25th December 1994, the Great Hall, 9:42 PM
The last notes of the orchestra's intimate string-and-piano piece carried, slowly and gently, away into the warm golden air of the Hall. Harry and Luna's final small turn under the falling enchanted starlight resolved into the precise small steady close of two dancers who had been carried, by the careful music and the careful candlelight, into a moment they would both keep.
They stopped.
They stood for a precise small second more, his hand still at her waist, hers still in his, her grey eyes still on his. The Hall held its breath.
Then Luna, with the precise small private serene smile of a girl whose evening had so far gone exactly as the universe had clearly intended, did a small precise dip.
Harry returned it in kind.
The Hall, in the precise small collective release of approximately six hundred people who had been watching the dance with held attention, broke into warm steady applause.
Harry, in the precise small interior moment of registering that the applause was for them, did a thing his father had been quietly teaching him for moments of this register: he tucked Luna's hand under his arm with the precise small composed grace of a partner who had decided to let the moment finish in the precise small dignified way it ought to. He inclined his head once at the surrounding tables. He turned. He led Luna off the dance-floor with the precise small unhurried elegance.
The orchestra, with the precise small piece of stage-management that Ethan had clearly arranged in advance, began at exactly the right second the next piece—a slightly faster, more cheerful waltz, which carried the precise small permission for the rest of the Hall's couples to step onto the floor.
Within ten seconds, the dance-floor had filled.
Harry and Luna walked together along the perimeter, both of them flushed, both of them grinning the precise small unselfconscious grins of fourteen-year-olds who had—against every reasonable expectation of the morning—managed not to ruin the opening of their first Yule Ball. Luna's small warm hand was on Harry's sleeve. Her dirty-blonde hair, in the precise low warm candlelight, caught the gold of the Hall's enchanted starscape.
A small enthusiastic two-arm wave at the far end of the perimeter resolved, in approximately one and a quarter seconds, into Ron and Lavender.
Ron had, by Harry's quiet earlier observation, secured the precise best table in the Hall—a small round one against the western wall, perfectly positioned to view the dance-floor without being on it, and currently loaded with what appeared to be every available delicacy from every visiting school.
Lavender had clearly contributed to this enterprise. There were small French pastries, small Bulgarian honey-cakes, small American chocolate-covered something-or-others Harry did not recognise, small Uagadou spiced fruit-tarts, and—the precise central piece of the arrangement—a tall jug of Madam Rosmerta's special Yule Butterbeer, which Ron had clearly negotiated for in the small precise way of someone who had earned the kitchen-elves' affection through the entire term.
"Mate," Ron announced, with the precise enormous proud grin of a friend who had spent the last ten minutes watching, "That was unbelievable!"
"Hehe" Harry scratched his nose.
"Sit down. Sit down. Lavender, pass the chocolates. Luna, the small honey-cakes are extraordinary, you must try them. Mate, the dance..."
Luna, settling onto the bench beside Harry with the precise small composed delight of a girl whose evening was, on balance, the best evening of her life, accepted a small honey-cake from Lavender with grave thanks. Her small silver crescent-moon earrings caught the candlelight as she turned her head.
"It was very good, Ronald," she said serenely. "Hah-ree only stepped on my feet once, and that was for the precise small purpose of bringing us closer together at exactly the right moment, which I have decided was deliberate."
Harry's ears, which had only just begun to return to their normal colour, restarted their previous trajectory.
"Luna."
"I am only observing, Hah-ree."
Ron's grin had widened to the precise composed pleased grin of a boy who had been waiting all evening to extract precisely this kind of admission. He opened his mouth to comment. Lavender, with the precise small unhurried wifely-not-quite-wifely efficiency of a girl who had been managing Ron's commentary all month, set a small honey-cake into Ron's open mouth.
Ron chewed, betrayed.
Lavender beamed.
