As Hermione 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 they studying as though they had exams every day, but the lessons themselves had become more demanding than ever before. Harry barely understood half of what Professor McGonagall said to them these days; even Hermione had had to ask her to repeat instructions once or twice. Incredibly, and to Hermione's increasing resentment, Harry's best subject had suddenly become Potions, thanks to the Half-Blood Prince.
Non-verbal spells were now expected, not only in Defense Against the Dark Arts, but in Charms and Transfiguration too. Harry frequently looked over at his classmates in the common room or at mealtimes to see them purple in the face and straining as though they had overdosed on U-No-Poo; but he knew that they were really struggling to make spells work without saying incantations aloud. It was a relief to get outside into the greenhouses; they were dealing with more dangerous plants than ever in Herbology, but at least they were still allowed to swear loudly if the Venomous Tentacula seized them unexpectedly from behind.
One result of their enormous workload and the frantic hours of practicing non-verbal spells was that Harry, Ron, and Hermione 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 they had passed him in the corridors or out in the grounds, he had mysteriously failed to notice them or hear their greetings.
“We've got to go and explain,” said Hermione, 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. He too was missing Hagrid, although like Ron he thought that they were better off without Grawp in their lives. “But trials might take all morning, the number of people who have applied.” He felt slightly nervous at confronting the first hurdle of his Captaincy. “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?”
Harry was finding the Great Hall very hot all of a sudden, even though the ceiling still looked cold and rainy.
“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.
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. Harry had received no mail since the start of term; his only regular correspondent was now dead and although he had hoped that Lupin might write occasionally, he had so far been disappointed. He was very surprised, therefore, to see the snowy white Hedwig circling amongst all the brown and gray owls. She landed in front of him carrying a large, square package. A moment later, an identical package landed in front of Ron, crushing beneath it his minuscule and exhausted owl, Pigwidgeon.
“Ha!” said Harry, unwrapping the parcel to reveal a new copy of Advanced Potion-Making, fresh from Flourish and Blotts.
“Oh good,” said Hermione, delighted. “Now you can give that graffitied copy back.”
“Are you mad?” said Harry. “I'm keeping it! Look, I've thought it out —”
He pulled the old copy of Advanced Potion-Making out of his bag and tapped the cover with his wand, muttering, “Diffindo!” The cover fell off. He did the same thing with the brand-new book (Hermione looked scandalized). He then swapped the covers, tapped each, and said, “Reparo!”
There sat the Prince's copy, disguised as a new book, and there sat the fresh copy from Flourish and Blotts, looking thoroughly second-hand.
“I'll give Slughorn back the new one, he can't complain, it cost nine Galleons.”
Hermione pressed her lips together, looking angry and disapproving, but was distracted by a third owl landing in front of her carrying that day's copy of the Daily Prophet. She unfolded it hastily and scanned the front page.
“Anyone we know dead?” asked Ron in a determinedly casual voice; he posed the same question every time Hermione opened her paper.
“No, but there have been more dementor attacks,” said Hermione. “And an arrest.”
“Excellent, who?” said Harry, thinking of Bellatrix Lestrange.
“Stan Shunpike,” said Hermione.
“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, remembering the spotty youth he had first met three years before. “No way!”
“He might have been put under the Imperius Curse,” said Ron reasonably. “You never can tell.”
“It doesn't look like it,” said Hermione, who was still reading. “It says here he was arrested after he was overheard talking about the Death Eaters’ secret plans in a pub.” She looked up with a troubled expression on her face. “If he was under the Imperius Curse, he'd hardly stand around gossiping about their plans, would he?”
“It sounds like he was trying to make out he knew more than he did,” said Ron. “Isn't he the one who claimed he was going to become Minister of Magic when he was trying to chat up those Veela?”
“Yeah, that's him,” said Harry. “I dunno what they're playing at, taking Stan seriously.”
“They probably want to look as though they're doing something,” said Hermione, frowning. “People are terrified—you know the Patil twins’ parents want them to go home? And Eloise Midgen has already been withdrawn. Her father picked her up last night.”
“What!” said Ron, goggling at Hermione. “But Hogwarts is safer than their homes, bound to be! We've got Aurors, and all those extra protective spells, and we've got Dumbledore!”
“I don't think we've got him all the time,” said Hermione very quietly, glancing toward the staff table over the top of the Prophet. “Haven't you noticed? His seat's been empty as often as Hagrid's this past week.”
Harry and Ron looked up at the staff table. The Headmaster's chair was indeed empty. Now Harry came to think of it, he had not seen Dumbledore since their private lesson a week ago.
“I think he's left the school to do something with the Order,” said Hermione in a low voice. “I mean... it's all looking serious, isn't it?”
Harry and Ron did not answer, but Harry knew that they were all thinking the same thing. There had been a horrible incident the day before, when Hannah Abbott had been taken out of Herbology to be told her mother had been found dead. They had not seen Hannah since.
When they left the Gryffindor table five minutes later to head down to the Quidditch pitch, they passed Lavender Brown and Parvati Patil. Remembering what Hermione had said about the Patil twins’ parents wanting them to leave Hogwarts, Harry was unsurprised to see that the two best friends were whispering together, looking distressed. What did surprise him was that when Ron drew level with them, Parvati suddenly nudged Lavender, who looked around and gave Ron a wide smile. Ron blinked at her, then returned the smile uncertainly. His walk instantly became something more like a strut. Harry resisted the temptation to laugh, remembering that Ron had refrained from doing so after Malfoy had broken Harry's nose; Hermione, however, looked cold and distant all the way down to the stadium through the cool, misty drizzle, and departed to find a place in the stands without wishing Ron good luck.
As Harry had expected, the trials took most of the morning. Half of Gryffindor House seemed to have turned up, from first years who were nervously clutching a selection of the dreadful old school brooms, to seventh years who towered over the rest, looking coolly intimidating. The latter included a large, wiry-haired boy Harry recognized immediately from the Hogwarts Express.
“We met on the train, in old Sluggy's compartment,” he said confidently, stepping out of the crowd to shake Harry's hand. “Cormac McLaggen, Keeper.”
“You didn't try out last year, did you?” asked Harry, taking note of the breadth of McLaggen and thinking that he would probably block all three goal hoops without even moving.
“I was in the hospital wing when they held the trials,” said McLaggen, with something of a swagger. “Ate a pound of Doxy eggs for a bet.”
