Chapter One Hundred and Thirty-Six - Grubs and Worms

Nonverbal spells had become the expectation not just in Snape's class, but in just about every other subject. Harry had expected that his own private practice of wandless magic would give him an advantage over the other students, but he was sadly mistaken. He had not appreciated how much speaking an incantation helped him focus and direct his magic before. To make matters worse, the lessons themselves were becoming increasingly difficult, and Harry found that his free periods were spent catching up on the vast amount of homework they were being set.

Remarkably, Potions had become Harry's best subject by far, due in no small part to the instructions in Snape's old textbook. He finally admitted the secret of his success after being pestered by Blaise and Millie. They each found it brilliant, and promised not to inform Slughorn, provided that Harry share some of Snape's tips with them.

There was one person, however, who Harry dreaded to tell the truth. When he did eventually speak on the subject, her reaction was predictable.

"Harry James Potter!" Hermione gasped, "This is how you've been doing so well in class? That's cheating!"

"Snape used to be our Potions Master," Harry reminded her, "How is it cheating if all I'm doing is following a teacher's instructions?"

Hermione opened her mouth to protest, but Millie came to Harry's defense. "Think about it, Hermione. In all the years we learned potions from Snape, did he ever once ask us to open a textbook?"

Blaise shook his head and added, "Nope. He always wrote his instructions on the blackboard at the start of class. You've got to face facts, Hermione. Snape's just a better instructor than Slughorn. Think of his notes as tutoring!"

Hermione remained unconvinced. Jutting out her chin, she said loftily, "Well, I still think you should tell Slughorn. He thinks you're getting all these clever ideas yourself. It may not be cheating, but it's dishonest."

In his opinion, Hermione was simply jealous that Harry was receiving more praise in Slughorn's classes than she was, but he bit back this retort. He considered himself lucky that she still sat next to him during mealtimes, and he didn't want to disrupt the fragile truce they had built after a very tumultuous start to the year.

Which is why, rather than start another fight, Harry replied with patience. "Look, I'm really not interested in being the top of the class, or whatever. But like I told you before, Dumbledore wants me on Slughorn's good side. If I'm doing well in his class, well… I guess I'm following Dumbledore's orders, aren't I?"

Hermione still looked displeased, but it was hard to argue with Harry's logic. When Harry left to attend his afternoon Care of Magical Creatures class, they were able to part ways with an awkward, though amicable goodbye.

"So, what's the deal with you two?" Millie asked with uncharacteristic curiosity as they made their way across the school grounds toward Hagrid's cabin.

Harry sighed, "I really don't know. I mean, I still like Hermione… But lately it's like all we do is argue…"

"Yeah, I noticed."

"It's just… Why can't she be easy to talk to? Like how I can talk to you and Blaise?"

Millie shrugged. From anyone else, the gesture might have appeared dismissive, but Harry had become an expert in interpreting Millie's nonverbal cues. In that simple shrug, he detected a number of sentiments. It seemed to express sympathy, an unwillingness to interfere, and an assumption that all romantic relationships were complicated. Harry sighed again.

"No wonder you're so good at nonverbal spells, Mills. I couldn't have said it better, myself."

Hermione, Neville, and Blaise were not the only students to drop Care of Magical Creatures that year. Ron and Draco no longer attended the class, either. As a result, Harry and Millie often found themselves working with Theo Nott. He joined them again as they tended to the artificial beehives Hagrid had built for his glumbumbles.

"Never did congratulate you on the whole captain thing," Theo said, nodding toward the badge Harry had pinned to the front of his robes, "Planning to host try-outs soon?"

"Thanks," replied Harry, sticking a gloved hand into one of the hives and gingerly lifting out a comb of pearl-grey treacle. "To tell you the truth, I'm pretty nervous. Snape gave me a long list of applicants already…"

"But that's a good thing, isn't it? Hasn't Slytherin got a lot of spots to fill this year?"

Harry eyed him with suspicion. "Hang on… You're not trying to spy for Gryffindor, are you?"