The dance-floor, with the small faster waltz now fully established, had organised itself into the precise small whirling configuration of approximately a hundred couples enjoying themselves in various registers of grace.
Hermione and Viktor were the precise small graceful centrepiece of the floor. Viktor, who had clearly been managing his Bulgarian Quidditch Academy's formal-occasion training since age twelve, danced with the precise small focused intensity of a young man who had decided that doing this right was a thing he was capable of, and had quietly accomplished it. Hermione, in his arms in her pink silk, was laughing—the precise small unrestrained delighted laugh she had only previously been heard to produce on Christmas Eve in her parents' kitchen, and which Harry, watching, felt with quiet pleasure now also belonged to a Bulgarian Seeker on a Hogwarts dance-floor.
Draco and Astoria, beside them, were the precise small socially correct couple of the floor. Draco's Malfoy formal-dance training had been in place since a young age; Astoria's matching Greengrass training matched it precisely. The two of them turned together with the precise small composed unhurried grace of two children who had been raised to do this exactly correctly and were, in the precise small interior pleasure of their own competence, enjoying it. Astoria's small composed face had the precise small high pink of a thirteen-year-old who was, against every measurable expectation of the autumn term, having her best night.
Ron, having recovered from the honey-cake, rose abruptly.
"Lavender Brown," he announced, in the precise small mock-formal tone he had decided was the precise correct register for the moment.
"Ronald Weasley."
"Would you do me the very great honour of accompanying me onto the dance-floor for the next round, despite my having had no formal training and being, I am informed by my mother, in possession of two left feet."
Lavender, with the precise small composed pleased dignity of a girl whose boyfriend had clearly been rehearsing this line for the last forty minutes, rose.
"Mr Weasley," she said, with great formality, "I am informed by my own mother that two left feet are a matter of training, and that the proper training generally begins with attempting to dance with someone who does not, herself, particularly mind. I happen to fit that specification."
"Lavender."
"Ronald."
She took his hand. They walked onto the floor.
What followed was, by every objective measurement Harry could apply, not graceful. Ron's two left feet were genuinely two left feet, in the precise small magical way the phrase had been intended; he stepped on Lavender's slipper three times in the first thirty seconds, missed the rhythm twice, and—by the second minute—had decided that the only solution was to abandon any pretence at the waltz and simply hold Lavender close and turn slowly. Lavender, who had clearly decided in approximately the first ten seconds that graceful was not the operative concept and enjoyable was, did not, herself, mind in the precise small composed way a girl in love does not mind. They turned slowly. Ron's red ears were the precise colour of his hair. Lavender's small bright contained smile was the smile of a girl who would be remembering this exact slow turn for some considerable years.
"That," Luna observed serenely beside Harry, eating her second honey-cake, "is the precise small definition of a beautiful moment, Hah-ree."
"Yes, Luna."
"They will be married."
"Luna?"
"Not immediately, of course. But yes. Eventually. I have decided."
"Luna, you do not get to decide whether—"
"I have decided, Hah-ree."
The other tables of the Hall held their own small constellations of friends. Neville and Ginny were, at the small Gryffindor table near the orchestra platform, engaged in the small earnest conversation of two friends who had attended the Ball as friends and were, in the precise small relieved way of such arrangements, enjoying the precise small freedom of an evening without any romantic pressure whatsoever. Ginny was eating her third pastry. Neville was laughing.
Adaeze, on the dance-floor, was teaching her tall Hufflepuff partner the precise small footwork of a Uagadou wedding-dance, and the Hufflepuff was, against every measurable expectation, catching on.
Robert was on his fourth Butterbeer and his fifth American chocolate, and was demonstrating to his Ravenclaw fifth-year date the precise small American way of dancing to a song one did not, technically, know the words to.
Fleur, who had been doing her duty as a Beauxbatons Champion for the precise required forty minutes, had now settled at a corner table with a small composed glass of champagne and was, by Harry's reading, enjoying the precise small evening of a young woman who had decided to spend the rest of it watching everyone else.
