Poisoned Youth | ✓

40- Pity

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 we were being set. 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 practising nonverbal spells was that Harry, Ron, Hermione, and I had so far been unable to find time to go and visit Hagrid.

"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 practising 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," I said impatiently. "It's not Quidditch that's popular, it's you! You've never been more interesting, and frankly, you've never been more fanciable."

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

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

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

"No," I laughed awkwardly. "Too much going on with lessons and I hate flying!"

"Alright," Harry sighed sadly.

The post owls arrived, swooping down through rain-flecked windows, scattering everyone with droplets of water. Most people were receiving more post than usual; anxious parents were keen to hear from their children and to reassure them, in turn, that all was well at home. As the weeks progressed, I began to pay more attention to the Daily Prophet. Though Hermione's and my parents were muggles, I still feared their names would be in the paper. With Lord Voldemort's official return, muggleborns and muggles will soon begin worrying.

"Anyone we know dead?" asked Ron in a determinedly casual voice. He posed the same question every time Hermione opened the Daily prophet she bought.

"No, but there have been more dementor attacks," said Hermione. "And an arrest."

"Excellent, who?" I said, thinking of Bellatrix Lestrange.

"Stan Shunpike," said Hermione.

"Stan— What?" said Harry, startled.

" 'Stanley Shunpike, conductor on the popular Wizarding conveyance the Knight Bus, has been arrested on suspicion of Death Eater activity. Mr Shunpike, 21, was taken into custody late last night after a raid on his Clapham home...' "

"Stan Shunpike, a Death Eater?" said Harry. "No way!"

"He was a little whacky, but not Death Eater material," I breathed. "Hermione, we just saw him on the Knight Bus not even two months ago!"