“Right,” said Harry. “Well... if you wait over there ...”
He pointed over to the edge of the pitch, close to where Hermione was sitting. He thought he saw a flicker of annoyance pass over McLaggen's face and wondered whether McLaggen expected preferential treatment because they were both “old Sluggy's” favorites.
Harry decided to start with a basic test, asking all applicants for the team to divide into groups of ten and fly once around the pitch. This was a good decision: the first ten was made up of first years, and it could not have been plainer that they had hardly ever flown before. Only one boy managed to remain airborne for more than a few seconds, and he was so surprised he promptly crashed into one of the goal posts.
The second group was comprised of ten of the silliest girls Harry had ever encountered, who, when he blew his whistle, merely fell about giggling and clutching one another. Romilda Vane was amongst them. When he told them to leave the pitch, they did so quite cheerfully and went to sit in the stands to heckle everyone else.
The third group had a pile-up halfway around the pitch. Most of the fourth group had come without broomsticks. The fifth group were Hufflepuffs.
“If there's anyone else here who's not from Gryffindor,” roared Harry, who was starting to get seriously annoyed, “leave now, please!”
There was a pause, then a couple of little Ravenclaws went sprinting off the pitch, snorting with laughter.
After two hours, many complaints, and several tantrums, one involving a crashed Comet Two Sixty and several broken teeth, Harry had found himself three Chasers: Katie Bell, returned to the team after an excellent trial; a new find called Demelza Robins, who was particularly good at dodging Bludgers; and Ginny Weasley, who had outflown all the competition and scored seventeen goals to boot. Pleased though he was with his choices, Harry had also shouted himself hoarse at the many complainers and was now enduring a similar battle with the rejected Beaters.
“That's my final decision and if you don't get out of the way of the Keepers I'll hex you,” he bellowed.
Neither of his chosen Beaters had the old brilliance of Fred and George, but he was still reasonably pleased with them: Jimmy Peakes, a short but broad-chested third-year boy who had managed to raise a lump the size of an egg on the back of Harry's head with a ferociously hit Bludger, and Ritchie Coote, who looked weedy but aimed well. They now joined Katie, Demelza, and Ginny in the stands to watch the selection of their last team member.
Harry had deliberately left the trial of the Keepers until last, hoping for an emptier stadium and less pressure on all concerned. Unfortunately, however, all the rejected players and a number of people who had come down to watch after a lengthy breakfast had joined the crowd by now, so that it was larger than ever. As each Keeper flew up to the goal hoops, the crowd roared and jeered in equal measure. Harry glanced over at Ron, who had always had a problem with nerves; Harry had hoped that winning their final match last term might have cured it, but apparently not: Ron was a delicate shade of green.
None of the first five applicants saved more than two goals apiece. To Harry's great disappointment, Cormac McLaggen saved four penalties out of five. On the last one, however, he shot off in completely the wrong direction; the crowd laughed and booed and McLaggen returned to the ground grinding his teeth.
Ron looked ready to pass out as he mounted his Cleansweep Eleven.
“Good luck!” cried a voice from the stands. Harry looked around, expecting to see Hermione, but it was Lavender Brown. He would have quite liked to have hidden his face in his hands, as she did a moment later, but thought that as the Captain he ought to show slightly more grit, and so turned to watch Ron do his trial.
Yet he need not have worried: Ron saved one, two, three, four, five penalties in a row. Delighted, and resisting joining in the cheers of the crowd with difficulty, Harry turned to McLaggen to tell him that, most unfortunately, Ron had beaten him, only to find McLaggen's red face inches from his own. He stepped back hastily.
“His sister didn't really try,” said McLaggen menacingly. There was a vein pulsing in his temple like the one Harry had often admired in Uncle Vernon's. “She gave him an easy save.”
“Rubbish,” said Harry coldly. “That was the one he nearly missed.”
McLaggen took a step nearer Harry, who stood his ground this time.
“Give me another go.”
“No,” said Harry. “You've had your go. You saved four. Ron saved five. Ron's Keeper, he won it fair and square. Get out of my way.”
He thought for a moment that McLaggen might punch him, but he contented himself with an ugly grimace and stormed away, growling what sounded like threats to thin air.
Harry turned around to find his new team beaming at him.
“Well done,” he croaked. “You flew really well —”
“You did brilliantly, Ron!”
This time it really was Hermione running toward them from the stands; Harry saw Lavender walking off the pitch, arm in arm with Parvati, a rather grumpy expression on her face. Ron looked extremely pleased with himself and even taller than usual as he grinned at the team and at Hermione.
After fixing the time of their first full practice for the following Thursday, Harry, Ron, and Hermione bade goodbye to the rest of the team and headed off toward Hagrid's. A watery sun was trying to break through the clouds now and it had stopped drizzling at last. Harry felt extremely hungry; he hoped there would be something to eat at Hagrid's.
“I thought I was going to miss that fourth penalty,” Ron was saying happily. “Tricky shot from Demelza, did you see, had a bit of spin on it —”
“Yes, yes, you were magnificent,” said Hermione, looking amused.
“I was better than that McLaggen anyway,” said Ron in a highly satisfied voice. “Did you see him lumbering off in the wrong direction on his fifth? Looked like he'd been Confunded. ...”
To Harry's surprise, Hermione turned a very deep shade of pink at these words. Ron noticed nothing; he was too busy describing each of his other penalties in loving detail.
The great gray hippogriff, Buckbeak, was tethered in front of Hagrid's cabin. He clicked his razor-sharp beak at their approach and turned his huge head toward them.
“Oh dear,” said Hermione nervously. “He's still a bit scary, isn't he?”
“Come off it, you've ridden him, haven't you?” said Ron. Harry stepped forward and bowed low to the hippogriff without breaking eye contact or blinking. After a few seconds, Buckbeak sank into a bow too.
“How are you?” Harry asked him in a low voice, moving forward to stroke the feathery head. “Missing him? But you're okay here with Hagrid, aren't you?”
“Oi!” said a loud voice.
Hagrid had come striding around the corner of his cabin wearing a large flowery apron and carrying a sack of potatoes. His enormous boarhound, Fang, was at his heels; Fang gave a booming bark and bounded forward.
“Git away from him! He'll have yer fingers—oh. It's yeh lot.”
