Cornelius Fudge
Donnie and his friends had always known that Hagrid had an unfortunate liking for large and monstrous creatures. During their first year at Hogwarts, he had tried to raise a dragon in his little wooden house, and it would be a long time before they forgot the giant, three-headed dog he’d named “Fluffy.” And if, as a boy, Hagrid had heard that a monster was hidden somewhere in the castle, Donnie was sure he’d have gone to any lengths for a glimpse of it. He’d probably thought it was a shame that the monster had been cooped up so long, and thought it deserved the chance to stretch its many legs; Donnie could just imagine a thirteen-year-old Hagrid trying to fit a leash and collar on it. But he was equally certain that Hagrid would never have meant to kill anybody.
Donnie could tell that Harry wished he hadn’t found out how to work Riddle’s diary. But still he made Harry tell the story again and again, until the boy was sick of it and the circular conversations that followed.
“It’s possible that Riddle might have gotten the wrong person,” Donnie said thoughtfully, all of them sitting around a table in the library.
“Maybe it was some other monster that was attacking people,” Hermione added.
“How many monsters d’you think this place can hold?” Ron asked dully.
“We always knew Hagrid had been expelled,” Harry said miserably. “And the attacks must’ve stopped after Hagrid was kicked out. Otherwise, Riddle wouldn’t have got his award.”
“What if it was Riddle causing the attacks, and he just had to frame it on someone?” Mikey said.
All of them paused, looking at him in disbelief. Mikey shrugged. “It’s possible.”
“For once, he’s not wrong,” Leo said. “It could have been Riddle.”
“Yeah, but then why would he show Harry his memories?” Raph wondered. “It doesn’t make any sense.”
Ron nodded. “And Riddle does sound like Percy—who asked him to squeal on Hagrid, anyway?”
“Exactly,” Mikey said.
“But the monster had killed someone,” said Hermione. “The school must’ve been in a panic.”
“And Riddle was going to go back to some Muggle orphanage if they closed Hogwarts,” said Harry. “I don’t blame him for wanting to stay here…”
“You met Hagrid down Knockturn Alley, didn’t you, Harry?”
“He was buying a Flesh-Eating Slug Repellent,” said Harry quickly.
“We were there, too,” Donnie said. “And Hagrid wasn’t acting suspicious at all.”
The seven of them fell silent. After a long pause, Hermione voiced the knottiest question of all in a hesitant voice.
“Do you think we should go and ask Hagrid about it all?”
“That’d be a cheerful visit,” said Ron. “‘Hello, Hagrid. Tell us, have you been setting anything mad and hairy loose in the castle lately?’”
In the end, they decided that they wouldn’t say anything to Hagrid unless there was another attack, and as more and more days went by with no whisper from the disembodied voice, they became hopeful that they would never need to talk to him about why he had been expelled. It was now nearly four months since Justin and Nearly Headless Nick had been Petrified, and nearly everybody seemed to think that the attacker, whoever it was, had retired for good. Peeves had finally got bored of his “Oh, Potter, you rotter” song, Ernie Macmillan asked Harry quite politely to pass a bucket of leaping toadstools in Herbology one day, and in March, several of the Mandrakes threw a loud and raucous party in greenhouse three. This made Professor Sprout very happy.
“The moment they start trying to move into each other’s pots, we’ll know they’re fully mature,” she said one day. “Then we’ll be able to revive those poor people in the hospital wing.”
Though Donnie and his brothers remained alert, nothing exciting—or dangerous—happened. The most eventful thing was over the Easter holidays. The time had come for second years to choose their subject for the third year, a matter that Hermione and Donnie, at least, took very seriously.
“It could be useful in defeating the Shredder, if he’s back,” Donnie said one day as the four of them sat in the Room of Requirement. “How do I know that one subject is better than the other?”
Hermione’s thinking was a little different. “It could affect our whole future,” she told the others as they pored over lists of new subjects, marking them with checks.
“I just want to give up Potions,” said Harry.
