The aftermath of the match took a
few weeks to dissipate, as did Severus’s bad temper. He
contented himself with taking his frustration out on his students, setting ever
more rigorous homework as summer marched on, and devising intricately difficult
exams in the cool air of the Dungeons.

The rest of school were, however,
celebrating – apparently along with the weather; as June approached, the days
became cloudless and sultry, and all anybody felt like doing was strolling into
the grounds and flopping down on the grass with several pints of iced pumpkin
juice, perhaps playing a casual game of Gobstones or watching the giant squid
propel itself dreamily across the surface of the lake.

But they couldn’t. The exams were
nearly upon them, and instead of lazing about outside, the students were forced
to remain inside the castle, trying to bully their brains into concentrating
while enticing wafts of summer air drifted in through the windows – and of
course the staff had to remain indoors to keep an eye on them. Even Fred
and George Weasley
had been spotted working; they were about to take their OWLs (Ordinary
Wizarding Levels). Percy was getting ready to sit his NEWTs
(Nastily Exhausting Wizarding Tests), the highest qualification Hogwarts
offered. As Percy hoped to enter the Ministry of Magic, he
needed top grades. He was becoming increasingly edgy, and gave very severe
punishments to anybody who disturbed the quiet of the common room in the
evenings. In fact, the only person who seemed more anxious than Percy
was Hermione.

Even Amelia
had taken to avoiding her cousin as she became crabbier the closer the exams
crept. For her part, she had prepared a series of written, aural and visual
tests, ranging from Muggle history to popular culture. Remus, she understood,
had prepared practical tests for all his classes.

Exam week began and Amelia
kept a close eye on her cousin. An unnatural hush had fallen on the castle,
allowing many of the staff to catch up on their reading in the unaccustomed
quiet.

The third-years emerged from
Transfiguration at lunchtime on Monday limp and ashen-faced, comparing results
and bemoaning the difficulty of the tasks they had been set, which had included
turning a teapot into a tortoise. Hermione irritated the rest by fussing about
how her tortoise had looked more like a turtle, which was the least of everyone
else’s worries.

“Mine still had a spout for a
tail, what a nightmare…”

“Were the tortoises supposed
to breathe steam?”

“It still had a willow-patterned
shell, d’you think that’ll count against me?”

That evening, amongst much
hilarity, Amelia showed Remus a note from
Hermione about how Harry had overdone his
Cheering Charm somewhat out of nerves and Ron,
who was partnering him, ended up in fits of hysterical laughter and had to be
led away to a quiet room for an hour before he was allowed to perform the charm
himself.

After the third years took Severus’s
potions exam he had entered the staffroom cackling vindictively and many of his
colleagues had since given him a wide berth (and a series of worried looks).

Amelia
watched the third-years taking Lupin’s exam from the greenhouses, where she was
helping Pomona set up her next
exam.

He had prepared a sort of
educational assault course, where they had to wade across a deep paddling pool
containing a Grindylow, cross a series of potholes full of Red Caps, squish
their way across a patch of marsh, ignoring the misleading directions of a
Hinkypunk, then climb into an old trunk and battle with a new Boggart.

Helping Remus clear up the
obstacle course, the two of them saw the grim looking group meet Harry,
Ron and Hermione on the castle steps.

Amelia
swore under her breath.

“They’ve even brought the axe!
Buckbeak doesn’t stand a chance.”

Remus frowned, “But the appeal –”

“It doesn’t look like they intend
to listen.”

Remus expelled his breath
angrily.

“We could always release him.”

“They’d think it was Hagrid.
Besides,” she continued, looking down towards Buckbeak, who was tethered up by
Hagrid’s cottage, “the great soppy beast would just come straight back.”

0o0o0o0

She met her cousin after her
Muggle Studies exam. Hermione was frowning, mind clearly on the appeal that
must be happening in the grounds below. Even so, she managed to spare some
words of encouragement for her cousin’s first exam paper:

“Not a bad exam,” she said,
chewing her nails.

Amelia
gave her arm a light slap.

“Sorry,” the girl said, “it’s
just – Buckbeak’s appeal –”

“Yeah. I saw the executioner.”

