrown into Azkaban," Hermione told him bitterly.

"That's awful," Fred said looking bewildered, "Fine, he killed those thirteen people but everyone deserves a trial. What if he was innocent?"

Hermione facepalmed.

"That's what I'm saying, you twat," she laughed, shaking her head and Fred pouted. "Come on, Freddie, don't be mad!" she said feigning concern and his lips twitched up.

"Do you think it's true though? That he came back for Harry?" Fred asked her.

"No," Hermione shook her head but then said in afterthought, "Don't tell Harry though."

"Tell him what?" Fred frowned.

"That I think the murderer's innocent. He'd be pissed," she said and stood up readying herself to go to bed. She smiled down at him. "Night, Fred."

"Good night, Granger. . . ."

The next morning after getting dressed Hermione went down to the common room, surprisingly, at the same time as Harry, to find Ron already there but the rest of the room deserted.

"Where is everyone?" said Harry as he went to sit down next to the red-haired as Hermione sank on the couch.

"Gone! It's the first day of the holidays, remember?" said Ron, watching Harry closely. "It's nearly lunchtime; I was going to come and wake you up in a minute."

"Lunchtime? Huh. I thought it was early." Hermione muttered and then examined Harry's face. "You look like hell."

"I'm fine," said Harry briskly.

"Harold, listen," said Hermione, exchanging a look with Ron, "I get that you're upset and everything but don't go and do something daft."

"Like what?" said Harry.

"Like trying to go after Black," said Ron sharply. "Because Black's not worth dying for."

Harry looked at them. They didn't seem to understand at all.

"D'you know what I see and hear every time a Dementor gets too near me?"

Ron shook his head, looking apprehensive, while Hermione narrowed her eyes at him.

"I can hear my mum screaming and pleading with Voldemort. And if you'd heard your mum screaming like that, just about to be killed, you wouldn't forget it in a hurry. And if you found out someone who was supposed to be a friend of hers betrayed her and sent Voldemort after her—"

"You're thirteen, Harry! Don't go out there trying to do the job of a dementor!" Hermione said sternly.

"You heard what Fudge said. Black isn't affected by Azkaban like normal people are. It's not a punishment for him like it is for the others."

"So what are you saying?" said Ron, looking very tense. "You want to—to kill Black or something?"

Harry didn't answer and Hermione scoffed inwardly.

"Malfoy knows," he said abruptly. "Remember what he said to me in Potions? 'If it was me, I'd hunt him down myself. . . . I'd want revenge.'"

"You're going to take Malfoy's advice instead of ours?" said Ron furiously. "Listen. . . . you know what Pettigrew's mother got back after Black had finished with him? Dad told me—the Order of Merlin, First Class, and Pettigrew's finger in a box. That was the biggest bit of him they could find. Black's a madman, Harry, and he's dangerous—"

"Malfoy's dad must have told him," said Harry, ignoring Ron. "He was right in Voldemort's inner circle—"

"Say You-Know-Who, will you?" interjected Ron angrily.

"—so obviously, the Malfoys knew Black was working for Voldemort—"

"—and Malfoy'd love to see you blown into about a million pieces, like Pettigrew! Get a grip. Malfoy's just hoping you'll get yourself killed before he has to play you at Quidditch."

"For fuck's sake! Harry, listen to me," Hermione said sternly as if scolding him, "You're a thirteen-year-old wizard who still doesn't know zilch compared to Black. So don't go around planning on getting revenge, even more so, when Black is apparently after you. Your parents gave their life for you. Don't waste that by getting yourself killed! They wouldn't want that!"

"I'll never know what they'd have wanted, because thanks to Black, I've never spoken to them," said Harry shortly.

"Their sacrifice should be enough! It's obvious they wanted you alive!" Hermione scoffed and Harry looked down ashamed.

There was a silence in which Crookshanks stretched luxuriously flexing his claws. Ron's pocket quivered.

"Look," said Ron, obviously casting around for a change of subject, "it's the holidays! It's nearly Christmas! Let's—let's go down and see Hagrid. We haven't visited him for ages!"

