“What did you want to see him about?”
“Nothing in particular,” said Tonks, picking, apparently unconsciously, at the sleeve of her robe. “I just thought he might know what’s going on. . . . I’ve heard rumors . . . people getting hurt . . .”
“Yeah, I know, it’s all been in the papers,” said Harry. “That little kid trying to kill his —”
“The Prophet’s often behind the times,” said Tonks, who didn’t seem to be listening to him. “You haven’t had any letters from anyone in the Order recently?”
“No one from the Order writes to me anymore,” said Harry, “not since Sirius —”
He saw that her eyes had filled with tears.
“I’m sorry,” he muttered awkwardly. “I mean . . . I miss him, as well. . . .”
“What?” said Tonks blankly, as though she had not heard him. “Well . . . I’ll see you around, Harry . . .”
And she turned abruptly and walked back down the corridor, leaving Harry to stare after her. After a minute or so, he pulled the Invisibility Cloak on again and resumed his efforts to get into the Room of Requirement, but his heart was not in it. Finally, a hollow feeling in his stomach and the knowledge that Ron and Hermione would soon be back for lunch made him abandon the attempt and leave the corridor to Malfoy who, hopefully, would be too afraid to leave for some hours to come.
He found Ron and Hermione in the Great Hall, already halfway through an early lunch.
“I did it — well, kind of!” Ron told Harry enthusiastically when he caught sight of him. “I was supposed to be Apparating to outside Madam Puddifoot’s Tea Shop and I overshot it a bit, ended up near Scrivenshaft’s, but at least I moved!”
“Good one,” said Harry. “How’d you do, Hermione?”
“Oh, she was perfect, obviously,” said Ron, before Hermione could answer. “Perfect deliberation, divination, and desperation or whatever the hell it is — we all went for a quick drink in the Three Broomsticks after and you should’ve heard Twycross going on about her — I’ll be surprised if he doesn’t pop the question soon —”
“And what about you?” asked Hermione, ignoring Ron. “Have you been up at the Room of Requirement all this time?”
“Yep,” said Harry. “And guess who I ran into up there? Tonks!”
“Tonks?” repeated Ron and Hermione together, looking surprised.
“Yeah, she said she’d come to visit Dumbledore. . . .”
“If you ask me,” said Ron once Harry had finished describing his conversation with Tonks, “she’s cracking up a bit. Losing her nerve after what happened at the Ministry.”
“It’s a bit odd,” said Hermione, who for some reason looked very concerned. “She’s supposed to be guarding the school, why’s she suddenly abandoning her post to come and see Dumbledore when he’s not even here?”
“I had a thought,” said Harry tentatively. He felt strange about voicing it; this was much more Hermione’s territory than his. “You don’t think she can have been . . . you know . . . in love with Sirius?”
Hermione stared at him.
“What on earth makes you say that?”
“I dunno,” said Harry, shrugging, “but she was nearly crying when I mentioned his name . . . and her Patronus is a big four-legged thing now. . . . I wondered whether it hadn’t become . . . you know . . . him.”
“It’s a thought,” said Hermione slowly. “But I still don’t know why she’d be bursting into the castle to see Dumbledore, if that’s really why she was here. . . .”
“Goes back to what I said, doesn’t it?” said Ron, who was now shoveling mashed potato into his mouth. “She’s gone a bit funny. Lost her nerve. Women,” he said wisely to Harry, “they’re easily upset.”
“And yet,” said Hermione, coming out of her reverie, “I doubt you’d find a woman who sulked for half an hour because Madam Rosmerta didn’t laugh at their joke about the hag, the Healer, and the Mimbulus mimbletonia.”
Ron scowled.
CHAPTER TWENTY-TWO
AFTER THE BURIAL
Patches of bright blue sky were beginning to appear over the castle turrets, but these signs of approaching summer did not lift Harry’s mood. He had been thwarted, both in his attempts to find out what Malfoy was doing, and in his efforts to start a conversation with Slughorn that might lead, somehow, to Slughorn handing over the memory he had apparently suppressed for decades.
“For the last time, just forget about Malfoy,” Hermione told Harry firmly.
They were sitting with Ron in a sunny corner of the courtyard after lunch. Hermione and Ron were both clutching a Ministry of Magic leaflet — Common Apparition Mistakes and How to Avoid Them — for they were taking their tests that very afternoon, but by and large the leaflets had not proved soothing to the nerves.
Ron gave a start and tried to hide behind Hermione as a girl came around the corner.
“It isn’t Lavender,” said Hermione wearily.
“Oh, good,” said Ron, relaxing.
“Harry Potter?” said the girl. “I was asked to give you this.”
“Thanks . . .”
Harry’s heart sank as he took the small scroll of parchment. Once the girl was out of earshot he said, “Dumbledore said we wouldn’t be having any more lessons until I got the memory!”
“Maybe he wants to check on how you’re doing?” suggested Hermione, as Harry unrolled the parchment; but rather than finding Dumbledore’s long, narrow, slanted writing he saw an untidy sprawl, very difficult to read due to the presence of large blotches on the parchment where the ink had run.
Dear Harry, Ron, and Hermione,
Aragog died last night. Harry and Ron, you met him, and you know how special he was. Hermione, I know you’d have liked him. It would mean a lot to me if you’d nip down for the burial later this evening. I’m planning on doing it round dusk, that was his favorite time of day. I know you’re not supposed to be out that late, but you can use the cloak. Wouldn’t ask, but I can’t face it alone.
Hagrid