“How can they do this?” she
cried; Amelia put a comforting arm around her
shoulder and looked at her a little hopelessly.

“Well, it’s out of our hands
now,” she sighed. Hermione nodded unhappily.

Once her cousin had gone, Amelia
settled down to mark the day’s papers, knowing full well that throughout the
castle, every other teacher apart from Hagrid was probably doing the same.

0o0o0o0

In the Gryffindor tower, Hermione
was sat with Ron, both numb with shock at the
letter they had just received. Ron was holding
the offending piece of parchment and staring blankly at Hermione as Harry
ran in, panting.

“Professor
Trelawny,” Harry
panted, “just told me –”

But he stopped abruptly at the
sight of their faces.

“Buckbeak lost,” said Ron
weakly. “Hagrid’s just sent this.”

Hagrid’s note was dry this time,
no tears had splattered it, yet his hand seemed to have shaken so much as he
wrote it that it was hardly legible.

Lost appeal. They’re going to
execute at sunset. Nothing you can do. Don’t come down. I don’t want you to see
it.

Hagrid

“We’ve got to go,” said Harry
at once. “He can’t just sit there on his own, waiting for the executioner!”

“Sunset, though,” said Ron,
who was staring out of the window in a glazed sort of way. “We’d never be
allowed… ‘specially you, Harry…”

Harry
sank his head into his hands.

“If only we had the Invisibility
Cloak…”

“Where is it?” Hermione asked.

Harry
told her about leaving it in the passageway under the one-eyed witch.

“… if Snape sees me anywhere near
there again, I’m in serious trouble,” he finished.

“That’s true,” said Hermione,
getting to her feet and reflecting that both Severus and Harry
would do well to abandon certain grudges. “If he sees you… how do you
open the witch’s hump again?”

“You – you tap it and say
‘Dissendium’,” said Harry. “But –”

Hermione didn’t wait for the rest
of his sentence; she strode across the room, pushed the Fat Lady’s portrait
open and headed directly for the one-eyed witch.

The trouble with boys, she
thought, as she checked that the corridor was clear, is that they are too
damn’ obvious about this sort of thing. Too ‘macho’.

Far better to casually wander
towards your goal than constantly be glancing over your shoulder.

Reaching the witch, she worked
quickly and swiftly returned to the common room, giving a friendly wave to
Snape as he stalked past her and silently thanking whichever ancestor that had
provided both herself and Amelia (and if family legend were true, Aunty Bea)
with the expert thief gene. Upon her return both boys looked stunned and
impressed.

“Hermione, I don’t know what’s
got into you lately!” said Ron, astounded.
“First you hit Malfoy, then you walk out on Professor
Trelawny –”

Truth be told, Hermione was quite
flattered.

0o0o0o0

They went down to dinner with
everyone else, where they exchanged grim looks with Amelia up at the top table,
but did not return to Gryffindor tower afterwards. Harry
had the Cloak hidden down the front of his robes; he had to keep his arms
folded to hide the lump. They skulked in an empty chamber off the Entrance
Hall, listening, until they were sure it was deserted. They heard a last couple
of people hurrying across the hall, and a door slamming. Hermione, fed up of
waiting, poked her head around the door.

“Ok,” she whispered, “no-one
there – Cloak on –”

Walking very close together so
that nobody would see them, they crossed the hall on tiptoe beneath the Cloak,
then walked down the stone steps into the grounds. The sun was already sinking
behind the Forbidden Forest,
gilding the top branches of the trees.

They reached Hagrid’s cabin and
knocked. He was a minute in answering, and when he did, he looked all around
for his visitor, pale-faced and trembling.

“It’s us,” Harry
hissed. “We’re wearing the Invisibility Cloak. Let us in and we can take it
off.”

“Yeh shoudn’ve come!” Hagrid
whispered, but he stood back, and they stepped inside. Hagrid shut the door
quickly and Harry pulled off the Cloak.

Hagrid was not crying, nor did he
throw himself upon their necks. He looked like a man who did not know where he
was or what to do. This helplessness was worse to watch than tears.

“Wan’ some tea?” he said. His
great hands were shaking as he reached for the kettle.

