Chapter 25
Charles
Everybody got up late on Boxing Day. The Gryffindor common room was much quieter than it had been lately, many yawns punctuating the lazy conversations. Hermione’s hair was bushy again; she confessed to Charles that she had used liberal amounts of Sleekeazy’s Hair Potion on it for the ball, “but it’s way too much bother to do every day,” she said matter-of-factly, scratching a purring Crookshanks behind the ears.
Ron and Hermione seemed to have reached an unspoken agreement not to discuss their argument. Bianca, though, seemed to want a fight, and was found provoking them – especially Ron – every other minute. As her new boyfriend – Charles was confused when he and Bianca actually started dating, but they were apparently an item now – it fell to Charles to keep the group from splitting apart, and to keep Bianca from getting into any brawls.
Ron and Hermione were being quite friendly to each other, but in an oddly formal way which didn’t suit them. Charles and Bianca wasted no time in telling them about the conversation they had overheard between Madame Maxime and Hagrid, but Hermione didn’t seem to find the news that Hagrid was a half-giant nearly as shocking as Ron did.
“Well, I thought he must be,” she said, shrugging. “I knew he couldn’t be pure giant because they’re about twenty feet tall. But honestly, all this hysteria about giants... They can’t all be horrible, can they? That’s just a lame assumption! It’s the same sort of prejudice that people have toward werewolves... It’s just plain bigotry.”
Bianca was nodding furiously along with what Hermione said, exclaiming, “Exactly!” Charles shrugged; they had a point, he supposed. Ron looked as though he would have liked to reply scathingly, but perhaps he didn’t want another row, because he contented himself with shaking his head disbelievingly while Hermione wasn’t looking.
It was time now to think of the homework they had neglected during the first week of the holidays. Everybody seemed to be feeling rather flat now that Christmas was over — everybody except Charles, that is, who was starting (once again) to feel slightly nervous.
The trouble was that February the twenty-fourth looked a lot closer from this side of Christmas, and he still hadn’t done anything about working out the clue inside the golden egg. That’s why he started taking the egg out of his trunk every time he went up to the dormitory, opening it, and listening intently, hoping that this time it would make some sense. He strained to think what the sound reminded him of, apart from thirty musical saws, but he had never heard anything else like it. He closed the egg, shook it vigorously, and opened it again to see if the sound had changed, but it hadn’t. He tried asking the egg questions, shouting over all the wailing, but nothing happened. He even threw the egg across the room — though he hadn’t really expected that to help.
Charles had not forgotten the hint Harry had given him, but his less-than-brotherly feelings toward his brother lately just meant that he was now not really keen to take his help if he could avoid it. In any case, it seemed to him that if Harry had really wanted to give Charles a hand, he would have been a lot more explicit. After all, he’d told Harry exactly what was coming in the first task — and Harry’s idea of a fair exchange had been to tell Charles to take a bath!
Well, Charles decided he didn’t need that sort of rubbishy help — not from someone who kept walking down corridors strutting like he owned the place, treated like a hero returning from battle all the time. Harry didn’t care anyway. (Charles didn’t really believe that last bit as he had noticed his elder brother sending him concerned looks all the time lately, and trying to catch him alone).
The first day of the new term arrived, and Charles set off to lessons, weighed down with books, parchment, and quills as usual, but also with the lurking worry of the egg heavy in his stomach, as though he were carrying that around with him too.
Snow was still thick upon the grounds, and the greenhouse windows were covered in fog so thick that they couldn’t see out of them in Herbology. Lucky for them, the Care of Magical Creatures lesson was cancelled.
When Charles, Bianca, Ron, and Hermione went over to Hagrid’s hut later, they found it to be empty.
“Where could he be gone?” Ron frowned, musing.
Hermione shrugged as suddenly, a high-pitched and unpleasant giggling laughter reached Charles’ ears. He turned; Parkinson and her gang was standing behind them, looking gleeful.
“What’s wrong with Hagrid?” Ron asked them hotly, narrowing his eyes.
