There sat the Prince's copy, disguised

There sat the Prince's copy, disguised as a new book, and there sat the fresh copy from Flourish and Blotts, looking thoroughly second-hand.

“I'll give Slughorn back the new one, he can't complain, it cost nine Galleons.”

Hermione pressed her lips together, looking angry and disapproving, but was distracted by a third owl landing in front of her carrying that day's copy of the Daily

Prophet. She unfolded it hastily and scanned the front page.

“Anyone we know dead?” asked Ron in a determinedly casual voice; he posed the same question every time Hermione opened her paper.

“No, but there have been more dementor attacks,” said Hermione. “And an arrest.”

“Excellent, who?” said Harry, thinking of Bellatrix Lestrange.

“Stan Shunpike,” said Hermione.

“What?” said Harry, startled.

”‘Stanley Shunpike, conductor on the popular Wizarding conveyance the Knight Bus, has been arrested on suspicion of Death Eater activity. Mr. Shunpike, 21, was taken

into custody late last night after a raid on his Clapham home...’”

“Stan Shunpike, a Death Eater?” said Harry, remembering the spotty youth he had first met three years before. “No way!”

“He might have been put under the Imperius Curse,” said Ron reasonably. “You never can tell.”

“It doesn't look like it,” said Hermione, who was still reading. “It says here he was arrested after he was overheard talking about the Death Eaters’ secret plans

in a pub.” She looked up with a troubled expression on her face. “If he was under the Imperius Curse, he'd hardly stand around gossiping about their plans, would he?

”

“It sounds like he was trying to make out he knew more than he did,” said Ron. “Isn't he the one who claimed he was going to become Minister of Magic when he was

trying to chat up those Veela?”

“Yeah, that's him,” said Harry. “I dunno what they're playing at, taking Stan seriously.”

“They probably want to look as though they're doing something,” said Hermione, frowning. “People are terrified—you know the Patil twins’ parents want them to go

home? And Eloise Midgen has already been withdrawn. Her father picked her up last night.”

“What!” said Ron, goggling at Hermione. “But Hogwarts is safer than their homes, bound to be! We've got Aurors, and all those extra protective spells, and we've got

Dumbledore!”

“I don't think we've got him all the time,” said Hermione very quietly, glancing toward the staff table over the top of the Prophet. “Haven't you noticed? His seat's

been empty as often as Hagrid's this past week.”

Harry and Ron looked up at the staff table. The Headmaster's chair was indeed empty. Now Harry came to think of it, he had not seen Dumbledore since their private

lesson a week ago.

“I think he's left the school to do something with the Order,” said Hermione in a low voice. “I mean... it's all looking serious, isn't it?”

Harry and Ron did not answer, but Harry knew that they were all thinking the same thing. There had been a horrible incident the day before, when Hannah Abbott had been

taken out of Herbology to be told her mother had been found dead. They had not seen Hannah since.

When they left the Gryffindor table five minutes later to head down to the Quidditch pitch, they passed Lavender Brown and Parvati Patil. Remembering what Hermione had

said about the Patil twins’ parents wanting them to leave Hogwarts, Harry was unsurprised to see that the two best friends were whispering together, looking

distressed. What did surprise him was that when Ron drew level with them, Parvati suddenly nudged Lavender, who looked around and gave Ron a wide smile. Ron blinked at

her, then returned the smile uncertainly. His walk instantly became something more like a strut. Harry resisted the temptation to laugh, remembering that Ron had

refrained from doing so after Malfoy had broken Harry's nose; Hermione, however, looked cold and distant all the way down to the stadium through the cool, misty

drizzle, and departed to find a place in the stands without wishing Ron good luck.

As Harry had expected, the trials took most of the morning. Half of Gryffindor House seemed to have turned up, from first years who were nervously clutching a selection

of the dreadful old school brooms, to seventh years who towered over the rest, looking coolly intimidating. The latter included a large, wiry-haired boy Harry

recognized immediately from the Hogwarts Express.

“We met on the train, in old Sluggy's compartment,” he said confidently, stepping out of the crowd to shake Harry's hand. “Cormac McLaggen, Keeper.”

“You didn't try out last year, did you?” asked Harry, taking note of the breadth of McLaggen and thinking that he would probably block all three goal hoops without

even moving.