Chapter One Hundred and Thirty-Two - The Slug Club

With Millie's reassuring presence and Blaise's infallible sense of humor, Harry's mood gradually improved as the end of their holiday approached. He and Draco advised the others that they had seen Goyle in Knockturn Alley soon after their return to the Burrow, and though Blaise was angry that they'd left without him, and Ron warned that his mother would have a conniption if she ever learned of it, everyone was grateful to have a new mystery to ponder, since every other day brought the same tidings of disasters, disappearances, and deaths.

"I still can't figure out why he didn't bring Crabbe with him," Harry mused one afternoon. The six of them were gathered in the twins' old bedroom, now tacitly admitted to be Harry and Blaise's domain.

"It's suspicious," Draco agreed, sitting on the floor as he flipped through an old notebook he had pulled from under Harry's bed. Its pages were filled with Fred and George's notes, a remnant from when their joke shop was merely an idea to pass the time.

"You know him better than any of us," Ron observed. "Can't you guess what he might be planning?"

"He's not that complicated, if I'm being honest," Draco replied. He glanced up from the notebook in thought before adding, "Goyle's like most Slytherins. He's got a lot of family pride. His father was was one of the Death Eaters captured and sent to Azkaban after that night at the Ministry. If I had to guess, he probably wants revenge."

"Won't that mean that you and Harry are in danger?" asked Ginny.

Draco shrugged. "I wouldn't worry about that. Goyle isn't very bright. Whatever scheme he has in mind, it should be easy enough to stop him."

"But what if it's more serious than that?" Harry pressed, "What if with his dad in prison, he's decided to take his place?"

"You mean as a Death Eater?" asked Draco before laughing, "That's ridiculous! He's only sixteen, not to mention an idiot. What would You-Know-Who want with him?"

The others were inclined to side with Draco, but Harry insisted, "He showed something to Borgin that scared him. What if it was the Dark Mark?"

But everyone, including Blaise and Millie, merely shook their heads, and the subject soon turned to an interesting design for a prank telescope Draco found among Fred and George's sketches.

Harry was now so much improved, he considered replying to one of the many letters Hermione had sent him. He finally had some news to share, and Hermione may be a more sympathetic listener to his suspicions about Goyle. But they were now mere days away from reuniting on Platform Nine and Three-Quarters. He reasoned that it would be better to apologize for his silence in person, and elected to join Ron, Draco, and Ginny as they ran quidditch plays in the yard, instead.

The evening before they were set to depart, Harry headed down to the kitchen with a basket of laundry. For days, Mrs. Weasley had been warning them all to start packing, but naturally, Harry had put off his chores until the last minute. Fortunately, he had magic to assist him. Mrs. Weasley had set an old-fashioned enchanted wash basin in a corner of the room. Harry simply had to drop in his clothes, and they scrubbed themselves clean, wrung themselves out, and were dry in a matter of seconds. As he watched his new school robes tumble around the wooden barrel, he turned to ask Remus about their plan for the journey to King's Cross the next day.

Remus sat at the dining table, the latest copy of the Daily Prophet in his hands. Without removing his eyes from the page, he informed Harry, "The ministry wanted to send an escort, but Dumbledore recommended some of our people. Hagrid can't make it this time, of course. He's needed at Hogwarts. But I expect a few Aurors will be there."

"Kingsley?" Harry asked hopefully. He hadn't seen the man in ages, and was hoping to hear some updates before he left for school.

Remus smiled, though he shook his head. "Kingsley's current position is keeping him far too busy."

"What about Tonks?" asked Harry, conscious that Mrs. Zabini had just walked into the room, and was most likely listening to their conversation.

Remus finally glanced up from his paper as he reached for his mug of tea. He took a slow sip before replying, "Yes, she'll be joining us. Her shapeshifting may come in handy."

"She fancies you," Harry observed, trying to sound casual.

Remus winced as he set down his cup, "I'm too old for her."

"I don't think she minds that."

"Well, I do."

His response seemed to satisfy Mrs. Zabini, for she promptly interrupted to ask Harry if he and Blaise had finished packing yet. Not wanting to upset her, Harry grabbed his freshly laundered clothes and raced upstairs with promises that they had just a few things left to gather.

