"Vincent Crabbe… I've never heard of him."

The same words on everybody's lips the next day, followed by the same knotted eyebrows, trembling hands, bitten lips. Of course, not everybody is so worried.

"What a joke." Seamus rolls his eyes, sitting next to Harry at breakfast. "He probably had too much to drink and stumbled off into the forest. He'll turn up today, just you wait."

"He's been missing for three days," Ginny points out. "He wasn't even at the game."

"What was he studying?" Harry asks, helping himself to scrambled eggs.

"Nobody knows." Ginny looks at me meaningfully. "You don't think…?"

I have no proof that Vincent is one of Snape's students, but something in my gut tells me he must be. I shiver involuntarily, recalling the conversation I'd overheard between Draco and the others the night before. It makes no more sense to me now than it did then, but I wonder if they'd been talking about Vincent before I arrived. If he really is their friend, gone missing, surely they'd be more worried…

I struggle to concentrate in class, exacerbated by the continued whispers around me. Who is Vincent Crabbe? Why did he go missing? And why did nobody report it for three days? Only in McGonagall's classes do people finally fall silent. Even the mystery of Vincent Crabbe isn't enough to risk her stern words or glare if you speak out of turn.

When the last bell rings, I hurry back to my dorm. I don't have the time to do any more than sling the day's clothes across the corner armchair, glancing guiltily at my unmade bed, and quickly dress into yoga pants and a sweater. The scrolls of parchment, still blank, seem to stare at me from the shabby desk in the corner. Later, I decide. McGonagall's essay is due tomorrow, and that's on top of the three different sets of homework I also need to hand in. I'll have to get through them all later tonight. Because right now, I need to go to work.

I half-walk, half-jog through the grounds. I know Hagrid won't mind if I'm a few minutes late, but he pays me overtime if I arrive early. Every minute counts. Finally, I reach his cabin and sanctuary. I glance at the outdoor clock and sign-in parchment pinned beside his front door, scribbling my name and the time. So far, Harry and I are the only ones working here. He does the morning shifts on a weekend, more to spend time with Hagrid than to supplement the income from his trust fund. When I told Harry I was looking for work, he was more than happy to introduce us.

Hagrid isn't here yet, probably still teaching his veterinary classes, so I get to work saying hello to the animals and preparing to clean out their pens. Hagrid has rescues, more than eight dogs and twice as many cats, two horses and a flock of chickens. I greet them all in turn, reaching through the pen door to pet the cats and dogs, stroking the necks of the horses. There's something so peaceful about being here with the animals. And with more than enough tasks to keep my mind distracted, it's a welcome reprieve from the stress.

I get to work on the pens. Harry does the deep cleans on a Sunday, so I only have to sweep, change litter trays, refresh water. When everyone's pen is done I refill the food, give fresh blankets, and turn the heaters on low for the night to come. The horses prefer the paddock, but I give the stables a quick once-over too. I check the mare's hoof — healing nicely — and feed them some carrot as a treat. I scatter corn for the chickens, and then, one by one, lead the dogs to their park.

It's a fenced-off area, hidden behind Hagrid's home, for the dogs to run around in. It's past my clocking out time, and the sky is so dark we need the lamps to see, but Hagrid still isn't back. I decide I'll give the dogs twenty minutes or so to play before leaving for the night.

I lean against the fence, throwing tennis balls, laughing as Penny the Rottweiler runs up to head-butt me, before returning to play with her best friend, Hugo the retriever. I scratch the ears of Oscar the greyhound. It's not easy for Hagrid to sneak up on anyone, not at over six and a half feet tall, but when his booming voice reaches my ears, I flinch in shock.

"Astoria! What the ruddy hell are you doing?"

Hagrid walks towards us in big, long strides. Judging by the state of his clothes and beard, I can only guess he had an animal emergency.

"I just thought I'd let the dogs out for a—"

"It's almost two hours past your leaving time!"

I frown. Had it really been so long? "I lost track of time," I try to explain. "You don't need to pay me, I—"

"I'm not worried about your bloody payment. Haven't you read the Prophet? There's students going missing."

I begin to round up the dogs, put them back on the lead. "Vincent Crabbe. People are saying he got lost in the forest somewhere."

Hagrid shook his head. "You don't get lost in this forest, not for three days. Only a few hours in any direction until you pop up somewhere again."

My blood runs cold. "What do you think happened to him?"

Hagrid hesitates, helping me lead the dogs back to their pens. I get the sense he knows more than he's letting on. Perhaps all the professors do. It makes sense they wouldn't tell us, the students, every detail. It could cause a panic.

"I don't want you walking around late at night, particularly not alone." Hagrid frowns. "And I'll be telling Harry exactly the same thing, and all."

"But we're coming into the colder months now," I say. "It'll be getting dark by dinnertime."

"Yes, well, there's nothing we can do about that," Hagrid says gruffly. "Could be a good thing, you'll get your evenings back."

It takes a moment for what he said to sink in. "I can't lose work hours," I tell him. "I don't mind, Hagrid, honestly. There's light everywhere, students walking about, it's perfectly safe."

"Even so, I'd feel much better if you stick with Harry," Hagrid says. "I'll see if he's happy to pick up some evening shifts with you."

He avoids looking me in the eye. We both know what it'll mean — lower pay. Hagrid pays us out of his own pocket, to look after the animals while he takes the later classes.

"I'll talk to Harry," I say quickly. "We'll let you know soon."

"Good. Now, come on, I'll walk you back to the castle."

I say a quick goodbye to the dogs, and sign-out on the parchment. I feel a pang of guilt as I glance at the clock in the darkness. It is far later than I'd thought.

"How are your classes going?" Hagrid asks.

"Okay." I hesitate, wondering. Hagrid seems to know something more about Vincent… Does he know about Snape's class, too? "Hagrid, do you know anything about… Salazar's Seven?"

Hagrid sighs. "Snape's lot."

I can't hide the way I light up in excitement. "Yes. So you do know about it?"

"Be hard not to," he grumbles. "The way Snape parades around, like an overgrown bat. There's something strange about him. All that superstition, I reckon."

"Superstition?" I ask.

"Like I say, he's a strange man. By our standards, anyhow. Always wears black. Keeps to himself, not often you'll see him at a staff function. And all those private lessons, the strain he puts on those kids…" Hagrid shakes his head.

"We're not kids," I point out.

"You are until you're at least thirty," he dismisses. "Just odd stuff around Professor Snape. Has to have seven students in his class, too. No more, no less. Of course, there's rumours abound as to why that is, some more realistic than others—"

"Wait," I interrupt. "Vincent Crabbe, he's one of Snape's students, isn't he?"

Hagrid shifts uncomfortably. He picks up the pace, as though desperate for the conversation to be over. "Yes," he huffs.

"So if he doesn't come back, Snape will be down to six students."

"Enough of this talk about Professor Snape," Hagrid says. "Don't you pay it any mind, Astoria. The families, they all know each other, often going back hundreds of years. There's something uncanny about it. I don't know, and I don't want to. Keep your head down. You're a smart one. You'll do just fine."

His eyes crinkle in that warm, familiar way. I smile back, but become lost in thought, his next words like a distant echo I struggle to recall. Excitement flickers in the pit of my navel, and as I drag my feet up the stairs to my dorm, an idea begins to take shape in my mind.