Fang was jumping up at Hermione and Ron, attempting to lick their ears. Hagrid stood and looked at them all for a split second, then turned and strode into his cabin, slamming the door behind him.
“Oh dear!” said Hermione, looking stricken.
“Don't worry about it,” said Harry grimly. He walked over to the door and knocked loudly.
“Hagrid! Open up, we want to talk to you!”
There was no sound from within.
“If you don't open the door, we'll blast it open!” Harry said, pulling out his wand.
“Harry!” said Hermione, sounding shocked. “You can't possibly —”
“Yeah, I can!” said Harry. “Stand back —”
But before he could say anything else, the door flew open again as Harry had known it would, and there stood Hagrid, glowering down at him and looking, despite the flowery apron, positively alarming.
“I'm a teacher!” he roared at Harry. “A teacher, Potter! How dare yeh threaten ter break down my door!”
“I'm sorry, sir,” said Harry, emphasizing the last word as he stowed his wand inside his robes.
Hagrid looked stunned. “Since when have yeh called me ‘sir'?”
“Since when have you called me ‘Potter'?”
“Oh, very clever,” growled Hagrid. “Very amusin'. That's me outsmarted, innit? All righ', come in then, yeh ungrateful little...”
Mumbling darkly, he stood back to let them pass. Hermione scurried in after Harry, looking rather frightened.
“Well?” said Hagrid grumpily, as Harry, Ron, and Hermione sat down around his enormous wooden table, Fang laying his head immediately upon Harry's knee and drooling all over his robes. “What's this? Feelin’ sorry for me? Reckon I'm lonely or summat?”
“No,” said Harry at once. “We wanted to see you.”
“We've missed you!” said Hermione tremulously.
“Missed me, have yeh?” snorted Hagrid. “Yeah. Righ'.”
He stomped around, brewing up tea in his enormous copper kettle, muttering all the while. Finally he slammed down three bucket-sized mugs of mahogany-brown tea in front of them and a plate of his rock cakes. Harry was hungry enough even for Hagrid's cooking, and took one at once.
“Hagrid,” said Hermione timidly, when he joined them at the table and started peeling his potatoes with a brutality that suggested that each tuber had done him a great personal wrong, “we really wanted to carry on with Care of Magical Creatures, you know.” Hagrid gave another great snort. Harry rather thought some bogeys landed on the potatoes, and was inwardly thankful that they were not staying for dinner.
“We did!” said Hermione. “But none of us could fit it into our schedules!”
“Yeah. Righ',” said Hagrid again.
There was a funny squelching sound and they all looked around: Hermione let out a tiny shriek, and Ron leapt out of his seat and hurried around the table away from the large barrel standing in the corner that they had only just noticed. It was full of what looked like foot-long maggots, slimy, white, and writhing.
“What are they, Hagrid?” asked Harry, trying to sound interested rather than revolted, but putting down his rock cake all the same.
“Jus’ giant grubs,” said Hagrid.
“And they grow into...?” said Ron, looking apprehensive.
“They won’ grow inter nuthin',” said Hagrid. “I got ‘em ter feed ter Aragog.”
And without warning, he burst into tears.
“Hagrid!” cried Hermione, leaping up, hurrying around the table the long way to avoid the barrel of maggots, and putting an arm around his shaking shoulders. “What is it?”
“It's... him...” gulped Hagrid, his beetle-black eyes streaming as he mopped his face with his apron. “It's... Aragog... I think he's dyin'... He got ill over the summer an’ he's not gettin’ better... I don’ know what I'll do if he... if he... We've bin tergether so long...”
Hermione patted Hagrid's shoulder, looking at a complete loss for anything to say. Harry knew how she felt. He had known Hagrid to present a vicious baby dragon with a teddy bear, seen him croon over giant scorpions with suckers and stingers, attempt to reason with his brutal giant of a half-brother, but this was perhaps the most incomprehensible of all his monster fancies: the gigantic talking spider, Aragog, who dwelled deep in the Forbidden Forest and which he and Ron had only narrowly escaped four years previously.
“Is there—is there anything we can do?” Hermione asked, ignoring Ron's frantic grimaces and head-shakings.
“I don’ think there is, Hermione,” choked Hagrid, attempting to stem the flood of his tears. “See, the rest o’ the tribe ... Aragog's family... they're gettin’ a bit funny now he's ill... bit restive ...”
“Yeah, I think we saw a bit of that side of them,” said Ron in an undertone.
“... I don’ reckon it'd be safe fer anyone but me ter go near the colony at the mo',” Hagrid finished, blowing his nose hard on his apron and looking up. “But thanks fer offerin', Hermione... It means a lot.”
After that, the atmosphere lightened considerably, for although neither Harry nor Ron had shown any inclination to go and feed giant grubs to a murderous, gargantuan spider, Hagrid seemed to take it for granted that they would have liked to have done and became his usual self once more.
“Ar, I always knew yeh'd find it hard ter squeeze me inter yer timetables,” he said gruffly, pouring them more tea. “Even if yeh applied fer Time-Turners —”
“We couldn't have done,” said Hermione. “We smashed the entire stock of Ministry Time-Turners when we were there last summer. It was in the Daily Prophet.”
“Ar, well then,” said Hagrid. “There's no way yeh could've done it... I'm sorry I've bin—yeh know—I've jus’ bin worried about Aragog ... an I did wonder whether, if Professor Grubbly-Plank had bin teachin’ yeh —”
At which all three of them stated categorically and untruthfully that Professor Grubbly-Plank, who had substituted for Hagrid a few times, was a dreadful teacher, with the result that by the time Hagrid waved them off the premises at dusk, he looked quite cheerful.
“I'm starving,” said Harry, once the door had closed behind them and they were hurrying through the dark and deserted grounds; he had abandoned the rock cake after an ominous cracking noise from one of his back teeth. “And I've got that detention with Snape tonight, I haven't got much time for dinner.”
As they came into the castle they spotted Cormac McLaggen entering the Great Hall. It took him two attempts to get through the doors; he ricocheted off the frame on the first attempt. Ron merely guffawed gloatingly and strode off into the Hall after him, but Harry caught Hermione's arm and held her back.
“What?” said Hermione defensively.
“If you ask me,” said Harry quietly, “McLaggen looks like he was Confunded this morning. And he was standing right in front of where you were sitting.”
Hermione blushed.