Theo laughed. "Well, first I have to see if Katie lets me play again this year."

"Katie Bell is your new captain?"

"There, you see? I've told you something about the Gryffindor team, you could at least tell me if Draco's going to be a Chaser again!"

Harry grinned. "Well, there are a lot of openings on the team this year… I suppose with so many applicants, it won't be hard to fill the spots. I just wonder why the sudden interest in Quidditch, you know? We've never had this many before…"

"You pulling my leg?" Theo asked incredulously. He then turned to Millie, who was quietly recording how much treacle they had collected from their hive. "He's pulling my leg, right?"

"What do you mean?" asked Harry.

"You're the Chosen One!" Theo blurted, drawing stares from their nearest neighbors, among them Lavender Brown and Parvati Patil. When Harry hissed in displeasure, he quickly dropped his voice and added, "Sorry. At least… That's what everyone's saying about you. After our fight at the Ministry, and You-Know-Who being back, and how you've fought him off loads of times… Bulstrode, back me up!"

Millie nodded her head sagely. "It's true."

"And there's the fact that you've grown about a foot taller over the summer…"

"Hang on," Harry interrupted, "What's that got to do with anything?"

"You know, makes you more fanciable," said Theo. When Harry dropped the piece of honeycomb, spoiling their treacle in the dirt, he quickly added, "Not to me! I'm just repeating what I've heard others say."

Once again, he turned to Millie for support. She took a moment to reflect before she said, "He's got a point, Harry. The girls in my dorm ask about you all the time. They keep saying how interesting you are now. I suppose you do have a sort of added mystique, what with all the rumors flying…"

Harry felt himself blushing furiously. "I have a girlfriend…" he muttered.

"You sure?" asked Theo, "Things with Granger seem a bit…"

"We're fine," Harry insisted, though secretly he wondered if everyone was talking about their many public spats. Stooping to pick up the spoiled honeycomb, he attempted to change the subject by asking, "So, what? You're saying there's all this interest in Quidditch now because I'm captain?"

"Harry, that is exactly what I'm saying."

"God, try-outs are going to be a nightmare."

It was not as bad as Harry had feared. Wanting to get the whole process over with, Harry made his way to the Great Hall early on Saturday morning, his feelings those of resignation rather than the excitement he should feel as captain. Hermione and Neville were once again waiting for him at the Slytherin table. Before Harry could invite Hermione to view the Quidditch trials, however, she pushed a brown package across the table toward him.

"Hedwig's come and gone," she said, "Dropped this off for you."

"It must be the new potions textbook," Harry remarked. He had spent so much time pouring over Snape's notes he could easily identify the new copy by its proportions. The return address scrawled neatly across the brown wrapping confirmed Harry's theory as he tore the parcel open to reveal a fresh, unmarked copy of Advanced Potion Making.

"That's good, isn't it?" Hermione said, her tone more bright now, "You can return Snape's copy to Slughorn."

Harry tucked the book away without comment. He had already decided to swap the covers, and return the new copy to Slughorn, retaining Snape's old book, and his notes, for himself. He knew Hermione would consider this another example of dishonesty, but he didn't want to start another fight.

Fortunately, another owl swooped overhead, dropping a copy of The Daily Prophet onto Hermione's half-eaten plate. It provided Harry with a much-needed change in topic, though the news was rarely positive these days.

"Anything I should know?" he asked, certain he did not want to hear the answer.

Hermione skimmed through the headlines quickly before diving into a few of the more interesting articles. "No deaths," she reported, "A few more dementor attacks, though."

"What about Hannah's mum?" Neville said, dropping his voice as he leaned toward Harry and added, "Hannah Abbott was pulled out of Herbology yesterday. They say her mum was found dead. No one's seen her in class since..."

Harry felt a pang. Hannah Abbot was a Hufflepuff in his year. Though he'd hardly exchanged two words with her the entire time they'd attended Hogwarts, he had experienced enough loss to understand what she must be feeling after losing a parent.