Miraculously, all six students were dressed, packed, and ready to leave in a timely fashion the following morning. Draco and Millie left first, escorted by Tonks in a vehicle provided by the Ministry of Magic. Harry observed that Tonk's disguise for the day looked rather more mature that her usual brightly-colored hair and youthful, heart-shaped face. Remus, who was preoccupied with helping the Weasleys load their Ford Anglia, did not appear to notice the change. Mrs. Zabini, however, made sure to offer Tonks an exceedingly polite compliment on the style of her hair.

After Mrs. Weasley and Bill drove away with Ron and Ginny, Harry and Blaise had time for a leisurely breakfast. However, they were too excited about the start of term to eat a proper meal, so Remus and Mrs. Zabini gave in to their demands to leave early.

"You'll be the first to arrive," Remus said, consulting his watch, "But the cars won't be far behind us."

They were to travel by side-along apparition. Knowing this, Harry had entrusted Hedwig to Millie, not wanting his beloved owl to experience the same suffocating sensation he'd felt when apparating with Dumbledore. Blaise, on the other hand, having been assured by his mother that it was quite safe, draped his snake around his neck and prepared for the short journey.

"Have you done this before?" Harry asked as he grasped Remus's hand.

"We had our own car, so there was never a need," Blaise reminded him, holding on to Mrs. Zabini, "Why?"

"No reason."

They turned on the spot, and an instant later were standing amidst the bustling crowd on Platform Nine and Three-Quarters. Beside him, Blaise gagged. Ouroboros, frightened perhaps by the odd feeling, had instinctively tightened around his neck. Blaise frowned as he gently untangled the python, then rubbed his throat.

"Does it always feel like that?" he complained, "Beorn's Bees, Harry! You could have warned me!"

The platform was already half-full with students and their families. Though there was the usual excited chatter of friends reuniting after their summer holidays, an underlying current of anxious energy seemed to pervade the parents. He saw suspicious glances darting between those who were not acquainted, while others talked in small groups in low voices, their expressions grim. Harry tried to ignore the looks that were being directed his way. Before long, Millie, Draco, and Ron found them on the platform. Ginny, it appeared, had already located a few of her fifth-year friends, and had already boarded the train with them.

Harry spotted another familiar form lurking not far away. Goyle, accompanied by Crabbe once again, hauled himself onto the train, shoving a cluster of nervous first-years out of his way in the process.

With a sudden thought, Harry asked the others, "Should we have told Percy about Goyle?"

"Percy?" Blaise repeated, "Why him?"

"He works for the Ministry, doesn't he? Maybe he could have Goyle investigated? Or that shop he went into?"

Ron rolled his eyes. "Please. Percy's far too self-important. He keeps saying things like 'when you enter the real world…' I doubt he'll think anything a student is doing will be worth the Ministry's time."

Draco nodded his head in agreement. "If Goyle really is hatching a revenge plot, we'll bound to figure it out sooner or later. We share a room with him, after all."

Draco still thought Goyle was planning nothing more than a mean-spirited prank against them, but Harry was convinced it was something more sinister than that. If all he wanted was a bit of petty revenge, why not bring Crabbe along? But there was no point in arguing further. The first whistle of the Hogwarts Express blew, announcing the approach of their departure.

Millie, Draco, and Ron made their way to the prefects' compartment, leaving Harry and Blaise to shift for themselves. In the thinning crowd on the platform, Harry spotted another pair of familiar faces. Hermione and Neville stood only a few yards away. They were close enough that they must have seen him, but Hermione had a studied look of indifference on her face. Judging from the nervous glances Neville directed toward Harry, however, he certainly had been noticed.

"You go on," Harry said to Blaise, "I have to take care of something."

Blaise, catching sight of Hermione's stony expression, wished him good luck.

"Oh, hello there, Harry!" Neville said in a voice of strained cheerfulness, "Have a, erm... a nice summer? Oh, is that Blaise with you? Haven't seen him in ages. Why don't I just pop over and say hello?"

Harry couldn't get a single word out before Neville had already scurried away. He didn't blame him for wanting to avoid the awkward encounter. Hermione was still gazing fixedly at the train.

