Harry Potter and the Sticking Broom

Chapter 10: A Hufflepuff With a Wheelbarrow

The consequences which flowed from Harry's encounter with the Great Hall ceiling and that evening's later events were, to say the least, complicated. The first result was that Ron and Hermione forgot their argument. Shortly after Harry had left the Great Hall, Lavender Brown was taken back to Gryffindor Tower in hysterics. Hermione had heard Lavender's screams and returned to the common room, where she had found Parvati and Ron doing their best to calm their classmate. When Lavender was sufficiently settled, Parvati told Hermione about the Great Hall and Hermione had reached for her satchel and taken out her personal copy of Hogwarts, a History. Hermione's school bag had proceeded to join Lavender in a bout of quiet sobbing, which nobody had heard.

Ron had told Hermione to put her bloody books away and come to help him look for Harry. The two friends had spent the next three hours in a thorough but fruitless search of Hogwarts Castle. By the end of that time, both Ron and Hermione were so worried about Harry that they had stopped arguing. They were sitting alone together in the Gryffindor common room, like the worried parents of a runaway child, when Harry and Ginny stepped back through the portrait hole.

"Where've you been?" Ron demanded.

"Harry, we were so worried. And it's so late." Hermione scolded.

Harry opened his mouth to speak but Ginny Weasley surreptitiously trod on his foot. She quickly said, "He was just taking a walk. Outside."

Ron hadn't noticed that Ginny was standing there until his little sister spoke. Now he frowned at her. "It's late for you to be still outside," Ron said irritably. "Get yourself upstairs. Harry's got enough to worry about without you bugging him."

"She wasn't bugging me," Harry said hesitantly. Ginny seemed to meekly obey her brother. However, when she turned to climb the girls' dormitory stairs, she shot Harry a meaningful glance. Harry tried to reassure her with a nod of his head that he would, as promised, keep all her secrets.

"But Harry, you can't go wandering off by yourself like that," Hermione was saying in a shocked tone, while Harry watched Ginny depart. "Not after you've been attacked by Dark magic."

"I haven't been attacked," Harry began.

"Lav and Parvati said the Great Hall ceiling rained on you," said Ron.

"Yeah," Harry said. "But it was only rain. Dobby dried me off."

"Rain from the ceiling of the Great Hall." Hermione's voice was quiet with awe. She picked up a large book that was lying next to her school bag. "Don't you see how - how impossible that is?"

Now Harry was beginning to worry. Very few things in the wizarding world were considered impossible. Hermione was turning the pages of the book, which was Hogwarts, a History rapidly. "I do wish you boys would read this book one day - here it is - The Great Hall Ceiling," Hermione began to read. "The ceiling of the Great Hall of Hogwarts Castle is one of the Eleven Wonders of the Wizarding World. The Founders created it as a gift of majesty and beauty to be enjoyed by all future students and teachers of Hogwarts. Each Founder chose one element of the ceiling and applied to it the full extent of their magical craft. Godric Gryffindor set the sun on its blazing course. Helga Hufflepuff enchanted the moon and stars of night. The firmament and winds were created by Rowena Ravenclaw and Salazar Slytherin placed the clouds for rain and snow in the firmament."

"There, you see," Ron interrupted. "Slytherin made the clouds. It's Snape - just like I was telling you when we were checking the Astronomy tower. Slytherin made the clouds and Slytherin equals Snape!"

Hermione shook her head crossly. "Pay attention, Ron, there's more. Each Founder worked in secret with the artisans to incant only their own element of the ceiling. They then together invoked magic to set the ceiling firm. No part of the ceiling can exist without the others. We can confidently say that the ceiling will grace the Great Hall forever, because the only way the enchanted sky may be changed is through the four Founders working together."

"Who were the artisans?" Harry wondered.

"I don't know," Hermione said, flicking her bushy hair away from her face. "But the point is, Ron, you can't go blaming Professor Snape for something that not even Godric Gryffindor acting alone could do."

"Doesn't it say anything more about the artisans?" Harry asked as he tried to read over Hermione's shoulder.

