Dawn Rivera

OWLs

Ron's euphoria at helping Gryffindor scrape the Quidditch Cup is such that he can't settle to anything next day. All he wants to do is talk over the match, so Harry, Danny, Hermione and I find it very difficult to find an opening in which to mention Grawp. Not that any of us try very hard; none of us are keen to be the one to bring Ron back to reality in quite a brutal fashion. As it is another fine, warm day, we persuade him to join us in revising under the beech tree at the edge of the lake, where we have less chance of being overheard than in the common room. Ron is not particularly keen on the idea at first - he is thoroughly enjoying being patted on the back by every Gryffindor who walks past his chair, not to mention the occasional outbursts of "Weasley is our King" - but after a while he agrees that some fresh air might do him good.

We spread our books out in the shade of the beech tree and sit down while Ron talks us through his first save of the match for what feels like the dozenth time.

"Well, I mean, I'd already let in that one of Davies's, so I wasn't feeling all that confident, but I dunno, when Bradley came towards me, just out of nowhere, I thought - you can do this! And I had about a second to decide which way you want to fly, you know, because he looked like he was aiming for the right goalhoop - my right, obviously, his left - but I had a funny feeling he was feinting, and so I took the chance and flew left - his right, I mean - and - well - you saw what happened," he concludes modestly, sweeping his hair back quite unnecassarily so that it looks interestingly windswept and glancing around to see whether the people nearest to us - a bunch of gossiping third-year Hufflepuffs - have heard him. "And then, when Chambers came at me about five minutes later - What?" Ron asks, having stopped mid-sentence at look on Harry and Danny's faces. "Why are you grinning?"

"We're not," says Danny quickly, and looks down at his Transfiguration notes, attempting to straighten his face. "We're just glad we won; that's all."

"Yeah," says Ron slowly, savouring the words, "we won. Did you see the look on Chang's face when Ginny got the Snitch right out from under her nose?"

"I suppose she cried, did she?" says Harry bitterly.

"Well, yeah - more out of temper than anything, though..." Ron frowns slightly. "But you saw her chuck her broom away when she got back to the ground, didn't you?"

"Er - " says Danny.

"Well, actually...no, Ron," I say with a heavy sigh, putting down my book and looking at him apologetically. "As a matter of fact, the only bit of the match Harry, Danny, Hermione and I saw was Davies's first goal."

Ron's carefully ruffled hair seems to wilt with disappointment. "You didn't watch?" he says faintly, looking from one to the other. "You didn't see me make any of those saves?"

"Well - no," says Hermione, stretching out a placatory hand towards him. "But Ron, we didn't want to leave - we had to!"

"Yeah?" says Ron, whose face is growing rather red. "How come?"

"It was Hagrid," says Harry. "He decided to tell us why he's been covered in injuries ever since he got back from the giants. He wanted us to go into the Forest with him, we had no choice, you know how he gets. Anyway..."

The story is told in five minutes, by the end of which Ron's indignation has been replaced by a look of total incredulity.

"He brought one back and hid it in the Forest?"

"Yep," says Danny grimly.

"No," says Ron, as though by saying this he can make it untrue. "No, he can't have."

"Well, he has," I say firmly. "Grawp's about sixteen feet tall, enjoys ripping up twenty-foot pine trees, and knows Hermione," I snort, "as Hermy."