“Oh, all right then, I did it,” she whispered. “But you should have heard the way he was talking about Ron and Ginny! Anyway, he's got a nasty temper, you saw how he reacted when he didn't get in—you wouldn't have wanted someone like that on the team.”
“No,” said Harry. “No, I suppose that's true. But wasn't that dishonest, Hermione? I mean, you're a prefect, aren't you?”
“Oh, be quiet,” she snapped, as he smirked.
“What are you two doing?” demanded Ron, reappearing in the doorway to the Great Hall and looking suspicious.
“Nothing,” said Harry and Hermione together, and they hurried after Ron. The smell of roast beef made Harry's stomach ache with hunger, but they had barely taken three steps toward the Gryffindor table when Professor Slughorn appeared in front of them, blocking their path.
“Harry, Harry, just the man I was hoping to see!” he boomed genially, twiddling the ends of his walrus mustache and puffing out his enormous belly, “I was hoping to catch you before dinner! What do you say to a spot of supper tonight in my rooms instead? We're having a little party, just a few rising stars, I've got McLaggen coming and Zabini, the charming Melinda Bobbin—I don't know whether you know her? Her family owns a large chain of apothecaries—and, of course, I hope very much that Miss Granger will favor me by coming too.”
Slughorn made Hermione a little bow as he finished speaking. It was as though Ron was not present; Slughorn did not so much as look at him.
“I can't come, Professor,” said Harry at once. “I've got a detention with Professor Snape.”
“Oh dear!” said Slughorn, his face falling comically. “Dear, dear, I was counting on you, Harry! Well, now, I'll just have to have a word with Severus and explain the situation. I'm sure I'll be able to persuade him to postpone your detention. Yes, I'll see you both later!”
He bustled away out of the Hall.
“He's got no chance of persuading Snape,” said Harry, the moment Slughorn was out of earshot. “This detention's already been postponed once; Snape did it for Dumbledore, but he won't do it for anyone else.”
“Oh, I wish you could come, I don't want to go on my own!” said Hermione anxiously; Harry knew that she was thinking about McLaggen.
“I doubt you'll be alone, Ginny'll probably be invited,” snapped Ron, who did not seem to have taken kindly to being ignored by Slughorn.
After dinner they made their way back to Gryffindor Tower. The common room was very crowded, as most people had finished dinner by now, but they managed to find a free table and sat down; Ron, who had been in a bad mood ever since the encounter with Slughorn, folded his arms and frowned at the ceiling. Hermione reached out for a copy of the Evening Prophet, which somebody had left abandoned on a chair.
“Anything new?” said Harry.
“Not really...” Hermione had opened the newspaper and was scanning the inside pages. “Oh, look, your dad's in here, Ron—he's all right!” she added quickly, for Ron had looked around in alarm. “It just says he's been to visit the Malfoys’ house. ‘This second search of the Death Eaters residence does not seem to have yielded any results. Arthur Weasley of the Office for the Detection and Confiscation of Counterfeit Defensive Spells and Protective Objects said that his team had been acting upon a confidential tip-off.’”
“Yeah, mine!” said Harry. “I told him at Kings Cross about Malfoy and that thing he was trying to get Borgin to fix! Well, if it's not at their house, he must have brought whatever it is to Hogwarts with him—”
“But how can he have done, Harry?” said Hermione, putting down the newspaper with a surprised look. “We were all searched when we arrived, weren't we?”
“Were you?” said Harry, taken aback. “I wasn't!”
“Oh no, of course you weren't, I forgot you were late. Well, Filch ran over all of us with Secrecy Sensors when we got into the entrance hall. Any Dark object would have been found, I know for a fact Crabbe had a shrunken head confiscated. So you see, Malfoy can't have brought in anything dangerous!”
Momentarily stymied, Harry watched Ginny Weasley playing with Arnold the Pygmy Puff for a while before seeing a way around this objection.
“Someone's sent it to him by owl, then,” he said. “His mother or someone.”
“All the owls are being checked too,” said Hermione. “Filch told us so when he was jabbing those Secrecy Sensors everywhere he could reach.”
Really stumped this time, Harry found nothing else to say. There did not seem to be any way Malfoy could have brought a dangerous or Dark object into the school. He looked hopefully at Ron, who was sitting with his arms folded, staring over at Lavender Brown.
“Can you think of any way Malfoy — ?”
“Oh, drop it, Harry,” said Ron.
“Listen, it's not my fault Slughorn invited Hermione and me to his stupid party, neither of us wanted to go, you know!” said Harry, firing up.
“Well, as I'm not invited to any parties,” said Ron, getting to his feet again, “I think I'll go to bed.”
He stomped off toward the door to the boys’ dormitories, leaving Harry and Hermione staring after him.
“Harry?” said the new Chaser, Demelza Robins, appearing suddenly at his shoulder. “I've got a message for you.”
“From Professor Slughorn?” asked Harry, sitting up hopefully.
“No ... from Professor Snape,” said Demelza. Harry's heart sank. “He says you're to come to his office at half past eight tonight to do your detention—er—no matter how many party invitations you've received. And he wanted you to know you'll be sorting out rotten flobberworms from good ones, to use in Potions and—and he says there's no need to bring protective gloves.”
“Right,” said Harry grimly. “Thanks a lot, Demelza.”