"No," said Hermione shortly. She shut the book and shoved it back in her school bag. Harry was certain he heard a faraway squeal as Hermione buckled her satchel.

"Maybe they were the blokes who held the ladders," Ron joked.

"So, what do you think we need to do?" Harry asked Hermione.

"I'm not sure. It's so late now. And you don't appear to be in any immediate danger. Maybe we could ask Professor McGonagall about it tomorrow," she replied.

Harry didn't think Professor McGonagall would be of much use. No matter what kind of magic was working on the Sticking Broom's behalf, he knew his Transfiguration teacher would need to embrace anything that could give her team an advantage on the Quidditch pitch. However, Harry agreed that it was too late to do much more that night. The three friends resolved to talk to the acting headmistress in the morning.

* * * * * *

Professor McGonagall was every bit as uncooperative as Harry had expected. When the trio approached her after breakfast, she was already in a bad mood, having spent a good part of the night before mediating between Professors Snape and Sprout on the scandal of the escaping Hufflepuffs. She had borne Severus' demands for all round expulsions with forbearance. He had been partially placated when he learnt that two of the offenders, for their sins, would be required to capture a Swedish Short-Snout within the next week. She also had spent quite some time reminding Professor Sprout that, even though her House Quidditch team were all lovely boys and girls, taking a boat, rowing it across the lake and gallivanting off to Hogsmeade to drink strong liquor and perform on tabletops was no small offence.

In the end, a compromise had been reached. No student was expelled, nor even suspended. However, the hourglass that recorded House points clearly indicated Hufflepuff had lost an unprecedented two hundred points in one night. This proved to be the main topic of conversation among Hogwarts' students the next morning, eclipsing even the antics of the Great Hall ceiling in its newsworthiness. By the end of breakfast everybody knew all about the boats, the mead and the singing.

The remaining five members of the Hufflepuff team, including the Head Boy, were placed on detention for the rest of the school year. Because Hogwarts had been without its Keeper of Grounds and Keys since the previous summer, the school grounds were in need of some serious sprucing up before the Quidditch tournament. In particular, Flesh-Eating Slugs had ravaged the rose gardens. Professors Sprout and McGonagall eventually agreed, after a few hours of negotiation, that the offenders would best serve their detention by working in the school's gardens.

So, a very tired Minerva McGonagall was not happy to be waylaid by Hermione, Harry and Ron as the Transfiguration teacher hurried to her first years' class. Only Hermione was brave enough to speak out when met with McGonagall's stern visage.

"Professor," Hermione began. "I don't know if anybody has told you. I don't even know how such a thing could be possible. But the Great Hall ceiling's enchantments have been -"

"Yes, Miss Granger," McGonagall retorted. "Professor Grubbly-Plank has given me a full account of the events of last night. Thank you."

Hermione looked flabbergasted. The trio ran along behind their teacher as she continued striding on her way to class. "But, Professor McGonagall," Hermione persisted, "How? I mean, why? Or - who could do such a thing?"

The teacher stopped and surveyed her worried pupils. She asked, "You weren't harmed, were you, Mr. Potter?"

"No," Harry admitted. "It was just rain."

Hermione interrupted, "But the ceiling can't actually rain, Professor. It only mimics the rain outside. Everything I've read about the ceiling says it's impossible for it to actually rain on people."

A small smile played across McGonagall's lips. "Well, Miss Granger,' she said as she looked over her spectacles, "maybe you shouldn't believe everything you read."

"But, if Harry's in danger," Ron added. "If You-Know, er, I mean Voldemort's behind it. What if a Death Eater, or a supposed ex-Death Eater -" The way that Professor McGonagall's eyes narrowed warned Ron that he did not have permission to complete this sentence. So, he contented himself with asking, "Shouldn't we be doing something?"

"Let me assure you that Mr. Potter is in no danger," Professor McGonagall said in her most imperious tone. "However, beyond that fact, there is nothing I can tell you. It was not the school's intention for these messages to become quite so dramatic. I will be talking to Mr. Filch and he will see to it that nothing else that is untoward occurs." She turned on her heel and resumed her brisk walk down the corridor.