"She's not the only one," Hermione added, "Eloise Midgen's father pulled her out of school the day before that. And I heard Parvati telling Lavender that she and her sister might be next."

"But why?" asked Harry, "No one in their families have been…?"

Hermione shook her head before he could complete his question, "No, nothing like that. I suppose their parents must think it's safer to have them at home."

"But Hogwarts is the safest place for us, right now!" Neville argued, "Dumbledore's here! And everyone knows…"

"I'm not so sure Dumbledore's spending much of his time here, actually," Hermione interrupted. She lifted her eyes from the newspaper and met Harry's, "You've been taking classes with him, haven't you?"

"Just the one…" Harry said, realizing that he hadn't seen the headmaster since their private lesson a week prior.

"He hasn't been coming to the staff table for meals, and no one's seen him in the halls," Hermione reported, "Perhaps he's doing something to stop… Well, you know… But it won't help worried parents knowing that the headmaster keeps vanishing from the school."

"What about your parents?" Harry asked with a sudden thought, "Weren't they worried about sending you back to Hogwarts this year?"

Hermione laughed ruefully, "Oh, Harry! I haven't said a word about any of this to them. They think what's been happening in the Muggle news is all due to natural disasters and poor leadership. I can't exactly tell them that an evil Dark Wizard is back from the dead, and that my boyfriend is going to have to fight him, can I?"

Despite the somber topic of their morning conversation, Harry felt reassured to hear Hermione openly refer to him as "her boyfriend" once more. It emboldened him to ask her if she wanted to come watch the quidditch try-outs, an invitation she accepted with ready compliance.

Harry had been expecting a large group, but the crowd waiting at the Quidditch pitch was even larger than expected. To his chagrin, the stands were filled with curious students from other houses, unable to try-out for the Slytherin team, but just as eager to gawk at Harry. While Hermione and Neville picked a seat among the onlookers, Harry surveyed the group of hopefuls before him.

There was Draco, of course. And Malcolm Baddock and Graham Pritchard. The two beaters looked as massive as ever, but even they were dwarfed in comparison to the handful of seventh years who had turned out. From his own year, he was surprised to see Hertha Runcorn, Tracey Davis, and Daphne Greengrass. He had never heard the trio of friends express an interest in the sport before. Beside her sister stood Astoria Greengrass, looking nervous as she clutched a school broom that seemed comically large for her. She was not the only first-year among the group, each with a school broom clutched in their hands.

Crabbe and Goyle were noticeably absent. Thick as they were, even they must have realized that Harry would never let them on the team.

Harry decided to thin the crowd by running a few simple speed drills. It quickly became obvious that most of the first-years had, in fact, never been on a broom, for they pelted straight back to the ground after lifting off. Astoria was the one exception, easily keeping up with the pack for a loop around the pitch, and even maneuvering her way past some of the more hulking boys.

Her sister, on the other hand, seemed only to have come because her friends were there. When Harry dismissed her from the field, she happily cheered her sister on from the stands, sitting between Blaise and Millie, who had arrived fashionably late.

"Alright, let's take a break!" Harry called after observing several practice plays from the pool of Chasers. "Malfoy! I want a word!"

Draco answered the summons with alacrity, joining Harry's side in a moment. They remained hovering in the air while the rest of the applicants returned to the ground.

"You're in," Harry announced in a tone that invited no further conversation, "Who do you like for your fellow Chasers?"

Draco seemed surprised that Harry was asking for his opinion, but he did not object as he considered the question carefully. "Vaisey is an obvious pick. He scored the most points today and he takes direction well. And Harper's an excellent flier, but…"

"But?"

"But he's known to have some strong feelings against Muggle-borns," Draco concluded with a sigh.

"Wasn't that long ago I would've said the same about you," Harry remarked teasingly. Draco gave him a light push, not enough to knock him off his broom, but enough to send Harry gliding a few feet away until he returned, giggling, "Alright, so Harper's not a good fit. If not him, then who else?"