“Oh, he hasn’t been attacked, Weasley, if that’s what you’re thinking,” Parkinson said scathingly. “No, he’s just too ashamed to show his big, ugly face.”
“What d’you mean?” Bianca asked sharply.
Parkinson put her hand inside the pocket of her robes and pulled out a folded page of newsprint.
“There you go,” she said. “Hate to break it to you, Potter...”
She smirked as Charles snatched the page, unfolded it, and read it, with Ron, Hermione, and Bianca looking over his shoulder. It was an article topped with a picture of Hagrid looking extremely shifty.
DUMBLEDORE’S GIANT MISTAKE
Albus Dumbledore, eccentric Headmaster of Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry, has never been afraid to make controversial staff appointments, writes Rita Skeeter, Special Correspondent. In September of this year, he hired Alastor “Mad-Eye” Moody, the notoriously jinx-happy ex-Auror, to teach Defense Against the Dark Arts, a decision that caused many raised eyebrows at the Ministry of Magic, given Moody’s well-known habit of attacking anybody who makes a sudden movement in his presence. Mad-Eye Moody, however, looks responsible and kindly when set beside the part-human Dumbledore employs as the games-keeper of Hogwarts and who, in the past, has taught Care of Magical Creatures.
Rubeus Hagrid, who admits to being expelled from Hogwarts in his third year, has enjoyed the position of gamekeeper at the school ever since, a job secured for him by Dumbledore. Last year, however, Hagrid used his mysterious influence over the headmaster to secure the additional post of Care of Magical Creatures teacher, over the heads of many better-qualified candidates.
Thankfully, he was fired from his post at the end of the year itself due to many complaints from the students. An alarmingly large and ferocious-looking man, Hagrid had been using his newfound authority to terrify the students in his care with a succession of horrific creatures. While Dumbledore turns a blind eye, Hagrid has maimed several pupils during a series of lessons that many admit to being “very frightening.”
“I was attacked by a hippogriff, and my friend Vincent Crabbe got a bad bite off a flobberworm,” says Pansy Parkinson, a fourth-year student. “We all hate Hagrid, but we’re just too scared to say anything.”
Hagrid had no intention of ceasing his campaign of intimidation, however. In conversation with a Daily Prophet reporter last month, he admitted breeding creatures he has dubbed “Blast-Ended Skrewts,” highly dangerous crosses between manticores and fire-crabs. The creation of new breeds of magical creature is, of course, an activity usually closely observed by the Department for the Regulation and Control of Magical Creatures. Hagrid, however, considers himself to be above such petty restrictions.
“I was just having some fun,” he says, before hastily changing the subject.
As if this were not enough, the Daily Prophet has now unearthed evidence that Hagrid is not — as he has always pretended — a pure-blood wizard. He is not, in fact, even pure human. His mother, we can exclusively reveal, is none other than the giantess Fridwulfa, whose whereabouts are currently unknown.
Bloodthirsty and brutal, the giants brought themselves to the point of extinction by warring amongst themselves during the last century. The handful that remained joined the ranks of He-Who-Must-Not-Be-Named, and were responsible for some of the worst mass Muggle killings of his reign of terror.
While many of the giants who served He-Who- Must-Not-Be-Named were killed by Aurors working against the Dark Side, Fridwulfa was not among them. It is possible she escaped to one of the giant communities still existing in foreign mountain ranges. If his antics during Care of Magical Creatures lessons are any guide, however, Fridwulfa’s son appears to have inherited her brutal nature.
In a bizarre twist, Hagrid is reputed to have developed a close friendship with the boy who brought around You-Know-Who’s fall from power — thereby driving Hagrid’s own mother, like the rest of You-Know-Who’s supporters, into hiding – as well as his family and close friends. Perhaps the Potters are unaware of the unpleasant truth about their large friend — but Albus Dumbledore surely has a duty to ensure that Charles Potter, along with his fellow students, is warned about the dangers of associating with part-giants.
Charles finished reading and looked up at Ron, whose mouth was hanging open.
“How did she find out?” he whispered.
