43. Hope's Prediction
Gryffindor’s euphoria at finally winning the Quidditch Cup lasted for at least a week.
Even the weather seemed to be celebrating. As June approached, the days turned cloudless and hot, the air thick with warmth and promise. It felt like the entire school just wanted to collapse onto the grass outside with several pints of iced pumpkin juice, maybe toss around a Gobstone or two, or watch the giant squid drift lazily across the lake.
But no one could.
Exams were coming.
And instead of basking in the sun, the students were trapped indoors, desperately trying to force their brains to focus while the sweet, summery breeze wafted through the castle windows, taunting them.
Even Fred and George had been spotted actually working—a rare and terrifying sight. They were preparing for their O.W.L.s—Ordinary Wizarding Levels—and though they didn’t seem too fussed, the fact that they had cracked open textbooks was a sign of how serious things were getting.
Percy was another story altogether.
He was studying for his N.E.W.T.s—Nastily Exhausting Wizarding Tests—the highest qualification Hogwarts offered. As he planned to enter the Ministry of Magic, he needed top marks, and his nerves had reached a new peak. He was starting to treat the common room like his personal testing facility. Anyone who dared make too much noise received a glare sharp enough to pierce dragon hide—or, if they were particularly unlucky, a verbal lashing about “respecting academic rigor.”
The only person more anxious than Percy was Hermione.
And Hope had noticed.
Hermione barely seemed to sleep anymore. She drifted from class to class like she was running on fumes, clutching armfuls of textbooks and parchment, muttering to herself about study schedules and theoretical applications of wandwork. She was trying to prepare for every subject—every single one—and it was starting to show.
So Hope had made it her mission to make sure Hermione didn’t unravel completely.
“Eat this,” she said one evening, thrusting a piece of toast into Hermione’s hands without waiting for protest.
“I don’t have time—”
“You haven’t eaten all day. Just chew and revise at the same time. You’re brilliant. You can multitask.”
Hermione opened her mouth like she was going to argue—but then sighed and took a bite. Hope sat beside her and handed over a flask of pumpkin juice.
“You’re not my mum, you know,” Hermione muttered, but it lacked heat.
Hope smiled faintly, brushing her own tangled curls out of her face.
“Yeah, but she’d be really upset if you collapsed from stress and missed your exams, wouldn’t she?”
Hermione didn’t reply, just kept chewing and flipping through her notes with slightly trembling fingers.
Hope didn’t say it out loud, but she was starting to worry. The bags under Hermione’s eyes were getting darker. Her hands occasionally shook when she wrote. And the other day, Hope had watched her down an entire Pepperup Potion just to stay awake through a double Arithmancy period.
Between making sure Hermione didn’t forget to sleep, eat, or breathe, and trying to keep up with her own revisions, Hope felt stretched thin herself.
Harry and Ron had given up trying to understand how Hermione was attending multiple classes at once, but when they finally saw the exam timetable she’d drawn up for herself, their curiosity got the better of them.
The first column read:
MONDAY
9 o’clock – Arithmancy
9 o’clock – Transfiguration
Lunch
1 o’clock – Charms
1 o’clock – Ancient Runes
Hope saw the identical looks of bafflement on their faces and didn’t even let them ask.
She shook her head, barely lifting her gaze from her Potions notes. “Don’t ask,” she muttered in a sing-song tone.
Ignoring her, Ron cleared his throat. “Er—Hermione?” Ron asked, cautious, as though approaching a wild Hippogriff. “Are you sure you copied the times down right?”
“What?” Hermione snapped, snatching the timetable and looking it over. “Yes, of course I have.”
Harry squinted at the parchment. “Is there any point asking how you’re going to sit two exams at once?”
“No,” Hermione said briskly, not even looking up.
Ron turned to Hope, who had been notably less obsessed with the mystery than they were.
“You know, don’t you? How she’s getting to all those classes.”
Hope didn’t even bother looking up. She just flipped a page in her notes and muttered,
“It’s best not to think about it, Ron. It'll just hurt your head.”
Hermione looked up suddenly, eyes scanning the room. “Have any of you seen my copy of Numerology and Grammatica?”