"Hermione…" Harry began in a placating tone.

She deigned to look at him at last, turning her eyes languidly in his direction as she said, "Oh, Potter… Didn't see you there. Did you need something?"

"C'mon, Hermione. Is that any way to say hello to your boyfriend?"

"Boyfriend? I wasn't aware I still had one of those."

Harry winced. "Ok. I deserved that. But Hermione, I wasn't trying to ignore you."

"You've got a funny way of showing it."

"I know, it's just… After Sirius, I… I tried to write, I really did…"

He still couldn't mention his godfather's name without his voice becoming thick with grief. He felt embarrassed, but this display of his honest emotions did more to soothe Hermione than any apology he might have offered. She immediately took his hand, silencing any further stammered explanations with a swift kiss.

"I know," she said, "And I'm sorry for being so… I know you must feel awful after losing Sirius. But Harry, don't shut me out. You can talk to me."

"Yeah," Harry sighed as he pressed his lightning-shaped scar against Hermione's forehead, closing his eyes as he enjoyed the feel of her breath mingling with his own, "You're right. You're always right, Hermione. I really am sorry. This summer was just... I couldn't really talk to anyone."

The train whistle blew again, causing them both to jump. A group of third-year girls giggled from a nearby window. They had been watching Harry and Hermione's reconciliation. Harry grinned, but Hermione looked aghast at the time.

"Oh! I'm sorry, Harry. I really have to go meet the other prefects now…"

She dashed away, shouting promises that she would come find him later. Harry, meanwhile, hopped onto the train behind Blaise and Neville. Blaise was shouting his final goodbye to Mrs. Zabini, who called back, "We'll see you again for Christmas! I've arranged it all with Molly!"

"Be nice if we could get our own place by then," Blaise muttered to Harry.

"You know she's been looking," Harry murmured back, "But everyone's searching for houses that can be made unplottable, these days."

There were many more stares as Harry made his way down the narrow train corridor. Faces pressed against the compartment windows as he passed, and the whispers seemed to follow him everywhere. He supposed a certain amount of renewed interest in him was only natural, what with all the gossip about him being the "Chosen One" as they Daily Prophet chose to call him. It served as a reminder that he still had not confided in his friends about the prophecy. He resolved to do so once Millie and Hermione had returned from their prefect duties.

"I'm used to people gawking at my good looks, but this is insufferable, even for me," Blaise complained loudly.

"I think they're looking at Harry, actually," Neville remarked with perfect innocence.

Blaise rolled his eyes, then glanced into one of the compartments near the very back of the train. Heaving a sigh of relief, he slid the door open to reveal a mostly empty compartment, inhabited only by Nell Willoughby and Luna Lovegood, who was reading a copy of the Quibbler through a pair of rather odd glasses.

"Willoughby," Blaise said cordially before taking the seat across from her without being asked.

"Zabini," Nell replied in the same businesslike tone before offering Harry a warm smile.

Harry was quite glad to see her again. Like Hermione, Blaise, and Millie, she had been with him in the Department of Mysteries. But while she had returned to Hogwarts with the others, Harry had stayed behind to make funeral arrangements. He hadn't had a chance to thank her for fighting alongside him, or even to make sure her ankle, injured during the attack, had healed properly.

A more detailed conversation of that awful night would have to wait, however. Luna set her magazine aside as Harry took his seat, though the strange glasses remained perched on her nose.

"How's the Quibbler?" Harry asked. He had a secret fondness for the magazine, having given them an exclusive interview the previous year.

"Oh, it's doing very well," Luna replied breezily, "Circulation is well up."

Before Harry could say anything in reply, there was a commotion just outside their compartment door. A group of fourth-year girls stood giggling in the corridor, loudly whispering, "Go on, ask him!"

Blaise, looking exasperated, stood and slid the door open himself. Harry was used to girls looking at Blaise with amorous aspiration, but instead of swooning at the sight of him, the girls merely looked intimidated. Blaise leaned against the door frame, intentionally blocking Harry from view, and asked, "What do you want?"