Professor McGonagall, at the staff table, was sipping a small precise glass of mulled wine with the precise small contained pleased expression of a Deputy Headmistress whose Yule Ball had, against every reasonable expectation, not yet required her intervention.
Professor Flitwick, at his small side table with Ethan, was now eating a small honey-cake of his own and laughing at something Ethan had murmured.
Then, abruptly, the orchestra—on its precise scheduled rotation—shifted.
The slow waltz fell away. The Weird Sisters' instruments, which had been resting at the platform's far edge for the duration of the formal opening, struck. A loud, fast, drum-heavy pop-punk number—the precise small kind that Ron later described as the kind of song my brothers play in their bedroom and Mum threatens to disinherit them for—erupted into the Hall.
Approximately three-quarters of the floor's couples separated. The senior students, who had clearly been waiting for the formal portion of the evening to conclude, crashed into the precise small chaotic teenage configuration of jumping, swinging, and shouting that was, by every observable signal, the actual reason they had come to the Ball.
Harry, beside Luna at the table, watched the precise small transformation of the Hall with quiet pleasure. Then he glanced at Luna.
Luna glanced back at him.
A small precise wordless agreement passed between them.
"Walk?" Harry asked.
"Walk," Luna confirmed.
They rose. With the precise small unhurried composure of two people who had decided that they had collected their dance, had eaten their cakes, and were now ready for the good part of the evening, they made their way along the perimeter of the dance-floor to the great open doors of the Hall, and slipped out into the precise cold December air of the grounds.
The Hogwarts grounds at night, on the precise long cold Christmas evening, had received their full transformation. The lawn outside the great doors of the Hall had been laid out, by Hagrid and the magical-creatures team and a small cluster of Hogwarts house-elves, into a precise small lit promenade of enchanted fairy-lights strung between low ornamental hedges, with small benches set at intervals along the path and small braziers burning at the precise small intervals at which the cold would otherwise have driven everyone back inside. The snow had fallen all day; the grounds were the precise clean white of an undisturbed Highland winter, and the precise small lit fairy-lights along the promenade caught in the snow and made it gleam.
Harry, with his small composed dinner-jacket and his Gryffindor lining and Luna in her flowing baby-blue gown with the silver crescent-moon earrings, walked with Luna's hand in his along the precise small lit path. The cold air, against their flushed cheeks, was a small precise pleasure after the warm crowded Hall.
They walked. They did not speak for some time.
"Hah-ree."
"Yes, Luna."
"I am very happy."
"I am also very happy."
"Mm."
A small precise pause. Their breath came out in small white plumes against the cold.
"Hah-ree."
"Yes."
"Are you nervous of me, still?"
Harry, registering the precise small honest question with the precise small honest interior answer he had been working on for some weeks, did not, exactly, hesitate.
"A little. But less than yesterday. And much less than a month ago."
"Good."
"Luna."
"Yes."
"Are you nervous of me?"
"Hah-ree, I have never been nervous of you. I have been waiting for you."
His chest did the small precise thing.
A movement at the precise small bend in the path ahead resolved, after a precise small second of registration, into two figures Harry had not been expecting.
He stopped. His hand tightened, briefly, on Luna's.
Karkaroff and Snape.
The two were standing at the small precise corner where the promenade turned toward the lake, half-hidden by the precise small ornamental hedge but visible to anyone walking up the path. Karkaroff's face, in the small fairy-light glow, was the precise pale strained white of a man whose evening was, by every observable signal, not going well. Snape's face was its usual composed register, but his black eyes had the precise small focused attention of a man who was listening to something with considerable interest.
Karkaroff's voice was low and tense.
"—you know what it is, Severus. You feel it. Look at it. Look at mine."
Karkaroff was holding out his left forearm. His sleeve had been pushed up. Harry, even at the small precise distance of twenty paces, could see the precise small dark thing on his skin that was darker than it should have been.
