The Potter Twins and the Order of the Phoenix {5}

23. Serpents

"She sleeps beneath the surface, consulting with the serpents, she strikes without a purpose" ~ Serpents, Neck Deep

It is with a certain amount of apprehension that we head down to Hagrid's on Tuesday, heavily muffled against the cold. Hermione had tried to help him with his lesson planning over the weekend, but he remains dead set on his own ideas. I'm worried, not only about what Hagrid might have decided to teach us today but also about how the rest of the class, particularly Draco and his cronies, will behave if Umbridge is watching. In all honesty, I'm worried about seeing Draco altogether - or is it Malfoy now? I haven't seen or spoken to him since the Quidditch game, and although I don't regret my decision by any means, I can't help but feel odd about it. The word 'break-up' was never actually spoken...

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

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

"What prefers the dark?" I hear someone say from behind me, setting my hair on edge. Sneakily, I pretend to turn in order to speak to Ron, only to catch a glance at him. "What did he say prefers the dark - did you hear?"

Harry heard Malfoy say sharply to Crabbe and Goyle, a trace of panic in his voice. 'What did he say prefers the dark--did you hear?"

I remember the only other occasion on which Draco has entered the Forest before now; he wasn't very then, either. He always spoke about how the Forest set him on edge. I turn quickly when Draco look in my direction. 

"Ready?" Hagrid says cheerfully, looking around at the class. "Right, well, I've bin savin' a trip inter the Forest fer yer fifth year. Thought we'd go an' see these creatures in their natural habitat. Now, what we're studyin' today is pretty rare, I reckon I'm probably the on'y person in Britain who's managed ter train 'em."

"And you're sure they're trained, are you?" Draco says, the panic in his voice even more pronounced. "Only it wouldn't be the first time you'd brought wild stuff to class, would it?"

The Slytherins murmur agreement and a few Gryffindors look as though they think Draco has a fair point, too.

"Course they're trained," Hagrid says, scowling and hoisting the dead cow a little higher on his shoulder.

"So what happened to your face, then?" Draco demands. 

"Mind yer own business!" Hagrid says, angrily. "Now, if yeh've finished askin' stupid questions, follow me!"

He turns and strides straight into the Forest. Nobody seems much disposed to follow. Harry and I glance at Ron and Hermione, who sigh but nod, and the four of us set off after Hagrid, leading the rest of the class.

We walk for about ten minutes until we reach a place where the trees stand so closely together that it is as dark as twilight and there is no snow at all on the ground. With a grunt, Hagrid deposited his half a cow on the ground, steps back and turns to face us; most of others are creeping from tree to tree towards us, peering around nervously as though expecting to be set upon at any moment.

"Gather roun', gather roun'," Hagrid encourages. "Now, they'll be attracted by the smell 'o the meat but I'm going ter give em a call anyway, 'cause they'll like ter know it's me."

He turns, shakes his shaggy head to get the hair out of his face and gives an odd, shrieking cry that echoes through the dark trees like the call of some monstrous bird. Nobody laughs: most of them look too scared to make a sound.

Hagrid gives the shrieking cry again. A minute passes in which we continue to peer nervously over our shoulders and around trees for a first glimpse of whatever it is that is coming. And then, as Hagrid shakes his hair back for a third lime and expands his enormous chest, Harry nudges me and points into the black space between two gnarled yew trees.

A pair of blank, white, shining eyes are growing larger through the gloom and a moment later the dragonish face, neck and then skeletal body of a great, black, winged horse emerge from the darkness. It surveys the class for a few seconds, swishing its long black tail, then bows its head and begins to tear flesh from the dead cow with its pointed fangs.