But that wasn’t what was bothering Charles. “What d’you mean, ‘we all hate Hagrid’?” he spat at Parkinson.
“What’s this rubbish about him” — he pointed at Crabbe — “getting a bad bite off a flobberworm? They haven’t even got teeth!”
Crabbe was sniggering, apparently very pleased with himself.
“Well, I think this should put an end to the oaf’s teaching career,” Parkinson shrugged, her eyes glinting. “Half-giant... and there was me thinking he’d just = swallowed a bottle of Skele-Gro when he was young... None of the mummies and daddies are going to like this at all... They’ll be worried he’ll eat their kids, ha, ha...”
“You —”
“Stop it, Charles,” Hermione commanded, her eyes narrowed at Parkinson.
They all turned to stare at her in bewilderment – what did she just say?
“Pansy, you’ve got a last chance,” Hermione told her, drawling even scarily than Snape, her head inclined slightly. “If you can do anything to fix this, you’ll stay at Hogwarts. Otherwise...”
Parkinson had turned pale but seemed to be resolute. “You won’t say anything,” she muttered. “It’s you on the line too... you’ll be expelled with me!”
Hermione shrugged. “Maybe so,” she said. “But I wouldn’t even care at this point, you know that. Besides, who’s Dumbledore more likely to protect? I’m a friend of Charles Potter, after all...”
Parkinson was now grey. “You wouldn’t dare-”
“Yes, I would. Now hop along, Pansy, and fix it.”
Harry
The Prowlers were breaking apart. That was the only way to put it.
They’d all their differences over the years, moments where they didn’t always agree with each other. Arguments had occurred, and sometimes they wouldn’t talk to each other for long periods. But never had it gone to this extent.
After their fight at the ball, Adrian and Sera weren’t even pretending to be friends anymore. Cedric seemed to be mad at Adrian too, and wasn’t talking to him. And while he was spending time with Sera now, he seemed annoyed at her too. Jéricho had tried to be friendly with them all, but ended up spending more time with Adrian. And Harry? Well, he would have liked to alternate too, like Jéricho had tried – they were all his best friends, after all – but Sera seemed mad at him, and always made excuses to be out of his company. And Adrian was always throwing irritable, scathing comments at Harry these days, who had his limit. So, now Harry only hung around with Jéricho and Cedric when Sera and Adrian were absent, which wasn’t a lot. Even things with Celeste didn’t feel the same anymore – it was more of a chore nowadays.
If this wasn’t enough, Charles was ignoring him too! Harry felt depressed, to be honest – it seemed like everyone hated him now. George was the only person who spent whole days with Harry now, since he was the only person who knew of George’s condition (apart from Bill, but he didn’t count) and George felt at peace around Harry, in front of whom he could act real.
This had its negative effects. Fred seemed angrier and more vicious these days, probably because it seemed on the surface that George had just upped and left him with no explanation in favour of Harry. They weren’t making joke products like before now, and rarely sat together in lessons – a mystery that left the whole school baffled. In fact, Fred was now usually seen with either the Quidditch team or with Lee Jordan, who was indignant on his behalf and not talking to George either.
“So when’re you gonna do it?” George finally asked one evening as they were hanging out in the dormitory.
“Do what?” Harry muttered, full well knowing what George was about to say.
“Break up with Celeste?”
Harry feigned ignorance. “And why would I want to do that? I like her – she’s fun.”
George rolled his eyes. “C’mon, Harry, you’re fooling no one. You liked her, sure, but you don’t anymore – not like that, anyway. What’re you shying away from, anyway? You broke up with Alicia alright.”
“But it was a mutual thing!” Harry groaned. “With Celeste, it’ll be harder – you sitting there with her, she has no idea what’s coming, and then that awkward pause as she takes the news in...”
“You’re thinking too much,” George said firmly. “It’s like pulling out a band-aid, trust me. You won’t regret it – just a moment of pain, and it’ll be as it was. Look, you’re just making it worse – for both yourself and Celeste. Just be done with it!”
“Alright, alright!” Harry threw his hands up in surrender. “I’ll do it tomorrow.”
“You better.”