Even with free periods thrown in the mix, Harry felt just as busy with classwork as he had at the start of his OWL year. Now that everyone in the room was there by choice — and by achieving a certain level of competency — all the teachers seemed to have much higher expectations. Snape wasn't the only one insisting on the use of non-verbal magic; all of their spellcasting classes encouraged such, with the warning that they would be marked down in their NEWTs for any verbal casting.
On the bright side, Slughorn was fairly sure Harry was the greatest student he'd ever had the pleasure of teaching, thanks to Snape's notes. It was odd for Harry to have Potions become one of his best subjects so rapidly, but not unwelcome. On the whole, Harry was just glad that he was actually coping with the NEWT-level course load, especially with six classes. Part of him had worried his OWL results had been a fluke, just a product of excessive studying. But he was keeping up just fine, even if the homework was stressful. He was certainly doing no worse than any of his peers — a lot better than many of them, in fact.
It was a heavy burden, but not heavy enough for people to stop pestering Harry about the HA. Nor for the heirs to turn their study meetings into actual study groups, not just yet.
The free periods did make it easier for them to meet, however; with Cassius graduated, Luna and Sully were the only non-sixth-years in the group. So they met during the free period that was designated for History of Magic, which literally nobody took at NEWT — self-study was a much better route than listening to Binns for another two years.
"There's not much we can do, is there?" Anthony remarked flatly, leaning back in his chair. He seemed to be taking it remarkably well that his parents were now Death Eaters, and he was technically pretending to be one as well. Harry supposed it helped that most of his friends knew the truth; and the ones that didn't were oblivious anyway. "You-Know-Who has the Ministry — even when we turn seventeen, we can't take our seats."
"There's nothing we can do politically," Susan agreed, "but that doesn't mean we're dead in the water. It just means we need to change our approach." She turned to Harry, gaze knowing. "We're all yours, Potter. You promised me a clear path to the Wizengamot by graduation, so; what's the plan?"
For a moment, Harry could only stare. Susan was entirely serious — with the same sort of determination and Hufflepuff work ethic that she had previously dedicated to her future Wizengamot career, she would now do whatever he directed in the fight against Voldemort. Looking around, she was not the only one with that steadfast, expectant look in their eye.
This was not a room full of people who expected him to take down Voldemort for them, like Harry was used to. This was a room full of people ready to help him take down Voldemort.
How had he gotten so lucky, to have friends like that?
"Well," he started, clearing his throat. "I'm aiming for it to happen in the summer. I need— I'll have my best chance if I'm fully of age when I face him, with my whole family magic behind me." Around the table, everyone was nodding, as if that made perfect sense. No one pointed out that his birthday was a long way away, that all manner of awful things could have happened by then. "There are a couple of things I need to take care of before we can reach that point, as well."
"So as it stands, we're looking at a summer battle," Susan said, nodding resolutely. "At least it won't mess with classes." Harry snorted; that was one way to look at it.
"There's nothing we can do about the world outside the castle," Daphne cut in bluntly. "As much as we'd like to, we can't. There are adults out there who can — adults we can actually trust — and we're best leaving that to them. While I hate to admit it, with Dumbledore here, the Dark Lord isn't likely to come after the school. No matter how badly he wants to get his hands on Harry."
"So what can we do?" Ernie asked, puffing himself up indignantly. "Because I'm sure as hell not going to just sit around and wait for the battle to come!"
"We can train," Harry said firmly, before an argument could arise. "Give me til the weekend to get my schedule sorted, then I'll get the HA back together. Some of our older members might have graduated, but we can work with the ones we've got. The more capable fighters we have when the battle comes, the better."
"But what if You-Know-Who comes before you turn seventeen?" Parvati asked worriedly. Harry's brow furrowed.
"We'll deal with that when the time draws closer. We know he'll be too busy reorganising the Ministry for at least the next few months, that'll buy us some time. I'll be honest, guys; it's not going to be easy. It's going to be a hell of a long year. But we'll do what we've always done — prepare ourselves the best we can, and keep trying to undermine both Voldemort and Dumbledore in the eyes of the students."
Admittedly, Harry's plans for destroying Dumbledore's reputation were going to be a lot harder now Amelia and Mrs Frobisher couldn't set foot in the Ministry, or leak anything to the Prophet.
