THE WITCHING HOUR ➸ h. potter

17 - goodbyes

"I want to go to the feast," I told Madam Pomfrey as she straightened Harrys many candy boxes across the bed. "I can, can't I?"

"Professor Dumbledore says you are to be allowed to go," she said stiffly, as though in her opinion Professor Dumbledore didn't realize how risky feasts could be. "And you have another visitor."

"Oh, good," said Harry, who was sitting on his bed, looking bored. "Who is it?"

Hagrid slid through the door as he spoke. As usual when he was indoors, Hagrid looked too big to be allowed. He sat down next to Harry, took one look at him, and burst into tears.

"It's - all - my - ruddy - fault!" he sobbed, his face in his hands. "I told the evil git how ter get past Fluffy! I told him! It was the only thing he didn't know, an' I told him! Yeh both could've died! All fer a dragon egg! I'll never drink again! I should be chucked out an' made ter live as a Muggle!"

"Hagrid!" I said, shocked to see Hagrid shaking with grief and remorse, great tears leaking down into his beard. "Hagrid, he'd have found out somehow, this is Voldemort we're talking about, he'd have found out even if you hadn't told him."

"Yeh could've died!" sobbed Hagrid. "An' don' say the name!"

"VOLDEMORT!" Harry bellowed, making me jump - and Hagrid was so shocked, he stopped crying. "We've met him and we're calling him by his name. Please cheer up, Hagrid, we saved the Stone, it's gone, he can't use it. Have a Chocolate Frog, I've got loads. . ."

Hagrid wiped his nose on the back of his hand and said, "That reminds me. I've got yeh a present."

"It's not a stoat sandwich, is it?" said Harry anxiously, and at last Hagrid gave a weak chuckle.

"Nah. Dumbledore gave me the day off yesterday ter fix it. 'course, he shoulda sacked me instead - anyway, got yeh this. . ."

It seemed to be a handsome, leather-covered book. Harry opened it and I stood up - going over to his bed to look at it over his shoulder, curiously. It was full of wizard photographs. Smiling and waving at us from every page were Harry's mother and father.

"Sent owls off ter all yer parents' old school friends, askin' fer photos. . . knew yeh didn' have any. . . d'yeh like it?"

Harry couldn't seem to speak, but Hagrid understood.

I made my way down to the end-of-year feast alone that night. Harry had been held up by Madam Pomfrey's fussing about, insisting on giving him one last checkup. The great hall was already full. It was decked out in the Slytherin colors of green and silver to celebrate Slytherin's winning the house cup for the seventh year in a row. A huge banner showing the Slytherin serpent covered the wall behind the High Table.

I felt like screaming, crying and throwing up all at the same time, but settled with silently going and sitting at our table. When Harry finally walked in five minutes later, there was a sudden hush, and then everybody started talking loudly at once. He slipped into a seat between Ron and Hermione at the Gryffindor table. I was across them.

Fortunately, Dumbledore arrived moments later. The babble died away.

"Another year gone!" Dumbledore said cheerfully. "And I must trouble you with an old man's wheezing waffle before we sink our teeth into our delicious feast. What a year it has been! Hopefully your heads are all a little fuller than they were. . . you have the whole summer ahead to get them nice and empty before next year starts. . ."

"Now, as I understand it, the house cup here needs awarding, and the points stand thus: In fourth place, Gryffindor, with three hundred and twelve points; in third, Hufflepuff, with three hundred and fifty-two; Ravenclaw has four hundred and twenty-six and Slytherin, four hundred and seventy-two."

A storm of cheering and stamping broke out from the Slytherin table. I could see Draco Malfoy banging his goblet on the table. It was a sickening sight.

"Yes, Yes, well done, Slytherin," said Dumbledore. "However, recent events must be taken into account."

The room went very still. The Slytherins' smiles faded a little.

"Ahem," said Dumbledore. "I have a few last-minute points to dish out. Let me see. Yes. . ."

"First - to Mr. Ronald Weasley. . . "

Ron went purple in the face - he looked like a radish with a bad sunburn.

". . . for the best-played game of chess Hogwarts has seen in many years, I award Gryffindor house thirty-five points."

Gryffindor cheers nearly raised the bewitched ceiling - the stars overhead seemed to quiver. Percy could be heard telling the other prefects, "My brother, you know! My youngest brother! Got past McGonagall's giant chess set!"

At last there was silence again.

"Second - to Miss Hermione Granger. . . for the use of cool logic in the face of fire, I award Gryffindor house thirty-five points."

Hermione buried her face in her arms - I strongly suspected she had burst into tears. Gryffindors up and down the table were beside themselves - we were a hundred points up.