“Oh yeah,” Ron said, but his voice dropped to a sheepish mumble. “I borrowed it for a bit of, uh… bedtime reading.”
Hermione started shifting piles of parchment around her study space, muttering under her breath. Just then, a soft rustling came from the open window, and Markl swooped through, landing clumsily on the back of Hermione’s chair. A note was clutched tightly in his beak.
Hope reached over, giving his head a gentle scratch and brushing a finger along the curve of his beak.
“Hey, buddy,” she murmured, slipping the note from him. Markl let out a quiet hoot and shook out his feathers.
“It’s from Hagrid,” she said, unfolding the parchment. “Buckbeak’s appeal—it’s set for the sixth.”
“That’s the day we finish exams,” Hermione said distractedly, still searching for her book.
“They’re coming up here to do it,” Harry added, leaning in over Hope’s shoulder. “Someone from the Ministry of Magic and—wait—an executioner?”
Hermione froze. Her head snapped up.
“They’re bringing the executioner to the appeal? That sounds like they’ve already decided!”
“Yeah,” Harry said quietly. “It does.”
“They can’t!” Ron exclaimed, his voice rising. “I’ve spent ages reading up on stuff for him—they can’t just ignore it all!”
But Hope had gone quiet, her hands tightening around the letter. She had a horrible sinking feeling that the Committee for the Disposal of Dangerous Creatures had already made up their minds—probably the moment Mr. Malfoy had started whispering in their ears.
She didn’t need to imagine how smug he’d looked when he’d heard the news—she’d seen it. Draco had been surprisingly quiet after Gryffindor's win in the Quidditch final, but now… he was regaining his old swagger, tossing sneering comments in their direction like confetti.
From the way he’d been talking, it was clear he thought Buckbeak was as good as dead. And he looked downright pleased with himself for helping make it happen.
Hope clenched her jaw. It took everything she had not to do a Hermione and punch him square in the face.
The worst part?
They couldn’t even go see Hagrid. The castle was still under tight security, and Harry hadn’t dared retrieve the Invisibility Cloak from beneath the one-eyed witch’s hump.
Hope folded the letter carefully and stared out the window, jaw tight and eyes heavy.
For a while, none of them said anything. The weight of it all settled over them like an extra layer of heat, heavier than the summer air drifting through the tower.
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Exam week began, and an unnatural hush settled over the castle. The third-years emerged from Transfiguration at lunchtime on Monday looking limp and ashen-faced, comparing results and bemoaning the difficulty of the tasks they’d been set—which had included turning a teapot into a tortoise.
“My tortoise still had a spout for a tail,” Hope groaned, dropping onto the bench beside Ron. “What a nightmare…”
“Were they supposed to breathe steam?” Ron asked, eyebrows pulling together.
Neville looked anxiously between them. “Mine still had a willow-patterned shell. D’you think that’ll count against me?”
“Just be happy your teapot didn’t blow up,” Harry said dryly.
Seamus gave him a small shove and muttered, “Shut up.”
After a hasty lunch, it was straight back upstairs for Charms. Hermione had been right—Professor Flitwick did test them on Cheering Charms. Hope performed hers with ease, grinning as Hermione ended up perfectly cheerful, which, frankly, she could definitely use. Harry slightly overdid his, and Ron—his unfortunate partner—collapsed into a fit of hysterical laughter and had to be escorted to a quiet room for a full hour before he was in any condition to perform it himself.
After dinner, no one was relaxing. Instead, they crammed back into their common rooms to revise for Care of Magical Creatures, Potions, and Astronomy.
The next morning, Hagrid presided over their Care of Magical Creatures exam with a distracted, preoccupied air. His heart clearly wasn’t in it. He had set out a large tub of fresh Flobberworms, and told them their only goal was to keep their worm alive for an hour. Since Flobberworms thrived best when left alone, it was the easiest exam they’d ever had—and it gave Hope, Harry, Ron, and Hermione a chance to talk.
“Beaky’s gettin’ a bit depressed,” Hagrid murmured, stooping low to pretend he was checking Harry’s Flobberworm. “Bin cooped up too long. But still... we’ll know day after tomorrow. One way or the other.”
Potions that afternoon was an unqualified disaster.