Draco gave the matter some consideration before he suggested, "Greengrass."

"Daphne didn't even make it past the speed trial…"

"I meant her sister, Astoria."

"She's only a first year!"

"I'm aware. But she scored more points against Urqhart than me. And she's small and quick. I think she'd be good for a couple of plays I had in mind…" Draco paused, seeming slightly embarrassed, before he added, "That is, if I could suggest a few plays…"

"Right," said Harry with a nod, "I'm making you Vice-Captain. You've got Vaisey and Greengrass. Now, about Urqhart…"

The beaters were more difficult to decide. Harry liked Burke, a seventh-year, for his size and power, but he hated to choose between Baddock and Pritchard. Though only in their third year, they were the only other veterans of the team, and seemed to work well together. Harry ended up in a shouting match with Burke over his final decision, and had to threaten him with a hex to get him off the field.

By the time Harry had selected his team and bullied the others off the pitch, it was already well past noon. Irritable that the try-outs had caused him to miss lunch, Harry found himself thinking that even Hagrid's infamous rock cakes sounded appetizing. As he and his friends began their trek back toward the castle, he glanced toward the gamekeeper's cabin, noting a thin tendril of smoke rising from the chimney.

"Suppose we stop by Hagrid's?" Harry suggested, "He might treat us to some tea."

Blaise and Millie were willing enough, but Hermione and Neville hesitated.

"You don't think he'll be disappointed that Neville and I dropped his class?" Hermione asked fretfully.

She wouldn't have to worry if she hadn't dropped his class, Harry reflected, but he pushed the nasty thought aside. Hermione had been willing to forget their prior disagreements, and he was determined not to cause further problems. Instead, he replied, "Don't be ridiculous. Hagrid's not the type to hold a grudge over something like that."

But to Harry's surprise, Hagrid did seem a trifle miffed to see Hermione, Neville, and Blaise on his doorstep. He greeted Harry and Millie with a smile and open arms, but his reception of the other three was cool and distant. Though not precisely turning them away, he slammed down their mugs of tea rather aggressively, sending the amber liquid splashing over the table without so much as an apology.

"So, what brings yeh by, Harry?" Hagrid asked with a sort of forced cheerfulness, "Not havin' questions abou' the glumbumbles, are yeh? Able to keep up with the homework, alrigh?"

Privately, Harry thought the glumbumbles were… Well, glum. He had made the mistake of tasting a bit of their treacle after class three days ago, and had only recently recovered from the fit of melancholy it produced. But he knew better than to share his thoughts with Hagrid. Instead, after seeing the look of misery on Hermione's face, he found himself saying, "Actually, Hagrid, your instruction is much easier to understand than some of the other teachers. I don't know how I'm going to make it in Transfiguration, the way McGonagall goes on about turning bowling balls into balloons…"

"And yours is the only class we're not expected to practice non-verbal spells in," Millie added helpfully.

"And don't even get me started on the homework!" Harry continued, "Between Snape's endless essays and the project Sprout set in Herbology, I wonder how any of us have time to do anything but study!"

He directed a pointed look at Hermione, who finally seemed to catch on to what Harry was doing. Her expression brightening, she quickly added, "Oh… Oh, yes! It's been dreadful, Professor Hagrid! I was so sorry that Care of Magical Creatures wouldn't fit in my schedule, but Harry's been telling me all about the glumbumbles, and they sound… er… delightful! It makes me rather envious that I'm taking arithmancy, instead…"

Her contrite speech seemed to soften Hagrid, who helpfully refilled her mug of tea and added a bit of cream as he said, "Yes… Well, arithmancy's a useful subject, as well… An' I suppose yeh have Harry an' Millie ter teach yeh abou' all the creatures we'll be studying… We'll be movin' on ter Diricawl's next, yeh know… An' it's nice of yeh ter come visit, being so busy an' all…"

Hagrid seemed to be well on his way to pacifying himself that they had not slighted him by dropping his class. But there was still something strange in his demeanor. He seemed preoccupied, distracted. Harry was about to ask if Hagrid knew anything about Dumbledore's mysterious absence, or the movements of the Order of the Phoenix. But before he could find a way to approach the subject, Blaise let out a sudden scream of disgust.