“Where’s Buckbeak, Hagrid?”
Hermione asked, hesitantly.

“I – I took him outside,” said
Hagrid, spilling milk all over the table as he filled up the jug. “He’s
tethered in me pumpkin patch. Thought he ought to see the trees an’ – an’ smell
fresh air – before –”

Hagrid’s hand trembled so
violently that the milk jug slipped from his grasp and shattered all over the
floor.

“I’ll do it, Hagrid,” said
Hermione quickly, hurrying over and starting to clean up the mess; she felt a
little better with something to do, but not much.

“There’s another one in the
cupboard,” Hagrid said, sitting down and wiping his forehead on his sleeve. Out
of the corner of her eye, Hermione saw Harry and
Ron glance at each other hopelessly.

“Isn’t there anything anyone can
do, Hagrid?” Harry asked fiercely, sitting down
next to him. “Dumbledore –”

“He’s tried,” said Hagrid. “He’s
got no power ter overrule the Committee. He told ‘em Buckbeak’s all right, but
they’re scared… you know what Lucius
Malfoy’s like… threatened ‘em, I expect… an’
the executioner, Macnair, he’s an old pal o’ Malfoy’s… but it’ll be quick an’
clean… an’ I’ll be beside him…”

Hagrid swallowed. His eyes were
darting all over the cottage, as though looking for some shred of hope or
comfort.

As she worked, Hermione could
feel tears welling up inside her; Hagrid was such a kind man and there was
nothing they could do to help him.

“Dumbledore’s gonna come down
while it – while it happens. Wrote me this mornin’. Said he wants ter – ter be
with me. Great man, Dumbledore…”

Hermione, who had been rummaging
in Hagrid’s cupboard for another milk jug, let out a small, quickly stifled
sob.

I wish Mel was here, she
thought, unhappily. She’d know what to do.

She straightened up with the new
jug in her hands, fighting back tears.

“We’ll stay with you too,
Hagrid,” she began, but Hagrid shook his shaggy head.

“Yeh’re to go back up ter the
castle. I told yeh, I don’ wan’ yeh watchin’. An’ yeh shoudn’ be down here
anyway… if Fudge an’ Dumbledore catch yeh out without permission, Harry,
yeh’ll be in big trouble.

Silent tears were now streaming
down Hermione’s face, but she hid them from Hagrid, unable to stop them.
Instead, she bustled around making tea.

As she picked up the milk bottle to
pour some into the new jug, she caught a movement at the bottom of the vessel
and shrieked.

Startled and suddenly feeling
very girly, she blushed and cried out:

“Ron!
I – I don’t believe it – it’s Scabbers!”

Ron
gaped at her.

“What are you talking about?”

She carried the milk jug over to
the table and turned it upside-down. With a frantic squeak, and much scrambling
to get back inside, Scabbers the rat came sliding out onto the table.

“Scabbers!” said Ron
blankly. “Scabbers, what are you doing here?”

He grabbed the struggling rat and
held him up to the light. Hermione felt a pang of guilt – had Crookshanks
scared Scabbers this badly? He looked dreadful. He was thinner than ever, large
tufts of hair had fallen out leaving wide bald patches, and he writhed in Ron’s
hands as though desperate to free himself.

“It’s ok, Scabbers!” said Ron.
“No cats! There’s nothing here to hurt you!”

Hagrid suddenly stood up, his
eyes fixed on the window. His normally ruddy face had gone the colour of
parchment.

“They’re comin’…”

The three of them whipped around.
A group of men were walking down the distant castle steps. In front was Albus
Dumbledore, his silver beard gleaming in the
dying sun. Next to him trotted Cornelius Fudge. Behind them came the feeble old
Committee member and the executioner, MacNair.

“Yeh gotta go,” said Hagrid.
Every inch of him was trembling; Hermione had the sudden urge to hug the
half-giant. “They mustn’ find yeh here… go on, now…”

Ron
stuffed Scabbers into his pocket and Hermione picked up the Cloak; it felt like
her limbs were moving through treacle.

“I’ll let yeh out the back way,”
said Hagrid.