Hope stirred her Confusing Concoction with increasing desperation, but it refused to thicken. Snape stood nearby, watching with a look of barely concealed glee. He scribbled something down on his parchment—something that looked a lot like a zero—before moving away with the sweep of his cloak.
After that, they trudged up to the tallest tower at midnight for Astronomy. Then came History of Magic on Wednesday morning, which Hope got through fine enough. After the Potions nightmare, nothing could possibly be worse.
Wednesday afternoon meant Herbology under the sweltering sun. By the time they returned to the common room, necks sunburned and clothes clinging with sweat, all anyone could think about was how good it would feel for everything to finally be over.
Their second-to-last exam came Thursday morning: Defence Against the Dark Arts. Professor Lupin had prepared something far more creative than anyone expected—a full obstacle course outside in the sun.
They waded through a pool with a Grindylow, leapt over potholes filled with Red Caps, crossed a marsh where a Hinkypunk tried to lead them astray, and then climbed into an old trunk to face a new Boggart.
Hope emerged from the trunk a few minutes later, flushed and grinning.
“Excellent, Hope,” Lupin murmured, his eyes warm with pride. “Full marks.”
Still glowing, she lingered nearby, watching Harry, Ron, and Hermione go through their rounds.
Harry Not surprisingly, practically flew through it. He made it all look easy, and Lupin gave him a quiet nod of approval.
Ron did well until the Hinkypunk thoroughly confused him and he sank waist-high into the bog. Hermione was flawless—until the Boggart.
She burst out of the trunk screaming, face pale and eyes wide.
“Hermione!” Lupin rushed forward, startled. “What’s the matter?”
“P-P-Professor McGonagall,” Hermione gasped, pointing behind her. “She said I’d failed everything!”
It took a while to calm her down. Once Hermione finally regained her composure, the four of them headed back to the castle. Ron looked like he wanted to laugh, but one warning look from Hope shut him up.
At the top of the steps, they were met with an unexpected sight.
Cornelius Fudge stood there in a pinstriped cloak, sweating slightly and staring out over the grounds. He jumped a little when he saw Harry.
“Hello there, Harry!” he said briskly. “Just had an exam, I expect? Nearly finished?”
“Yes,” Harry replied. Hermione, Hope, and Ron hovered nearby, all of them feeling awkward—none of them had much interest in chatting with the Minister for Magic.
“Lovely day,” Fudge went on, glancing out over the lake. “Pity… pity…”
He sighed and looked back at Harry. “I’m here on an unpleasant mission, I’m afraid. The Committee for the Disposal of Dangerous Creatures needed a witness for the execution of a mad Hippogriff. I was already visiting to check on the Black situation, so I agreed to step in.”
“Wait—does that mean the appeal’s already happened?” Ron asked, stepping forward sharply.
“No, no. It’s this afternoon,” Fudge replied, looking curiously at him.
“Then maybe you won’t need to witness anything!” Ron said, squaring his shoulders. “Buckbeak might get off!”
Before Fudge could respond, two wizards stepped through the castle doors. One was so ancient he looked like he might crumble if the breeze picked up. The other was tall and burly, with a thin black moustache and a cruel look about him. Hope instinctively bristled.
The old man squinted down at the grounds. “Dear, dear. Getting too old for this… Two o’clock, isn’t it, Fudge?”
The other wizard ran a thick thumb along the blade of the gleaming axe strapped to his belt. Hope’s stomach turned.
Ron opened his mouth, clearly about to say something, but Hermione elbowed him sharply and nodded toward the Entrance Hall.
Once they were inside, Ron burst out, “Why’d you stop me?! Did you see them? They’ve already got the axe! This isn’t justice!”
“Ron, your dad works at the Ministry,” Hermione snapped, though her voice trembled. “You can’t just say things like that to his boss.”
But even she looked pale.
“As long as Hagrid keeps his head this time and argues properly, they can’t execute Buckbeak…”
Harry glanced over at her, unsure. He clearly didn’t believe that. Hope didn’t either.
The lunch hall buzzed with excitement over exams finally ending that afternoon. But Hope, Harry, Ron, and Hermione sat in heavy silence, too preoccupied to care.
