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The silence seemed to tauten and strain as Dumbledore spoke. Harry glanced at Malfoy. Malfoy was not looking at Dumbledore, but making his fork hover in midair with his wand, as though he found the headmaster's words unworthy of his attention.
Chapter 8: Victorious Snape
"So is that why you're late, Metamorph-Medals?"
"He was going in that direction," murmured Harry as quietly as possible, so that the humming Hagrid would not hear them. “Cmon.”
"Harry?" said Hermione in an anxious voice. "What's wrong?"
"And Hermione," said Ron, "she's not, is she?"
“Well then,” said Harry, starting to feel annoyed at her lack of helpfulness, “I suppose I'll just have to sleep out here and wait for morning.”
Had Voldemort chosen Neville, it would be Neville sitting opposite Harry bearing the lightning-shaped scar and the weight of the prophecy. ... Or would it? Would Neville’s mother have died to save him, as Lily had died for Harry? Surely she would. . . . But what if she had been unable to stand between her son and Voldemort? Would there then have been no "Chosen One" at all? An empty seat where Neville now sat and a scarless Harry who would have been kissed good-bye by his own mother, not Ron's?
"Well, I assume so, as Longbottom was there," said Zabini indifferently.
"Tonks and Sirius barely knew each other!" said Ron. "Sirius was in Azkaban half her life and before that their families never met ?quot;
"I couldn't change, I didn't have my —" Harry began, but Snape cut across him.
"Hold it!" said Hermione, throwing out an arm and halting a passing fourth year, who was attempting to push past her with a lime-green disk clutched tightly in his hand. "Fanged Frisbees banned, hand it over," she told him sternly. The scowling boy handed over the snarling Frisbee, ducked under her arm, and took off after his friends. Ron waited for him to vanish, then tugged the Frisbee from Hermione's grip.
"It looks as if it's died," said Hermione, with a nauseated expression. "But there are some injuries you can't cure... old curses…and there are poisons without antidotes. . . ."
"Well, I pity Slughorn's taste. Maybe he's going a bit senile. Shame, my father always said he was a good wizard in his day. My father used to be a bit of a favorite of his. Slughorn probably hasn't heard I'm on the train, or ?quot;