A few of the girls tried peeking around him, trying to catch a glimpse of Harry, but Luna, whether intentionally or not, abruptly unfurled her magazine and held it high in front of her face, obscuring Harry from their prying eyes. At last, one of the bolder girls stepped forward, and announced in an authoritative voice, "I'm Romilda Vane. We came to ask Harry if he wanted to join us in our compartment."

"And I'm already bored," Blaise drawled, "Harry is fine where he is. Get lost."

Ignoring the gasps of shock and outrage from Romilda's companions, Blaise slammed the door shut in her face.

"Have they no shame?" he complained, throwing himself into his seat again.

"I suppose it's to be expected," said Neville, "Harry's fame is at an all-time high now. There'll probably be loads more people interested in joining the Marauders, too."

Harry was startled. He had completely forgot about their secret study group.

"Do we really need the meetings now?" he asked, "I mean, Umbridge is gone, so…"

"But I like being a Marauder!" Neville protested, "Thanks to you and Millie, I even got an E on my Defense Against the Dark Arts OWL! I only scored higher in Herbology!"

"I also liked the meetings," Luna remarked in her airy way, lowering the Quibbler from her face once more, "It was like having friends."

"I'm your friend, Luna," Nell insisted before she turned to Harry, "I say we keep at it. After all, it's more important than ever to be prepared. And since Umbridge is gone, Dumbledore might even approve us as an official study club! We wouldn't have to sneak around anymore."

"Sneaking around was half the fun…" Blaise muttered.

Harry grinned. "Alright, we'll ask Millie about it."

They introduced the subject a short while later, when both Millie and Hermione returned from their prefect duties.

"I don't really mind," Millie commented after Nell made her proposal. "I'm sure Dumbledore won't object, and we could keep using the Room of Requirement for practice sessions."

"Do you think we'll need Slughorn's permission?" Blaise asked.

This required a bit of explanation. While Blaise and Millie explained the identity of their new Defense Against the Dark Arts teacher, Harry mentally braced himself. His closest friends were all together now. It was time to tell them about the prophecy.

Before he could work up his courage, however, there was a tentative knock on their compartment door. Blaise, groaning with impatience, immediately snapped the door open with a flick of his wand. A second year boy, trembling from head to foot, stood just outside their compartment and squeaked, "I-I'm supposed to deliver a message for Neville Longbottom, Blaise Zabini, and Harry P-Potter…"

He held three scrolls of parchment, each tied with a violet ribbon, in his hands. Perplexed, Harry, Blaise, and Neville each took one.

"Speak of Sauron and his eye shall appear," Blaise remarked as he unfurled his note, "It's from Slughorn."

"What's it say, Harry?" asked Hermione.

"He wants us to join him for lunch in his compartment," Harry said, glancing over the brief message. Remembering Dumbledore's request, he added, "I suppose I'll have to go…"

"But why does he want me?" Neville asked anxiously as he followed Harry and Blaise out of their compartment, "I mean, you I understand. But it's not like I was with you at the Ministry! Why didn't he ask Hermione or Nell?"

"No idea," said Harry with a shake of his head. Internally, he had his suspicions. Neville came from a pureblood family, and though Slughorn had professed to considering Harry's mother one of his favorites, he suspected that the former head of Slytherin House was partial to those with privileged backgrounds. Perhaps he was seeking some resemblance of Neville's parents in him.

Blaise, on the other hand, was accustomed to attention. Though Voldemort's return had put an end to his mother's social soirees, he was used to mingling with older, influential witches and wizards. He merely remarked, "I hope Slughorn isn't interested in being my next stepfather."

When they reached the correct compartment, they saw at once that they were not Slughorn's only invitees, though judging from Slughorn's enthusiasm at the sight of Harry, it was clear who was the most eagerly anticipated.

"Harry, m'boy!" said the professor, jumping up from his seat. His corpulent form seemed to fill the remaining space in the compartment. "Good to see you again! And this must be Mr. Zabini?"

Blaise took Slughorn's hand with polite, but practiced indifference, while Neville stammered a nervous greeting. As they took the three remaining seats, Harry noticed two seventh-year boys he didn't recognize, though their robes revealed them to be a Gryffindor and a Ravenclaw. And beside Slughorn, looking as though she was not sure how she managed an invitation, sat Ginny Weasley.