But that was his problem, not the rest of his friends'. All they had to do was keep themselves safe.
.-.-.-.
With what felt like half of Gryffindor house pressuring him to hurry up, Harry managed to organise Gryffindor quidditch team tryouts for the second Saturday of term, right after breakfast. He and Katie met on the pitch in their training gear, brooms in hand — and Harry stared wide-eyed out at the crowd in the stands.
"Please tell me they're not all here to try out," he croaked, and Katie laughed.
"No, not all of them. Half of them aren't even Gryffindors, look," she said, gesturing to a cluster of Hufflepuff third years. "Pretty sure they're just here to ogle you. Mr Chosen One," she teased, winking. Harry groaned.
"Really?" he whined. "I thought I was back to being an evil head case again?"
"You were for a while," Katie told him, shrugging, "but then you came back after the summer and everyone remembered how hot you are, so I guess they're back to fawning over you again."
Harry felt his cheeks turn as red as his quidditch uniform, and Katie laughed, shoving his shoulder gently. "Get used to it, Harry. Now come on, let's see what they're made of."
Despite practically being his co-captain, and having been on the team for longer than Harry had, Katie insisted on trying out with the other chasers.
And, despite Katie's insistence that most of the crowd were just there to drool over Harry, most of them were also there to at least pretend to be interested in quidditch.
It was clear Harry was going to have to revise his plans a little bit. "Okay," he called, his voice magically louder. "Here's how this is going to go!"
Splitting the crowd into groups of ten helped; seeing whether they could actually fly before he got into anything complicated. Seeing whether they were even in Gryffindor House to begin with. He could hardly believe how many people were willing to pretend they wanted to play quidditch, just to flirt with him!
At last, Harry could start chaser trials. While he had agreed to give everyone a fair shot, it was obvious to him that Katie and Ginny were in a class of their own — along with them he chose a fourth year girl, Demelza Robbins, who had a lot of potential. There were plenty of complaints from the rejected fliers, insisting he was just picking his friends for the team, but quite frankly he had little patience for them. "I'm starting the beater trials, and if you're still in the way, I'm not responsible for how many bludgers hit you," he declared bluntly, which served to clear the pitch fairly well.
To Harry's sheer relief, there were more options to choose from than just Kirke and Sloper. Not near as good as Fred and George, but Jimmy Peakes and Ritchie Coote were certainly better than the two boys who had played in the Ravenclaw match last year, and anyone else on the pitch. A glance to Katie saw her nodding as well, so Harry was confident with his choice.
At last — once all protesting beater rejects had been cleared from the pitch — it was time for keeper trials. Much to Harry's dismay, Ron was giving it another go. Cormac McLaggen was there too, as promised, looking far too confident in himself. Vicky stood further down the line from both boys, jaw clenched in determination, and Harry forced himself not to grin at her. He had to look like he was being fair.
One by one, he sent the applicants up to the goal hoops, while Ginny, Katie and Demelza tossed the quaffle around, Katie getting Demelza used to their flying style. Harry was immeasurably glad he still had her on the team; he wouldn't even know where to begin having to train a whole new team by himself.
The turn-out for keeper was, on the whole, as mildly disappointing as the chaser and beater crop had been. The first five had little success, heading despondently up to the stands where most of the rejected players — and plenty of students just looking for some entertainment — had made themselves comfortable.
Every time Ron looked at the crowd, he went a little greener. Harry remembered Angelina's description of his try-out the year before — as long as no one was watching, he did fine.
Well, plenty of people were watching.
Harry sent Vicky up next, offering a discreet nod of encouragement. The dark-haired girl positioned herself in front of the hoops, and Harry blew his whistle, signalling the chasers to begin.
The three girls didn't hold back. Vicky saved the first three without any effort at all, and even a tricky fourth shot from Katie was firmly blocked. Then, on the fifth, Harry watched wide-eyed as all of a sudden Vicky veered sharply in the opposite direction, letting the quaffle soar through the hoop. Ginny stared in shock at the goal she'd just scored. A low 'oooh' rumbled through the crowd.