"It is clearer than it has been in thirteen years," Karkaroff hissed. "It will not return to nothing. It is burning, Severus, and you know what that means—"
Snape's voice was quieter still.
"Igor. Calm yourself. Lower your voice."
"He is coming back, Severus. He is coming back. We need to—"
"Quiet."
Snape's black eyes had flicked, with the precise small Snape-instinct for being observed, to the small bend in the path behind him.
Harry, registering the precise small turn of Snape's head with the precise small reflex of a boy who had spent four years learning not to be seen by Severus Snape when one ought not to be seen, pulled Luna back into the precise small shadow of the hedge.
The two men, fortunately, did not see them. Karkaroff, with a precise small sharp gesture of frustration, pulled his sleeve back down. Snape's mouth tightened. The two of them, after the precise small composed pause of an interrupted conversation, walked off in the direction of the Durmstrang ship, conversing now in voices too low for Harry to catch.
Harry and Luna stood in the small precise shadow of the hedge for the precise small count of ten before either of them spoke.
"Luna. Did you—"
"I saw, Hah-ree."
"The Mark. They were talking about it... burning."
A small precise silence.
"We will tell your father in the morning," Luna said quietly, with the precise small steady composure of a girl who had decided that this was the way to handle the moment. "Not tonight. Tonight is Yule. The morning is soon enough."
Harry nodded.
She squeezed his hand.
They walked on, more quietly now, the precise small private warmth of the evening preserved but the precise small new weight of the observation tucked carefully into the precise small pocket of their attention.
The promenade carried them past the small lit braziers and around the precise small curve toward the lake. The wind off the water was sharper here, and Harry instinctively turned them at the precise small junction back toward the castle—
—where, at the precise small bench beside the path under a precise small fairy-light-hung hawthorn tree, Hagrid and Madame Maxime were sitting.
The two enormous figures were not, by Harry's precise small first reading, doing anything they ought not to have been doing. They were sitting side by side. Hagrid had his enormous coat off—the precise small Christmas-edition coat, in deep red, that he had clearly had specially made for the occasion—and had laid it across Madame Maxime's enormous shoulders against the cold. Maxime, in her enormous lavender Beauxbatons silk, was holding a small glass of something French. Hagrid was holding what appeared to be a similar small glass. They were murmuring together in the precise small private register of two people who had been finding, over the course of the autumn term, a great deal more in common with each other than either of them had originally expected.
Harry and Luna stopped at the precise small far edge of the fairy-lit path, did not advance further, and turned to retreat with the precise small unobtrusive grace of two teenagers who had decided not to interrupt.
It was at this precise small moment that Hagrid's voice—not loud, but earnest, in the precise small register of a half-giant who had drunk a small precise quantity of French wine and was now confiding something he had clearly wanted to say for some time—rose to a level that Harry could, just, hear.
"Olympe," Hagrid was saying gently. "Olympe. Yeh shouldn' be ashamed of it. Look at me. Yeh shouldn' be ashamed of it."
"Hagrid—"
"Yeh're like me, Olympe. I can see it. The build. The way yeh carry yerself. The way yer eyes—Olympe, I'm a half-giant on me mother's side, an' yeh're—yeh're—"
The change in Madame Maxime's enormous face, in the precise small two seconds it took her to register what Hagrid had just suggested, was the precise small change of a Headmistress who had spent her entire adult life not letting people make exactly that observation in her presence.
Her face went very still.
"I beg your pardon, Hagrid."
"Olympe, I—"
"I am large-boned, Hagrid. I am of large-boned French descent. I have been large-boned since I was a child. My mother was large-boned. My father was large-boned. I am not, by any reasonable measurement, what you have just suggested."
"Olympe—"
"I think," Maxime said quietly, rising with the precise small composed enormous dignity of a woman who had decided that the conversation was, for the moment, over, "that I will return to the Hall. Thank you for the wine, Hagrid. It was a kind gesture."