"Yeah, let's go," said Harry, sitting up, "and I can ask him how come he never mentioned Black when he told me all about my parents!"

"Do we have to go? I'm so comfortable. . . ." Hermione whined.

"Or we could have a game of chess," Ron said hastily trying to get Harry's mind off of Black, just like he thought Hermione was doing, "or Gobstones. Percy left a set—"

"No, let's visit Hagrid," said Harry firmly.

So they got their cloaks—Hermione her leather jacket; they wouldn't catch her dead in a cloak—from their dormitories and set off through the portrait hole, down through the empty castle, and out through the oak front doors.

They made their way slowly down the lawn, making a shallow trench in the glittering, powdery snow, their socks and the hems of their cloaks soaked and freezing. The Forbidden Forest looked as though it had been enchanted, each tree smattered with silver, and Hagrid's cabin looked like an iced cake.

Ron knocked, but there was no answer. Ron had his ear to the door. "There's a weird noise," he said. "Listen—is that Fang?"

Harry and Hermione put their ears to the door too. From inside the cabin came a series of low, throbbing moans.

"Think we'd better go and get someone?" said Ron nervously.

"Hagrid!" called Harry, thumping the door. "Hagrid, are you in there?"

There was a sound of heavy footsteps, then the door creaked open. Hagrid stood there with his eyes red and swollen, tears splashing down the front of his leather vest.

"You've heard?" he bellowed, and he flung himself onto Harry's neck. Hagrid being at least twice the size of a normal man, this was no laughing matter. 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. Hagrid allowed himself to be steered into a chair and slumped over the table, sobbing uncontrollably, his face glazed with tears that dripped down into his tangled beard.

"It's Beaky isn't it?" said Hermione, sadly.

"What's this, Hagrid?" Harry said at the same time pointing at an official-looking letter.

Hagrid's sobs redoubled, but he shoved the letter toward Harry, who picked it up and read aloud:

Dear Mr. Hagrid,

Further to our inquiry into the attack by a Hippogriff on a student in your class, we have accepted the assurances of Professor Dumbledore that you bear no responsibility for the regrettable incident.

"Well, that's okay then, Hagrid!" said Ron, clapping Hagrid on the shoulder. But Hagrid continued to sob, and waved one of his gigantic hands, inviting Harry to read on.

However, we must register our concern about the Hippogriff in question. We have decided to uphold the official complaint of Mr. Lucius Malfoy, and this matter will therefore be taken to the Committee for the Disposal of Dangerous Creatures. The hearing will take place on April 20th, and we ask you to present yourself and your Hippogriff at the Committee's offices in London on that date. In the meantime, the Hippogriff should be kept tethered and isolated.

Yours in fellowship...

There followed a list of the school governors.

"Oh," said Ron. "But you said Buckbeak isn't a bad Hippogriff, Hagrid. I bet he'll get off."

"Yeh don' know them gargoyles at the Committee fer the Disposal o' Dangerous Creatures!" choked Hagrid, wiping his eyes on his sleeve. "They've got it in fer interestin' creatures!"

A sudden sound from the corner of Hagrid's cabin made Harry, Ron, and Hermione whip around. Buckbeak the Hippogriff was lying in the corner, chomping on something that was oozing blood all over the floor.

"I couldn' leave him tied up out there in the snow!" choked Hagrid. "All on his own! At Christmas."

Harry, Ron, and Hermione looked at one another. Then Hermione made her way to Buckbeak and bowed. The hippogriff bowed his head at her and she approached the animal, petting his beak.

"You have to have good arguments, Hagrid," said Hermione. "I'm sure you can prove Buckbeak is safe."

"Won' make no diff'rence!" sobbed Hagrid. "Them Disposal devils, they're all in Lucius Malfoy's pocket! Scared o' him! Ad if I lose the case, Buckbeak —"

Hagrid drew his finger swiftly across his throat, then gave a great wail and lurched forward, his face in his arms.

