Chapter 61: Right and Wrong (2/2)
”Very noble of you.” Jason snorted, beside her.
Chris gave a fake smile to him.
”I doubt it will make much difference,” said Professor McGonagall coldly, ”unless a mad axe-man is waiting outside the doors to slaughter the first into the Entrance Hall.”
Even Ron laughed. Professor Trelawney looked highly affronted.
”Coming?” Harry said to Hermione.
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”No,” Hermione muttered. ”I want a quick word with Professor McGonagall.”
”Probably trying to see if she can take any more classes,” yawned Ron as they made their way into the Entrance Hall.
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 and toasted them with a flagon of mead.
”Merry – hic – Christmas! Password?”
”Scurvy cur,” said Chris. ”Merry Christmas Sir Cadogan.”
”And the same to you, lady!” roared Sir Cadogan, as the painting swung forward to admit them.
Chris entered and sat on her previous seat to resume the reading The Tales of Beedle the Bard.
Harry brought his Firebolt and a Broomstick Servicing kit and tried to find something to do to the Firebolt. Ron just sat there watching the broom. Then the portrait hole opened, and Hermione came in, accompanied by Professor McGonagall.
Though Professor McGonagall was Head of Gryffindor house, Chris had only seen her in the common room once before, and that had been to make a very grave announcement.
Hermione walked around Harry and Ron, sat down, picked up the nearest book and hid her face behind it.
”So that's it, is it?” said Professor McGonagall beadily, walking over to the fireside and staring at the Firebolt. ”Miss Granger has just informed me that you have been sent a broomstick, Potter.”
Chris looked around at Hermione. She could see her forehead reddening over the top of her book, which was upside-down.
”May I?” said Professor McGonagall, but she didn't wait for an answer before pulling the Firebolt out of Harry's hands. She examined it carefully from handle to twig-ends. ”Hmm. And there was no note at all, Potter? No card? No message of any kind?”
”No,” said Harry blankly.
”I see. . .” said Professor McGonagall. ”Well, I'm afraid I will have to take this, Potter.”
”W-what?” said Harry, scrambling to his feet. ”Why?”
”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 —”
”Strip it down?” repeated Ron, as though Professor McGonagall was mad.
”It shouldn't take more than a few weeks,” said Professor McGonagall. ”You will have it back if we are sure it is jinx-free.”
”There's nothing wrong with it!” said Harry, his voice shaking slightly. ”Honestly, Professor —”
”You can't know that, Potter,” said Professor McGonagall, quite kindly, ”not until you've flown it, at any rate, and I'm afraid that is out of the question until we are certain that it has not been tampered with. I shall keep you informed.”
Professor McGonagall turned on her heel and carried the Firebolt out of the portrait hole, which closed behind her. Harry stood staring after her, the tin of High-Finish Polish still clutched in his hands. Ron, however, rounded on Hermione.
”What did you go running to McGonagall for?”
Hermione threw her book aside. She was still pink in the face, but stood up and faced Ron defiantly.
”Because I thought — and Professor McGonagall agrees with me — that that broom was probably sent to Harry by Sirius Black!” Hermione looked at Chris, ”What do you think, Chris?”
”Well, I think —” Chris began but Ron interrupted, ”Of course she'll agree with you. You both are the same lunatic.”
”Excuse me, Ron, but I don't think Harry's mother died for him so that her thirteen years old son can die on a jinxed broomstick,” Chris snapped and walked out of the room.