"Hagrid! What on earth are those things!?"

They all looked around at a large barrel standing in the corner. It was set against the rear of the cabin, closest to where Blaise had found a chair. Harry could only account for its out-of-the-way placement for why he hadn't noticed it sooner. The barrel was completely filled with what appeared to be foot-long maggots, their white bodies squelching unpleasantly as they writhed on top of each other.

"They're jus' giant grubs," Hagrid said with the same distracted air.

"O-Oh…" said Hermione a bit breathlessly. Harry could tell she was trying to appear interested, rather than disgusted, "And what will they grow into?"

She must have thought they were being reared for one of Hagrid's classes, but Hagrid replied somewhat stiffly, "They won't grow inter anything. I've got ter feed 'em ter Aragog."

And without warning, Hagrid burst into tears.

"Oh, dear!" Hermione cried, jumping up from her seat to try to comfort the professor. Her arm could not reach around his massive shoulders, though she patted him on his back just the same. "Don't cry, Professor! What's wrong?"

"It's… him…" Hagrid gulped, trying to swallow his tears, "Aragog! I think he's… He's dyin'! He got sick over the summer, an' he's not gettin' better! I don't know what I'll do… We've been together fer so long…"

Hermione continued to pat Hagrid's shoulder, though she looked extremely confused. Harry and Neville, however, exchanged a worried glance. They alone had ventured into the Forbidden Forest during their second year, where they had been confronted by the massive spider, Aragog, as well as his hoard of children, grandchildren, and great-grandchildren.

Harry and Neville reminded their friends of their adventure only after leaving Hagrid's cabin, having done their best to offer what comfort they could. Between condoling with Hagrid and soothing his hurt feelings over the others dropping his class, Harry had not managed to crack into any of Hagrid's rock cakes. He was therefore starving by the time they returned to the castle, still chatting over Hagrid's proclivity for dangerous beasts. A myriad of delectable smells made Harry's stomach ache, but before he could cross the threshold into the Great Hall, he found his path blocked by Slughorn.

"Harry, m'boy! Just the man I wanted to see!" he said genially, "I was hoping to catch you before dinner! What do you say to a spot of supper tonight in my rooms, instead? We're having a bit of a party, just a few rising stars… And I would be delighted if Mr. Zabini and Miss Granger would join us, of course."

He bowed respectfully toward Hermione. Harry couldn't help but notice that only Neville and Millie had been excluded from his invitation. Millie had never attracted Slughorn's notice, but Harry wondered what Neville had done to fall out of Slughorn's favor so early in the year.

"Er… Actually, sir, I have detention with Professor Snape," Harry replied, stating the first lie that came into his head, "But I'm sure Blaise will be happy to join you."

From the corner of his eye, he saw Blaise's head snap in his direction, but Harry kept his eyes and his practiced smile on Slughorn. He wasn't sure what made him decline the invitation. Perhaps it was exhaustion after two weeks of intense lessons, or his morning spent shouting on the Quidditch pitch. Perhaps he was just hungry. But a night spent in the company of Slughorn, kissing up to the professor and trying for reasons he didn't yet understand to get close to him, did not sound appealing.

"Now, now… We can't let a little thing like detention get in the way of good company!" Slughorn insisted, "I'll just have a word with Snape, shall I? I am sure we can work something out. Yes, I'll see you and Mr. Zabini, later! And Miss Granger, I think I can count on your acceptance?"

He had bustled off before Hermione could stammer her thanks. Harry wondered what the outcome of Slughorn's conversation would be. If he had really been assigned detention, he was certain that Snape would never excuse him for something as paltry as a dinner with a few of Slughorn's favorite students. But since it had been a complete lie, he could only imagine the look on Snape's face when Slughorn requested that he postpone a detention he didn't recall scheduling.