She turned. She walked. The enormous lavender silk of her gown moved in the precise small dignified retreat of a woman who had been, until approximately ninety seconds ago, having the best evening of her diplomatic life.
Hagrid sat on the bench, alone, with the small precise stricken expression of a half-giant who had just discovered that suggesting a thing one had been certain was true was, sometimes, the precise small wrong thing to suggest.
He buried his enormous face in his enormous hands.
Harry and Luna, in the precise small shadow of the path's edge, did not move for a precise count of four.
Then, very quietly, they retreated back along the promenade in the precise small unobtrusive way they had come.
"Oh, Hagrid," Luna murmured softly.
"Haiz," Harry agreed.
"He didn't mean it the way she heard it."
"No. He meant it as a compliment. As solidarity. As an offer of identification. But she did not hear it that way."
"No."
A small precise silence.
"I hope," Luna said softly, "that he goes after her. Tomorrow. With the precise small apology of a man who has registered why he was wrong, and not the precise small apology of a man who is sorry that he was overheard."
"I hope so too, Luna."
By the precise small late portion of the evening, the Ball had moved into its precise small chaotic teenage register, and Harry and Luna—both of them tired now in the precise small contented way of two people who had been awake since dawn and had now had the precise small best evening of their respective fourteen and thirteen years—had agreed by small unspoken consent that it was time to part.
Harry escorted Luna toward the Ravenclaw Tower along the precise small candle-lit corridor that led from the Entrance Hall up to the precise small fifth-floor staircase, with her hand still tucked through his arm.
They reached the precise small stone gargoyle that marked the precise small bottom of her tower's stair. Luna paused.
She turned.
She looked up at him. Her grey eyes, in the precise small low candlelight of the corridor, were soft.
"Hah-ree."
"Y-yes, Luna."
"Thank you for tonight."
"Thank you, Luna. You were—"
She rose on her toes, with the precise small unhurried Lovegood instinct for moments of exactly this register, and pressed her small warm lips, very briefly and very softly, to his cheek.
Harry's brain, in the precise small interior moment of registering the precise small warm pressure, did the precise small complete-blank-screen thing.
By the time he had recovered enough to manage a coherent thought, Luna had already darted up the staircase with a small private bright pleased laugh, and her flowing baby-blue gown had vanished around the precise small first turn of the spiral.
Harry, in the precise small corridor with one hand on the precise small spot of his cheek where she had kissed him, did not, exactly, breathe for the precise count of four.
Then his face split into the precise small ridiculous beam of a boy whose evening had, against every reasonable possible expectation of the morning, concluded perfectly, and he turned and walked back along the corridor toward Gryffindor Tower in the precise small skipping gait of a fourteen-year-old who had, in the precise small finite span of approximately five hours, gone from waltz-nervous to dance-floor-survived to small-lake-witness to ground-walking to cheek-kissed.
He skipped past the precise small surprised portrait of Sir Cadogan, who registered the skip with the precise small confused exclamation of a knight who did not know what was going on.
He skipped past the precise small surprised portrait of the Fat Friar, who beamed.
He skipped, by the time he reached the Fat Lady's portrait, into the precise small composed walking-gait of a boy who had registered that he had been visibly skipping for approximately four corridors and ought, by the precise small reasonable measurement of his dignity as a Champion of Hogwarts, to stop.
The Fat Lady, with the precise small affectionate attention of a portrait who had been watching the boys of her House return from Yule Balls for the last forty years, opened her mouth to comment.
"Don't," Harry told her firmly.
"I was only going to say—"
"Don't, please."
"Mr Potter, you have lipstick on your—"
"Fairy lights."
He gave the password. She let him in, with the precise small composed amused expression of a portrait who had decided that some boys' first Yule Balls were better than others.
