"Betrayal of Trust"

Harry was awakened far too early in the morning for his liking by a Ron who had seemingly over-indulged in an Elixir of Euphoria. Yes, it was Christmas morning but, what the hell! Couldn't presents wait for another hour or three just so they both were able to at least see them properly? He let the pillow that had hit him in the face fall to the ground and groaned his glasses to his face… and they didn't obey his summons.

Ron had already started ripping through the paper wraps of his own presents by the time Harry came to his senses.

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

Harry didn't know whether he had or not because while Ron was busy complaining about his Mum's periodic presents, he had opened one of his own out of which had appeared a broomstick. It was a Firebolt, in fact. The Firebolt was a broomstick that had been on the display for less than half a year and was not even on the market at all; it was crafted on order. How many times he had walked by the Quality Quiddich Supplies' windows just see the prototype? Now he had one in his hands, positively humming. There was the number 013 inlaid in gold into the handle of the broom. He knew rationally that it would hover at the perfect height for him to mount it if he let go but he feared if he did that, it would fall on the ground and break, or disappear into nothingness, or… something…

"-rry? HARRY!"

Harry must have been too preoccupied to hear Ron call his name the first few times but he came out of his stupor when he did hear it. "Sorry, mate. I-" He trailed off, not knowing what to say. He could only hold the broomstick that was in his hands up to Ron's range of vision… like one would raise a sacred object up on an altar.

"A Fi- firebolt!" exclaimed Ron.

"A Firebolt," Harry confirmed.

Ron seemed to be looking for a more emphatic way to describe the happenstance. "A bloody Firebolt!" He exclaimed again.

Harry smiled wide, and by opening it, unable to contain a manic laughter from escaping his mouth, "A bloody Firebolt, mate! C'mon!" he urged, "let's go give it a try!"

Yet before they could indeed start on that endeavor, Hermione came into the dormitory in her night gown, Crookshanks in the crook of her arms with a string of tinsel around its neck as an improvised leash, presumably to keep it away from Scabbers, Ron's pet rat. Harry appreciated the thought.

"What are you two so chipper about so early in the morning?" she asked, looking at and even so, not comprehending what the Firebolt in Harry's hands was worth to the two boys who had a passion for Quiddich. After all, she had two Knuts about it only because Harry was playing for their House's team as a Seeker.

"Hermione," Ron addressed the oblivious girl, "this came to Harry," he said, taking the broomstick from Harry and passing it along for Hermione to revere. He was so excited by the Firebolt that he didn't even note the half-Kneazle in her arms.

Hermione did not. She was far from pleased with the item now in her hands. She put Crookshanks on Harry's bed. "What do you mean 'it came to Harry'? From whom?" She inquired.

Harry answered her question this time, "we don't know. There was no card or whatever. It came with the other Christmas presents."

The expression on Hermione's face soured, "Harry!" She admonished, "How irresponsible this is, don't you realize? It could be jinxed!"

"But it can't be!" Harry retorted. "It's got the best anti-jinx protections there are!"

"Wouldn't it have done something by now if it had been jinxed?" Ron chipped in. "Harry here's been basically declaring his undying love for the thing since he got up from his bed!" a snickering Ron quipped to diffuse the situation with a little bit of humor.

But it was not meant to be. "It may have come from you-know-who!" Hermione declared not-so-freely even though the other boys had left for the Christmas Holidays and only Harry and Ron had remained behind. "Don't you think he could have found a way to jinx the broomstick!?"

Harry abandoned the defensive arguments in his anger that he had come up with while Hermione was talking. "Voldemort-!" Harry exclaimed and let the name sink in for half a heartbeat before continuing, "wouldn't send a jinxed broomstick just to get to me; this is absurd!" He had quite the repertoire of words to use instead of 'absurd' but he restrained himself so as not to be actively hurtful towards his friend of two years.

Hermione herself must have been refraining from some forms of rebuttal because she didn't say what she first meant to say when blood rushed up his neck and she was red in the face. She visibly took a few deep breaths before saying, "I wasn't talking about Him! I was talking about Sirius Black! What do you take me for!?"

"This is absurd!" interjected Ron. "Just stop fighting!"

Crookshanks, who had been sneakily moving closer and closer to Ron's bed, chose precisely this moment as his opportunity to pounce from the edge of Harry's bed to Ron's bed in which Scabbers was hiding.

Fortunately for the old, shivering rat, and unfortunately for the half-Kneazle, Ron had pretty good reflexes born of growing up with two ruthless pranksters as his elder brothers. He snatched Crookshanks out of air and dropped it away from his bed. "Get this monster out of the room!" he shouted at Hermione. He went to his bed and took Scabbers into the relative safety of his breast pocket, one hand placed protectively over it and the other held out to keep the offender away if it should decide to make another move.

Hermione grabbed Crookshanks and hugged him to her chest. With her furry friend in her arms, her anger seemed to abate somewhat. She huffed, "he's a cat, Ron. He can't help it."