“We can’t,” Ron said gloomily. “We keep all of our old subjects, or I’d’ve ditched Defense Against the Dark Arts by now.”
“That doesn’t seem like the best idea,” Raph said, at the same time that Hermione said, “But that’s very important!”
“Not the way Lockhart teaches it,” said Ron. “I haven’t learned anything from him except not to set pixies loose.”
Neville Longbottom had been sent letters from all the witches and wizards in his family, all giving him different advice on what to choose. Confused and worried, he sat reading the subject lists with his tongue poking out, asking people whether they thought Arithmancy sounded more difficult than the study of Ancient Ruins. Dean Thomas, who had grown up with Muggles, ended up closing his eyes and jabbing his wand at the list, then picking the subjects it landed on. Hermione and Donnie took nobody’s advice but signed up for everything.
Harry, who had no intention of asking his aunt and uncle for advice, got his guidance from Percy.
“Depends on where you want to go, Harry,” he said. “It’s never too early to think about the future, so I’d recommend Divination. People say Muggle Studies is a soft option, but I personally think wizards should have a thorough understanding of the non-magical community, particularly if they’re thinking of working in close contact with them—look at my father, he has to deal with Muggle business all the time. My brother Charlie was always more of an outdoor type, so he went for Care of Magical Creatures. Play to your strengths, Harry.”
But in the end, Harry chose the same new subjects as Ron and Raph, feeling that if he was lousy at them, at least he’d have some friends to help him.
Gryffindor’s next Quidditch match was against Hufflepuff, and Wood was insisting on team practices every night after dinner. Harry was practicing so much, he barely had time for anything but Quidditch and homework. However, the training sessions were getting better, or at least drier, and in the evening before Saturday’s match he went up to his dormitory to drop off his broomstick, feeling Gryffindor’s chances for the Quidditch Cup had never been better.
But his cheerful mood didn’t last long. At the entrance to the common room he met Raph, whose face was grave.
“We have a problem,” he said. He led Harry up to the dormitory and, with a clenched jaw, pushed open the door.
The contents of Harry’s trunk had been thrown everywhere. His cloak lay ripped on the floor. The bedclothes had been pulled off his four-poster and the drawer had been pulled out of his bedside cabinet, the contents strewn over the mattress.
Harry walked over to the bed, open-mouthed, treading on a few loose pages of Travels with Trolls. As he and Neville pulled the blankets back onto his bed, Ron came in and swore loudly.
“What happened, Harry?”
“No idea,” Harry responded. But Raph was examining Harry’s robes—all the pockets were hanging out.
“Someone’s been looking for something,” Raph said. “Is there anything missing?”
Harry started to pick up all his things and throw them into his trunk. It was only as he threw the last of the Lockhart books back into it that he realized what wasn’t there.
“Riddle’s diary’s gone,” he said to them both.
“What?”
He jerked his head toward the dormitory door and led them down to the Gryffindor common room, which was half-empty. They joined Hermione, who was sitting alone and reading a book called Ancient Runes Made Easy.
She looked aghast at the news.
“But—nobody else knows our password, they changed it last week—only a Gryffindor could have stolen—”
“Exactly,” said Harry and Raph in unison.
They woke the next day to brilliant sunshine and a light, refreshing breeze.
“Perfect Quidditch conditions!” said Wood enthusiastically at the Gryffindor table, loading the team’s plate with scrambled eggs. “Harry, buck up there, you need a decent breakfast.”
Harry had been staring down the packed Gryffindor table, wondering if the new owner of Riddle’s diary was right in front of his eyes. Hermione had been urging him to report the robbery, but Harry didn’t like the idea. He’d have to tell a teacher all about the diary, and how many people knew why Hagrid had been expelled fifty years ago? He didn’t want to be the one who brought it all up again.
As he left the Great Hall with Ron, Hermione, Raph, Donnie, Mikey, and Leo to go and collect his Quidditch things, another very serious worry was added to Harry’s growing list. He had just set foot on the marble staircase when he heard it yet again.
“Kill this time… let me rip… tear…”
He shouted aloud, and Ron and Hermione both jumped away from him in alarm.