Harry's mind was now full of even more questions than it had been before. But one question had to be asked. "Professor McGonagall," Harry called out, "do you know about the Sticking Broom?"

Minerva McGonagall stopped and turned to face the trio. It was hard to tell whether her expression was one of sympathy or amusement. "The Sticking Broom," she said with authority, "is a puzzle which you must solve, Harry Potter." She then stepped through the doorway to her waiting first year class.

* * * * * *

With so little information and time at his disposal, Harry failed to see how he was ever supposed to solve the Sticking Broom puzzle. Then Professor Trelawney sent notice to her fifth year students that Divination classes were cancelled for the afternoon, due to a long foreseen but previously not communicated need for her to realign her aura. Harry wondered whether she was still saddle sore from the night before. He had never seen a witch with such an unnatural posture on a broom.

Ever since Hermione had become wholly occupied with her potions essay and Harry had been suborned to daily Quidditch practice, Ron had spent much of his spare time with Dean, Seamus and Neville. So, when Trelawney cancelled her class and Seamus and Dean declared the resulting free time could be used to teach Neville the finer points of football, Ron also agreed to go and learn, "That barmy Muggle game." Seeing his chance for some time alone to think, Harry said his sunburn was too itchy and sore to be outside. He headed for the library.

Harry's first thought was to re-check the school's Quidditch records. Professor Snape was a Quidditch player - that much was obvious. Harry had overlooked something in his earlier attempt to research Snape's school days. And the more he thought of it, the more he believed that Snape's appearance in the library that day had not been a coincidence. However, when Harry checked the shelves that held the large, leather bound books, many of the volumes were missing. In fact, all record books relating to a period from ten to thirty years ago were gone. They didn't appear to be on any of the library tables, so Harry asked Madam Pince where they might be.

"Madam Hooch has borrowed a large number of those books for her office," she informed him. "I'm sure if you ask her, she'll let you look at the ones you need."

The thought that Madam Hooch might be willing to give away her team's secrets was even less likely than Professor McGonagall offering to help, Harry thought. So, instead of visiting his Flying instructress, he climbed a ladder to a high and dusty shelf of the library that housed the back copies of Which Broomstick? With difficulty, he carried a large bundle of the magazines back down to an armchair.

After much page turning, and after scattering many thumbed through editions around his chair, Harry found a promising article from twenty-four years ago entitled When Good Broom Companies Go Bad. A broom reviewer assessed the Nimbus 1200 in that report and confirmed everything that Ginny Weasley had said. The article predicted that the problematic broom would finish off the Nimbus Racing Broom Company. A photo also showed "Dangerous Dai" Llewellyn, the legendary star of the Caerphilly Catapults, taking off on a Nimbus 1200 and careering into a haystack. The next edition of Which Broomstick? included a full page advertisement from the Nimbus Racing Broom Company, advising its loyal customers of a recall of all Nimbus 1200 models sold in the past year and the resumption of the production of the beloved and reliable Nimbus 1001.

So Snape's broom, even though it was an odd choice for a Hogwarts Master, was not as mysterious as it first appeared. Harry was on his knees collecting up the magazines to return them, when Hermione came into the library. She hung her bag on he back of her favourite chair at the table near the window and, after a brief but longing glance at the iron gates of the Restricted Section, noticed Harry.

"Harry?" she asked. "Is that you down there? I thought I saw the boys outside. You shouldn't be wandering off on your own, you know."

"I'm not wandering," Harry replied, slightly annoyed that Hermione continued to coddle him despite Professor McGonagall's assurances that he was in no danger. He stood up and fumbled with his bundle of old magazines, creating a cloud of dust. While he was coughing, he was certain he could also hear muffled choking noises coming from the back of Hermione's chair.

"Hermione," Harry said, before clearing his throat yet again. "What have you got in that bag?"

"In my bag?" Hermione asked, as she picked up a Which Broomstick? that had slipped from Harry's arms to the floor. "I've got all sorts of things. It's the Lug-eezy Satchel my parents let me buy for Christmas. It can hold an infinite number of articles, but it never gets heavy."

