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“I’m tall,” said Ron inconsequentially.

The post owls arrived, swooping down through rain-flecked windows, scattering everyone with droplets of water. Most people were receiving more post than usual; anxious parents were keen to hear from their children and to reassure them, in turn, that all was well at home. Harry had received no mail since the start of term; his only regular correspondent was now dead and although he had hoped that Lupin might write occasionally, he had so far been disappointed. He was very surprised, therefore, to see the snowy white Hedwig circling amongst all the brown and gray owls. She landed in front of him carrying a large, square package. A moment later, an identical package landed in front of Ron, crushing beneath it his minuscule and exhausted owl, Pigwidgeon.

“Ha!” said Harry, unwrapping the parcel to reveal a new copy of Advanced Potion-Making, fresh from Flourish and Blotts.

“Oh good,” said Hermione, delighted. “Now you can give that graffitied copy back.”

“Are you mad?” said Harry. “I’m keeping it! Look, I’ve thought it out —”

He pulled the old copy of Advanced Potion-Making out of his bag and tapped the cover with his wand, muttering, “Diffindo!” The cover fell off. He did the same thing with the brand-new book (Hermione looked scandalized). He then swapped the covers, tapped each, and said, “Reparo!”

There sat the Prince’s copy, disguised as a new book, and there sat the fresh copy from Flourish and Blotts, looking thoroughly secondhand.

“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