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Aurora Areli
IT LOOKED AS THOUGH Ron and Hermione's friendship was over. They were so angry with each other that I couldn't see how they would ever make it up.
Ron was enraged that Hermione had never taken Crookshanks' attempts to eat Scabbers seriously, hadn't kept a close enough watch on him and was still trying to pretend that Crookshanks was innocent by suggesting that Ron look for Scabbers under the boys' beds. Hermione was convinced that Ron had no proof that Crookshanks had eaten Scabbers, that the ginger hairs could have been there since Christmas, and that Ron was just prejudiced after the incident in the Magical Menagerie.
On one hand, I didn't want to take sides; both Ron and Hermione were my friends, and I didn't want to argue with either of them. But on the other, the evidence Ron had was pretty compelling, and when I tried to explain this to Hermione, she lost her temper with me, too.
"Okay, side with Ron, I don't care!" she said shrilly. "First the Firebolt, now Scabbers, everything's my fault, isn't it! Just leave me alone, Rory, I've got a lot of work to do!"
I tried to tell her that I never thought she was wrong about the Firebolt, and that I didn't want to take sides, but to no avail. With a sigh, I wandered over to where the boys were sitting with Fred, George, and Ginny. Ron had taken the loss of his rat very hard, and was sulking by the fire.
"Come on, Ron, you were always saying how boring Scabbers was," Fred said bracingly. "And he's been off-colour for ages, he was wasting away. It was probably better for him to snuff it quickly. One swallow — he probably didn't feel a thing."
"Fred!" Ginny said indignantly, as I took a seat next to her.
"All he did was eat and sleep, Ron, you said it yourself," George said.
"He bit Goyle for us once!" Ron said miserably. "Remember, Harry, Rory?"
"Yeah, that's true," Harry said, while I only nodded.
"His finest hour," Fred said, unable to keep a straight face. "Let the scar on Goyle's finger stand as a lasting tribute to his memory. Oh, come on, Ron, get yourself down to Hogsmeade and buy a new rat. What's the point of moaning?"
In a last-ditch effort to cheer Ron up, Harry and I persuaded him to come along to the Gryffindor team's final practice before the Ravenclaw match, so that he could have a go on Harry's Firebolt after we'd finished. That seemed to do the trick, so we set off for the Quidditch pitch together.
Madam Hooch, who was still overseeing Gryffindor practices to keep an eye on Harry, was just as impressed with the Firebolt as everyone else had been. She took it in her hands before take-off and gave us the benefit of her professional opinion.
"Look at the balance on it! If the Nimbus series has a fault, it's a slight list to the tail-end — you often find they develop a drag after a few years. They've updated the handle, too, a bit slimmer than the Cleansweeps, reminds me of the old Silver Arrows — a pity they've stopped making them. I learnt to fly on one, and a very fine old broom it was too . . ."