“Are you alright?” Donnie said.
“The voice!” said Harry, looking over his shoulder. “I just heard it again—didn’t you?”
They shook their heads, wide-eyed, but Hermione clapped a hand to her forehead.
“Harry—I think I’ve just understood something! I’ve got to go to the library! Donnie, come on, you have to help me.”
And she sprinted away, up the stairs.
“I guess I’m going with her,” Donnie said, giving them a confused glance before hurrying after her.
“What does she understand?” said Harry distractedly, still looking around, trying to tell where the voice had come from.
“Loads more than I do,” said Ron, shaking his head.
“But why’s she got to go to the library?”
“When don’t dorks go to the library when they have a breakthrough?” Raph said, snorting.
“Come on, bro, I wouldn’t worry about it. They’re probably just going to geek out over a book or something.”
“We do have to go,” Leo said.
Ron gasped, as if he had forgotten all about the Quidditch game. “It’s nearly eleven—the match—”
Harry raced up to the Gryffindor Tower, collected his Nimbus Two Thousand, and joined the large crowd swarming across the grounds. Despite the hectic nature of it all, his mind was still in the castle along with the bodiless voice, and as he pulled on his scarlet robes in the locker room, his only comfort was that everyone was now outside to watch the game.
The teams walked onto the field to tumultuous applause. Oliver Wood took off for a warm-up flight around the goal posts; Madam Hooch released the balls. The Hufflepuffs, who played in canary yellow, were standing in a huddle, having a last-minute discussion of tactics.
Harry was just mounting his broom when Professor McGonagall came half marching, half running across the pitch, carrying an enormous purple megaphone.
Harry’s heart dropped like a stone.
“This match has been canceled,” Professor McGonagall called through the megaphone, addressing the packed stadium. There were boos and shouts. Oliver Wood, looking devastated, landed and ran toward Professor McGonagall without getting off his broomstick.
“But, Professor!” he shouted. “We’ve got to play—the cup—Gryffindor—”
Professor McGonagall ignored him and continued to shout through her megaphone.
“All students are to make their way back to the House common rooms, where their Heads of Houses will give them further information. As quickly as you can, please!”
Then she lowered the megaphone and beckoned Harry over.
“Potter, I think you’d better come with me…”
Wondering how she could possibly suspect him this time, Harry saw Ron and the others detach themselves from the complaining crowd; they came running up to Harry and Professor McGonagall as they set off toward the castle. To Harry’s surprise, Professor McGonagall didn’t object.
“Yes, perhaps the lot of you should come, too…”
Some of the students swarming around them were grumbling about the match being canceled; others looked worried. They all followed Professor McGonagall back into the school and up to the marble staircase. But they weren’t taken to anybody’s office this time.
“This will be a bit of a shock,” said Professor McGonagall in a surprisingly gentle voice as they approached the infirmary. “There has been another attack… another double attack.”
Leo straightened, sucking in a breath, and Harry’s insides did a horrible somersault.
"Donnie?" Mikey breathed.
Professor McGonagall grimaced and pushed the door open, and they all entered.
Madam Pomfrey was bending over a fifth-year girl with long, curly hair. Donnie, who was sitting on a chair, stood up as soon as he saw the others enter.
“I’m so sorry—I looked away for a minute—we saw Penelope on our way to the library—”
For a second, Harry’s mind was blank, but then he glanced at the bed next to the Ravenclaw. There, laying still, was—
“Hermione!” Ron groaned.
She was almost like a statue, her eyes open and glossy.
“We were right by the library,” Donnie said miserably. “I turned away for one second because my shoe came untied, and when I turned the corner she and Penelope were frozen.”
“And he wasn’t able to explain this, either,” Professor McGonagall said, holding up a small, circular mirror. “It was on the floor next to them.”
“She didn’t have that out when I went to tie my shoe,” Donnie swore.
Harry and Ron only looked at Hermione while Donnie and his brothers glanced at one another, stricken.