Hope, Harry, and Ron’s final exam was Divination. Hermione had Muggle Studies instead. They walked up the marble staircase together. At the first floor, Hermione broke off with a small wave. The other three continued up to the seventh.
Several classmates were perched on the spiral staircase to Trelawney’s tower, cramming in last-minute revision.
“She’s seeing us one at a time,” Neville told them, glancing up from Unfogging the Future. “I’ve got no idea what I’m doing with crystal balls. Have you ever seen anything in one?”
“I saw a rat’s tail once,” Hope said, wrinkling her nose. “No clue what that was supposed to mean.”
“Better than me,” Harry muttered. “All I ever see is fog.”
“Nope,” Ron added, flipping his watch over in his palm. “Just fog. And I’m not really in the mood anyway…”
They all knew what he was thinking about. Buckbeak.
The line moved slowly. As each student came back down the ladder, the others would pounce—“What did she ask? Was it bad?”—but no one ever answered.
“She says if I tell, I’ll have a horrible accident!” Neville squeaked as he climbed down.
“How convenient,” Ron muttered. “Honestly, Hermione was right about her—she’s a total fraud.”
“Yeah,” Harry agreed quietly, glancing at his watch. “It’s two o’clock. Wish she’d just get on with it.”
Parvati descended next, looking radiant.
“She says I’ve got the makings of a true Seer,” she beamed. “I saw loads. Good luck!”
She headed down toward Lavender.
“Ronald Weasley,” came Trelawney’s misty voice from above.
Ron made a face, then disappeared up the ladder. Harry and Hope sank down to wait, sitting shoulder to shoulder against the wall.
A fly buzzed lazily in the sunlight.
“Worried about Buckbeak?” Hope asked gently.
“Yeah,” Harry admitted. “Honestly, I don’t know what’s worse—Malfoy getting away with all this, or Trelawney dragging the Grim back into it.”
He rubbed his eyes with the heel of his hand.
Hope hesitated, then said, “I didn’t think much of it at the time, but... I actually saw a black dog earlier this year.”
Harry’s head snapped toward her, startled. “You did?”
Before she could explain further, the trapdoor creaked open and Ron’s boots appeared on the ladder.
“How’d it go?” Hope asked as she and Harry stood up.
“Rubbish,” Ron huffed. “Didn’t see anything, so I made something up. Don’t think she bought it though.”
“Good luck,” Harry muttered as Trelawney’s voice floated down again.
“Hope Lupin!”
The Divination tower was hotter than ever.
Curtains drawn tight. Fireplace roaring. That same sweet, oppressive incense curling through the air. Hope coughed once, blinking through the haze as she weaved between overstuffed chairs and low tables draped in tasseled cloths.
Professor Trelawney looked like she’d been waiting forever. She sat straight-backed in her high armchair, hands folded, peering through her enormous lenses like she already knew what Hope would say.
“Good day, my dear,” she breathed. “Come closer. Gaze into the Orb... let the mist guide your inner eye.”
Hope lowered herself into the cushion across from her. The crystal ball shimmered in front of her, soft and silvery, the fog inside endlessly swirling.
She leaned in, trying to focus.
At first, it was the same as always—just smoke and reflections, maybe a flicker of something. But then...
“I see a rat,” she said, surprised by the clarity of it. “Not just the tail this time. The whole rat.”
Professor Trelawney made a soft humming sound and scribbled something on her parchment.
“It’s like... it’s been hiding, but now it’s stepping forward. Almost like it’s revealing itself.”
“Interesting,” Trelawney whispered, eyes widening behind her glasses. “Very interesting... a revelation...”
Hope didn’t answer. The mist was shifting again, the rat vanishing into smoke. Something else was coming.
Her breath caught.
“There’s a wolf now.”
Trelawney leaned in slightly, head tilted. “Describe it, child. What is it doing?”
“It’s just standing there,” Hope murmured, squinting. “No... it’s bowing its head. It looks... sad? like it’s... resigned.”
The professor’s quill scribbled away.
“Resignation,” she whispered, with a firm nod. “Yes. Yes, I see it too.”
Hope’s brows drew together. The mist curled again, thicker now. Something was trying to break through.