正如赫敏预言的那样，六年级的自由时间并不能像罗恩所期待的那样用来幸福地放松，而是要去应付大量的作业。不但每天的学习都像是在考试，而且每门课的要求都比从前高了许多。这些天来，麦格教授讲的内容哈利基本上只能听懂一半，就连赫敏也在要求她反复讲两三遍。令人难以置信同样也令赫敏越来越愤怒的是，拜混血王子所赐，哈利最好的科目突然变成了魔药学。
不仅是黑魔法防御术，现在魔咒课和变形课也开始要求无声咒语了。哈利常常能在公共休息室或是吃饭的时候看见他的同学把脸憋成紫色，扭曲得就像吃多了生秘灵一样；但他知道他们实际上是在练习不出声地念咒语。所以到温室去上课就成为了一种放松；尽管现在他们在草药课上要对付更加危险的植物了，可至少当他们毫无防备地被毒触手从后面抓住时，还可以扯开嗓子大声咒骂。
如此繁重的课业和对无声咒语的疯狂练习使得他们没有时间去看海格，他已经不到教工餐桌上去吃饭了，这是个不祥之兆，不可思议的是，有几次在走廊和学校的操场碰到他，海格也没留意他们，更没有打招呼。
“我们必须去解释解释，”星期六早上赫敏盯着教工餐桌上海格巨大的空座位说。
“我们今天早上有魁地奇球队的选拔！”罗恩说。“我们还要练习弗立维教授的引水咒呢！而且你能解释什么？怎么告诉他我们恨这门愚蠢的课？”
“我们不恨它！”赫敏说。
“你自己去说吧，我可没忘记炸尾螺，”罗恩阴沉着脸说。“而且我告诉你，我们刚刚才幸免于难。你没听说海格对他那个呆头呆脑的弟弟在做什么吗——如果待在那儿，我们就得去教格洛普系鞋带。”
“我不愿意总这么不跟海格说话，”赫敏看上去有些心烦意乱。
“我们魁地奇选拔结束之后就去，”哈利向她保证说。他也很想念海格，不过他和罗恩一样希望自己的生活里还是不要出现格洛普为好。“可是选拔可能要持续一个上午，申请加入的人太多了。”面对他上任队长之后的第一个困难，哈利显得稍微有些紧张。“我不知道为什么突然之间球队就变得这么热门了。”
“哦，得了吧，哈利，”赫敏突然有些不耐烦。“不是魁地奇那么热门，是你！没有什么比你更能引起他们的兴趣，说白了，没有什么比你更能让人迷恋了。”
罗恩被一大片熏鱼噎住了。赫敏轻蔑地瞥了他一眼，又转向了哈利。
“现在每个人都知道你说的是真话了，是不是？整个巫师社会都得承认你说伏地魔回来是对的，在过去的两年里，是你真正和伏地魔交锋了两次而且两次都逃脱了。现在他们称你为‘真命天子’——好了，想想看，还瞧不出人们为什么对你着迷吗？”
哈利突然间感觉礼堂特别热，虽然天花板看上去还在下着冷雨。
“而且现在你已经从魔法部对你的迫害中摆脱出来了，他们当时那样想让大伙相信你是个不可靠的骗子。那个可恶的女人让你用自己的血在手背上写下的记号还在那儿，可是不管怎样你都坚持了自己的说法……”
“魔法部里的那些脑子给我抓下的印记也在，瞧，”罗恩撸起袖子说。
“那也没影响到你夏天长了一英尺啊，”赫敏没有理会罗恩。
“我挺高的，”罗恩莫名其妙地说。
猫头鹰邮递到了，它们穿过雨渍斑斑的窗户俯冲进来，把雨点撒在了每个人身上。大多数人的信件都比平时要多；焦虑不安的家长们都渴望能收到孩子们的信件，同时也告诉孩子们家里一切都好，让他们安心。哈利从开学到现在还没有收到过一封信件；唯一经常与他通信的人已经离去了，他只是希望卢平偶尔能给他写一两封信，不过到目前为止都令人失望。所以当他在那些棕色和灰色的猫头鹰中间看到雪白的猫头鹰海德薇时都惊呆了，它携带着一个方形的大包裹停在了哈利面前。不一会儿，罗恩的猫头鹰小猪也给罗恩带来了同样的一份包裹，它显得精疲力竭，看上去就快被身上的包裹被压扁了。
“哈！”哈利解开包裹，里面是一本崭新的《高级魔药制备》，刚刚从丽痕书店寄来的。
“哦，太好了，”赫敏高兴地说。“现在你可以把那本乱涂乱划的书给还回去了。”
“你疯了吗？”哈利说。“我要留着它！你看，我都想好了——”
他从书包里取出那本旧的《高级魔药制备》，用魔杖轻轻地敲了敲封面，低声念道，“四分五裂！”封面就掉了下来。然后他对新书也做了同样的事情（赫敏看上去很反感）。最后他调换了两本书的封面，又轻轻敲了敲每一本，念道，“恢复如初！”
王子的那本书被伪装成了新的，而丽痕书店的那本，现在看上去就像二手货。
“我把这本新的还给斯拉霍恩，他不会抱怨的，值九个加隆呢！”赫敏噘起了嘴，看起来很生气，也很不满，但她马上把注意力转移到了另一只猫头鹰身上，它送来了今天的《预言家日报》。于是她赶紧展看报纸浏览起头版来。
“有什么我们认识的人死了吗？”罗恩轻描淡写地问，每次赫敏看报纸的时候他都要问这个问题。
“没有，但是摄魂怪的袭击增加了，”赫敏说。“有一个人被逮捕了。”
“太棒了，谁？”哈利说，他希望是贝拉特里克斯·莱斯特兰奇。
“斯坦·桑帕克，”赫敏说。
“什么？”哈利感到非常震惊。
“‘斯坦·桑帕克，巫师界最受欢迎的交通工具骑士公共汽车的售票员，因涉嫌参与食死徒活动于日前被捕。桑帕克先生，现年21岁，在昨天深夜的一次搜捕行动中，他在位于克拉彭的住所中被拘捕……’”
“斯坦·桑帕克是个食死徒？”哈利想起了三年前见到的那个满脸青春痘的年轻人。“绝不可能！”
“他也许是中了夺魂咒，”罗恩理智地说。“谁说得清呢。”
“看上去不像是这样，”赫敏仍然在继续看。“报上说是他在一家酒吧里被人听到在谈论食死徒的秘密计划才被捕的。”她抬起头，一脸的困惑。“如果他中了夺魂咒，就不会乱讲食死徒的计划了，是不是？”
