Fred and George and the Toilers of Trouble (Year 1) ✔

Chapter 26:8

Professor Dumbledore led the way. They encircled the table.

"Look at us, Hagrid," said Professor Mulligan, trying to catch his eye. "I forgot we were ever this young."

He nodded stiffly, as Slughorn carried on with a fevered proposal.

"Undeniably, Moira. You're marvelous on a broomstick. Fearless, really! I know your uncle well. And a school governor to boot! And Myrtle, so wise. Your grandfather's political aspirations are the stuff of Muggle legend. Then we come to Aruzula. Dear girl, you leave me speechless," Slughorn praised, tilting his head back, as if the gesture would help him to best recollect her finest accomplishments in his class. "There is something so...enigmatic about you. Out of all the students at Hogwarts, you have shown the most aptitude toward Potions...almost as if you've been doing this longer than me! And you would blush if you heard the commendations of Professors Viridian and Flitwick. They could go on for hours about your unrivaled skill and natural ability. Since the very moment you entered this castle, you have shown yourself to be a magical prodigy. A fine sorceress in the making." He drank down his butterbeer with loud, eager gulps, licking the foam from his mustache when he was through. "So...what do you say?"

"It's a student organization?" the younger Moira confirmed uncertainly.

"A club. My club...for the best and brightest. And it won't just be you three. No!" he paused to look askance at Hagrid. And then, making a show of it, Slughorn scooted his chair so the giant third year would be less visible. "A number of fifth year students, and one from fourth year."

His eyes wandered the table, expecting them to ring out a triumphant 'YES!' When they shrugged indifferently, Slughorn finished the last of his drink and slammed the warm glass to the table.

"Think it over," he said quickly. "We're holding our first meeting after the Christmas break. Hope to see you!"

The scene gave a terrible jolt, springing them out of the Three Broomsticks and away from the village until they landed roughly on the wide path to Hogwarts. Hagrid and Aruzula were trudging through the snow towards the castle. On the hill behind them, standing out against the horizon, was the Shrieking Shack. It looked almost festive in a dusting of pristinely white snow.

"Yer not seriously considerin' this, are yeh?" asked Hagrid gruffly. "Them, sure. But yer goin' back inter the paintin' at the end o' this year."

Aruzula kicked at the loose snow on the side of the path.

"Maybe I don't have to."

"Wha'?!"

"Stop being so jealous, Hagrid," said Aruzula, calling him by his surname for the first time.

"Jealous?" he said incredulously. "Jealous o' what? Slughorn's little club? Hardly."

Aruzula started walking faster to put distance between them. "It's not my fault that you're a feeble wizard," she said, out of spite. "Why don't you go beg Professor Kettleburn to start a club. You spend more time with him and that disgusting gamekeeper these days anyhow. I'd think you wouldn't mind."

"I — it's the creatures. I like carin' for 'em, is all," said Hagrid, slowing his pace. His voice weakened. "Jus' feel like we owe it to 'em...after what we did."

"After what you did!" Aruzula retorted sharply. "I didn't force you to kill that hippogriff."

Hagrid stopped. He plonked heavily to the snow, not bothered by the cold as he sat with his thick arms crossing over even thicker knees. The eight of them could hear the young boy whimpering in the memory of all he'd done. Aruzula Darc did as well. She turned around and walked toward him, her expression softening.