He got his answer later that night. Blaise, after grumbling that Harry "owed him one" was still away at Slughorn's gathering while Harry and Millie, full from their dinner in the Great Hall, relaxed in the common room. They were still working up the motivation to start on homework when they were approached by Colin Creevy.

"Hi, Harry!" he said happily, "Congrats on getting the quidditch team together! Graham and Malcolm are so pleased to be back on the team this year."

"Thanks, Colin," said Harry, "They earned their spots."

"Really? I was watching from the stands, and I thought that Burke flew better… But that's why you're Quidditch Captain and I'm on the gobstones team, I suppose! Say, did you hear about…"

"Did you need something, Colin?" Harry interrupted, not in the mood to entertain a story about Colin's exploits with the gobstones club members.

"Oh!" Colin exclaimed, "I nearly forgot. Professor Snape wanted to remind you that your detention will be at eight thirty tonight."

Harry sat up in his chair. "Detention? Tonight?"

Colin nodded his head vigorously and stated, "He also wanted me to tell you that 'he doesn't care how many party invitations you receive, he expects you to be on time.' What was he talking about, Harry?"

Obviously, Slughorn had made good on his promise to speak to Snape. And so, at precisely half-past eight o'clock that evening, Harry collapsed into a chair in Snape's office, sighing loudly as he said, "Thanks for covering for me, but did you really have to insist on the detention?"

Snape was busy setting a full bucket of flobberworms on his desk, but he looked up as Harry entered. Harry didn't like the look of the worms rolling around in the bucket. It reminded him strongly of the grubs Hagrid was keeping for Aragog. Instead, he met Snape's eye with a perplexed smile.

"What are those for?"

"These are for you," Snape replied, returning Harry's smile with a cold smirk of his own, "You'll be sorting out rotten flobberworms from good ones, to use in potion-making."

"You're joking…" Harry replied faintly, "I thought you were just playing along for Slughorn! I don't actually have detention… Do I?"

While Harry struggled to recall the events of the past week, wondering if he had in fact broken some rule and ended up earning a detention he'd forgotten all about, Snape took a seat behind his desk.

"I don't appreciate being blindsided by Horace Slughorn," he said smoothly, "And since you seem to find it convenient to use me as your excuse, you can at least make yourself useful while you're here."

"I thought you said I could come by whenever I wanted," Harry grumbled, though he accepted the protective gloves Snape handed to him, "No detention needed, that's what you said…"

"And you said Dumbledore wanted you to get close to Slughorn," Snape remarked mildly, "It makes one wonder why you declined his invitation tonight?"

"Do I have to do everything?" Harry exclaimed dramatically, "I've already got to kill Voldemort! Don't I deserve a break now and then?"

He meant it as a joke, but a bit of his pent-up frustration and fear seeped into his voice. Snape froze, pinning Harry with a hard stare. When he broke the silence, his voice was low, as if they were not the only two people in the room, and he was conveying a dark secret to Harry.

"Who told you this?"

Snape's gaze made him uncomfortable. The flobberworms that had so repelled him a moment ago suddenly became very interesting. Harry stared at them as he replied, "Dumbledore. He told me all about the prophecy. I figured you knew about it already…"

"Indeed… What else did Dumbledore tell you?"

A number of things flashed through his mind. The prophecy… Salazar Slytherin's locket… Dumbledore's injured hand… The ring with its cracked black stone… The memories he had witnessed in the Pensieve…

"Not a lot, honestly…" Harry answered, "Just that… He said Voldemort is making horcruxes, whatever those are… He hasn't told me why."

He continued to stare at the flobberworms, but he could feel the intensity of Snape's gaze. It reminded him of their Occlumency lessons. Harry suspected that Snape was trying to read his thoughts, as though staring at him hard enough would reveal if Harry was lying. After another moment of awkward silence, Snape merely gestured toward the bucket between them, and abruptly stated, "Very well. Tomorrow, Potter, you may kill the Dark Lord. But tonight, you sort flobberworms. Get to work."