"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," said Ron.

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

"Don't get excited, Oliver," said Harry 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," said Harry, "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..."

"You would think Wood, of all people, would know that stripping down a broom doesn't hurt it. But then again, men are the more emanation sex."

"Proof?" Ron scoffed.

"You aren't talking to Hermione becouse she took away a potentially tampered broom. That isn't even yours. To keep Harry safe. Point very much proven." Shoveling a last fork of pasta into her mouth, Amelia stood up from the table. "Got to run."

"Where? You have been diapering after dinner every night for over a week now?" asked Ron. "Need to know basis, and you don't need to know. See ya later, boys!" shouted Amelia running out of the Great Hall.

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 their enjoyment, and they 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 them palmistry, and she lost no time in informing Harry that he had the shortest life line she had ever seen.