26th December 1994, the Room of Requirement, 12:47 PM
The Room had configured itself, by Harry's small Boxing-Day morning request, into the precise small workshop register it favoured for problem-solving: a long oak table with the precise small set of tools Harry had asked for—a sheet of fresh parchment, a quill, his copy of Advanced Runic Theory, a pair of magnifying lenses on a small brass stand, and a large empty pewter bowl—arranged in the precise small efficient configuration. The golden egg sat at the precise small centre of the table.
Harry, with the precise small focused absorption of a fourteen-year-old who had decided this morning, after his small composed dawn writing of a letter to Ethan about Karkaroff's Mark, that the next problem was the precise small egg-clue, was bent over the parchment with the precise small drawn diagram of every rune visible on the egg's outer shell. He had, by the precise small forty minutes of the previous hour, identified seventeen runes. He had cross-referenced fourteen of them. The remaining three were giving him precise small difficulty.
"And then," Luna was saying serenely from her cushion in the precise small window-alcove, with Jasper curled up in the precise small warm hollow of her lap, "Hagrid said it as a kind thing, Hermione, but Madame Maxime did not hear it that way. She heard it as an identification she had not consented to, which was not, technically, what Hagrid had meant."
Hermione, at the precise small far end of the table with her own notebook open and her notes spread, paused in her quill-work and looked up with the precise small careful interested attention of a girl who had been listening throughout.
"A half-giant," she repeated.
"Yes."
"Hagrid?"
"On his mother's side, yes. He said so to her last night."
"Mm." Hermione's mouth pulled into the precise small thoughtful composed register of a girl who had been quietly suspecting this for approximately three years. "That—is not particularly surprising to me, actually. The size. The general physiology. The small particular unflappability under physical strain. The fact that he was expelled from Hogwarts at thirteen and was permitted to remain as Gamekeeper, which is the precise small classic Dumbledore-arrangement for someone whose original identity could not, in the climate of the seventies, be safely disclosed."
Ron, at the small table opposite Hermione with a precise small piece of Honeydukes nougat from the previous evening, looked up.
"Hermione, you worked this out, and you never said?"
"I had no business saying, Ronald. It was Hagrid's information to disclose."
"Fair enough."
Draco, on Ron's other side, was looking at the precise small egg with the precise small composed attentive interest of a Slytherin who had been quietly registering, throughout the morning, the precise small interesting fact that half-giant was a precise small piece of information that, in the wizarding world he had grown up in, would have been used against Hagrid with considerable force.
"This will be a problem," Draco said quietly.
"Why?" Ron asked.
"Because, Ronald," Draco said with the small patient register of a boy who had been raised in the precise small specific culture of a family whose views he had spent the last two years systematically un-learning, "the wizarding public's view of giants is approximately what your view of Death Eaters is. Hagrid being half-giant, in any pureblood newspaper, would be a story. A very loud story."
A small precise pause.
"But Hagrid is Hagrid," Ron said, with the precise small clarifying loyalty of a boy who had known the half-giant since he was nine. "He's the kindest person I've ever met. He's helped me with three different magical creature emergencies in the last year. He cried releasing the Jobberknolls last week. He is Hagrid."
"Yes, Ronald," Draco said with affection, "but the precise small wizarding public does not know him as you do. They know him as a name in a paper. And if a journalist were to find out, they would not write Hagrid is Hagrid."
A small precise quiet settled.
"We will hope no journalist finds out," Hermione said quietly.
"Yes," Luna agreed.
Harry, who had been listening with the precise small composed half-attention of a boy in the middle of egg-decryption, suddenly straightened.
"Wait."
The three of them turned.
"Wait. The runes. The precise small three I could not place. They are not standard. They are—" he pointed at his diagram with the precise small focused excitement of a boy whose Runic-mind had clicked over a thing, "—they are Old Runic Submersion-marks. They indicate that the egg is meant to be immersed in water for the precise small sequence to resolve. The screech is the precise small in-air register of the song. Underwater it will resolve into the precise small intended message.*"
Hermione's quill paused.