"What about Dumbledore, Hagrid?" said Harry.

"He's done more'n enough fer me already," groaned Hagrid. "Got enough on his plate what with keepin' them Dementors outta the castle, an' Sirius Black lurkin' around."

"Listen, Hagrid," Harry said, "you can't give up. Hermione's right, you just need a good defense. You can call us as witnesses —"

Hagrid howled still more loudly. Harry and Hermione looked at Ron to help them. "Er — shall I make a cup of tea?" said Ron.

Hermione and Harry stared blankly at him.

"It's what my mum does whenever someone's upset," Ron muttered, shrugging.

At last, after many more assurances of help, with a steaming mug of tea in front of him, Hagrid blew his nose on a handkerchief the size of a tablecloth and said, "Yer right. I can' afford to go ter pieces. Gotta pull meself together..."

Fang the boarhound came timidly out from under the table and laid his head on Hagrid's knee.

"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—"

"It's better then Potions!" Hermione said honestly.

"Yeah, they're great!" said Ron, crossing his fingers under the table. "Er—how are the flobberworms?"

"Dead," said Hagrid gloomily. "Too much lettuce."

"Oh no!" said Ron, his lip twitching, and Hermione had to bite her lip not to laugh. She wasn't the best in serious situations.

"An' them Dementors make me feel ruddy terrible an' all," said Hagrid, with a sudden shudder. "Gotta walk past 'em ev'ry time I want a drink in the Three Broomsticks. 'S like bein' back in Azkaban —"

He fell silent, gulping his tea. Harry, Ron, and Hermione watched him breathlessly. They had never heard Hagrid talk about his brief spell in Azkaban before. After a pause, Harry said timidly, "Is it awful in there, Hagrid?"

"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 to let Norbert go. . . ." His eyes filled with tears. "Yeh can' really remember who yeh are after a while. An' yeh can' really see the point o' livin' at all. I used ter hope I'd jus' die in me sleep. When they let me out, it was like bein' born again, ev'rythin' came floodin' back, it was the bes' feelin' in the world. Mind, the Dementors weren't keen on lettin' me go."

"But you were innocent!" said Ron. Hagrid snorted.

"Think that matters to them? They don' care. Long as they've got a couple o' hundred humans stuck there with 'em, so they can leech all the happiness out of 'em, they don' give a damn who's guilty an' who's not."

Hagrid went quiet for a moment, staring into his tea. Then he said quietly, "Thought o' jus' letting Buckbeak go. . . . tryin' ter make him fly away. . . . but how d'yeh explain ter a Hippogriff it's gotta go inter hidin'? An'—an' I'm scared o' breakin' the law. . . ."

He looked up at them, tears leaking down his face again. "I don' ever want ter go back ter Azkaban."

The trip to Hagrid's, though far from fun, had nevertheless had the effect Ron had hoped. Though Harry had by no means forgotten about Black, he couldn't brood constantly on revenge if he wanted to help Hagrid win his case against the Committee for the Disposal of Dangerous Creatures.

As Harry and Ron went to the library, Hermione excused herself and went to the kitchens. She said hello to Wilbur and Pinky and then asked him for another take of food which they happily obliged. Afterward, Hermione took the bag and headed outside. She was headed to the owlery when she spotted a black dog on the outskirts of the forest. She grinned and started making her way there.

By the time she arrived, she couldn't see Sirius anymore, so she ventured a bit more inside, that way no one could see her from the castle.

"Hermione?" came a hoarse voice from behind her and she turned to see a horrible-looking Sirius Black looking intently at her eyes.

"You look like hell," She told him bluntly, taking a picture—which got a frown from him along with a shrug.

"Thank you. I was going for that," he smirked back and she laughed.

"Here. I also put some clothes in there and soap. You sure need to take a shower," Hermione told him as she handed him the bag.

"How do you know?" He asked hoarsely and you could notice he obviously hadn't been talking in a while.

"You stink," Hermione told him bluntly and he cracked a grin.