Harry took advantage of the distraction to stow away his recently acquired world-class broomstick that was the center of a very heated argument between the three friends. His anger hadn't yet disappeared completely but it had subsided to a large extent. "Why don't we change and go down to the Great Hall? I'm hungry, let's eat something first," he suggested.

Ron simply said, "You know me," to Hermione who had turned to Harry when Harry started speaking and then to him to get his answer to the suggestion.

Hermione looked like she wanted to carry on the argument for a little while longer… but she acquiesced. "Okay, I'll meet you two downstairs."

Harry and Ron changed into public-appropriate clothing and met up with Hermione to go to the Great Hall for breakfast.

The house tables were pushed away and only the teachers' table remained in which to dine. Hermione took a seat without further ado, opening a tome of an impressive size in front of her to stand on its own two hard leather covers, obscuring her from sight. Two more boys were there: one Slytherin whose name Harry didn't remember and a first year whose House Harry didn't remember. Harry and Ron took their seats silently.

Christmas cheer was nowhere to be found among present company. It suited Harry's current mood just fine because it didn't take a Seer to foresee that it was merely a halt in their argument and a solution had yet to be reached. He focused on finishing his breakfast so that they could get it over with. He wanted to fly the fastest broom on Earth, and not a moment later than was absolutely necessary. He was pretty sure that he could even elude Dementors if it came to that. Even the darker turn his thoughts had taken couldn't dampen the sudden excitement that made his stomach do a little flip.

Perhaps Ron's voracious appetite had lost its edge because of the earlier disagreement with Hermione, or perhaps his need to get on with the current issue and anticipation of what would follow had sharpened his, Harry finished his breakfast almost on par with Ron. Ron must have the same idea as he because he said, "I'll tell Hermione we're going to the Common Room. Then we can take the Firebolt for a spin!"

"It sounds good," Harry responded.

Ron walked up to Hermione who was still behind her book and informed her of their course of action. "She says she's coming in a bit.

"Okay," said Harry, and seeing Professor McGonagall take a seat at the table, added, "Good morning, Professor."

"Good morning, Professor McGonagall," greeted Ron after he did.

"Good morning," Professor McGonagall acknowledged their greetings. "How are you two gentlemen this fine morning? You are well, I hope?" she asked, her tone not at all carrying the strict disciplinarian resonance that it usually did.

"Thank you, Professor," Harry returned. "Merry Christmas."

"And merry Christmas to you, too. Off you go now!" She dismissed Harry and Ron with a smile tugging at the corners of her lips. "Beware of… our unwanted guests if you should find yourselves outside," she didn't forget to warn.

"We certainly will, Professor McGonagall," assured Ron as they walked away from the table. "Is it me or is McGonagall an actual human being outside of class?" Ron asked Harry.

The question, the sincerity with which Ron seemed to be asking it, caught Harry off guard and he failed to hold his laughter in. Ron joined him in short order. They laughed together all the way up to the Gryffindor Tower, through the portrait of Sir Cadogan who was celebrating Christmas with some monks in brown robes, cheeks tinted red and mugs in hand. They appeared to be having fun. Good for them!

Once in the Common Room, Ron took the armchair beside the fireplace and Harry sat in the two-seater next to it that leaned against the wall -just so- because Fred had pushed George against it the previous year, bending one of the back legs inwards. There was another armchair that faced both seats Ron and Harry was currently occupying, though not aggressively so, that Hermione could take and they would solve their differences. Or they thought so until she came through the tunnel, McGonagall in tow.

"Blimey…" Ron couldn't help but murmur.

"Hermione?" Harry looked for something in the eyes that weren't meeting his. He had realized what Hermione had done the moment McGonagall came into view. He tried to understand the why. He gave up on that upon seeing Hermione abandon them and go upstairs to the girls' dormitories.

McGonagall was in her I am disappointed in you posture. "You know why I am here, I believe, Mr. Potter?"

"I do, Professor," answered Harry.

"Lead the way, then."

Ron stayed behind and Harry led the way up to their shared dormitory, McGonagall following him a few steps behind. Harry hoped against hope that the sound of McGonagall's footsteps would just disappear somehow… in vain. He pulled the Firebolt out from under his bed and handed it over to McGonagall and asked, "When may I get it back?" as she turned around to leave.

McGonagall turned back with a long suffering demeanor, "It won't take Madam Hooch and Professor Flitwick to take it apart and check for jinxes on its parts, I should think. Two weeks? Maybe three? You should have it back before the Ravenclaw match either way."

"I don't think it matters if I get it back before the match, Professor," Harry said. Even though it pained him almost physically, he continued, "If you take my broom now, I won't be playing Quiddich anymore, I don't think." He was about to cry. He felt his eyes sting.

"So be it," said McGonagall with an upward tilt of the head and left.

Harry didn't want to face Ron or worse, Hermione right now. He pulled the curtains closed and bit back the tightness he felt at the back of his throat.

"You alright, mate?" Ron sounded almost as downtrodden as he felt.