When Vicky landed, she stumbled. Harry walked up to her, intending to ask what had happened — and then he noticed how dazed she looked, her eyes unfocused. He narrowed his gaze.
"Hey, Vicky, stand still a second," he requested. She did so, though she swayed slightly on the spot, her head cocked curiously. Harry waved his wand over her, and cursed. "She's been Confunded," he announced, his voice still enhanced from the Sonorus charm. Gasps rippled around the stands.
"There's no need to make excuses, Potter," McLaggen drawled pompously. "Just because your favourite didn't do perfectly."
"It's not an excuse, I'm telling you, she's been Confunded." Harry was familiar with the signs; Snape had made sure of it, after everything he'd been through with Dumbledore.
Rage burning through him, Harry turned up the volume of his voice. "I don't appreciate sabotage of the Gryffindor team, and if I find out who's responsible you can be damned sure I'm going to McGonagall!" He made sure to glare at everyone in the stands who looked like they might have been in a position to cast as far as the goal hoops. His gaze lingered on Hermione, sat behind the hoops by herself, her jaw clenched tightly.
He had no proof, but he certainly had suspicions.
Standing Vicky to one side to shake off the spell, he sent McLaggen up next, and shot off a Patronus up to the castle that had several people in the crowd clapping. The girls were equally ruthless, but the blond boy saved all five shots, and landed with a smug smile on his face.
"Ron, you're up," Harry said, gesturing for the redhead to take off. Ron looked like he might be sick, being the last candidate and having all eyes on him.
He did fairly well despite his nerves, but missed the fourth shot — and then, thanks to his embarrassment, missed the fifth as well. He was blushing as red as his hair as he stalked off the pitch.
"So the position is mine, then?" McLaggen drawled. Harry grit his teeth.
"No, because Vicky was Confunded. We're not done yet." As he spoke, he saw a white-clad figure bustling across the pitch, and smiled. "Thanks for coming, Madam Pomfrey."
"I have to say, it's the been a while since I've been summoned just for team try-outs," the medi-witch muttered, shaking her head. "Someone's been Confunded, you say?"
"Vicky Frobisher," he confirmed, an arm around Vicky's shoulders as he brought her towards Pomfrey. The older woman studied the way the Gryffindor girl walked unsteadily, and waved her wand in the same test Harry had used.
"Yes, definite interference here," Pomfrey confirmed in disapproval. "Not to worry, I'll have her back to rights in just a moment." She reached into her bag, tutting quietly. "Honestly, the lengths some people will go to for quidditch!"
She had Vicky drink a potion, and within moments the girl's eyes were sharp once more. She was furious as she looked at Harry. "You'll give me another shot, right?" she begged, and Harry squeezed her shoulder.
"Of, course, yeah. Are you up for it now?" Vicky nodded, and Madam Pomfrey confirmed that she should be in perfect mental faculties, so Harry sent her back up to the hoops.
Madam Pomfrey stayed just in case of any further problems, and Harry was glad — hopefully whoever had Confunded Vicky the first time would think twice about trying again with a member of staff present.
Luckily, Vicky was back on fine form; she saved all five shots, and was grinning when she returned to the ground.
Harry eyed Vicky and McLaggen — he would love to just give the position back to Vicky, but he knew he'd never hear the end of it if he did. "Okay, both of you get up there. We'll keep alternating penalties until someone misses."
McLaggen gestured for Vicky to take the first attempt with a smarmy grin, and Vicky glared at him, heading to the goal hoops. Harry mounted his own broom, wanting to be sure he could properly see everything that was happening.
Katie took both first penalties, and both keepers saved them. Demelza went next, a little nervous, but still making good shots — still, neither made it through the hoops. Harry watched Ginny fly towards Vicky in goals, wondering how much longer this was going to drag out; they were already late for lunch.
Three penalties each, there was still no winner.
Katie lined up for the fourth round, feinting to the left before throwing at the right hoop — Vicky didn't fall for it, catching the quaffle on her fingertips. McLaggen was looking a little annoyed by the time he got in position for his turn. Katie flew up, feinted to the right — and stuck with it, throwing at the right hoop while McLaggen lunged to the left. Katie had scored.
Vicky got to remain the Gryffindor keeper.
