�

`What should it be, save what's grieving you?'

childhood; they were glad to see each other, and were of the same

Mudbloods

She could not talk or think of anything else, and she could not help speaking to Levin of her misery. �

�

�

There was a scraping as everyone drew their cauldrons toward them and some loud clunks as people began adding weights to their scales, but nobody spoke. The concentration within the room was almost tangible. Harry saw Malfoy riffling feverishly through his copy of Advanced Potion-Making. It could not have been clearer that Malfoy really wanted that lucky day. Harry bent swiftly over the tattered book Slughorn had lent him.

�

In Pickwick Hall, tonight.

They had barely reached the door of Professor McGonagalls office when she came marching along the corridor behind them. She was wearing a Gryffindor scarf, but tore it from her throat with shaking hands as she strode towards them, looking livid.