Professor McGonagall escorted Harry, Ron, and Raph back to the Gryffindor common room, as she had to make an announcement. Raph and his brothers promised to meet up soon, and Donnie’s shoulders were heavy with guilt as he left the infirmary. But Raph didn’t have much time to worry about that before Professor McGonagall set off for Gryffindor Tower.
“All students will return to their House common rooms by six o’clock in the evening. No student is to leave the dormitories after that time. You will be escorted to each lesson by a teacher. No student is to use the bathroom unaccompanied by a teacher. All further Quidditch training and matches are to be postponed. There will be no more evening activities.”
The Gryffindors packed inside the common room listened to Professor McGonagall in silence. She rolled up the parchment from which she had been reading and said in a somewhat choked voice, “I need hardly add that I have rarely been so distressed. It is likely that the school will be closed unless the culprit behind these attacks is caught. I would urge anyone who thinks they might know anything about them to come forward.”
She fixed Raph with an almost desperate stare before she climbed somewhat awkwardly out of the portrait hole. As soon as she left, the Gryffindors began talking.
“That’s two Gryffindors down, not counting a Gryffindor ghost, one Ravenclaw, and one Hufflepuff,” said Lee Jordan, counting on his fingers. “Haven’t any of the teachers noticed that the Slytherins are all safe? Isn’t it obvious all this stuff’s coming from Slytherin? The Heir of Slytherin, the monster of Slytherin—why don’t they just chuck all the Slytherins out?” he roared, to nods and scattered applause.
Raph scowled. “Not all Slytherins are responsible, you know,” he said, and every Gryffindor in the common room turned to look at him. “Leo’s not—nor are Kristoff, Albert, or Floyd. It’s just Malfoy that’s been giving them a bad name.”
Some of the Gryffindors started yelling their opposition, and many others looked offended—disgusted, even—at Raph’s words. “Hate me all you want,” Raph snarled, “but chucking out all the Slytherins won’t solve anything. The person behind the attacks has been smart enough to stay hidden this entire time—getting kicked out of the school would only be a setback; it wouldn’t stop them from doing it again.”
He turned from the few people who were throwing insults at him, scoffing and shaking his head.
“He’s right!” Neville said, albeit weakly, and Raph smiled softly at the kid.
“Don’t sweat it,” he mumbled to him as he passed. “They’re just scared.”
Indeed, Percy Weasley was sitting in a chair behind Lee, but for once, he didn’t seem keen to make his views heard. He was looking pale and stunned.
“Percy’s in shock,” George told Harry and Raph quietly. “That Ravenclaw girl—Penelope Clearwater—she’s a Prefect. I don’t think he thought the monster would dare attack a prefect.”
But Raph could tell that Harry was only half-listening. He was probably focused on Hermione, lying on the hospital bed as though carved out of stone. Raph shared Harry’s concerns; how long would it be before the monster stopped paralyzing people and started killing them?
“What’re we going to do?” Ron asked Harry and Raph quietly. “D’you think they suspect Hagrid?”
“We’ve got to go and talk to him,” Harry said suddenly. “I can’t believe it’s him this time, but if he set the monster loose last time he’ll know how to get inside the Chamber of Secrets, and that’s a start.”
“But McGonagall said we’ve got to stay in our tower unless we’re in class—”
“I think,” said Harry, more quietly still, “it’s time to get my dad’s old cloak out again.”
Raph decided that it would be too risky to try and get his brothers for this excursion—the teachers would be more on-edge and alert than ever, and sneaking around the school wasn’t the best option. So the three of them went to bed as usual, and when the common room had cleared out, they got up, dressed again, and threw the cloak over themselves.
The journey through the dark and deserted castle corridors wasn’t exactly enjoyable. Raph, much to his disappointment, had been right—it had hardly ever been so crowded after sunset. Teachers, Prefects, and ghosts were marching the corridors in pairs, staring around for any unusual activity. The Invisibility Cloak didn’t stop them from making any noise, and there was a particularly tense moment when Ron stubbed his toe only yards from the spot where Snape stood standing guard. Luckily, Snape sneezed at almost exactly the moment Ron swore. And Raph knew that Harry and Ron hadn’t gotten the years of ninja training that he had gone through, but the boys were loud, even when they were trying to be quiet—it was with relief that they reached the oak doors and eased them open.
