Neville was in total disgrace. Professor McGonagall was so furious with him she had banned him from all future Hogsmeade visits, given him a detention, and forbidden anyone to give him the password into the tower. Poor Neville was forced to wait outside the common room every night for somebody to let him in, while the security trolls leered unpleasantly at him. None of these punishments, however, came close to matching the one his grandmother had in store for him. Two days after Black’s break-in, she sent Neville the very worst thing a Hogwarts student could receive over breakfast — a Howler.
The school owls swooped into the Great Hall carrying the mail as usual, and Neville choked as a huge barn owl landed in front of him, a scarlet envelope clutched in its beak. Harry and Ron, who were sitting opposite him, recognized the letter as a Howler at once — Ron had got one from his mother the year before.
“Run for it, Neville,” Ron advised.
Neville didn’t need telling twice. He seized the envelope, and holding it before him like a bomb, sprinted out of the hall, while the Slytherin table exploded with laughter at the sight of him. They heard the Howler go off in the entrance hall — Neville’s grandmother’s voice, magically magnified to a hundred times its usual volume, shrieking about how he had brought shame on the whole family.
Harry was too busy feeling sorry for Neville to notice immediately that he had a letter too. Hedwig got his attention by nipping him sharply on the wrist.
“Ouch! Oh — thanks, Hedwig.”
Harry tore open the envelope while Hedwig helped herself to some of Neville’s cornflakes. The note inside said:
Dear Harry and Ron,
How about having tea with me this afternoon ’round six?
I’ll come and collect you from the castle.
WAIT FOR ME IN THE ENTRANCE HALL; YOU’RE NOT ALLOWED OUT ON YOUR OWN.
Cheers,
Hagrid
“He probably wants to hear all about Black!” said Ron.
So at six o’clock that afternoon, Harry and Ron left Gryffindor Tower, passed the security trolls at a run, and headed down to the entrance hall.
Hagrid was already waiting for them.
“All right, Hagrid!” said Ron. “S’pose you want to hear about Saturday night, do you?”
“I’ve already heard all abou’ it,” said Hagrid, opening the front doors and leading them outside.
“Oh,” said Ron, looking slightly put out.
The first thing they saw on entering Hagrid’s cabin was Buckbeak, who was stretched out on top of Hagrid’s patchwork quilt, his enormous wings folded tight to his body, enjoying a large plate of dead ferrets. Averting his eyes from this unpleasant sight, Harry saw a gigantic, hairy brown suit and a very horrible yellow-and-orange tie hanging from the top of Hagrid’s wardrobe door.
“What are they for, Hagrid?” said Harry.
“Buckbeak’s case against the Committee fer the Disposal o’ Dangerous Creatures,” said Hagrid. “This Friday. Him an’ me’ll be goin’ down ter London together. I’ve booked two beds on the Knight Bus. . . .”
Harry felt a nasty pang of guilt. He had completely forgotten that Buckbeak’s trial was so near, and judging by the uneasy look on Ron’s face, he had too. They had also forgotten their promise about helping him prepare Buckbeak’s defense; the arrival of the Firebolt had driven it clean out of their minds.
Hagrid poured them tea and offered them a plate of Bath buns, but they knew better than to accept; they had had too much experience with Hagrid’s cooking.
“I got somethin’ ter discuss with you two,” said Hagrid, sitting himself between them and looking uncharacteristically serious.
“What?” said Harry.
“Hermione,” said Hagrid.
“What about her?” said Ron.
“She’s in a righ’ state, that’s what. She’s bin comin’ down ter visit me a lot since Chris’mas. Bin feelin’ lonely. Firs’ yeh weren’ talking to her because o’ the Firebolt, now yer not talkin’ to her because her cat —”
“— ate Scabbers!” Ron interjected angrily.
“Because her cat acted like all cats do,” Hagrid continued doggedly. “She’s cried a fair few times, yeh know. Goin’ through a rough time at the moment. Bitten off more’n she can chew, if yeh ask me, all the work she’s tryin’ ter do. Still found time ter help me with Buckbeak’s case, mind. . . . She’s found some really good stuff fer me . . . reckon he’ll stand a good chance now. . . .”
“Hagrid, we should’ve helped as well — sorry —” Harry began awkwardly.
“I’m not blamin’ yeh!” said Hagrid, waving Harry’s apology aside. “Gawd knows yeh’ve had enough ter be gettin’ on with. I’ve seen yeh practicin’ Quidditch ev’ry hour o’ the day an’ night — but I gotta tell yeh, I thought you two’d value yer friend more’n broomsticks or rats. Tha’s all.”
Harry and Ron exchanged uncomfortable looks.
“Really upset, she was, when Black nearly stabbed yeh, Ron. She’s got her heart in the right place, Hermione has, an’ you two not talkin’ to her —”
“If she’d just get rid of that cat, I’d speak to her again!” Ron said angrily. “But she’s still sticking up for it! It’s a maniac, and she won’t hear a word against it!”
“Ah, well, people can be a bit stupid abou’ their pets,” said Hagrid wisely. Behind him, Buckbeak spat a few ferret bones onto Hagrid’s pillow.
They spent the rest of their visit discussing Gryffindor’s improved chances for the Quidditch Cup. At nine o’clock, Hagrid walked them back up to the castle.
A large group of people was bunched around the bulletin board when they returned to the common room.
“Hogsmeade, next weekend!” said Ron, craning over the heads to read the new notice. “What d’you reckon?” he added quietly to Harry as they went to sit down.
“Well, Filch hasn’t done anything about the passage into Honeydukes. . . .” Harry said, even more quietly.
“Harry!” said a voice in his right ear. Harry started and looked around at Hermione, who was sitting at the table right behind them and clearing a space in the wall of books that had been hiding her.
“Harry, if you go into Hogsmeade again . . . I’ll tell Professor McGonagall about that map!” said Hermione.
“Can you hear someone talking, Harry?” growled Ron, not looking at Hermione.
“Ron, how can you let him go with you? After what Sirius Black nearly did to you! I mean it, I’ll tell —”