"I demand a retrial!" McLaggen exclaimed as the whole team landed. "You only gave her a second round because she fumbled the first, I should have won from that!"
"She fumbled because she was Confunded, McLaggen," Harry bit out, resisting the urge to hex the idiot seventh year. "Madam Pomfrey confirmed it herself. Unless you think you know better than her?"
Madam Pomfrey put her hands on her hips, eyeing McLaggen expectantly, and suddenly the blond boy was all out of arguments.
"Right, then. That's the results, anyone who doesn't like it can bugger off!" Harry called, making sure he was heard by everyone in the stands. There were a few groans, but everyone began to take their leave. Harry turned to his new team, finally ending his Sonorus charm. His throat was scratchy, and he coughed. "Merlin. I'm glad that's over. Well done today, everyone; I'll let you know when first practice is once I've figured out what your schedules are like."
He shouldered his broom, and blinked in surprise when a small red sweet was held out towards him. "A cough drop, Mr Potter," Pomfrey declared wryly. "You sound like you could use it."
He grinned in thanks, popping the sweet into his mouth. Within moments, he could feel it soothing his sore throat. "Thanks. And I'm sorry for summoning you like it was some kind of massive emergency; I just didn't know what else to do. I'd have had a riot on my hands if I'd rescheduled try-outs after all that."
"No, no, you did the right thing," Pomfrey assured, falling into step beside him on the way back up to the castle. "I'm impressed you could spot the signs, and knew the test for it. That spell isn't on the Hogwarts curriculum."
"Draco wants to be a healer," he told her, the excuse coming easily. "He was practicing some medical spells recently, and thought that one would be useful. I helped him out, so I became pretty familiar with it."
"Indeed — I had heard the rumour that you and Mr Malfoy have buried the hatchet," Pomfrey remarked. "I didn't believe it at first; not after the number of times one of you has ended up under my care due to the other."
Harry laughed, running a hand through his hair. "Yeah, I can see how it would be a surprise."
"I hope this friendship with the Slytherins means I shall see less of you, Mr Potter. Though I will admit you did very well at avoiding the need for medical care last year." She narrowed her gaze at him shrewdly. "Or at least avoiding coming to me for such things."
Harry's stride faltered. "I, uh—"
"That awful Blood Quill should never have entered this school," Pomfrey continued. Relief filled Harry — she wasn't talking about any of the other issues he'd gone to Snape for, just his punishments at Umbridge's hand.
"Oh. Yeah, I— none of us wanted to get you in trouble, if you had to report it or anything," he said, shrugging helplessly. "We handled it ourselves. You were needed for everything else."
Pomfrey's gaze softened, and she patted his arm. "I understand, and I thank you, though I wish you had not been put in that position to begin with." They approached the open front doors of the castle, and Pomfrey paused on the threshold. "Look after yourself, Mr Potter," she said, a hint of fondness to her tone. "And if Mr Malfoy is truly planning a career in the healing arts, tell him I would always welcome an assistant, when he has free time. If he is interested, of course."
Harry grinned at her. "He will be. I'll pass on the message. Thanks, Madam Pomfrey."
She nodded, and the pair parted ways, Harry heading up to Gryffindor to shower and change out of his quidditch training gear.
He had a team. That was one problem solved. Thank Merlin he only had to do that once.
.-.-.-.
The gates of the Pottery were wide open, and Sirius paced in front of them, a scrap of parchment in hand. Andromeda had warned him she was bringing a new family in need of sanctuary, and he was worried they'd been waylaid somehow.
At last, there was the crack of apparition. Sirius whirled around, seeing his cousin stood with a pair of women who were clearly related, sharing the same curly auburn hair and round freckled cheeks. The older woman was wide-eyed and slightly green in the face, while the younger looked barely old enough to be out of Hogwarts. "Good, you got my message," Andi said in greeting, her arm around the older of the pair. "This is Helen Ashford, and her daughter Niamh, recently graduated from Ravenclaw. Niamh believed herself to be muggleborn up until last week — an Inheritance test at Gringotts has revealed her to be the Rosier heir."
Sirius nodded in understanding; there was only one way a muggle woman would birth a Rosier heir, and it was not pretty. No wonder Helen Ashford looked so scared.
