Right and Wrong

Christmas spirit was definitely thin on the ground in the Gryffindor common room that morning. Hermione had shut Crookshanks in her dormitory, but was furious with Ron for trying to kick him; Ron was still fuming about Crookshanks's fresh attempt to eat Scabbers. Harry devoted himself to examining the Firebolt, which he had brought down to the common room with him. This seemed to annoy Hermione as well; she didn't say anything, but she kept looking darkly at the broom as though it, too, had been criticising her cat. Chris just watch them and started to read the book, which Luna gave her.

The Tales of Beedle the Bard.

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 mouldy-looking tailcoat. There were only two other students: one extremely nervous-looking first-year and a second-year Slytherin boy, Jason Fawley.

"Merry Christmas!" said Dumbledore, as Chris, 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!"

They sat down side by side at the end of the table. Chris found a sit between Jason and Harry.

"Crackers!" said Dumbledore enthusiastically, offering the end of a large silver one 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. Snape's mouth thinned and he pushed the hat towards Dumbledore, who swapped it for his wizard's hat at once.

"Tuck in!" he advised the table, beaming around.

As Chris was helping herself with roasted chickens, the doors of the Great Hall opened again. It was a lady, gliding towards them as though on wheels. She had put on a green sequined dress, which made her look like a glittering, oversize dragonfly.

Chris looked at Harry and Harry whispered, "Professor Trelawney."

"Sybill, this is a pleasant surprise!" said Dumbledore, standing up.

"I have been crystal-gazing, Headmaster," said Professor Trelawney, in a 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 mid-air 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. "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."

"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 tartly.

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 these 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, Chris got up first from the table and she shrieked loudly.

"Oh my God, dear, why you got up first? I warned you. Don't you believe my inner eye."

"Er. . . I certainly believe you, Professor." Chris answered seriously. "That's why I thought, why to endanger my friends or Professors' life."

"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.

"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.