"Submersion?"
"Yes. Look. This rune is depth, this one is fluid-bearing, this one is listen. They are the precise small sequence of an aquatic-encoding charm. The clue is underwater, Hermione."
"Harry, that is brilliant."
"Mm."
"Harry, that is genuinely brilliant. I would not have caught that in another week."
"Mm."
He flushed slightly.
He drew his wand. "Aguamenti."
The precise small clear stream of water from his wand filled the large pewter bowl to its precise small upper rim. He set the egg into the bowl.
The four of them, by precise small unspoken simultaneous agreement, leaned forward and dipped their heads down to the precise small surface of the water.
The egg, in the precise small underwater register, sang.
The song was a small precise underwater chorus of high, ethereal, melancholy voices. Harry, listening, could just make out the words:
Come seek us where our voices sound, We cannot sing above the ground, And while you're searching, ponder this: We've taken what you'll sorely miss. An hour long you'll have to look, And to recover what we took, But past an hour, the prospect's black, Too late—it's gone, it won't come back.
The four heads rose, simultaneously, from the precise small surface of the water.
A small precise silence.
"Mer-people," Hermione breathed. "The Black Lake. Mer-people of the Black Lake. They will take—" she paused, "—they will take something precious from each Champion. To be retrieved within the hour."
"Something precious," Ron repeated.
"Yes."
"Like—what, exactly?"
"That," Hermione said grimly, "is the precise small remaining question, Ronald."
26th December 1994, the Care of Magical Creatures paddock, 2:14 PM
They arrived for the first Care of Magical Creatures of the new term in the precise small bright cold afternoon, and found, at the precise small fence-line where Hagrid had been teaching them all year, a precise small different teacher.
A small composed sturdy witch in tweed robes with iron-grey hair pulled back in a precise small no-nonsense bun stood at the gate.
Harry, Draco, Ron, and Hermione stopped in the precise small simultaneous moment of registering that Hagrid was not, in fact, there.
"Where's—" Ron began.
"Professor Wilhelmina Grubbly-Plank," the witch announced briskly, with the precise small no-introduction efficiency of a substitute teacher who had been brought in at short notice. "Hagrid is unwell. I shall be taking the class for the foreseeable future. Today's topic: Unicorns."
Draco's grey eyes had gone very still.
He stepped slightly aside from the gathering class, with the precise small composed motion of a boy who had registered that a small piece of information was about to be shared. He drew, from inside his outer robe, a small folded copy of the morning's Daily Prophet, which Harry had not yet had the chance to look at.
He passed it silently to Harry.
As Harry unfolded it, his eyes widened of what front page bore, in the precise small large bold headline-letters of Rita Skeeter's most malicious work:
DUMBLEDORE'S GIANT MISTAKEHogwarts Gamekeeper Confirmed Half-Giant Last Night by Beauxbatons Headmistress By Rita Skeeter, Special Correspondent
Harry's face went very still as he read the first paragraph with the precise small interior cold weight of a boy who had been the only witness, other than Luna, to the private conversation in which Hagrid had told Maxime—a conversation that had taken place at a small corner of the lit promenade at approximately ten o'clock the previous evening, with no one else within hearing distance.
Hermione, reading over his shoulder, drew in a sharp breath.
"Skeeter is banned from Hogwarts."
"Yes."
"And no one— no one —was within earshot of that conversation except you and Luna."
"Harry," Hermione said quietly, in the precise small composed register of a girl whose mind was already moving very fast, "there is something about Rita Skeeter that we have not yet worked out."
Draco's grey eyes also met Harry's.
Ron, beside them, was reading the precise small article with the precise small clenched expression of a boy whose loyalty to Hagrid had just been publicly assaulted.
"She drove him into hiding," Ron said quietly. "Hagrid. Into hiding. In his own home."