“I think—wait. There’s something else—something big—”
A dark shape moved beneath the fog. Her heart picked up as it pushed forward, rising up from the swirling white—
“A dog,” she breathed. “A big one. Shaggy. It just… broke through.”
Professor Trelawney gasped sharply, her hands fluttering to her chest.
“The Grim,” she whispered, eyes wide with a familiar, delighted dread. “It is the Grim, child. A terrible omen—death follows the bearer of that form—”
Hope looked back into the Orb. But the vision was already gone. Just mist now. Pale and empty.
Trelawney didn’t speak for a long moment. Then she looked at Hope like she was seeing her properly for the first time.
“You have... remarkable sight,” she said, her voice hushed and reverent. “Far deeper than I imagined. You are—without question—touched by the beyond.”
Hope didn’t know how to respond to that. Normally, she would’ve lit up at a compliment like that—But something about what she’d seen…
It stuck with her.
She glanced back at the Orb, even though it had already gone still.
The mist was gone, but the feeling remained. A quiet heaviness pressed against her ribs, like a warning whispered too softly to make out.
Something wasn’t right.
Hope climbed carefully down the ladder, the trapdoor creaking shut above her. The dim corridor outside the Divination classroom felt cooler, less perfumed, and a lot more real.
Ron and Harry were waiting by the banister, both slouched against the wall like they’d been there a while. Ron straightened when he saw her.
“Well?” he asked. “How’d it go?”
Hope hesitated. Her hands still felt cold from where they’d hovered over the crystal ball. She wasn’t sure if she should say what she’d seen—if she wanted to say it.
“It was okay,” she said lightly, brushing her hair behind her ear. “A few things popped up in the crystal ball.”
Ron raised a brow. “Yeah? Like what?”
She opened her mouth, but before the words could form, the trapdoor above them creaked open again.
“Harry Potter,” came Professor Trelawney’s voice, dreamy and distant as ever. “You may come up.”
Harry gave a long-suffering sigh. “Great,” he muttered, pushing off the wall.
“See you lot in the common room,” he added, and started toward the ladder.
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Hope, Ron, and Hermione sat slumped in the nearly empty common room, the flickering fire casting long shadows across their faces. All three stared at the letter in Ron’s hands like it might change if they waited long enough.
The Fat Lady’s portrait swung open with a thud.
Harry burst through, breathless. His hair was wind-tossed, his cheeks flushed.
"Professor Trelawney—" he panted. "She just told me—"
But he stopped short when he saw their expressions.
“Buckbeak lost,” Ron muttered, voice barely above a whisper. “Hagrid just sent this.”
He handed Harry the note. It was dry this time—no tearstains like before—but Hagrid’s writing trembled so badly it was nearly unreadable.
Lost appeal. They’re going to execute at sunset. Nothing you can do. Don’t come down. I don’t want you to see it.
Hagrid
“We’ve got to go,” Harry said immediately, fists clenching. “He can’t just sit there alone, waiting for the executioner!”
“Sunset, though...” Ron murmured, still gazing out the window like he wasn’t quite seeing it. “We’d never be allowed. Especially you two...” He gave Harry and Hope a pointed look.
Harry dropped his head into his hands, groaning. “If we only had the Invisibility Cloak...”
“Where is it?” Hermione asked quickly.
“Harry had to leave it in the passageway,” Hope said. “Under the one-eyed witch, after our last trip to Hogsmeade.”
“If Snape sees me... or even Hope near there again, I’m in serious trouble,” Harry muttered, rubbing at his temple.
“That’s true,” Hermione agreed, already getting to her feet. “If he sees you... how do you open the witch’s hump again?”
“You—you tap it and say ‘Dissendium,’” Harry replied. “But—”
Hermione didn’t wait for the rest. She crossed the room in long, determined strides, shoved open the Fat Lady’s portrait, and disappeared down the corridor.
“She hasn’t gone to get it?” Hope said, blinking after her, both impressed and slightly alarmed.
But she had.
About fifteen minutes later, Hermione returned, winded but triumphant, the silvery Cloak tucked neatly under her robes.