“听起来他只不过是有点儿言过其实，”罗恩说。“他不就是那个在媚娃面前号称自己将要成为魔法部部长的人吗？”
“对，就是他，”哈利说。“我不知道他们在玩什么把戏，和斯坦一般见识。”
“也许是想让人觉得他们的确做了些什么，”赫敏皱了皱眉。“人们都很恐慌——你知道佩蒂尔姐妹的父母想让她们回家吗？还有爱洛伊丝·米德根都已经回去了，她爸爸昨天晚上把她接走的。”
“什么！”罗恩瞪着赫敏。“可是霍格沃茨比她们家里要安全啊，那是绝对的！我们有傲罗守着，还有那么多新添加的防护咒语，而且我们还有邓布利多！”
“我可不认为我们一直都有他，”赫敏平静地说，她越过《预言家日报》瞟了一眼教工餐桌。“你没注意到吗，过去的一周他的座位和海格的一样经常空着。”
哈利和罗恩抬头看了看教工餐桌。校长的座位确实空着。哈利这才想起来自从一周前的单独授课之后就再也没有见到邓布利多了。
“我觉得他离开学校是去为凤凰社做事了，”赫敏低声说道。“我是说……所有的局势看起来都很严重，是不是？”
哈利和罗恩没有回答，但是哈利知道他们想起了同一件事。前天发生了一次可怕的变故，汉娜·艾博在草药课上被叫了出去并被告知了她妈妈的死讯。从那之后他们就再也没看见过汉娜。
五分钟后他们离开格兰芬多餐桌去魁地奇球场，路过了拉文德·布朗和帕瓦蒂·佩蒂尔。哈利一想起赫敏说佩蒂尔姐妹的父母想要她们离开霍格沃茨的那些话，就不会对这两个最要好的朋友正在苦恼地窃窃私语感到惊讶了。而真正让他感到吃惊的是，罗恩走过她们身边的时候，帕瓦蒂用肘轻轻推了推拉文德，她转过头来给了罗恩一个灿烂的微笑。罗恩冲她眨了眨眼，也回敬了一个捉摸不透的微笑。他的步子立刻变得有些神气活现。哈利忍住了想笑的念头，他记得上次马尔福踩断哈利鼻子的时候罗恩也是这样忍住了笑；可是，赫敏却非常冷淡，去球场的一路上都在绵绵冷雨之中和他们保持着距离，到了球场之后，还没有祝罗恩好运就去找座位了。
如同哈利所预计的那样，选拔持续了几乎整个上午。似乎半个格兰芬多学院都出动了，从一年级新生（他们紧张地抓着学校里的那些破烂扫帚）到七年级的老生（他们高大得有些吓人，看上去非常冷静）。后者中还包括一个头发硬直的大块头男生，哈利一眼就认出来了，自己在霍格沃茨特快列车上见过他。
“我们在火车上见过，在老鼻涕虫（译注：斯拉霍恩的名字里带有slug，在英语里是鼻涕虫的意思，所以麦克拉根称他为老鼻涕虫）的包厢里，”他自信地说，从人群中走出来握了握哈利的手。“科马克·麦克拉根，守门员。”
“去年你没有参加选拔，是吧？”哈利问，他注意到麦克拉根的肩膀宽得不用移动就足以挡住所有的三个球门。
“去年他们选拔的时候我正在住院，”麦克拉根狂妄地说：“打赌输了，吃了一磅狐媚子卵。”
“好吧，”哈利说。“嗯……你在那边等吧……”
他指了指球场的一角，赫敏就坐在那附近。他似乎看到麦克拉根的脸上闪过了一丝恼怒，哈利猜想麦克拉根是不是以为他们都是‘老鼻涕虫’喜欢的学生就能得到点特殊待遇。
哈利决定从一个基本的测试开始，他把所有报名的人分为十人一组，让他们绕着球场飞一圈。这是个好主意：第一组是一年级，再明显不过了，他们从前几乎都没有飞过。只有一个男孩设法在空中多停留了几秒钟，最后他惊慌失措地撞上了门柱。
第二组由十个哈利见过的最愚蠢的女孩组成，哈利吹哨之后，他们只是大声地傻笑，彼此相互抓紧。那个叫罗蜜尔达·文恩的女孩也在其中。哈利让她们离开球场，她们非常愉快地照做了，一窝蜂地坐到看台上去嘲笑剩下的每个人。
第三组的人在绕到球场一半的时候撞成了一堆。第四组的大多数人都没有带飞天扫帚。第五组的人都是赫奇帕奇的。
“如果这里还有不是格兰芬多的人，”哈利吼道，他开始有些恼羞成怒了，“请马上离开！”
片刻的安静之后，几个拉文克劳的低年级学生飞快地跑出了球场，一边还呼哧呼哧地笑。
在抱怨了两个小时和发了几次脾气——其中的一次摔坏了一把彗星260，还撞碎了几颗牙——之后，哈利终于找到了三个追球手：凯蒂·贝尔在经历了一番精彩绝伦的考核之后回到了队里，新人德梅尔扎·罗宾斯在躲避游走球方面表现得特别出色，还有金妮·韦斯莱，她整个选拔过程中都表现得很出众，还进了17个球。尽管哈利对他的选择很满意，可他还是冲无数的抗议者喊到嗓子都哑了，现在他又得和被淘汰的击球手们再来一场类似的争吵。
“那是我最终的决定了，你们谁要是不给守门员的选拔让路，我就对他施咒！”哈利吼道。
他选中的击球手都不具备老队员弗雷德和乔治那样的才华，但他还是颇为满意：吉米·皮克斯，一个矮小但是肩膀很宽的三年级学生，他把游走球凶狠地击到了哈利的后脑勺上，使哈利的脑袋上鼓起了一个鸡蛋大小的包，还有里奇·库特，看上去骨瘦如柴，但很擅长于瞄准。他们现在加入到凯蒂、德梅尔扎和金妮之中，坐在看台上观看球队最后一个成员的选拔。
哈利故意把守门员的选拔放到了最后，他希望球场的人能走掉一些，他们的压力就能小一点。然而不幸的是，如今所有落选的人和一些刚吃完早饭的人也都加入到了观众的队伍中，这样看的人就更多了。每个守门员飞向球门的时候他们都同样爆发出大声的嘲笑。哈利瞟了一眼容易紧张的罗恩；哈利本以为上学期赢得最后一场比赛已经治好了罗恩的这个毛病，不过显然没有：罗恩的脸都绿了。
前五个选手没有一个能救起两个以上的球，令哈利非常失望的是，科马克·麦克拉根救起了五个罚球中的四个。不过他救最后一个球的时候完全扑错了方向；人群中爆发出一阵笑声和嘘声，麦克拉根咬牙切齿地回到了地面。