"Now then, do you know everyone?" Slughorn asked, directing his comments principally at Harry, "Mr. Zabini's mother is your guardian, I understand. And I see you arrived with Mr. Longbottom. Then we have Cormac McLaggen…"

The Gryffindor, a large, curly-haired boy, raised his hand in greeting.

"... And this is Marcus Belby…"

The Ravenclaw, a thin, timid looking boy, gave Harry a nod and a strained smile.

"... And this charming young lady tells me she knows you already!" Slughorn finished with aplomb.

Ginny grimaced at Harry from behind Slughorn's back. He repressed the urge to smirk as Slughorn began pressing them all to take a napkin and a portion of his own prepared lunch, remarking as he did that the train's trolley was packed heavily with sweets. Slughorn, on the other hand, came prepared with whole pheasants, roasted potatoes, and fresh rolls.

"I was just telling young Marcus here that I had the pleasure of teaching his Uncle Damocles," Slughorn explained as they each nibbled on their pheasants, "Outstanding wizard. Invented the Wolfsbane potion, you know. Order of Merlin well deserved, indeed. Of course, he was kind enough to acknowledge my tutoring… Do you see much of your uncle, Marcus?"

"Not much of him, no," Belby answered, his eyes watering as he struggled to swallow a large bite of pheasant too quickly. "He and my dad don't get on very well, you see, so I don't know much about him these days…"

Belby trailed off, perhaps noting the cold smile that had replaced Slughorn's welcoming grin. It was evident that he had already lost Slughorn's favor. The professor turned to McLaggen instead.

"As for you, Cormac, I happen to know you see a lot of your Uncle Tiberius. He has a rather splendid picture of the two of you hunting nogtails in... Norfolk, I think it was?"

"Oh, yeah, that was fun, that was," said McLaggen thickly, "We went with Bertie Higgs and Rufus Scrimgeour. This was before he became Minister, obviously…"

It seemed that McLaggen was as fond of dropping the names of famous wizards as Slughorn himself. The two of them had a rather jovial time of it, swapping stories of their mutual acquaintances in an effort to impress each other, before Slughorn seemed to remember there was anyone else in the compartment. When he turned to Blaise, his remarks were predictable.

"I am afraid I never had the opportunity to teach your mother, but I have heard rumors of her, ah… popularity. She is quite as well connected as Mr. McLaggen here," Slughorn said, giving a nod to his current favorite.

"She's very beautiful, you mean," Blaise said with a quirk of his brow.

"And is that anything to be ashamed of?" Slughorn replied with a poise Harry actually thought commendable, "Beauty can itself be an accomplishment, if applied correctly. Tell me, is it true she was once married to Icarus Quintus?"

"The famous Quidditch player?" asked McLaggen, for the first time taking an interest in someone other than himself. He looked keenly at Blaise, who merely replied, "Among others."

Unable to get more than a few words out of Blaise at a time, Slughorn temporarily retreated, and instead focused his attention on Neville. What followed were a very uncomfortable few minutes while Neville was interrogated about his family. It was not a subject often mentioned among the friends, but Harry knew that Neville's parents had been Aurors, until they were tortured by a group of Death Eaters, among them Bellatrix Lestrange. Harry never learned what became of Neville's parents after that, but he knew Neville had been raised by his grandmother. At the end of the interview, Harry had the impression that Slughorn was reserving his judgment of both Blaise and Neville, as though he wanted to see if the frosty reception of one and the nervous modesty of the other were hiding some of their parents' skills.

When Slughorn finally addressed Harry, he turned in his seat with the air of a ringmaster introducing the main circus act.

"Harry Potter! Where do I begin with you, my boy? I feel I barely scratched the surface when we met this summer! The Chosen One, I believe they are calling you now? Quite a step-up from the Boy Who Lived, eh? Of course, there had been rumors for years. I remember well when… Well, after that terrible night… Lily… James… And you survived! Word was that you had inherited powers beyond the ordinary, and now with this business about the prophecy…"

"We never heard any prophecy," Blaise interrupted, "Harry smashed it to keep it from falling into the wrong hands."