“Hermione, I don’t know what’s gotten into you lately!” Ron said, staring at her like he didn’t quite recognize her. “First you hit Malfoy, then you storm out on Professor Trelawney—”
Hermione actually looked a bit pleased with herself. There was a sparkle in her eyes Hope hadn’t seen in a while.
And for a moment—just a moment—Hope forgot the heaviness that had settled over them like a storm cloud, and almost smiled.
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They went down to dinner with everyone else, but didn’t return to Gryffindor Tower afterwards.
Harry had the Invisibility Cloak stuffed down the front of his robes, and he had to walk with his arms folded tightly across his chest to hide the lump it made. The four of them ducked into an empty chamber just off the Entrance Hall, waiting and listening.
A final pair of footsteps echoed across the stone floor. Then a door slammed shut somewhere down the corridor.
Hermione poked her head cautiously around the door.
“Okay,” she whispered. “No one there—Cloak on—”
Huddled close beneath the shimmering fabric, they crept across the Entrance Hall on tiptoe and slipped down the stone steps into the grounds.
The sun was already dipping behind the jagged line of the Forbidden Forest, casting a warm golden glow over the treetops. The air felt strangely still, like the world was holding its breath.
When they reached Hagrid’s cabin, Harry knocked. A full minute passed before the door creaked open, and Hagrid peered out, pale and visibly trembling.
“It’s us,” Harry hissed. “We’re wearing the Invisibility Cloak. Let us in—we’ll take it off.”
“You shouldn’ have come,” Hagrid whispered. But he stepped aside, and they quickly slipped inside. The door shut with a quiet click, and they pulled off the Cloak.
“We couldn’t leave you all alone,” Hope said softly, her eyes full of worry. Her voice was quiet but steady, and she meant every word.
Hagrid didn’t cry, and he didn’t throw his arms around them. Instead, he stood there like someone completely lost—his eyes unfocused, his massive frame oddly still, as if he didn’t know where he was or what to do next.
“Wan’ some tea?” he asked at last.
His hands trembled as he reached for the kettle.
“Where’s Buckbeak, Hagrid?” Hermione asked, her voice hesitant, as if afraid of the answer.
“I—I took him outside,” Hagrid replied, fumbling with the milk. It spilled over the table, but he didn’t seem to notice. “He’s tethered in me pumpkin patch. Thought he oughta see the trees an’—an’ smell fresh air—before—”
The milk jug slipped from his hands and shattered on the floor.
“I’ll do it, Hagrid,” Hermione said quickly, hurrying forward. She knelt to clean it up, trying to keep herself composed.
“There’s another one in the cupboard,” Hagrid muttered, dropping heavily into his chair and wiping his forehead with a shaky hand.
Harry exchanged a glance with Ron, whose expression mirrored the hopelessness curling in his gut.
“Isn’t there anything anyone can do, Hagrid?” Harry asked, voice rising with urgency. He dropped into the seat beside him. “Dumbledore—”
“He’s tried,” Hagrid interrupted, voice thick with emotion. “He’s got no power ter overrule the Committee. Told ’em Buckbeak’s all right, but they’re scared... yeh know what Lucius Malfoy’s like... threatened ’em, I expect. An’ the executioner, Macnair—he’s an old friend o’ Malfoy’s... but it’ll be quick an’ clean... I’ll be beside him...”
Hagrid swallowed hard, his eyes darting around the room as if searching for something—anything—that might change the outcome.
Hope sank onto a nearby stool, her hands clasped tightly in her lap. Her eyes were misting over. There really was nothing they could do.
“Dumbledore’s gonna come down while it—while it happens,” Hagrid went on quietly. “Wrote me this mornin’. Said he wants ter—ter be with me. Great man, Dumbledore...”
Hermione had just found another milk jug in the cupboard when a choked sob escaped her. She straightened up quickly, blinking hard and pretending to busy herself with the tea.
“We’ll stay with you, too, Hagrid,” she started to say.
But Hagrid shook his head, rough and final.
“Yeh’re ter go back up ter the castle. I told yeh, I don’ wan’ yeh watchin’. An’ yeh shouldn’ be down here anyway... if Fudge or Dumbledore catch yeh out without permission, Harry, yeh’ll be in big trouble.”
