A Hogwarts Legend: Changing Paths [3]

Chapter Seventeen

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Chapter Seventeen - "Some days I amaze myself. Other days, I put my keys in the fridge."

The trip to Hagrid's, though far from fun, has nevertheless had the effect Ron, Hermione and I hoped. Harry, Ron Hermione and I go to the library next day, and return to the empty common room laden with books which might help prepare a defence for Buckbeak. The four of us sit in front of the roaring fire, slowly turning the pages of dusty volumes about famous cases of marauding beasts, speaking occasionally when we run across something relevant.

"Here's something ... there was a case in 1722 ... but the Hippogriff was convicted - urge, look what they did to it, that's disgusting -"

"This might help, look - a Manticore savaged someone in 1296, and they let the Manticore off - oh - no, that was only because everyone was too scared to go near it ..."

Meanwhile, in the rest of the castle, the usual magnificent Christmas decorations have been put up, despite the fact that hardly any of the students remain to enjoy them. Thick streamers of holly and mistletoe are strung along the corridors, mysterious lights shine from inside every suit of armour and the Great Hall is filled with its usual twelve Christmas trees, glittering with golden stars. A powerful and delicious smell of cooking pervades the corridors, and by Christmas Eve, it's grown so strong that even Scabbers poked his nose out of the shelter of Ron's pocket to sniff hopefully around at the air.

I end up sleeping in the boys dorm because Hermione stays up late studying. Psshh, studying...

On Christmas morning, I'm woken by Ron throwing his pillow at me.

"Oy! Presents!"

I reach for my glasses as Ron throws a pillow at Harry. I put my glasses on, squinting through the semi-darkness to the foot of my bed, where a small heap of parcels have appeared. Ron and Harry have already started ripping open their presents.

"Another jumper from Mum ... maroon again ... see if you've got one."

I have. Mrs Weasley has sent me a scarlet jumper with the Gryffindor lion knitted on the front, also a dozen home-baker mince pies, some Christmas cake and box of nut brittle. As I move all these things aside, I see a long, thin package lying underneath.

"What's that?" says Ron, pointing at a similar package on Harry's bed.

"Dunno ..." mutters Harry.

"I've got one, too," I shrug.

Harry rips the parcel open and gasps as a magnificent, gleaming broomstick rolls out onto his bedspread. Ron drops the socks in his hands and jumps off his bed for a closer look.

"I don't believe it," Harry says hoarsely.

It's a Firebolt, identical to the dream broom we went to see every day in Diagon Alley. Its handle glitters as Harry picks it up. He lets go of it; it hangs in mid-air, unsupported, at exactly the right height for him to get on it. My eyes move from the golden registration number at the top of the handle right down to the perfectly smooth, streamlined birch twigs that make up the tail.

"Emily, you open yours!" Harry says excitedly.

I rip mine open and inside is a Firebolt. Holy shit.