Harry and Amelia Potter

6.9

Hogsmeade.

One of my favorite days during term. It lets us all relax and have a little fun instead of worrying about homework or classes.

Students lean into a bitter wind, trudging through deep snow.

"For weeks you carry around this book, practically sleep with it... and you have no desire to find out who The Half-Blood Prince is?" Hermione asks Harry.

"I didn't say I wasn't curious." He tells her. "And, by the way, I don't sleep with it."

"Sure you don't." I say sarcastically. Harry glares at me.

"Well, it's true." Ron defends. "I like a nice chat before I go to bed. Now you're always reading that bloody book. It's like being with Hermione or Mia."

This time it's Hermione and I's turn to glare.

"Well, we were curious. So we went to-" Hermione starts, but both boys cut her off.

"The library."

"And?" Harry adds.

"And... nothing. There's no reference to the Half-Blood Prince anywhere." I answer.

"Good. That settles it then."

Hermione starts to object, when Hagrids booming voice interrupts us. "Hey, you four!"

He emerges out of the trees, beard crusted in white, looking like a crazed Father Christmas. Behind him, deep in the woods, dark silhouettes, Aurors, can be seen. Hermione eyes them briefly, then nods to the pulsating burlap bag Hagrid clutches in his fist.

"What've you got there, Hagrid?" She asks.

Hagrid tips open the bag. The four of us grimace. He chuckles. "Stinksap. Burn the whiskers right off yer chin. Trees 'ere are drippin' with it."

"Stinksap? You're not sick, are you?" I ask him, worried.

"It's not fer me. It's fer Aragog. Yeh remember Aragog, don' yeh?"

"Spider? About six feet tall? Ten feet wide?" Ron asks.

"Tha's the one. He's taken ill. I'm hopin' ter nurse 'im back. Keep yer fingers crossed." Hagrid crosses his fingers. Ron forces a grin, does the same, shakes his head as Hagrid disappears back into the trees.

"Barking. Does he not remember that raving arachnid tried to eat us?" Ron asks Harry and I.

"Well, I'll never forget it." I scoff, remembering second year. Then I notice Hermione staring at the Aurors again. "What?"

"The Aurors. I know they're here to protect us, but... somehow I don't feel any safer."

"Probably because the ministry is filled with a bunch of corrupt politicians." The three stare at me. "What? You remember last year..."

Just then Harry and I spy Slughorn, heading down towards the Village, passing a weary Flitwick coming the other way.

"Filius! I was hoping to find you at the Three Broomsticks."

"Emergency choir practice, I'm afraid, Horace." We watch Slughorn continue on toward the Village.

"Who's up for a Butterbeer?" Harry asks.

As the four of us enter, Harry glances round, locates Slughorn at the bar, planted plumply on a stool.

"No. Over here." Harry states.

Hermione, Ron, and I, in the midst of seating ourselves at a perfectly acceptable, and clean, table, see Harry seat himself at one strewn with the detritus of a previous customer, but which puts him in direct view of Slughorn. We exchange a glance, shrug, and join Harry. Ron starts to take the chair directly opposite Harry, blocking his view.