"I'm Sirius Black, it's nice to meet you both," he said, nodding at the pair. "Please, read this for me." He held out the parchment, on which Harry had written the address. The younger Ashford read it first, and sucked in a sharp breath as the house came into view. Her mother squeaked when she suddenly became able to see the enormous manor house. "This is the Pottery," Sirius said with a sweeping gesture and a slight smile, doing his best to put the two women at ease.
"I— like Harry Potter?" Niamh asked hesitantly. Sirius nodded.
"It's his ancestral home, yes. Due to the extensive wards on the place, he's turned it into a bit of a safe house for the time being."
Niamh seemed to relax at the knowledge, and squeezed her mother's hand. "It's okay, Mum," she assured quietly. "We'll be safe here."
Sirius led them up the drive, already thinking over which of the families there might be willing to help the Ashfords settle in. They had a couple of other muggles in residence; parents of muggleborn Slytherins who would be considered a disgrace to their noble house. And the two women would have to share a room, but that would be fine.
They would make it work. For their safety, they would have to.
.-.-.
Despite Hagrid's insistence the year before that he didn't begrudge Harry dropping his class for NEWTs, Harry still wanted to make sure there was no bad blood between them. So, after he'd changed and eaten lunch following the endless quidditch trials, Harry went back outside, heading for the hut at the edge of the forest.
He knocked on the door, raising his eyebrows when it only opened a crack, one dark eye narrowing at him. Then it opened all the way, revealing Hagrid's smiling face. "Oh, it's you! Come in, come in," he urged, gesturing Harry inside. The half-giant was wearing a flowery apron, and seemed to have something cooking on his grill.
"Who did you think it was?" Harry asked in bemusement, scratching Fang between the ears as the dog lolloped over to him. Hagrid huffed.
"Thought it might be Ron and Hermione. Got a bit of a bone to pick with them. Neither of 'em are in my class," he added at Harry's look.
"I'm not in your class, either."
"Yeah, but you apologised for it, didn't yer?" Hagrid retorted. "Those two, not a word! After I asked 'em to help me with Grawp and all!"
Harry had no idea who or what a 'Grawp' was, and by the end of the explanation his jaw was practically on the floor. "You kept a giant in the forest for half of last year?" he said incredulously. "No wonder you were always covered in bruises!"
"'E's my little brother, I couldn't just leave 'im there!" Hagrid reasoned. "We was doin' fine, right up until that Umbridge woman interfered. An' then I asked Ron and Hermione, I told 'em all they had to do was go and check on 'im once in a while, see 'e didn't get lonely, maybe work on 'is English if they were up to it. But they didn't go see 'im once!"
Harry shook his head in dismay, though in Ron and Hermione's position he likely would have made the same call. "I'm sorry, Hagrid. But I'm glad you've managed to get him set up somewhere better, now."
Hagrid brightened at that. "Yeah, the cave Dumbledore found is great for 'im." He fussed with whatever he was cooking. "I s'pose I'm not really mad at 'em for dropping my class. It's always a small one at NEWTs; not many careers involving creatures. I'm more upset they left Grawp on his own for so long."
"Well I'm still not exactly on speaking terms with either of them, so I'm afraid you're on your own with that one," Harry said with a slight grimace. Hagrid looked him over in consideration.
"Aye, I suspected as much. What's this I hear about you an' Draco Malfoy bein' friends?"
Harry fought a smile. "It's a bit of a long story," he admitted. "We've been friends for a while, just in secret. His dad… well, you can imagine how that would've gone if he'd found out." Hagrid nodded, face darkening. "After Lucius died, and Narcissa made it clear where the family stood, Draco and I decided it was a bit pointless pretending to hate each other when we had no reason to. And Sirius and Narcissa are cousins, so I saw a lot of the Malfoys over the summer."
"Well, I can't say I'm too fond of him, but he did apologise for the trouble with Beaky an' all. And he's behavin' himself in my classes, so far. Still can't believe he's actually takin' Care for NEWTs."
"Just give him a chance, Hagrid," Harry asked earnestly. "He doesn't deserve to be judged for the things his father made him do."
