“What? Oh . . . oh yeah, we did. Yeah, on the third night after Karkus was killed, we crept outta the cave we’d bin hidin’ in and headed back down inter the gully, keepin’ our eyes skinned fer the Death Eaters. Got inside a few o’ the caves, no go — then, in abou’ the sixth one, we found three giants hidin’.”
“Cave must’ve been cramped,” said Ron.
“Wasn’ room ter swing a kneazle,” said Hagrid.
“Didn’t they attack you when they saw you?” asked Hermione.
“Probably woulda done if they’d bin in any condition,” said Hagrid, “but they was badly hurt, all three o’ them. Golgomath’s lot had beaten ’em unconscious; they’d woken up an’ crawled inter the nearest shelter they could find. Anyway, one o’ them had a bit of English an’ ’e translated fer the others, an’ what we had ter say didn’ seem ter go down too badly. So we kep’ goin’ back, visitin’ the wounded. . . . I reckon we had abou’ six or seven o’ them convinced at one poin’.”
“Six or seven?” said Ron eagerly. “Well that’s not bad — are they going to come over here and start fighting You-Know-Who with us?”
But Hermione said, “What do you mean ‘at one point,’ Hagrid?”
Hagrid looked at her sadly.
“Golgomath’s lot raided the caves. The ones tha’ survived didn’ wan’ no more ter to do with us after that.”
“So . . . so there aren’t any giants coming?” said Ron, looking disappointed.
“Nope,” said Hagrid, heaving a deep sigh as he turned over his steak again and applied the cooler side to his face, “but we did wha’ we meant ter do, we gave ’em Dumbledore’s message an’ some o’ them heard it an’ I ’spect some o’ them’ll remember it. Jus’ maybe, them that don’ want ter stay around Golgomath’ll move outta the mountains, an’ there’s gotta be a chance they’ll remember Dumbledore’s friendly to ’em. . . . Could be they’ll come . . .”
Snow was filling up the window now. Harry became aware that the knees of his robes were soaked through; Fang was drooling with his head in Harry’s lap.
“Hagrid?” said Hermione quietly after a while.
“Mmm?”
“Did you . . . was there any sign of . . . did you hear anything about your . . . your . . . mother while you were there?”
Hagrid’s unobscured eye rested upon her, and Hermione looked rather scared.
“I’m sorry . . . I . . . forget it —”
“Dead,” Hagrid grunted. “Died years ago. They told me.”
“Oh . . . I’m . . . I’m really sorry,” said Hermione in a very small voice.
Hagrid shrugged his massive shoulders. “No need,” he said shortly. “Can’ remember her much. Wasn’ a great mother.”
They were silent again. Hermione glanced nervously at Harry and Ron, plainly wanting them to speak.
“But you still haven’t explained how you got in this state, Hagrid,” Ron said, gesturing toward Hagrid’s bloodstained face.
“Or why you’re back so late,” said Harry. “Sirius says Madame Maxime got back ages ago —”
“Who attacked you?” said Ron.
“I haven’ bin attacked!” said Hagrid emphatically. “I —”
But the rest of his words were drowned in a sudden outbreak of rapping on the door. Hermione gasped; her mug slipped through her fingers and smashed on the floor; Fang yelped. All four of them stared at the window beside the doorway. The shadow of somebody small and squat rippled across the thin curtain.
“It’s her!” Ron whispered.
“Get under here!” Harry said quickly; seizing the Invisibility Cloak he whirled it over himself and Hermione while Ron tore around the table and dived beneath the Cloak as well. Huddled together they backed away into a corner. Fang was barking madly at the door. Hagrid looked thoroughly confused.
“Hagrid, hide our mugs!”
Hagrid seized Harry’s and Ron’s mugs and shoved them under the cushion in Fang’s basket. Fang was now leaping up at the door; Hagrid pushed him out of the way with his foot and pulled it open.
Professor Umbridge was standing in the doorway wearing her green tweed cloak and a matching hat with earflaps. Lips pursed, she leaned back so as to see Hagrid’s face; she barely reached his navel.
“So,” she said slowly and loudly, as though speaking to somebody deaf. “You’re Hagrid, are you?”
Without waiting for an answer she strolled into the room, her bulging eyes rolling in every direction.
“Get away,” she snapped, waving her handbag at Fang, who had bounded up to her and was attempting to lick her face.
“Er — I don’ want ter be rude,” said Hagrid, staring at her, “but who the ruddy hell are you?”
“My name is Dolores Umbridge.”
Her eyes were sweeping the cabin. Twice they stared directly into the corner where Harry stood, sandwiched between Ron and Hermione.
“Dolores Umbridge?” Hagrid said, sounding thoroughly confused. “I thought you were one o’ them Ministry — don’ you work with Fudge?”
“I was Senior Undersecretary to the Minister, yes,” said Umbridge, now pacing around the cabin, taking in every tiny detail within, from the haversack against the wall to the abandoned traveling cloak. “I am now the Defense Against the Dark Arts teacher —”
“Tha’s brave of yeh,” said Hagrid, “there’s not many’d take tha’ job anymore —”
“— and Hogwarts High Inquisitor,” said Umbridge, giving no sign that she had heard him.
“Wha’s that?” said Hagrid, frowning.
“Precisely what I was going to ask,” said Umbridge, pointing at the broken shards of china on the floor that had been Hermione’s mug.
“Oh,” said Hagrid, with a most unhelpful glance toward the corner where Harry, Ron, and Hermione stood hidden, “oh, tha’ was . . . was Fang. He broke a mug. So I had ter use this one instead.”
Hagrid pointed to the mug from which he had been drinking, one hand still clamped over the dragon steak pressed to his eye. Umbridge stood facing him now, taking in every detail of his appearance instead of the cabin’s.
“I heard voices,” she said quietly.
“I was talkin’ ter Fang,” said Hagrid stoutly.
“And was he talking back to you?”