Hermione’s silent tears streamed down her cheeks, but she turned her back on Hagrid and focused on pouring the tea, her hands shaking.
Then, just as she lifted the milk bottle to pour it into the jug, she let out a gasp.
“Ron! I—I don’t believe it—it’s Scabbers!”
Ron stared. “What are you talking about?”
Hermione rushed the jug over to the table and tipped it upside-down. With a frantic squeak and a desperate scramble, a filthy, scraggly rat dropped onto the table.
“Scabbers!” Ron gawked. “Scabbers, what are you doing here?”
He scooped the struggling rat into his hands and held him up to the light.
Scabbers looked terrible. He was thinner than ever. Tufts of fur had fallen out, leaving bald patches all over his body. He squirmed and twisted in Ron’s grip, panicked and desperate to escape.
“It’s okay, Scabbers!” Ron tried to calm him. “No cats! There’s nothing here to hurt you!”
Suddenly, Hagrid stood bolt upright. His eyes were locked on the window, his ruddy face drained of color.
“They’re comin’...”
All four of them whipped around.
A group of men was descending the steps from the castle. Leading them was Professor Dumbledore, his long silver beard catching the last rays of sunlight. Next to him walked Cornelius Fudge. Behind them were the frail Committee member and a hulking man carrying something long and wrapped in cloth—Macnair.
“You gotta go,” Hagrid urged, trembling from head to toe. “They musn’ find yeh here... go on, now...”
Ron shoved Scabbers into his pocket. Hope grabbed the Invisibility Cloak.
“I’ll let yeh out the back way,” Hagrid murmured, voice low and urgent.
They followed him into the pumpkin patch. The sky was deepening fast—shades of purple and rose coloring the horizon. Buckbeak was a few yards away, tethered to a tree. He pawed the ground and tossed his head nervously, sensing something was wrong.
“It’s okay, Beaky,” Hagrid whispered, voice breaking. “It’s okay...”
Then he turned to them.
“Go on,” he said, barely audible. “Get goin’.”
But none of them moved.
“Hagrid, we can’t—” Hope began, her voice cracking.
“We’ll tell them what really happened—” Harry added desperately.
“We’ll make them see reason—” Hermione jumped in.
“They can’t kill him—” Ron pleaded.
“GO!” Hagrid shouted. His voice cracked, and his face twisted with grief. “It’s bad enough without you lot gettin’ in trouble, too!”
They had no choice.
Hope threw the Cloak over them just as a sharp knock sounded at the front door.
“Go quick,” Hagrid said hoarsely. “Don’ listen...”
And then he turned away from them, his massive shoulders slumped, and walked back into the cabin.
The knock echoed again—this time louder.
Moving as though in a dream, the four of them crept around the side of the house. As they reached the far edge, the front door slammed shut behind them.
“Please, let’s hurry,” Hermione whispered. “I can’t stand it—I can’t bear it...”
They began making their way back up the sloping lawn toward the castle. The sky had faded to a pale grey now, tinged with purple. A ruby-red glow still burned low in the west.
Ron stopped suddenly.
“Oh, please, Ron,” Hermione begged.
“It’s Scabbers—he won’t stay put—” Ron muttered, bending over to wrestle the squirming rat back into his pocket. “He’s gone completely mental—”
“Scabbers, it’s me, you idiot, it’s Ron,” he hissed, trying to calm him.
From behind them came the unmistakable creak of the cabin door opening and the low murmur of voices.
“Oh Ron, please—let’s move—they’re going to do it!” Hermione’s voice was tight with panic.
“Okay—Scabbers, stay put—”
They pushed forward. Hope, like Hermione, was trying to block out the rumble of voices coming from behind the cabin. But it was impossible.
Ron stopped again.
“I can’t hold him—Scabbers, shut up, everyone’ll hear us—”
The rat squealed wildly, thrashing in Ron’s hands. But even that sound couldn’t cover what came next.
There was a murmur of male voices. Then silence.
And then—swish—THUD.
Hope gasped, clapping her hand over her mouth. A tear rolled down her cheek.
Hermione swayed on the spot.
“They did it,” she whispered to Harry. “I d-don’t believe it—they did it.”