The Girl Who Hid | ✓

|97| Hagrid's Despair

Just as I had predicted, the sixth years' free periods were not the hours of blissful relaxation Ron had anticipated, but times in which to attempt to keep up with the vast amount of homework they were being set. Not only were we studying as though we had exams every day, but the lessons themselves had become more demanding than ever before. Nonverbal spells were now expected, not only in Defense Against the Dark Arts, but in Charms and Transfiguration too.

It was a relief to get outside into the greenhouses; we were dealing with more dangerous plants than ever in Herbology, but at least I was still allowed to swear loudly if the Venomous Tentacula seized me unexpectedly from behind.

One result of our enormous workload and the frantic hours of practicing nonverbal spells was that Harry, Ron, Hermione, and I had so far been unable to find time to go and visit Hagrid. He had stopped coming to meals at the staff table, an ominous sign, and on the few occasions when we had passed him in the corridors or out in the grounds, he had mysteriously failed to notice us or hear our greetings.

"We've got to go and explain," I said, looking up at Hagrid's huge empty chair at the staff table the following Saturday at breakfast.

"We've got Quidditch tryouts this morning!" said Ron. "And we're supposed to be practicing that Aguamenti Charm from Flitwick! Anyway, explain what? How are we going to tell him we hated his stupid subject?"

"We didn't hate it!" said Hermione.

"Speak for yourself, I haven't forgotten the skrewts," said Ron darkly. "And I'm telling you now, we've had a narrow escape. You didn't hear him going on about his gormless brother— we'd have been teaching Grawp how to tie his shoelaces if we'd stayed."

"I hate not talking to Hagrid," said Hermione, looking upset.

"We'll go down after Quidditch," Harry assured her. "But trials might take all morning, the number of people who have applied. I dunno why the team's this popular all of a sudden."

"Oh, come on, Harry," said Hermione, suddenly impatient. "It's not Quidditch that's popular, it's you! You've never been more interesting, and frankly, you've never been more fanciable."

Ron gagged on a large piece of kipper. Hermione spared him one look of disdain before turning back to Harry.

"Everyone knows you've been telling the truth now, don't they? The whole Wizarding world has had to admit that you were right about Voldemort being back and that you really have fought him twice in the last two years and escaped both times. And now they're calling you 'the Chosen One'— well, come on, can't you see why people are fascinated by you?

"And you've been through all that persecution from the Ministry when they were trying to make out you were unstable and a liar. You can still see the marks on the back of your hand where that evil woman made you write with your own blood, but you stuck to your story anyway—"

"You can still see where those brains got hold of me in the Ministry, look," said Ron, shaking back his sleeves.

"And it doesn't hurt that you've grown about a foot over the summer either," Hermione finished, ignoring Ron.

"I'm tall," said Ron inconsequentially.

"Ron," I said softly and put my hand in his.

"But you'll be there right?" Harry said suddenly turning to me.

"At trials? Yeah, Hermione and me," I smiled.

"You're trying out, yeah?" said Ron.

"What— why— no, not this year," I laughed awkwardly. "Too much going on with lessons a-and—"