They followed him to the door
into his back garden. Hermione felt strangely unreal, and even more so when she
saw Buckbeak a few yards away, tethered to a tree behind Hagrid’s pumpkin
patch. Both Harry and Ron
were pale and wearing identical frowns, deepened by the fading light. Buckbeak
seemed to know something was happening. He turned his sharp head from side to
side, and pawed the ground anxiously.

“It’s ok, Beaky,” said Hagrid
softly. “It’s ok…” He turned to Hermione, Ron
and Harry. “Go, on,” he said. “Get goin’.”

But they didn’t move.

“Hagrid, we can’t –”

“We’ll tell them what really
happened –”

“They can’t kill him –”

“Go!” said Hagrid fiercely. “It’s
bad enough without you lot in trouble an’ all!”

They had no choice. As Hermione
threw the Cloak over Harry and Ron,
they heard voiced at the front of the cabin. Hagrid looked at the place where
they had just vanished from sight.

“Go quick,” he said hoarsely. “Don’
listen…”

Slowly, in a kind of horrified
trance, the three of them set off silently around Hagrid’s cottage. As they
reached the other side, the front door closed with a sharp snap.

All at once, the reality of the
situation hit Hermione and she felt sick; they were moving too slowly.

“Please, let’s hurry,” she
whispered. “I can’t stand it, I can’t bear it…”

They started up the sloping lawn
towards the castle. The sun was sinking fast now; the sky had turned to a
clear, purple-tinged grey, but to the west there was a ruby-red glow.

Red sky at night, shepherd’s
delight, Hermione thought, involuntarily.

Ron
stopped dead.

“Oh, please, Ron,”
Hermione began.

“It’s Scabbers – he won’t – stay
put –”

Ron
was bent over, trying to keep Scabbers in his pocket, but the rat was going
beserk; squeaking madly, twisting and flailing, trying to sink his teeth into Ron’s
hand.

“Scabbers, it’s me, you idiot,
it’s Ron,” he hissed.

They heard a door open behind
them and men’s voices.

“Oh Ron,
please let’s move, they’re going to do it!” Hermione breathed.

“Ok – Scabbers, stay put
–”

They walked forwards; Hermione
tried desperately not the listen to the rumble of voices behind them. She
glanced at Harry, who had been silent since they
left the cottage; he looked back at her unhappily. Ron
stopped again.

“I can’t hold him – Scabbers,
shut up – everyone’ll hear us!”

The rat was squealing wildly, but
not loudly enough to cover up the sounds drifting from Hagrid’s garden. There
was a jumble of indistinct male voices, a silence and then, without warning,
the unmistakeable swish and thud of an axe.

Hermione swayed on the spot,
shocked.

“They did it!” she whispered. “I
d-don’t believe it – they did it!”

0o0

Her mind went numb; it was as if
she couldn’t fit what she’d just heard into her head. Unconsciously, she put
her hand to her throat and swallowed, hard. The three of them stood transfixed
with horror under the Invisibility Cloak. The very last rays of the setting sun
were casting a bloody light over the long-shadowed grounds. Then, behind them,
they heard a wild howling.

“Hagrid,” Harry
muttered. Apparently without thought, he made to turn back, but both Ron
and Hermione seized his arms.

“We can’t,” said Ron,
who was paper-white. “He’ll be in worse trouble if they know we’ve been to see
him…”

Hermione’s breathing was shallow
and uneven.

“How – could – they?” she choked.
“How could they?” In her mind that terrible swish and thunk of the axe
was playing over and over.

“Come on,” said Ron,
whose teeth appeared to be chattering.

They set off back towards the
castle, walking slowly to keep themselves hidden under the Cloak. Light was
fading fast now. By the time they reached open ground, darkness was settling
like a heavy woollen blanket around them.

“Scabbers, keep still,” Ron
hissed, clamping his hand over his chest. The rat was wriggling around
frantically. Ron came to a sudden halt, trying
to force Scabbers deeper into his pocket. What’s the matter with you, you
stupid rat? Stay still – OUCH! He bit me!”

“Ron,
be quiet!” Hermione whispered urgently. “Fudge’ll be here any minute –”

“He won’t – stay – put –”

Scabbers was plainly terrified.
He was writhing with all his might, trying to break free of Ron’s
grasp.