"Aye, that's fair," Hagrid agreed, nodding. A strange sort of squelching noise came from the corner, and Harry looked over at a barrel he hadn't noticed before. It was full of huge white maggot-looking creatures. Harry's stomach turned. "Uh— what are those for, Hagrid?" he asked, wondering if he should be warning Draco about the successor to the Blast-Ended Skrewt.
"Oh, I got 'em to feed to Aragog."
Harry frowned in confusion — and the next thing he knew, Hagrid was slumped in the chair opposite him, sniffling into a handkerchief. "He's dying, 'Arry. He got ill over the summer an' nothin' I do seems to help…" He sobbed, huge shoulders shaking, and Harry scooted over to pat him on the arm. "Dunno what I'll do if he… we've been together so long!"
"I'm so sorry, Hagrid," Harry murmured — he couldn't feel any grief himself at the idea of the giant spider who had tried to eat him finally passing on, but he knew Hagrid had had Aragog for most of his life. It was never easy, losing a pet, no matter how bloodthirsty.
Hagrid took a big sniff, wiping at his eyes. "Circle o' life, innit?" he said morosely. "Not much I can do but just… keep him comfortable."
"I'm sure he appreciates it."
The foil-covered tin in Hagrid's grill began to smoke lightly, and Hagrid cursed, getting up to deal with it. Under the foil were a dozen blackened rock cakes. "Oh, bugger it," Hagrid muttered, scowling. "Lost track o' time." He tossed the tin in the sink, cakes and all.
"Is there, ah, anything I can do?" Harry offered a little helplessly. Hagrid sighed, shaking his head.
"Nah, I'll be fine. Is what it is." He tugged at his beard. "You can tell me one thing, though, 'Arry." Hagrid sat back down, watching him with an unusually serious gaze. "What's goin' on with you an' Professor Dumbledore? I been readin' the Prophet all summer, and… sounds like he's more than a bit worried about you, kid."
Harry scowled despite himself. "Dumbledore… he had a plan, for how things were going to go," he said slowly, not sure how much to give away. Hagrid idolised Dumbledore so much, Harry couldn't risk the half-giant taking his words back to the headmaster even if it was out of concern. "He thought he had it all figured out, but his plan involved… well you know how at the end of almost every school year I've had some sort of confrontation with Voldemort in one way or another?" Hagrid flinched, but nodded. "That was him training me up for my final sacrifice. As I've gotten older, I've decided I really don't want to be a pawn in his game, Hagrid. I've got other people who care about me; actually care, are willing to protect me and to teach me how to protect myself, so that when I do have to fight Voldemort — because we all know it's going to be me eventually — I might actually stand a chance at winning. Dumbledore never gave me that. And now he's acting like my refusal to play his games is due to me secretly going Dark. He thinks I've got Voldemort in my head, controlling me, making me into a younger version of him."
"That's bollocks!" Hagrid roared. "I knew You-Know-Who when he was your age, and you're nothin' like him!"
Harry smiled fleetingly. "Thanks, Hagrid. I know I don't have him in my head, but Dumbledore just seems so convinced that me not being friends with Ron and Hermione, and doing well in my classes, are all signs of me going evil. I… I'm worried what he'll do if he thinks I have more Voldemort than me in there. What lengths he'll go to get him out."
He was putting it on, just a little bit, but he couldn't help himself; he wanted to give Hagrid something to think about, without telling him the full truth about the compulsions.
He wanted Hagrid to have the other side of the story if Dumbledore tried to get Hagrid to do something to Harry for him.
"It's gotten worse, over the summer. I don't know if it's to do with whatever happened to his hand, or… he really doesn't like me being friends with Slytherins. Even though none of my Slytherin friends are Death Eaters, or even have family who are Death Eaters." Not now Theo's dad was dead, anyway.
"I dunno what happened to his arm, to be honest with yer," Hagrid said, frowning. "It could be… He's a great man, Dumbledore. Done some great things in his life. But, well — still human, ain't he? Still makes mistakes. Maybe he'll come 'round, once he realises you're still the same old Harry as always."
He sighed again, then forcibly brightened up. "An' on the subject of you doin' well in classes — an O, in Care! Made me so proud, you did!" He reached out with a grin, patting Harry on the shoulder with considerable force. Harry smiled back, ignoring the slight pain.
