Dawn Rivera

The Half-Blood Prince

Hermione and I meet Harry, Danny and Ron in the common room before breakfast next morning. Clearly hoping for some support of their theory, Harry and Danny waste no time in telling Hermione and I what he overheard Draco saying on the Hogwarts Express.

"But he was obviously showing off for Parkinson, wasn't he?" interjects Ron quickly, before Hermione and I can say anything.

"Well," I say uncertainly, "I don't know...it would be like Draco to make himself seem more important than he is...but that's a big lie to tell..."

"Exactly," says Harry, but he can not press the point, because so many people are trying to listen to our conversation, not to mention staring at Harry and whispering behind their hands.

"It's rude to point," Ron snaps at a particularly minuscule first-year as we join the queue to climb out of the portrait hole. The boy, who was muttering something about Harry behind his hand to his friend, promptly turns scarlet and topples out of the hole in alarm. Ron sniggers.

"I love being a sixth-year. And we're going to be getting free time this year. Whole periods where we can just sit up here and relax."

"We're going to need that time for studying, Ron!" says Hermione, as we set off down the corridor.

"Yeah, but not today," says Ron, "today's going to be a real doss, I reckon."

"Hold it!" Hermione says, throwing out an arm and halting a passing fourth-year, who is attempting to push past her with a like-green disk clutched tightly in his hand. The scowling boy hands over the snarling Frisbee, ducks under Hermione's arm and takes off after his friends. Ron waits for him to vanish, then tugs the Frisbee from Hermione's grip.

"Excellent, I've always wanted one of these."

Hermione's remonstration is drowned by a loud giggle; Lavender Brown has apparently found Ron's remark highly amusing. She continues to laugh as she passes us, glancing back at Ron over her shoulder. Ron looks rather pleased with himself.

The ceiling of the Great Hall is serenely blue and streaked with frail, wispy clouds, just like the squares of sky visible through the high mullioned windows. While we tuck into porridge and eggs and bacon, Harry, Danny and Ron, Hermione and I about their embarrassing conversation with Hagrid the previous evening.

"But he can't really think we'd continue Care of Magical Creatures?" I say, feeling distressed. "I mean, when has any of us expressed...you know...any enthusiasm?"

"That's it, though, innit?" says Ron, swallowing an entire fried egg whole. "We were the ones who made the most effort in classes because we like Hagrid. But he thinks he liked the stupid subject. D'you reckon anyone's going to take on N.E.W.T.?"

Harry, Danny, Hermione and I don't answer; there is no need. We know perfectly well that nobody in our year will want to continue Care of Magical Creatures. We avoid Hagrid's eye and return his cheery wave only half-heartedly when he leaves the staff table ten minutes later.

After we have eaten, we remain in our places, awaiting Professor McGonagall's descent from the staff table. The distribution of timetables is more complicated than usual this year, for Professor McGonagall needs first to confirm that everybody has achieved the necessary O.W.L. grades to continue with our chosen N.E.W.T.s.

Hermione and I are immediately cleared to continue with Charms, Defence Against the Dark Arts, Transfiguration, Herbology, Arithmancy, Ancient Runes and Potions, and shoot off to a first-period Ancient Runes class without further ado.

*

Hermione and I are already queueing outside, carrying armfuls of heavy books and feeling put-upon.