It was a clear, starry night. They hurried toward the lit windows of Hagrid’s house and pulled off the cloak only when they were right outside the door.
Seconds after they knocked, Hagrid flung it open. They found themselves face-to-face with him aiming a crossbow at them, and despite himself, Raph tensed, reaching for his sais. But then Fang barked loudly behind Hagrid, and the groundskeeper lowered his weapon and stared at them.
“What’re you three doin’ here?”
“What’s that for?” said Harry, pointing at the crossbow as they stepped inside. Raph reached down to pet Fang as he passed.
“Nothin’—nothin’—” Hagrid muttered. “I’ve bin expectin’—doesn’ matter—Sit down—I’ll make tea—”
He hardly seemed to know what he was doing. He nearly extinguished the fire, spilling water from the kettle on it, and then smashed the teapot with a nervous jerk of his massive hand.
“Are you okay, Hagrid?” said Harry.
“Did you hear about Hermione?” said Raph.
“Oh, I heard, all righ’,” Hagrid said, a slight break in his voice.
He kept glancing nervously at the windows. He poured them both large mugs of boiling water (he had forgotten to add tea bags, which, Raph thought, was an improvement) and was just putting a slab of fruitcake on a plate when there was a loud knock on the door.
Hagrid dropped the fruitcake. Harry and Ron exchanged pain-stricken looks while Raph quickly rounded up the tea cups and plates. They threw the Invisibility Cloak back over themselves and retreated into a corner, Raph careful not to spill any of the still-scalding water on himself. Hagrid checked that they were hidden, seized his crossbow, and flung open his door once more.
“Good evening, Hagrid.”
It was Dumbledore. He entered, looking deadly serious, and was followed by a second, very odd-looking man.
“That’s Dad’s boss!” Ron breathed. “Cornelius Fudge, the Minister of Magic!”
Harry elbowed Ron while Raph hissed at him to be quiet.
Hagrid had gone pale and sweaty. He dropped into one of his chairs and looked from Dumbledore to Cornelius Fudge.
“Bad business, Hagrid,” said Fudge in rather clipped tones. “Very bad business. Had to come. For attacks on Muggle-borns. Things’ve gone far enough. The Ministry’s got to act.”
“I never,” said Hagrid, looking imploringly at Dumbledore. “You know I never, Professor Dumbledore, sir—”
“I want it understood, Cornelius, that Hagrid has my full confidence,” said Dumbledore, frowning at Fudge.
“Look, Albus,” said Fudge uncomfortably. “Hagrid’s record’s against him. The Ministry’s got to do something—the school governors have been in touch—”
“Yet again, Cornelius, I tell you that taking Hagrid away will not help in the slightest,” said Dumbledore. His blue eyes were filled with a fire that Raph had never seen before.
“Look at it from my point of view,” said Fudge, fidgeting with his bowler. “I’m under a lot of pressure. Got to be seen doing something. If it turns out it wasn’t Hagrid, he’ll be back and no more said. But I’ve got to take him. Got to. Especially with all this trouble going on across the seas. Wouldn’t be doing my duty if I just sat idly by—”
“Take me?” said Hagrid, who was trembling. “Take me where?”
“For a short stretch only,” said Fudge, not meeting Hagrid’s eyes. “Not a punishment, Hagrid, more a precaution. If someone else is caught, you’ll be let out with a full apology—”
“Not Azkaban?” croaked Hagrid.
Before Fudge could answer, there was another loud rap on the door.
Dumbledore answered it. It was Harry’s turn for an elbow to the ribs and a hissed “Shut up,” from Raph—he’d let out an audible gasp.
Mr. Lucius Malfoy strode into Hagrid’s hut, swathed in a long black traveling cloak, smiling a cold and satisfied smile. Fang started to growl.