"But then… You must have been one of students who were there that night!" Slughorn said, looking between Harry and Blaise with astonishment. "The Prophet mentioned others, but the names were kept secret…"

McLaggen and Belby were now staring at Blaise, clearly impressed. He kept his cool as he said, "Yes, I was there. And I can tell you that The Daily Prophet exaggerates a lot of things. We never heard any prophecy about Harry being chosen for anything."

Harry felt a pang of guilt. He should have told Blaise about the prophecy weeks ago. He certainly couldn't do it now, in front of the current crowd. With his friend to deflect Slughorn's impertinent questions, however, Harry was able to endure the rest of their visit in relative ease. Slughorn soon lost interest in discussing even the return of Lord Voldemort, seeming to prefer to talk of himself and his well-known connections. He became lost in fond reminiscences, and did not let them go until the sun had already dipped below the horizon.

"Good gracious, is it dark already?" Slughorn exclaimed, blinking in the sudden light from the train's enchanted lamps. "Harry, Longbottom, you had better change into your school robes now. Cormac, I hope you'll drop by for that book on nogtails sometime. Blaise, my best to your lovely mother. Harry, any time you please… Always welcome to drop by…"

They were quickly expelled from Slughorn's compartment. McLaggen and Belby offered Harry and his friends a last nod in parting before making their way toward the front of the train. Harry and Blaise, accompanied by Neville and Ginny, slowly made their way toward the back.

"Glad that's over!" Neville said with a heavy sigh, "He's… a lot…"

"Yeah, he is," Harry agreed. Turning to Ginny, he asked, "How'd you get mixed up with him, anyway?"

"You remember Oliver Rivers? That boy who was always glaring at you during our Marauder's meetings?" said Ginny, "Well, he wouldn't stop asking questions about you, wanting to know if you were really the Chosen One or some other such nonsense. I got fed up, so I hexed him. I thought I'd get detention when Slughorn came along, but he said it was the best Bat Bogey hex he'd seen, and invited me to lunch."

"Better than him trying to hook up with your mum, I suppose," Blaise said icily. "But you seemed to do well, Harry. How do you put up with him?"

They had reached their compartment again. Blaise's question was as good of an opportunity as Harry could hope for. Though it was already a tight fit, Harry invited Ginny to stay, sure that she would pass anything important onto Ron and Draco later. It was time to tell them about the prophecy.

In a few words, Harry summarized his trip with Dumbledore, and the hints he had dropped related to Slughorn. He then mentioned Dumbledore's request that Harry begin private lessons with him. Naturally, they all wanted to know why. And though Harry couldn't say what these lessons might entail, he could tell them why they were necessary. He'd had enough time to rehearse exactly what to say. After announcing to his friends that the rumors were all true. That it was him, Harry Potter, who had to defeat Lord Voldemort in the end, he sat back in his seat and waited for the reaction. All were silently stunned. Hermione was the first to speak.

"Is this why you couldn't write to me this summer?" she asked. Harry was appalled to see tears standing in her eyes. "Oh Harry, if I had known you were dealing with all of this…"

"But we don't know that the prophecy is true," Millie argued, "I've always thought of Divination as a soft magic."

"Dumbledore must have believed it well enough," Blaise remarked, "He wouldn't have told Harry about it, otherwise."

"I'm sure there's something we can do," Hermione continued, speaking more to herself than the others. "When we get to Hogwarts, I'll check the library… See what I can find on prophecies…"

While his friends continued to talk amongst themselves, Harry found himself smiling in spite of everything. Dumbledore was right to recommend he confide in his friends. Though they were just as worried for him as he had feared they would be, there was something in their frank chatter, of having the secret revealed at last, that comforted him.

He wondered if he should have included Luna with the others. Confirming the rumors in front of the daughter of a tabloid publicist might not have been the wisest option. But in the end, he was glad he hadn't asked her to leave. While the others discussed strategies for helping Harry defeat Lord Voldemort, Luna merely stated, "Thank you for sharing this, Harry. It must have been incredibly difficult for you."

She then disappeared behind her magazine, and bothered him no more about it.