Ron's chest. 

"GET -- HIM -- OUT -- OF -- HERE!" Ron bellowed as Crookshanks's claws 
ripped his pajamas and Scabbers attempted a wild escape over his 
shoulder. Ron seized Scabbers by the tail and aimed a misjudged kick at 
Crookshanks that hit the trunk at the end of Harry's bed, knocking it 
over and causing Ron to hop up and down, howling with pain. 

Crookshanks's fur suddenly stood on end. A shrill, tint,, whistling was 
filling the room. The Pocket Sneakoscope had become dislodged from Uncle 
Vernon's old socks and was whirling and gleaming on the floor. 

I forgot about that!" Harry said, bending down and picking up the 
Sneakoscope. I never wear those socks if I can help it.... 

The Sneakoscope whirled and whistled in his palm. Crookshanks was 
hissing and spitting at it. 

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"You'd better take that cat out of here, Hermione," said Ron furiously, 
sitting on Harry's bed nursing his toe. "Can't you shut that thing up?" 
he added to Harry as Hermione strode out of the room, Crookshanks's 
yellow eyes still fixed maliciously on Ron. 

Harry stuffed the Sneakoscope back inside the socks and threw it back 
into his trunk. All that could be heard now were Ron's stifled moans of 
pain and rage. Scabbers was huddled in Ron's hands. It had been a while 
since Harry had seen him out of Ron's pocket, and he was unpleasantly 
surprised to see that Scabbers, once so fat, was now very skinny; 
patches of fur seemed to have fallen out too 

"He's not looking too good, is he?" Harry said. 

"It's stress!" said Ron. "He'd be fine if that big stupid furball left 
him alone!" 

But Harry, remembering what the woman at the Magical Menagerie had said 
about rats living only three years, couldn't help feeling that unless 
Scabbers had powers he had never revealed, he was reaching the end of 
his life. And despite Ron's frequent conplaints that Scabbers was both 
boring and useless, he was sure Ron would be very miserable if Scabbers 
died. 

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 
gave up trying to make them talk to each other and devoted himself to 
examining the Firebolt, which he had brought down to the common room 
with him. For some reason 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 criticizing her cat. 

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 moldy- looking tailcoat. There were only three other 

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students, two extremely nervous-looking first years and a sullen-faced 
Slytherin fifth year. 

"Merry Christmas!" said Dumbledore as 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!" 

Harry, Ron, and Hermione sat down side by side at the end of the table. 

"Crackers!" said Dumbledore enthusiastically, offering the end of a 
large silver noisemaker to Snape, who took it reluctantly and tugged. 
With a bang like a gunshot, the cracker flew apart to reveal a large, 
pointed witchs hat topped with a stuffed vulture. 

Harry, remembering the boggart, caught Ron's eye and they both grinned; 
Snape's mouth thinned and he pushed the hat toward Dumbledore, who 
swapped it for his wizard's hat at once. 

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

As Harry was helping himself to roast potatoes, the doors of the Great 
Hall opened again. It was Professor Trelawney, gliding toward them as 
though on wheels. She had put on a green sequined dress in honor of the 
occasion, making her look more than ever like a glittering, oversized 
dragonfly. 

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

"I have been crystal gazing, Headmaster," said Professor Trelawney in 
her 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 midair 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 

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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, Sibyll," said Professor McGonagall inpatiendy. "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, Sibyll?" 

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, Sibyll?" said Professor McGonagall, 
her eyebrows raised. 

Professor Trelawney gave Professor McGonagall a very cold look. 

"Certainly I knew, Minerva, 11 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 --" 

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"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. "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!" 

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CHAPTER TWELVE 

THE PATRONUS 

Harry knew that Hermione had meant well, but that didn't stop him from 
being angry with her. He had been the owner of the best broom in the 
world for a few short hours, and now, because of her interference, he 
didn't know whether he would ever see it again. He was positive that 
there was nothing wrong with the Firebolt now, but what sort of state 
would it be in once it had been subjected to all sorts of anti-jinx 
tests? 

Ron was furious with Hermione too. As far as he was concerned, the 
stripping-down of a brand- new Firebolt was nothing less than criminal 
damage. Hermione, who remained convinced that she had acted for the 
best, started avoiding the common room. Harry and Ron supposed she had 
taken refuge in the library and didn't try to persuade her to come back. 
All in all, they were glad when the rest of the school returned shortly 
after New Year, and Gryffindor Tower became crowded and noisy again. 
Wood sought Harry out on the night before term started. 

"Had a good Christmas?" he said, and then, without waiting for an 
answer, he sat down, lowered his voice, and said, "I've been, doing some 
thinking over Christmas, Harry. After last match, you know. If the 
dementors come to the next one... I mean... we can't afford you to -well 
--" 

Wood broke off, looking awkward. 

"I'm working on it," said Harry quickly. "Professor Lupin said he'd 
train me to ward off the dementors. We should be starting this week. He 
said he'd have time after Christmas." 

"Ah," said 