Miss Quinn

162 ~ The Quidditch Tryouts

It seemed that with Harry's newfound indirect cheating, he and Emma were neck-and-neck in Slughorn's class. Emma didn't know what to think. She'd always, always been the best potioneer in their year. She'd turned down moving up a level to stay with her classmates, though she very well could have taken her OWL and NEWT earlier. And it wasn't really that Harry was doing that well that bugged her. It was the fact that he seemed to be doing the same tricks she'd learned, and succeeding just as she did. It made her wonder if her talent wasn't just the practice and hints she'd been given. If someone else could do just as well, was she really special at all?

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. Emma 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.

Nonverbal spells were now expected, not only in Defense Against the Dark Arts, but in Charms and Transfiguration too. It was almost a relief to get outside into the greenhouses -- something Emma never thought she'd feel. 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.

Whatever time Emma didn't spend in class, studying, or helping Madam Pomfrey, was spent in the Room of Requirement, enchanting dummies to fight her so she could practice man-to-man. Losing Draco's friendship hadn't just meant they were no longer talking, but they also no longer sparred. And Emma missed him more than she cared to admit. Especially when she pummeled the dummy to the mat and grinned down, expecting to see the blond's face screwed up in pain as he let out a string of curses. Instead, it was just straw. As the weeks went on, she started to imagine it was Draco she was fighting anyway, but this time she wasn't playing around. She was letting out her anger.

Not once had the boy tried to talk to her, to explain what was going on. She'd tried cornering him after Potions, and he'd ignored her. She tried again, and he'd told her to leave him alone. So she had. But he still filled her mind whenever she let her thoughts wander. He still drew her eye whenever he walked into a room. He still made her heart burn with the thought that he was pushing himself away to protect her, when she so obviously wanted to help. But she was afraid what he'd do if she told him what she suspected. She was afraid he'd become a Death Eater, but she was more afraid that he hadn't, and instead he'd just simply decided she wasn't worth his time.

One result of their enormous workload and the frantic hours of practicing nonverbal spells was that Harry, Ron, Emma, Venus, 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.

"Much," Venus mumbled.

"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."