Chapter 308. Gentleman Hagrid
Harry strode through the wooden door of the Three Broomsticks; the warm scent of Butterbeer washed over him at once.
His eyes lit up when he saw Ron's face, and he went straight over.
"Where did you go?" Ron asked curiously, a little foam clinging to the corner of his mouth.
"Cedric was looking for me," Harry said briefly. "We went to talk about the Tournament."
"Since when are you two so chummy?" Ron looked puzzled.
Harry sat down beside him and said offhandedly, "Just a few days ago—we trained together… Cedric's a decent bloke."
"Kinship between champions!" said Sirius, setting a mug of Butterbeer in front of Harry. "To celebrate you becoming a champion, it's on me."
"Thanks." Harry paused, startled. "Wait—when did you lot get here?"
"We came to watch your task," Sirius said cheerfully. "And don't feel too much pressure—losing's fine. I heard you're a lot younger than the others."
"I won't lose," Harry said seriously.
Professor Wesson watched this from the side, gratified.
Harry was very confident, which was naturally a good thing.
And indeed, Harry had reason to be confident now.
This was a student he had personally… tut—taught.
In Hogsmeade, dusk fell especially quickly.
As the sky darkened, the three of them trod the twilight back to Hogwarts Castle.
Having already eaten outside, they didn't head for the Great Hall, but went straight for Gryffindor Tower.
After giving the password to open the common room entrance, Ron and Hermione went in first.
Harry paused where he was, thinking for a moment about today's password for the common room: banana fritters.
What sort of flavour was that supposed to be?
Just as he was about to follow, a huge hand suddenly seized his arm.
Harry jumped and looked round to find Hagrid's familiar, bearded face.
"Hagrid?" he asked in confusion. "What are you doing here?"
Hagrid didn't answer at once, but glanced furtively around like a burglar.
Once he'd made sure no one was nearby, he bent down towards Harry and whispered, "Midnight tonight. Come down to me hut. And remember—don't let anyone see yeh."
Seeing how jittery Hagrid looked only made Harry more confused.
"What's going on?" he said.
Hagrid rubbed his enormous hands together nervously. "It's about the first task o' the Triwizard Tournament… I've got some information."
"Can't you tell me now?"
"Oh, can't—ain't confirmed yet," Hagrid warned again. "Tonight. Midnight. Yeh remember?"
Harry nodded.
"Good," Hagrid went on. "I'll be waitin' in me hut."
As soon as he'd said his piece, Hagrid left Gryffindor Tower.
Harry stood there, half-wondering whether Hagrid really did know what the first task was.
If he did…
Well, Harry reckoned Hagrid would very likely let something slip by accident.
"Dear, could you hurry up?" yawned the Fat Lady impatiently. "I've no intention of keeping this open all night."
"Sorry." Harry ducked through the portrait hole at once.
Inside the common room, Ron and Hermione had been waiting for some time.
"What took you? You're so slow," Ron asked.
Harry didn't hide it, and told his two friends exactly what Hagrid had said.
As soon as she heard, Hermione's brows knitted. "Hagrid knows what the first task is? That doesn't seem likely…"
"Who cares," Ron said excitedly, clapping Harry on the shoulder. "That's great news, and Hagrid wouldn't lie to us. If you can prepare in advance, we've got this!"
"But that wouldn't be fair to the others," Hermione said anxiously. "And if you're found out, Harry, you could be disqualified."
"It's not in the rules," said Harry.
"But—" Hermione seemed about to argue, then finally nodded. "If you must go… at least take the Invisibility Cloak. And don't let Peeves catch you."
Late that night.
When it was nearly time, Harry climbed out of bed, threw on the Invisibility Cloak he'd had ready, and groped his way towards the common room.
Ron had already started snoring—just moments ago he'd sworn he'd sit up with Harry till half-past eleven.
Obviously, sleep won.
The common room was quiet and empty; Harry went straight to the closed entrance.
After about a minute, the portrait swung open quietly.
Harry let out a small breath. Thankfully, Hermione wasn't as unreliable as Ron.
They'd agreed that Hermione would open up from outside, so the Fat Lady wouldn't notice him under the Cloak.
"Thanks," Harry whispered as he slipped past Hermione.
"Be careful," Hermione whispered back. "Peeves is by the moving staircases—I saw him. Don't come out from under the Cloak."
About half an hour later, Harry reached Hagrid's hut.
The castle at night was livelier than he'd imagined.
Along the way, he ran into Argus Filch and Mrs Norris on patrol, Professor Snape drifting through a corridor, and Professor Wesson strolling in the courtyard with a little girl.
Of these, Professor Wesson surprised him most.
Come to think of it, that little girl seemed to be the youngest from Beauxbatons—rumour had it she was Fleur Delacour's sister.
Since when had his own professor got on so well with Beauxbatons?
Still, now wasn't the time to be thinking about that.
Harry tapped gently on Hagrid's door; it was pulled open a crack at once, Hagrid's bearded face peering out as he looked left and right.
"Harry?" he whispered.
"It's me." Harry lifted a corner of the Cloak so Hagrid could see him.
Hagrid hurried him inside, shut the door quickly, and slid the bolt. Fang bounded over in excitement and nearly knocked Harry flat.
"Shh, Fang, quiet!" Hagrid hauled the boarhound aside.
Only then did Harry get a proper look at Hagrid.
He was wearing an enormous set of dress robes, with a fresh flower stuck in the breast pocket. His hair and beard seemed carefully groomed, and he'd even slicked on some hair oil, which gleamed faintly in the candlelight.
"Hagrid—what are you wearing?" Harry blinked in surprise, momentarily forgetting the Tournament.
"Looks good, eh?" Hagrid glanced towards a ludicrously large full-length mirror off to one side. "Professor Wesson helped me order a set o' dress robes in Diagon Alley, taught me a spell or two for tidyin' me hair, and gave me a bottle o' Sleekeazy's Hair Potion."
"N—no…" Harry stared at the strange mix of refinement and roughness and asked stiffly, "I meant—why are you dressed like that?"
"Oh, I'm goin' to see an important guest in a bit," Hagrid said, a shy smile blooming on his face. "So I asked Professor Wesson to teach me how to be a bit more of a gentleman."
Harry gazed at Hagrid, at a loss for words.
He rather thought that no matter how Hagrid dressed, "gentleman" wasn't a word that would ever quite fit.
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