“Yeah,” said Ron, “McGonagall might let us have hers, she did when Harry was practicing for the Triwizard . . .”
But Harry was pretty certain that McGonagall would not be so accommodating this time. For all that Hermione had said about study and homework groups being allowed, he had the distinct feeling this one might be considered a lot more rebellious.
“Right, well, we’ll try to find somewhere,” said Hermione. “We’ll send a message round to everybody when we’ve got a time and a place for the first meeting.”
She rummaged in her bag and produced parchment and a quill, then hesitated, rather as though she was steeling herself to say something.
“I-I think everybody should write their name down, just so we know who was here. But I also think,” she took a deep breath, “that we all ought to agree not to shout about what we’re doing. So if you sign, you’re agreeing not to tell Umbridge — or anybody else — what we’re up to.”
Fred reached out for the parchment and cheerfully put down his signature, but Harry noticed at once that several people looked less than happy at the prospect of putting their names on the list.
“Er . . .” said Zacharias slowly, not taking the parchment that George was trying to pass him. “Well . . . I’m sure Ernie will tell me when the meeting is.”
But Ernie was looking rather hesitant about signing too. Hermione raised her eyebrows at him.
“I — well, we are prefects,” Ernie burst out. “And if this list was found . . . well, I mean to say . . . you said yourself, if Umbridge finds out . . .”
“You just said this group was the most important thing you’d do this year,” Harry reminded him.
“I — yes,” said Ernie, “yes, I do believe that, it’s just . . .”
“Ernie, do you really think I’d leave that list lying around?” said Hermione testily.
“No. No, of course not,” said Ernie, looking slightly less anxious. “I — yes, of course I’ll sign.”
Nobody raised objections after Ernie, though Harry saw Cho’s friend give her a rather reproachful look before adding her name. When the last person — Zacharias — had signed, Hermione took the parchment back and slipped it carefully into her bag. There was an odd feeling in the group now. It was as though they had just signed some kind of contract.
“Well, time’s ticking on,” said Fred briskly, getting to his feet. “George, Lee, and I have got items of a sensitive nature to purchase, we’ll be seeing you all later.”
In twos and threes the rest of the group took their leave too. Cho made rather a business of fastening the catch on her bag before leaving, her long dark curtain of hair swinging forward to hide her face, but her friend stood beside her, arms folded, clicking her tongue, so that Cho had little choice but to leave with her. As her friend ushered her through the door, Cho looked back and waved at Harry.
“Well, I think that went quite well,” said Hermione happily, as she, Harry, and Ron walked out of the Hog’s Head into the bright sunlight a few moments later, Harry and Ron still clutching their bottles of butterbeer.
“That Zacharias bloke’s a wart,” said Ron, who was glowering after the figure of Smith just discernible in the distance.
“I don’t like him much either,” admitted Hermione, “but he overheard me talking to Ernie and Hannah at the Hufflepuff table and he seemed really interested in coming, so what could I say? But the more people the better really — I mean, Michael Corner and his friends wouldn’t have come if he hadn’t been going out with Ginny —”
Ron, who had been draining the last few drops from his butterbeer bottle, gagged and sprayed butterbeer down his front.
“He’s WHAT?” said Ron, outraged, his ears now resembling curls of raw beef. “She’s going out with — my sister’s going — what d’you mean, Michael Corner?”
“Well, that’s why he and his friends came, I think — well, they’re obviously interested in learning Defense, but if Ginny hadn’t told Michael what was going on —”
“When did this — when did she — ?”
“They met at the Yule Ball and they got together at the end of last year,” said Hermione composedly. They had turned into the High Street and she paused outside Scrivenshaft’s Quill Shop, where there was a handsome display of pheasant-feather quills in the window. “Hmm . . . I could do with a new quill.”
She turned into the shop. Harry and Ron followed her.
“Which one was Michael Corner?” Ron demanded furiously.
“The dark one,” said Hermione.
“I didn’t like him,” said Ron at once.
“Big surprise,” said Hermione under her breath.
“But,” said Ron, following Hermione along a row of quills in copper pots, “I thought Ginny fancied Harry!”
Hermione looked at him rather pityingly and shook her head.
“Ginny used to fancy Harry, but she gave up on him months ago. Not that she doesn’t like you, of course,” she added kindly to Harry while she examined a long black-and-gold quill.
Harry, whose head was still full of Cho’s parting wave, did not find this subject quite as interesting as Ron, who was positively quivering with indignation, but it did bring something home to him that until now he had not really registered.
“So that’s why she talks now?” he asked Hermione. “She never used to talk in front of me.”
“Exactly,” said Hermione. “Yes, I think I’ll have this one . . .”
She went up to the counter and handed over fifteen Sickles and two Knuts, Ron still breathing down her neck.
“Ron,” she said severely as she turned and trod on his feet, “this is exactly why Ginny hasn’t told you she’s seeing Michael, she knew you’d take it badly. So don’t harp on about it, for heaven’s sake.”