"Doesn't that get a bit confusing?" asked Harry. "How do you find things in there?"

"You just ask for something, and it rises to the top of the bag," Hermione said brightly. "Look." She unbuckled the satchel and announced, "Kwikcopyquill." Placing her hand in the bag, she pulled out a quill with a long, bright blue feather. "Honestly, it's changed my life. When I think of how I used to walk about bent over double, with a pile of heavy books on my back. All my textbooks are inside it, and my Arithmancy and Transfiguration extra credit texts. I've probably got some library books in there as well. I better remember to return them before the end of term."

During Hermione's speech, Harry was beginning to lose his grip on the Which Broomstick? bundle again. "I should put all these back," he said.

"And you'll need to get ready for Quidditch practice soon, too," Hermione advised.

Climbing the ladder back to the top shelf, Harry wished he had a Lug-eezy Satchel. He also wished he had Hermione's logical approach to problem solving. He had wasted two hours to learn nothing more important than the fact that the Nimbus Racing Broom Company had, many years ago, produced a lemon.

* * * * * *

Harry was not enthusiastic about the prospect of Quidditch practice after Angelina Johnson's outburst the night before. Not wishing to be late, he quickly changed into his kit and grabbed his Firebolt. George Weasley bumped into Harry in the Entrance Hall and they walked to practice together, united in a sense of foreboding.

"She'll be wanting blood, after last night," George said miserably.

As they trudged along, Harry couldn't help noticing the large number of students working outside. Everywhere he looked, small groups were weeding, pruning, planting and uprooting things. "I thought Professor Sprout only put five people on detention," Harry said.

"Ah yes, Hufflepuff solidarity," George observed. "The whole House has decided to pitch in and help. They really are a load of duffers."

The boys arrived at the pitch to find Cho and Crabbe seated on the grass together. Cho had brought along a copy of Beating the Bludgers - A Study of Defensive Strategies in Quidditch, borrowed from Hyperion Fairchilde, and was helping Crabbe to sound out some of the longer words in the preface. Mordred Avery was already in the air, flying laps around the pitch on his very fast broom. Merlin Rhys-Jones arrived shortly after Harry and George. The All School Team Keeper looked much the worse for wear. Aside from the after-effects of too much mead, he was exhausted from a day of manual labour and smelt of organic fertilizer. Still, the knowledge that his hardworking and loyal housemates were all behind him meant that Merlin continued to hold his head high.

When Angelina arrived, she was gruff, but not nearly as furious as Harry had expected. She snapped at Cho, "You can put that away now. We're here for Quidditch practice, not a book club."

"I was just helping Vincent plan some moves," Cho replied, sounding very miffed. "It's a book of strategies for Beaters."

"Beaters are too stupid for strategy," Angelina growled. "There's only one rule for Beaters, Crappe - take out the Seeker." Vincent Crabbe nodded as though his captain had uttered something very wise.

The team took to the air and practice was conducted without further incident. However, when it was time to finish, Angelina dropped her bombshell, "We're going to start morning practice tomorrow," she announced. "Get here at six."

At first Harry thought this sounded like a good idea. The mornings would be much cooler than the heat of the afternoon. But Angelina continued, "And we'll extend the afternoon training by an extra half-hour."

George groaned. This caused Angelina to stare so formidably that he stopped mid-groan and examined his shoes very closely. As Angelina flew ahead back to the castle, the only team member brave enough to speak was Rhys-Jones. "Bloomin' heck," he whispered to Harry, "When am I going to get time to weed the aspidistras?"

* * * * * *

Draco Malfoy was loitering around the Entrance Hall before dinner with several of his housemates. He gave a snide smile when Harry and George returned from practice, and raised his voice to enquire languidly, "Got your umbrella tonight, Potter?"

Before Harry had a chance to respond, George drew a small rubbery sphere from his pocket and lobbed it across the Entrance Hall. It struck Malfoy's pointed chin. The sphere exploded with a gush of green water, like an instant fountain, which saturated the Slytherins. In the confusion, Harry and George ran up the Gryffindor Tower staircase.