“What’s the matter with
him?”

But Hermione had just seen –
slinking towards them, his body low to the ground, wide yellow eyes glinting
eerily in the darkness – Crookshanks. Hermione froze. Surely he couldn’t see
them under the Cloak – he must be following the sounds of Scabbers’s terrified
squeaks.

“Crookshanks!” she moaned. “No, go
away, Crookshanks! Go away!”

But the cat was getting nearer –

“Scabbers – NO!”

Too late – the rat had slipped
between Ron’s clutching fingers, hit the ground
and scampered away. In one bound, Crookshanks sprang after him, and before
Hermione or Harry could stop him, Ron
had thrown the Invisibility Cloak off himself and pelted away into the
darkness.

“Ron!”
Hermione moaned.

She and Harry looked at each
other, then followed at a sprint; it was impossible to run full out under the
Cloak; they pulled it off and it streamed behind them like a banner as they
hurtled after Ron; they could  hear his
feet thundering along ahead, and his shouts at Crookshanks.

“Get away from him – get away –
Scabbers, come here –”

There was a loud thud.

“Gotcha! Get off you
stinking cat –”

Hermione and Harry
almost fell over Ron; they skidded to a halt
right in front of him. He was sprawled on the ground, Crookshanks scratching at
him, but Scabbers was back in his pocket; he had both hands held tight over the
quivering lump.

“Ron
– come on – back under the Cloak –” Hermione panted, pulling Crookshanks off Ron’s
legs by the scruff of his neck and throwing him a little way away from them.
The orange ball of fury hissed at her in the darkness. “Dumbledore – the
Minister – they’ll be coming back out in a minute –”

But before they could cover
themselves up again, before they could even catch their breath, they heard the
soft pounding of gigantic paws. Something was bounding towards them out of the
dark – an enormous, pale-eyed, jet-black dog.

Hermione gasped and reached for
her wand. She felt a rush of air beside her as the great dog hit Harry
full in the chest; she stumbled back in terror, afraid to see what those long,
cruel teeth had done to her friend.

But the force of its leap had
carried it too far; it rolled off Harry, who
struggled to stand, gasping for breath. Hermione could hear it growling as it
skidded around for a second attack.

Ron
was on his feet. As the dog sprang towards them, he pushed Harry
aside; the dog’s jaws fastened instead around Ron’s
outstretched arm. Hermione smelled, rather than saw, the deep crimson beads of
blood on his arm form rivulets as he cried out. Harry
lunged at the dog and seized a handful of the brute’s hair, but it was dragging
Ron away as easily as if he were a rag-doll –

Out of nowhere, something rushed
through the air – she heard Harry cry out in
pain, seconds before something heavy thudded against her stomach with great
force. On the ground, she coughed and wheezed, lungs burning from the force of
the impact. Somewhere nearby Harry had lit his wand, lighting the trunk of a
thick tree; they had chased Scabbers into the shadow of the Whomping Willow and
it branches were creaking as if in a high wind, whipping backwards and forwards
to stop them going nearer.

And there, at the base of the
trunk, was the dog, dragging Ron backwards into a large gap in the roots – Ron
was fighting furiously, but his head and torso were slipping out of sight –

“Ron!”
Harry shouted, trying to run forward, but a
heavy branch whipped lethally through the air and threw him backwards.

All they could see now was one of
Ron’s legs, which he had hooked around a root in
an effort to stop the dog pulling him further underground. Then a horrible
crack cut the air like a gunshot; Ron’s leg had
broken, and the next second, his foot had vanished from sight.

“Harry
– we’ve got to go for help –” she cried, helplessly, as she felt blood
trickling down her arm; Amelia would know that
she was in trouble by now.

“No! That thing’s big enough to eat
him, we haven’t got time!”

“We’re never going to get through
without help –” She felt like screaming at him; as much as she wanted to help Ron,
she couldn’t understand Harry’s insistence on
always doing things alone.

Another branch whipped down at
them, twigs clenched like knuckles.

“If that dog can get in, we can,”
Harry panted, darting here and there, trying to
find a way through the vicious, swishing branches, but he couldn’t get an inch
nearer to the tree-roots without being in the range of the tree’s branches.