“Already here, Fudge,” he said approvingly. “Good, good…”
“What’re you doin’ here?” Hagrid raged. “Get outta my house!”
“My dear man, please believe me, I have no pleasure at all being inside your—er—d’you call this a house?” said Lucius Malfoy, sneering as he looked around the small cabin. “I simply called the school and was told that the headmaster was here.”
“And what exactly do you want with me, Lucius?” said Dumbledore. He spoke politely, but the fire was still blazing in his blue eyes.
“Dreadful thing, Dumbledore,” Malfoy drawled, taking out a long roll of parchment, “but the governor’s feel it’s time for you to step aside. This is an Order of Suspension—you’ll find all twelve signatures on it. I’m afraid we feel you’re losing your touch. How many attacks have there been now? Two more this afternoon, wasn’t it? At this rate, there’ll be no Muggle-borns left at Hogwarts, and we all know what an awful loss that would be to the school.”
Raph’s shoulders tensed, but he could only watch the interaction from beneath the Invisibility Cloak.
“Oh, now, see here, Lucius,” said Fudge, looking alarmed. “Dumbledore suspended—no, no—last thing we want just now.”
“The appointment—or suspension—of the headmaster is a matter for the governors, Fudge,” said Mr. Malfoy smoothly. “And as Dumbledore has failed to stop these attacks—”
“See here, Malfoy, if Dumbledore can’t stop them,” said Fudge, whose upper lip was sweating now, “I mean to say, who can?”
“That remains to be seen,” said Mr. Malfoy with a nasty smile. “But as all twelve of us have voted—”
Hagrid leapt to his feet, his shaggy black head grazing the ceiling.
“An’ how many did yeh have ter threaten an’ blackmail before they agreed, Malfoy, eh?” he roared.
“Dear, dear, that temper of yours will lead you into trouble one of these days, Hagrid,” said Mr. Malfoy. “I would advise you not to shout at the Azkaban guards like that. They won’t like it at all.”
“Yeh can’t take Dumbledore!” yelled Hagrid, making Fang cower and whimper in his basket. “Take him away, an’ the Muggle-borns won’ stand a chance! There’ll be killin’ next!”
“Calm yourself, Hagrid,” Dumbledore said sharply. He looked at Lucius Malfoy. “If the governors want my removal, Lucius, I shall of course step aside—”
“But—” stuttered Fudge.
“No!” Hagrid growled.
Dumbledore had not taken his bright blue eyes off of Lucius Malfoy’s cold gray ones.
“However,” said Dumbledore, speaking very slowly and clearly so that none of them could miss a word, “you will find that I will only truly have left this school when none here are loyal to me. Help will always be given at Hogwarts to those to ask for it.”
For a moment, Raph could have sworn Dumbledore’s eyes flickered toward the corner where he, Ron, and Harry were hidden.
“Admirable sentiments,” said Malfoy, bowing. “We shall miss your—er—highly individual ways of running things, Albus, and only hope your successor will manage to prevent any—ah— killin’s.”
He strode to the cabin door, opened it, and bowed Dumbledore out. Fudge, fiddling with his bowler, waited for Hagrid to go ahead of him, but Hagrid stood his ground, took a deep breath, and said carefully, “If anyone wanted ter find out some stuff, all they’d have ter do would be ter follow the spiders. That’d lead ‘em right. That’s all I’m sayin’.”
Fudge stared at him in amazement.
“All right, I’m comin’,” said Hagrid, pulling on his moleskin overcoat. But as he was about to follow Fudge through the door, he stopped again and said loudly, “An’ someone’ll need ter feed Fang while I’m away.”
The door banged shut, and Ron pulled off the Invisibility Cloak.
“If I ever see that coward again—” Raph seethed, staring at the door as if he could see Cornelius Fudge on the other side. He threw his hands in the air and paced back and forth.
“We’re in trouble now,” Ron said hoarsely. “No Hagrid, no Dumbledore. They might as well close the school tonight. There’ll be an attack a day with him gone.”
Fang started howling, scratching at the closed door.
Raph couldn’t find it in himself to calm the dog down.