"Gillywaterbombs," panted George as they ran. "Latest on our product list. Fred thinks we'll sell a ton. By the way, did I hit him?"

Harry breathlessly nodded, thinking that this was an odd thing to ask. George had been looking directly at Malfoy, so he must have seen his missile's result.

In the common room, Neville was entertaining everybody by heading a football. People were counting the bounces and Dean and Seamus were both grinning proudly. Someone in the crowd protested that Neville had to be using magic, but Seamus countered fiercely, "No, he isn't."

"Course he isn't," said Ron as he approached Harry. "If Neville was using magic, he would have blown his head off ages ago. Coming to dinner?"

"I need to put this back," Harry replied, gesturing with his Firebolt.

"Well, I'll see you down there," Ron said as he walked up to the portrait hole. "I'm starved. Must be the exercise. It's incredible how much running around Muggles do when they play sport."

But rather than putting his broom back straight away, Harry stayed in the common room, watching Ginny's red-haired head bouncing about in the crowd of students as she tried to get a better look at the exotic Muggle football demonstration. Neville lost his concentration when Fred and George's Exploding Snap game overturned an armchair, and the crowd around the new celebrity began to disperse. Harry caught Ginny's attention just as she and her friends finished offering Neville their congratulations. She nodded towards the corner furthest from the common room fire.

"How's it going Harry?" she asked when she met him in the corner. Her eyes kept darting back towards the fourth years, to check that none of them had followed her.

"Fine," Harry replied. He couldn't explain it, but he felt happier to see Ginny than he had been to see any of his friends that day. He supposed it was just relief. At last he could talk to somebody about all the things they had seen last night. "I haven't told anybody about, you know," he said.

Ginny grinned. "Not even Ron and Hermione?" she asked.

"No," Harry reassured her.

"Good," Ginny said. "It was going to be hard enough with just you and me sneaking into Hogsmeade. I couldn't figure out how we'd be able to take the others along. But -"

"We can't go back to Hogsmeade," Harry interrupted her. "It was a close enough call last time."

"That's what I was going to say. We can't go for a while, anyway. After the singalong last night, there'll be prefects on every exit to the castle. And you can hardly step outside without being knocked over by a Hufflepuff with a wheelbarrow."

"But there's something you might be able to do for me," Harry whispered. Ginny looked pleased as she nodded. Harry continued. "Madam Hooch has some school Quidditch books in her office. There are dates on the spines. I need the volumes for the six years before 1978. I don't think I'd be able to go down there without attracting suspicion."

"And you think I can just walk into a teacher's office and take them?" Ginny asked, in a tone of mock horror.

"If you can't, who can?" asked Harry with a smile.

Ginny lifted up her chin with pride at this compliment. "The thing about growing up with Fred and George," said Ginny thoughtfully, "is you sort of start thinking anything's possible if you've got enough nerve."

Harry put the Firebolt away and they walked down to dinner together, making sure to stay out of anybody's earshot as they recollected the funnier moments of Flitwick, Trelawney and Filch's attempts to practice Quidditch. When they reached the doors to the Great Hall, Ginny remembered something important. "One of us needs to keep an eye on the Owlery," she said decisively. "That big Post Office owl might come directly back to the castle. If we get lucky, we may get some clue where it's been."

"I'll check each day," said Harry as they parted at the doors. "I've been neglecting Hedwig a lot lately. She could use some company. She's had hardly anything to do since I stopped writing to -" Harry stopped himself just in time, before he said his godfather's name. He concluded, feebly, "Anybody."

* * * * * *

Harry visited the Owlery after dinner every evening for the next few days. This fact, coupled with extended Quidditch practice, meant that he saw hardly anything of Ron and Hermione outside his classes. But in truth, for the moment he actually preferred the solitude of the owls' roosts to Hermione and Ron's companionship. As the days had passed without any further assaults on the ancient enchantments of Hogwarts Castle, Hermione and Ron had reluctantly accepted that Harry was not in imminent danger from the Sticking Broom. Spurred on by the many obstacles placed in her path, Hermione had once again become completely obsessed with the Potions essay contest. The deadline for submissions was the day before the end of term and, since the locking of the Restricted Section, she had been desperately searching standard texts for any useful information.

