Dawn Rivera

The Eye of the Snake

Hermione and I plough our way back to Hagrid's cabin through two feet of snow on Sunday morning. Harry, Danny and Ron wanted to go with us, but their mountain of homework has reached an alarming height again, so they remained grudgingly in the common room.

Hermione and I return from Hagrid's just before lunch, shivering slightly, our robes damp to the knees.

"So?" says Ron, looking up when we enter. "Got all his lessons planned for him?"

"Well, we tried," I say dully, sinking into a chair in between Harry and Danny. I pull my hand out of my glove and give it a complicated little wave so that hot air streams out the tips of my fingers; I then point them at my robes, which are beginning to steam as they dry out. "He wasn't even there when we arrived, we were knocking for at least half an hour. And then he came stumping out of the Forest -"

Danny groans. The Forbidden Forest is teeming with the kind of creatures most likely to get Hagrid the sack. "What's he keeping in there? Did he say?" he asks.

"No," says Hermione miserably. They're back on speaking terms, then. "He says he wants them to be a surprise. We tried to explain about Umbridge, but he just doesn't get it. He kept saying nobody in their right mind would rather study Knarls than Chimaeras - oh, we don't think he's got a Chimaera," she adds at the appalled look on Harry, Danny and Ron's faces, "but that's not for lack of trying, from what he said about how hard it is to get eggs. I don't know how many times we told him he'd be better off following Grubby-Plank's plan, I honestly don't think he listened to half of what we said. He's in a bit of a funny mood, you know. He still won't say how he got all those injuries."

Hagrid's reappearance at the staff table at breakfast next day is not greeted by enthusiasm from all students. Some, like Fred, George and Lee, roar with delight and sprint up the aisle between the Gryffindor and Hufflepuff tables to wring Hagrid's enormous hand; others, like Parvati and Lavender, exchange gloomy looks and shake their heads. I know that many of them prefer Professor Grubby-Plank's lessons, and the worst of it is that a very small, unbiased part of me know they have good reason: Grubby-Plank's idea of an interesting class is not one where is a risk that somebody might have their head ripped off.

It is with a certain amount of apprehension that Harry, Danny, Ron, Hermione and I head down to Hagrid's on Tuesday, heavily muffled against the cold. I am worried, not only about what Hagrid might have decided to teach us, but also about how the rest of the class, particularly Malfoy and his cronies, will behave if Umbridge is watching us.

However, the High Inquisitor is nowhere to be seen as we struggle through the snow towards Hagrid, who stands watching for us on the edge of the Forest. He does not present a reassuring sight; the bruises that were purple on Saturday night are now tinged with green and yellow and some of his cuts still seem to be bleeding. I can not understand this: has Hagrid perhaps been attacked by some creature whose venom prevents the wounds it inflicts from healing? As though to complete the ominous picture, Hagrid is carrying what looks like half a dead cow over his shoulder.

"We're workin' in here today!" Hagrid calls happily to the approaching students, jerking his head at the dark trees behind him. "Bit more sheltered! Anyway, they prefer the dark."

"What prefers the dark?" I hear Draco say sharply to Crabbe and Gregory, a trace of panic in his voice. "What did he say prefer the dark - did you hear?"

I remember the only other occasion on which Draco entered the Forest before now; he was not very brave then, either, apparently. Harry and Danny smile; after the Quidditch match I suppose anything that causes Draco discomfort is all right with them. The only reason I walk up to Draco is because I know it will wipe the smile of Harry's face, and it does.