"Yeah, I'm alright," Harry answered.

"If you need anything..?" Ron started again.

"Nah, I'm good." Harry assured.

"Okay, then. I'm in the Common Room." Ron declared.

"I'll see you in a bit," mumbled Harry, defeated.

He heard the door thud shut, and then Harry cried in the privacy of the empty dormitory with the curtains closed, his head beneath the pillow. The things he could count as his possessions few in number, to say the least, and losing one as the direct result of a friend's actions, intentionally so, felt like a betrayal to him… and he was so excited about it! Then it was gone. And the day had started so well! They were arguing, yes, but they hadn't finished arguing, had they? Maybe he could've persuaded her, or she could've persuaded him, something. She had gone and taken that away. He would never have thought the Hermione who had petrified Neville so he couldn't snitch on them could be capable of this…

Harry wallowed in his misery for a while more, and then went to the sinks and washed his face. It wasn't like he was never going to get it back, so there was no use in crying. It never worked with the Dursleys, and it would never work here. He was just glad that nobody but Ron was here to witness it; the others might not have been as understanding as Ron was. He looked himself in the mirror. His eyes were puffy and red, yes, but that couldn't be helped. He wasn't going to hide the fact that the betrayal of his trust had hurt. Deeply. He was sure that Hermione was waiting for him, either to lecture him on how and why exactly she was right, or how sorry she was but why exactly she had to do it. He resigned himself for what promised to be an agonizing conversation.

In a bizarre twist of fate, Hermione had taken the two-seater with Ron in the same armchair he had been before McGonagall's arrival, leaving him the seat he himself had reserved for Hermione. It might even have been amusing under different circumstances. He took it under the watchful gazes of his- of Ron and Hermione. He shook his head at Ron, hoping to convey that he should stay out of it.

"Harry-" Hermione started.

Harry turned to Hermione who was purposefully looking at the Persian rug laid at the foot of the seating arrangement. He waited for her to continue, admiring the rug himself, without cutting her off.

"I don't know how to start-"

Now he felt obligated to cut her off. "How about by admitting that you were wrong first? We can work our way from there." He knew she wouldn't. Yet he needed her to. He watched her scrunch her face and furrow her brows in annoyance. The Hermione he knew was incapable of admitting such a thing.

"I did the right thing!" countered Hermione.

"No, you did what you thought was the right thing." Harry corrected.

"It may be jinxed!" Hermione argued.

"…worse than going through a curtain of fire?" Harry inquired.

Hermione was getting visibly agitated now, huffing and grinding her teeth. "Isn't it better to be safe than sorry?"

Here she was right but that was beside the point in Harry's opinion. He felt he couldn't trust her with a secret anymore. What if she thought it better to tell someone he didn't want told? How could he enunciate that? Harry gathered his thoughts, "Here's where I stand. It was sent to me, it was mine. It was mine to do whatever I want, safe or sorry- my secret to tell or not tell. It isn't about right or wrong, it's about trust… and I can't trust you anymore." All said in a soulless monotone. Harry was… resigned.

"Oh, Harry! I'm so sorry!" apologized Hermione with tears in her eyes.

"About what?" asked Harry.

"…that I hurt you." Hermione admitted.

"You did what was right…" Harry deadpanned.

"Yes, I did." Hermione agreed.

Harry slapped his thighs and exclaimed, "Okay then!" cheerfully as he rose to his feet, "I have nothing more to say. I'm glad we sorted this out. We're done."

The last part made Hermione burst into tears and flee the Common Room. She disappeared through the tunnel that led outside.

"Harry, mate-" Ron started.

Harry stopped him, "Don't." He had already lost half the friends he had ever had. He didn't want to lose the rest.

"You're being too harsh on her," Ron ventured.

Harry took a deep breath, gathered his resolve and faced Ron. Ron never knew when to leave it the heck alone, didn't he? "She went behind our backs to McGonagall. What do you want me to do?"

"Forgive her? She thought she was doing the right thing. I hate it as much as you do, mate, but is it more important than our friendship?"

"Why should I forgive her," asked Harry, "when she won't even admit that she was wrong? Don't defend her, not to me and not right now."

"I'm not defending her!" Ron growled, "I'm saying she's our friend and we should forgive her!"

"What should you forgive her for? What she did, she did to me." Harry knew he was going low… yet it didn't bother him overly much. He was just aware of that fact. He was way past caring at this point- let the chips fall, as it were.

"Don't say that, okay? We're friends, all three of us," pleaded Ron.

It didn't resonate with Harry, "Not anymore."

"I'm going after her," Ron informed, "You should come." Ron was probably alluding to the troll incident after which the three had become best friends.

"I won't." Harry rejected the proposition, "If you want to go save her from some Dementors or whatever, then go do it. Don't let me keep you."

"Fine then! I'll go!" snapped Ron and with that he took his leave of the Common Room.

"Peachy!" declared Harry to the empty room. "Just peachy!" What a fine start to the Christmas Holidays!