"No. How do you know I'm innocent?"

"I just do." Hermione shrugged. "Harry's going on this resentful phase, FYI. He's keen on having you dead," She told him and his face sank with a grimace.

"He doesn't know I'm innocent?" Sirius asked.

"I can't just tell him. He'd think I was mad and have me sent to St. Mungos," Hermione said with a snort.

"How is school?" Sirius asked as he sat on the ground eating chicken. Hermione laughed at his attempt at chit-chat yet sat down beside him.

"Uneventful. Unless you count the burning hatred Snivellous has for me, now," Hermione said grinned and Sirius choked on air.

"Snivellous? He's in Hogwarts?" He asked her.

"Yup. Potions Master. Slimy git he is," Hermione said glaring at nothing in particular, "hates Harry because of his father and me because I'm an insufferable know-it-all. Oh, and I also don't take his bullshit and called him Snivellous—" Sirius snorted at that.

"I mean he's a git. I heard him mutter once something along the lines of just like Black," she told Sirius who choked on his food again, "Honestly, if I'm anything like you, I'm thankful. At least I'm not an insufferable stalking bastard with high school grudge and in desperate need of a shower." Hermione ranted.

"You wouldn't mind being anything like me?" Sirius frowned.

"Duh. You survived twelve fucking years in that hell hole. And you are about the most loyal person ever," Hermione told him with a grin and he smiled back.

She was going to ask him about his family but decided against it. Instead, she stood up.

"I better go before curfew ends. Then they'll ask shit loads of questions. See you Padfoot!"

She smiled and headed to the castle where she found Harry and Ron with their heads in books researching for Hagrid. So, she joined them.

Meanwhile, in the rest of the castle, the usual magnificent Christmas decorations had been put up, despite the fact that hardly any of the students remained to enjoy them. Thick streamers of holly and mistletoe were strung along the corridors, mysterious lights shone from inside every suit of armor, and the Great Hall was filled with its usual twelve Christmas trees, glittering with golden stars. A powerful and delicious smell of cooking pervaded the corridors.

On Christmas morning, Hermione woke up with a grin. She put her curls into a high ponytail, grabbed a shirt to put on top of her shorts and tank top, grabbing Crookshanks as she headed to the boys' dorms. But suddenly she stopped in her tracks, right before she got to the door. She looked around and her eyes went wide at what she found at the end of her bed.

She had gifts.

Hermione put Crooks down and went to the pile of gifts on her bed. She had never received that many gifts for Christmas. Or gifts at all. Only this year for her (or rather, Hermione's) birthday.

She got a Weasley jumper which she immediately put on discarding her shirt. She got some other presents but what truly got her to gape was one specific package. A Firebolt. She had gotten a fucking Firebolt. After she threw off the paper from the broom she marveled at it. It was beautiful. She then turned to the note that came with it.

I've seen you fly. You're a natural. Thought you'd use it better than the school's brooms.

Merry Christmas, Padfoot

She gaped at the note. Why in hell would Sirius send her a Firebolt. Did the owl get the wrong room? She frowned. She decided to investigate so she grabbed Crookshanks again and headed to the boys' room.

"What're you two laughing about?" Hermione asked them as she entered the room.

"Don't bring him in here!" said Ron, hurriedly snatching Scabbers from the depths of his bed and stowing him in his pajama pocket.

But Hermione only rolled her eyes muttering "Gosh".

She dropped Crookshanks onto Seamus's empty bed and stared, open-mouthed, at the Firebolt.

"Harold, it's beautiful! Who sent you that?"

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

Hermione bit her lip. Should she tell them?

"What's the matter with you?" said Ron.

"I don't know," said Hermione slowly, "Ialsogotone." She said quickly.

"What?" both boys asked.

"I also got one." Hermione sighed.

"What?!"

"You guys are really slow today. I. Got. One. Too," Hermione told them as if she was speaking to babies.

"That's wicked!" They both exclaimed and Hermione sighed in relief. She thought they would have a fit.