Ron had even begun to help her hunt through her piles of books, but he took every opportunity to bicker with Hermione as he did so. As he complained to Harry, "I think she's mental to keep trying. It's bloody boring work. But nothing's more boring than watching Neville bounce a ball off his fool head for hours."

Each day, Harry also checked if Ginny had stolen the books. Unfortunately, Madam Hooch had taken to locking her office with an Imperturbable Charm. Ginny made three innovative attempts to break and enter, involving quite an arsenal of Weasley's Wizarding Wheezes, before explaining to Harry, most apologetically, that she was going to have to, "Rethink her strategy."

Looking at her earnest young face as she said these words, Harry was tempted to lend her the knife Sirius had given him for Christmas. Harry always kept this with him in his pocket. Although he hadn't tried it, his godfather's note had told him the knife could open any door. But, if he gave the knife to Ginny, would that make her curious about how he had come by it? And, even worse, if Ginny were caught in her crime, would the knife be confiscated? Harry had so little to remind him of Sirius that he could not bring himself to part with this treasure.

In the second last week of term, on the Tuesday evening before the Quidditch tournament began, Harry ascended the stairs to the Owlery. As the sunset blazed through the Owlery's glassless windows, owls ruffled their feathers and began to wake up. Hedwig, already alert, flew to Harry as soon as he reached the top stair.

"Hello, Hedwig," Harry said as he allowed her to perch on his forearm. He fished an owl treat from his pocket and let her carefully nibble it from his fingers. Ron's undersized and excitable owl, Pigwidgeon, began to hoot and dance on his perch and, when Hedwig had finished, Harry crumpled another owl treat into small enough pieces and put them in Pig's bowl.

"Any strangers today?" Harry asked. He didn't really expect an answer. He'd already surveyed the birds in their roosts and could see no new faces.

Hedwig left Harry's arm and swooped down to the straw covered floor. The ground was littered with the skeletons of small animals. She pecked around in the carcasses for a little while and then grabbed something in her beak. Stretching her snowy wings, she flew her prize back and dropped it on Harry's outstretched hand.

"Eeurgh, yuk!" Harry exclaimed as he immediately dropped Hedwig's grizzly present. But then he checked the small bit of carrion at his feet. It was a frog's leg. It did not appear to have been eaten. Or possibly, Harry thought, knowing Hedwig's less savoury habits, the leg had been eaten, but later regurgitated. He crouched low to examine the pale, slimy thing. All the flesh was still there. It looked as though it had been cut off neatly, not ripped by an owl's beak. And, aside from a strong smell of owl vomit, Harry thought he could detect something else - possibly garlic.

Harry was still bent over when he heard a jingling noise on the stairs behind him. He stiffened. Even though he knew he was doing nothing out of line, he did not want to be interrupted now, and certainly not by Filch. However, when he stood and turned, he did not see Filch and his clattering keys, but Sybill Trelawney, framed in the doorway, playing nervously with her bangles.

"Oh, this is most unexpected," the Divination teacher said in an excited whisper.

Harry could have said exactly the same thing. Trelawney was notorious for living, teaching and spending all her days within the Divination tower. But Harry had now spotted her out of her habitat twice within the space of little more than a week.

"Er, hi, Professor," Harry said. He made to go for the door, but Trelawney did not move.

"Most strange," she continued, wringing her hands. "Mercury the messenger will be at its brightest tonight. One would have thought that was fortuitous. One would not have thought to be impeded."

"I, er was just going," said Harry, taking two more steps towards her.

Trelawney looked relieved. "Ah, yes, well, good evening." She let Harry past. But she continued to talk quietly to herself, "Mind you, Uranus will be in a unfavourable position in a little while. When that occurs, it is possible that the traveler's passage will be momentarily blocked."

Harry chuckled as he hurried down the steps. He couldn't wait to tell Ron that one.