罗恩骑上横扫七星的时候仿佛就要昏死过去了。
“祝你好运！”看台的人群中一个声音喊道。哈利往四处看了看，希望那是赫敏，但看到的却是拉文德·布朗。哈利很想像她那样把脸埋在手里不去看，可是作为一个队长，他应该稍稍坚韧一些，于是他转过头去看罗恩的试验。
不过他根本用不着担心：罗恩救起了一个球，两个，三个，四个，连续五个！哈利很高兴，他艰难地克制着自己不去加入欢呼的人群。哈利想转过身告诉麦克拉根，很不幸，罗恩击败他了，却发现麦克拉根涨红的脸就在离他几英寸远的地方，哈利赶紧退了几步。
“他妹妹根本就没有认真击球。”麦克拉根恶狠狠地说，他太阳穴上的血管涨了起来，就像哈利经常在弗农姨父脸上看到的那样。“她给他的球都很容易扑救。”
“胡说，”哈利冷冷地说。“他差一点就没有救到。”
麦克拉根又迈近了一步，这次哈利没有后退。
“再让我试一次。”
“不，”哈利说。“你已经试过一次了。你救起了四个。而罗恩救起了五个。罗恩是守门员了，他光明正大地赢得了这个位置。让开。”
他一度以为麦克拉根会用拳头揍他，但他只是把脸扭成了一个难看的样子，咆哮着走开了，听上去就像是在和空气发火。
哈利转过身来，他的新队员们正微笑地看着他。
“干得好。”他用嘶哑的声音说。“你们真的飞得挺好——”
“你干得太棒了，罗恩！”
这次赫敏真的从看台上朝他们跑了过来；哈利看到拉文德和帕瓦蒂臂挽着臂走出了球场，一脸烦躁的表情。罗恩看起来对自己极为满意，他朝队友们和赫敏咧开嘴笑了笑，似乎比平时更高了。
在商定好了下周四进行第一次全队训练之后，哈利、罗恩和赫敏和球队剩下的人道了别，往海格的小屋走去。小雨终于停了，湿漉漉的太阳从云层后面努力地挤了出来。哈利饿坏了；他希望海格那儿有吃的东西。
“我觉得自己差一点儿就漏过第四个球了，”罗恩高兴地说，“德梅尔扎的那个球很狡猾，你看到了吗，加了一点儿旋转——”
“是啊，是啊，是你太出类拔萃了，”赫敏看起来很开心。
“不管怎样我还是比那个麦克拉根要强，”罗恩非常满意地说。“你看见他扑第五个球时笨拙地往错误的方向移动了吗？就好像中了混淆咒一样……”
让哈利非常吃惊的是，罗恩说这些话的时候赫敏的脸涨得通红。而罗恩什么都没注意到；他正忙于详尽地描述自己扑救的其他几个罚球。
海格的小屋前栓着一只高大的灰色鹰头马身有翼兽，巴克比克看到他们三个来了，咂了咂它锋利的喙，把巨大的脑袋转了过来。
“天哪，”赫敏紧张地说。“它还是有点儿吓人，不是吗？”
“得了吧，你都骑过它了，是不是？”罗恩说。
哈利向前走了走，对鹰头马身有翼兽鞠了一躬，眼睛眨都不眨地盯着它。几秒钟之后，巴克比克也鞠了一躬。
“你还好吧？”哈利低声地问，抚摸着它长满羽毛的头。“想他了吗？可是和海格待在一起也不错。对不对？”
“嗷！”它响亮地叫了一声。
海格大步地从小屋的拐角走了过来，穿着一件巨大的花围裙，手里拎着一袋土豆。他的大猎狗牙牙跟在后面；牙牙叫了一声，往前跳了过来。
“离它远点儿！它会把你们的手指咬下来——哦。是你们几个。”
牙牙在赫敏和罗恩之间跳了起来，试图舔他们的耳朵。海格看了他们一眼，就转身大步走进了小屋，把门猛地关上了。
“天哪！”赫敏看上去备受打击。
“别担心，”哈利冷酷地说，他走过去大声地敲了敲门。
“海格！开门，我们想和你谈谈！”
里面没有声音。
“你要是不开门，我们就把它炸开了！”哈利抽出了他的魔杖。
“哈利！”赫敏听起来很震惊。“你无论如何也不能——”
“我当然能！”哈利说。“往后站——”
但是在他念出咒语之前门就再一次打开了，哈利当然早就知道会这样，海格站在那儿怒视着哈利，尽管穿着花围裙，但看上去仍然绝对让人害怕。
“我是个老师！”他对哈利吼道。“一个老师，波特！你怎么敢威胁要炸我的门！”
“对不起，先生，”哈利把魔杖收进了袍子，故意把最后那个词念得很重。
海格看上去很震惊。
“你什么时候开始叫我‘先生’了？”
“你什么时候开始叫我‘波特’了？”
“哦，很聪明，”海格粗声地嘟囔着。“非常有趣。我被你们骗了，对吧？好吧，进来，你们这些忘恩负义的小……”
他模模糊糊地咕哝着，退了一步好让他们进来。赫敏紧跟在哈利后面走了进去，看上去很惊恐。
“那么？”海格暴躁地说，哈利、罗恩和赫敏围着他巨大的木头桌子坐下了，牙牙立刻把脑袋放到哈利的膝盖上，口水滴满了他的袍子。“这是什么？对我表示抱歉？以为我很孤独或是什么别的？”
“不，”哈利马上说。“我们想来看看你。”
“我们很想你！”赫敏颤抖地说。
“想我，是吗？”海格用鼻子哼了一声。“是啊。好吧。”
他脚步沉重地在屋子走来走去，在他巨大的铜茶壶里泡了茶，嘴里一直咕哝个不停。最后他把三个水桶一样大小的杯子和一盘岩皮饼扔到了他们面前，杯子里面泡着棕红色的茶。哈利已经饿到足以忍受海格的厨艺了，他马上就拿起了一块。
“海格，”赫敏怯生生地说，这时海格已经和他们一起坐到了桌子旁，非常野蛮地剥起了土豆皮，好像每个土豆都跟他有仇似的。“你瞧，我们真的很想继续上保护神奇生物课。”
海格又重重哼了一声。哈利更加觉得有什么妖怪附在了土豆上，暗自庆幸他们不留下来吃晚饭。
“我们真的想！”赫敏说。“但我们谁也没办法把它放进我们的课程表了！”
“是啊。好吧。”海格又说了一遍。