"Did yours come with a note?" Harry questioned but before Hermione could answer, Crooks, sprang from Seamus's bed, right at Ron's chest.

"GET—HIM—OUT—OF—HERE!" Ron bellowed as Crookshanks's claws ripped his pajamas and Scabbers attempted a wild escape over his shoulder. Ron 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 and causing Ron to hop up and down, howling with pain.

Crookshanks's fur suddenly stood on end. A shrill, tinny, whistling was filling the room. The Pocket Sneakoscope had become dislodged from Uncle Vernon'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. Hermione was just amused at the whole ordeal.

"You'd better take that cat out of here, Hermione," said Ron furiously, sitting on Harry's bed nursing his toe. "Can't you shut that thing up?" he added to Harry as Hermione picked up Crooks, flipped him off, and strode out of the room, Crookshanks's yellow eyes still fixed maliciously on Ron.

Christmas spirit was definitely thin on the ground in the Gryffindor common room that morning. Hermione had shut Crookshanks in her dormitory after apologizing for breaking their rules of each to its own. She was still furious with Ron for trying to kick him and ranted on about animal abuse; Ron was still fuming about Crookshanks's fresh attempt to eat Scabbers. Harry gave up trying to make them talk to each other and devoted himself to examining the Firebolt, which he had brought down to the common room with him.

At lunchtime they 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, Ron, and Hermione approached the table. "As there are so few of us, it seemed foolish to use the House tables... Sit down, sit down!"

Harry, Ron, and Hermione sat down side by side at the end of the table.

"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 witch's hat topped with a stuffed vulture.

Harry, remembering the Boggart, caught Hermione's and Ron's eye and they grinned; Snape's mouth thinned and he pushed the hat toward Dumbledore, who swapped it for his wizard's hat at once. Hermione took a photo of this moment—earning herself a glare from Snape.

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

As Hermione was helping himself to everything in sight—specifically the delicious-looking chocolate cake—, the doors of the Great Hall opened again. It was Professor Trelawney, gliding toward them as though on wheels. She had put on a green sequined dress in honor of the occasion, making her look more than ever like a glittering, oversized dragonfly.

"Sybill, this is a pleasant surprise!" said Dumbledore, standing up and Hermione rolled her eyes.

"I have been crystal gazing, Headmaster," said Professor Trelawney in her mistiest, most 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, Sybill," said Professor McGonagall impatiently and Hermione laughed. "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, Sybill?"

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."

Hermione gasped at this making Ron and Harry look at her weirdly. She needed to sent Remus chocolate!

"But surely you already knew that, Sybill?" said Professor McGonagall, her eyebrows raised. 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 partly and Hermione laughed gaining a pointed look from Dumbledore that shut her up.

Professor Trelawney's voice suddenly became a good deal less misty. "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, Hermione, Harry, and Ron got up first from the table and she shrieked loudly.

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

"Dunno," said Ron, looking uneasily at Harry, ignoring Hermione.

"I'll take the blame! I'll volunteer to death as tribute. Do not fret, Professor," Hermione told them solemnly which made Minnie's lips twitch.

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

Even Ron laughed. Professor Trelawney looked highly affronted. They made their way into the Entrance Hall, which was completely devoid of mad axe-men.

When they reached the portrait hole they found Sir Cadogan enjoying a Christmas party with a couple of monks, several previous headmasters of Hogwarts, and his fat pony. He pushed up his visor toasted them with a flagon of mead.

"Merry—hic—Christmas! Password?"

"Scurvy cur," said Ron.

"And the same to you, sir!" roared Sir Cadogan, as the painting swung forward to admit them.

Harry and Hermione went straight up to the dormitories, collected their Firebolts and Harry the Broomstick Servicing Kit Hermione had given him for his birthday, brought them downstairs, and tried to find something to do with the Firebolts; however, there were no bent twigs to clip, and the handle was so shiny already it seemed pointless to polish either of them. So the three simply sat admiring them from every angle deciding to go for a ride the next day.