He didn't have the same faith as Hagrid in Dumbledore's ability to see the light, but that was fine. Harry wasn't about to press the subject any further.
.-.-.-.
Harry hoped he might be able to spend the evening with Draco, but clearly the universe was against him — before he could even reach dinner, he was accosted by Slughorn with an invite to an evening gathering, and Harry had no decent excuse to say no. So after eating dinner at the Hufflepuff table with a completely unsympathetic Susan, Harry headed up to Slughorn's quarters, bracing himself for a long and tedious evening.
It was a much larger group than it had been on the train; obviously Slughorn had had time to get to know the students a little better, and choose his prime candidates.
Harry was surprised to see Ginny in the mix, wearing the dangerous sort of smile that meant she was two steps shy of hexing someone. That could have been because Cormac McLaggen seemed to be trying to chat her up. "Harry!" she exclaimed at the sight of him, relief plain on her face. "Good, I was hoping you'd be here tonight!"
McLaggen was clearly still sore about the quidditch decision, as he glared at Harry and disappeared quickly. "Oh, thank Merlin," Ginny muttered. "He's spent the last ten minutes telling me every quidditch match he's ever played with his posh cousins, and how it's an absolute disgrace that he didn't make the team."
"Wanker," Harry replied, and Ginny snorted. "Why didn't you go chat with Blaise?" The dark-skinned Slytherin was stood by the buffet table, staring coolly at anyone who dared approach.
"I was trying to, but Slughorn was talking to him up until a minute ago." The pair of them sidled over to Blaise, and Harry quirked his lips in a rueful grin, reaching for a plate.
"He got you too, did he?"
"Seems to think I'd be willing to introduce him to my mother," Blaise drawled. "Even if she were looking for husband number nine, I don't think he'd like being chosen."
Harry snorted. "Anyone else worth rescuing in here?" If they all stood together, maybe Slughorn would think they were networking and leave them alone.
Taking a mouthful of some rather excellent chocolate mousse, Harry surveyed the room. Belby had not made the cut, it seemed, nor had Neville — which Harry was surprised by, considering Potions Masters were always looking for good deals with Herbologists. Perhaps Slughorn hadn't spoken to Sprout about her best student. There was a Hufflepuff girl in the year below Ginny whose name Harry didn't know, and a pair of Ravenclaw boys Harry thought might be brothers. And over talking to Slughorn was Hermione — not a surprise at all, with how enthusiastic she was in his classes. Hermione seemed to be taking advantage of having a teacher who hadn't had five years to become weary of her need for academic approval. Slughorn extricated himself from the conversation with her as soon as he spotted Harry, beaming at the green-eyed boy. "Harry! Wonderful, wonderful, glad you could make it — ah, Mr Zabini, I didn't know you and Miss Weasley knew each other! How marvellous."
"He's dating one of my older brothers," Ginny volunteered, almost daring Slughorn to react poorly. On the contrary, his bushy eyebrows rose, and he grinned.
"Ah, one of the infamous Weasley Twins, I assume? Yes, I've heard all about those boys — visited their shop, too! Some excellent products they've got there, very inventive indeed. Why, I'm quite disappointed to have missed teaching them by only a year! I'm sure they were a delight to have in class."
Harry wasn't sure Snape would have used such a description, and by Blaise's smirk, he agreed.
"Have you tried the tiramisu, Harry? It's simply divine — I had missed the Hogwarts elves' cooking!" Slughorn grinned, patting his rotund belly. "Though perhaps not as much as I ought to," he added with a chuckle. "Anyway, Harry, my lad; now you're here, I have a book I'd quite like to show you — a young Potions prodigy such as yourself will find it very interesting, I'm sure!" With surprising strength for a man his age, he steered Harry away from his friends, chatting away quite happily about some friend of his who was the author of the book he wanted to show Harry. Harry glanced over his shoulder, gaze begging Ginny and Blaise for help. Blaise just smirked, while Ginny waved coyly at him, and turned to select a large portion of tiramisu.
Whatever Slughorn might know about Tom Riddle, Harry desperately hoped he figured it out soon so he could decide how to go about asking. He wasn't sure how much more brown-nosing he could stand.