突然响起了奇怪的嘎吱声，他们都朝四周望了望：赫敏尖叫了一声，罗恩从椅子上跳了起来，急忙绕着过桌子远远地躲开了角落里的一个大桶，他们刚注意到它。里面满满地装着一桶东西，看上去像是一英尺长的大蛆；粘糊糊，白色的，正在里面翻滚扭动。
“那些是什么？海格？”哈利试图使他的提问听起来更像是感兴趣而不是恶心，不过他还是搁下了岩皮饼。
“就是巨型的蛆，”海格说。
“他们会长成……？”罗恩看上去很忧虑。
“什么也不会长成，”海格说。“我要用他们去喂阿拉戈克。”
没有任何征兆，他突然大哭了起来。
“海格！”赫敏大声叫道，她绕过桌子（为了躲避那桶蛆）走到海格身边，轻轻地拍了拍海格正在发抖的肩膀。“怎么了？”
“是……它……”海格呜咽起来，他用围裙擦了擦脸，像甲虫一样黑的眼睛里全是泪水。“是……阿拉戈克……我想它快要死了……它整个夏天都在生病，我想它好不起来了……我不知道该怎么办，如果它……如果它……我们在一起相处了这么长时间……”
赫敏拍着海格的肩，看上去完全不知道该说些什么。哈利知道她的感觉。他还记得海格曾送了一个玩具熊给他那只凶猛的小龙，见过他照顾一群长着吸盘和螫针的大蝎子（译注：指炸尾螺），也见过他试图和凶残的巨人弟弟沟通，但这也许是他豢养怪兽的嗜好中最让人无法理解的：会说话的巨型蜘蛛阿拉戈克，它居住在禁林的深处，四年前哈利和罗恩经历了九死一生才从它那儿逃脱。
“有没有……有没有什么我们能帮上忙的？”赫敏问，没有理会罗恩疯狂的使眼色和摇头。
“我想没有，赫敏，”海格哽咽着说，努力地忍住泪水。“你看，族里面剩下的……阿拉戈克的家族……它病了之后它们都有点儿怪……有点儿躁动……”
“是的，我想我们也看到它们那样了，”罗恩小声说。
“……我想除了我之外这个时候任何人去那儿都不安全。”海格说完话，拿围裙用力地擤了擤鼻子，然后抬起了头。“但还是谢谢你的关心，赫敏……这很重要……”
随后屋里的气氛轻松了不少，尽管哈利和罗恩都没有表现出想去见一个凶残的巨型蜘蛛，并把巨大的蛆喂给它吃的兴趣，可海格还是想当然地认为他们乐意去做，于是他重新恢复了自我。
“啊，其实我早就知道你们很难再把我塞进你们的课程表，”他粗声说，给他们添了点茶。“就算申请用时间转换器也——”
“我们用不了，”赫敏说。“去年夏天我们打碎了魔法部所有库存的时间转换器。《预言家日报》上报道过。”
“啊，那好吧，”海格说。“你们做不成……很抱歉我——你们知道——我很担心阿拉戈克……而且我在想，也许如果是格拉普兰教授教你们的话——”
他们三个昧着良心明确地告诉海格，那个给他代过几次课的格拉普兰教授简直糟糕透了，于是当他们在黄昏中向海格的小屋告别时，他看上去相当的高兴。
“我快饿死了，”门刚刚在身后关上哈利就说，他们急匆匆地穿过了黑暗、无人的操场；那块岩皮饼差点硌掉了他的几颗臼齿，于是他只好放弃了。“我今晚还要去斯内普那儿关禁闭，我没有什么时间吃饭了……”
他们走进城堡的时候发现科马克·麦克拉根正在往礼堂里走，他进门时试了两次；第一次被门框弹了回来。罗恩只是得意地一阵狂笑，然后跟在他后面进了礼堂。而哈利却抓住了赫敏胳膊把她拉了回来。
“怎么了？”赫敏警觉地说。
“依我看，”哈利平静地说，“麦克拉根看来就是中了混淆咒。当时他就正对着你坐的地方。”
赫敏脸红了。
“哦，那好吧，是我干的。”她悄声说。“但你也应该听到他对罗恩和金妮是怎么说话的了！不管怎样，他脾气太臭了，你也看到了他落选之后的反应——你也不想球队有一个像那样的人吧。”
“不想，”哈利说。“不想，确实如此。可那不是欺骗吗，赫敏？我的意思是，你是一个级长啊，不是吗？”
“哦，你别笑了，”赫敏厉声说。
“你们俩在做什么？”罗恩重新出现在礼堂门口，怀疑地看着他们俩。
“没什么，”哈利和赫敏同时说，他们匆匆地跟在了罗恩后面。烤肉的香味让哈利感到一阵饥饿引起的胃痛。但他们才往格兰芬多餐桌走了三步，斯拉霍恩教授就出现在了他们面前，挡住了去路。
“哈利，哈利，我就等着见你呢！”他快活地大声说，一边捻着他海象胡子的末梢一边鼓起巨大的肚子。“我正希望能在晚饭前撞见你呢！今晚到我的房间里来吃点东西如何？我们准备来个小聚会，就请了你们几个希望之星——我叫上了麦克拉根，还有沙比尼、迷人的梅林达·柏宾——我不知道你认不认识她？她家里世世代代都是药剂师——还有，我当然非常希望格兰杰小姐也能赏光。”
斯拉霍恩说完向赫敏微微鞠了一躬。仿佛罗恩不存在一样；斯拉霍恩看都没看他一眼。
“我去不了，教授。”哈利马上说。“我得去斯内普教授那里关禁闭。”
“哦，天哪！”斯拉霍恩的脸滑稽地拉了下来。“亲爱的，亲爱的，我指望着你呢，哈利！那么，现在我就去和西弗勒斯谈谈，向他解释一下情况。我保证能说服他推迟你的禁闭。是的，待会见！”
他匆忙离开了礼堂。
“他根本不可能说服斯内普。”斯拉霍恩一走远，哈利就说。“这个禁闭已经被推迟了一次；邓布利多让他推迟了，可他不会再听从别的任何人了。”
“哦，我希望你能去，我不想一个人在那儿！”赫敏担心地说；哈利知道她想起了麦克拉根。
“我很怀疑你会一个人在那儿，金妮很可能也被邀请了，”罗恩大声说，他似乎无法接受斯拉霍恩对他的忽视。
晚饭之后他们回到了格兰芬多塔楼。公共休息室里很热闹，因为大多数人已经吃完了晚餐，但
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