“Oh, help, help,” Hermione
whispered frantically, dancing uncertainly on the spot and desperately hoping
that the same connection that had sent Amelia hurtling across their small town
two summers ago would bring her to their aid now, “please…”

Crookshanks darted forwards. He
slithered between the battering branches like a snake and placed his front paws
upon a knot on the trunk.

Abruptly, as though the tree had
been turned to marble, it stopped moving. Not a leaf twitched or shook.

What the hell?! She
thought and grasped Harry’s arm. “How did he
know?”

“He’s friends with that dog,”
said Harry grimly. “I’ve seen them together.
Come on – and keep your wand out –”

They covered the distance to the
trunk in seconds, but before they had reached the gap in the roots, Crookshanks
had slid into it with a flick of his bottle-brush tail. Harry
went next; he crawled forwards and disappeared. Hermione followed him and
slipped headfirst down an earthy slope to the bottom of a very low tunnel.
Crookshanks was a little way along, his eyes flashing from the light of their
wands.

“Where’s Ron?”
she whispered, hearing the fear in her own voice.

“This way,” said Harry,
setting off, bent-backed after Crookshanks.

She couldn’t understand her cat –
first he helped the dog, then he helped them; what side was he on, anyway?

“Where does this tunnel come
out?” she asked, out-of-breath.

“I don’t know,” Harry
replied from in front of her. “It’s marked on the Marauders' Map but Fred
and George said no one’s ever got into it. It goes
off the edge of the map, but it looks like it ends up in Hogsmeade…”

They moved as fast as they could,
bent almost double; ahead of them, Crookshank’s tail bobbed in and out of view.
On and on went the passage; Hermione could well believe that this could take
them all the way to Hogsmeade. All she could think of was Ron,
and what the enormous dog might be doing to him. They were both drawing breath
in sharp, painful gasps, running at a crouch…

And then the tunnel began to
rise; moments later it twisted, and Crookshanks had gone. Instead, Hermione
could see a patch of dim light through a small opening.

She and Harry
paused, gasping for breath, edging forwards. Both raised their wands to see
what lay beyond.

It was a room, they discovered, a
very disordered, dusty room. Paper was peeling from the walls; there were
stains all over the floor; every piece of furniture was broken as though
somebody had smashed it. The windows were all boarded-up.

Harry
glanced at her, she swallowed and nodded; they had to find Ron,
and quickly.

Harry
pulled himself out of the hole and stared around before turning and helping
Hermione up. The room was deserted, but a door to their right stood open,
leading to a shadowy hallway. A sinking feeling crept over Hermione and she
grabbed Harry’s arm again, her wide eyes
travelling around the boarded windows.

“Harry,”
she whispered miserably. “I think we’re in the Shrieking Shack.”

Harry
blanched and looked around; he indicated a pile of shattered furniture in the
corner of the room.

“Ghosts didn’t do that,” he said
slowly.

At that moment, there was a creak
overhead. Something had moved upstairs. Both of them looked up at the ceiling. Harry
raised his eyebrows at Hermione, who realised that she still had his arm in a
death grip and released him, embarrassed.

Quietly as they could, they crept
out into the hall and up the crumbling staircase. Everything was covered in a
thick layer of dust except the floor, where a wide, shiny stripe had been made
by something being dragged upstairs.

Ron.

They reached the dark landing.

“Nox,” they whispered
together, and the lights at the end of their wands went out. Only one door was
open, and it barely a crack. As they crept towards it, they heard movement from
behind it; a low moan and a deep, loud purring. They exchanged a last look, a
last nod.

Wand held before him, Harry
kicked the door wide open.

On a magnificent four-poster bed
with dusty hangings lay Crookshanks, purring loudly at the sight of them. On
the floor beside him, clutching his leg, which stuck out at an odd angle, was Ron.

Hermione and Harry
dashed across to him.

“Ron
– are you ok?”

“Where’s the dog?”

“Not a dog,” Ron
moaned. His teeth were gritted with pain. “Harry,
it’s a trap –”

“What –”

“He’s the dog… he’s an
Animagus…”