“Bad business, Hagrid,” said Fudge in rather clipped tones. “Very bad business. Had to come. Four attacks on Muggle-borns. Things’ve gone far enough. Ministry’s got to act.”
“I never,” said Hagrid, looking imploringly at Dumbledore. “You know I never, Professor Dumbledore, sir—”
“I want it understood, Cornelius, that Hagrid has my full confidence,” said Dumbledore, frowning at Fudge.
“Look, Albus,” said Fudge, uncomfortably. “Hagrid’s record’s against him. Ministry’s got to do something—the school governors have been in touch—”
“Yet again, Cornelius, I tell you that taking Hagrid away will not help in the slightest,” said Dumbledore. His blue eyes were full of a fire Harry had never seen before.
“Look at it from my point of view,” said Fudge, fidgeting with his bowler. “I’m under a lot of pressure. Got to be seen to be doing something. If it turns out it wasn’t Hagrid, he’ll be back and no more said. But I’ve got to take him. Got to. Wouldn’t be doing my duty—”
“Take me?” said Hagrid, who was trembling. “Take me where?”
“For a short stretch only,” said Fudge, not meeting Hagrid’s eyes. “Not a punishment, Hagrid, more a precaution. If someone else is caught, you’ll be let out with a full apology—”
“Not Azkaban?” croaked Hagrid.
Before Fudge could answer, there was another loud rap on the door.
Dumbledore answered it. It was Harry’s turn for an elbow in the ribs; he’d let out an audible gasp.
Mr. Lucius Malfoy strode into Hagrid’s hut, swathed in a long black traveling cloak, smiling a cold and satisfied smile. Fang started to growl.
“Already here, Fudge,” he said approvingly. “Good, good…”
“What’re you doin’ here?” said Hagrid furiously. “Get outta my house!”
“My dear man, please believe me, I have no pleasure at all in being inside your—er—d’you call this a house?” said Lucius Malfoy, sneering as he looked around the small cabin. “I simply called at the school and was told that the headmaster was here.”
“And what exactly did you want with me, Lucius?” said Dumbledore. He spoke politely, but the fire was still blazing in his blue eyes.
“Dreadful thing, Dumbledore,” said Malfoy lazily, taking out a long roll of parchment, “but the governors feel it’s time for you to step aside. This is an Order of Suspension—you’ll find all twelve signatures on it. I’m afraid we feel you’re losing your touch. How many attacks have there been now? Two more this afternoon, wasn’t it? At this rate, there’ll be no Muggle-borns left at Hogwarts, and we all know what an awful loss that would be to the school.”
“Oh, now, see here, Lucius,” said Fudge, looking alarmed, “Dumbledore suspended—no, no—last thing we want just now…”
“The appointment—or suspension—of the headmaster is a matter for the governors, Fudge,” said Mr. Malfoy smoothly. “And as Dumbledore has failed to stop these attacks—”
“See here, Malfoy, if Dumbledore can’t stop them,” said Fudge, whose upper lip was sweating now, “I mean to say, who can?”
“That remains to be seen,” said Mr. Malfoy with a nasty smile. “But as all twelve of us have voted—”
Hagrid leapt to his feet, his shaggy black head grazing the ceiling.
“An’ how many did yeh have ter threaten an’ blackmail before they agreed, Malfoy, eh?” he roared.
“Dear, dear, you know, that temper of yours will lead you into trouble one of these days, Hagrid,” said Mr. Malfoy. “I would advise you not to shout at the Azkaban guards like that. They won’t like it at all.”
“Yeh can’ take Dumbledore!” yelled Hagrid, making Fang the boarhound cower and whimper in his basket. “Take him away, an’ the Muggle-borns won’ stand a chance! There’ll be killin’ next!”
“Calm yourself, Hagrid,” said Dumbledore sharply. He looked at Lucius Malfoy.
“If the governors want my removal, Lucius, I shall of course step aside—”
“But—” stuttered Fudge.
“No!” growled Hagrid.
Dumbledore had not taken his bright blue eyes off Lucius Malfoy’s cold gray ones.
“However,” said Dumbledore, speaking very slowly and clearly so that none of them could miss a word, “you will find that I will only truly have left this school when none here are loyal to me. You will also find that help will always be given at Hogwarts to those who ask for it.”
For a second, Harry was almost sure Dumbledore’s eyes flickered towards the corner where he and Ron stood hidden.
“Admirable sentiments,” said Malfoy, bowing. “We shall all miss your—er—highly individual way of running things, Albus, and only hope that your successor will manage to prevent any—ah—‘killin’s.’”
He strode to the cabin door, opened it and bowed Dumbledore out. Fudge, fiddling with his bowler, waited for Hagrid to go ahead of him, but Hagrid stood his ground, took a deep breath and said carefully, “If anyone wanted ter find out some stuff, all they’d have ter do would be ter follow the spiders. That’d lead ’em right! That’s all I’m sayin’.”
Fudge stared at him in amazement.
“All right, I’m comin’,” said Hagrid, pulling on his moleskin overcoat. But as he was about to follow Fudge through the door, he stopped again and said loudly, “An’ someone’ll need ter feed Fang while I’m away.” The door banged shut and Ron pulled the Invisibility Cloak off.
“We’re in trouble now,” he said hoarsely. “No Dumbledore. They might as well close the school tonight. There’ll be an attack a day with him gone.”
Fang started howling, scratching at the closed door.
15. ARAGOG
Summer was creeping over the grounds around the castle; sky and lake alike turned periwinkle blue and flowers large as cabbages burst into bloom in the greenhouses. But with no Hagrid visible from the castle windows, striding the grounds with Fang at his heels, the scene didn’t look right to Harry; no better, in fact, than the inside of the castle, where things were so horribly wrong.
Harry and Ron had tried to visit Hermione, but visitors were now barred from the hospital wing.
“We’re taking no more chances,” Madam Pomfrey told them severely through a crack in the infirmary door. “No, I’m sorry, there’s every chance the attacker might come back to finish these people off…”
With Dumbledore gone, fear had spread as never before, so that the sun warming the castle walls outside seemed to stop at the mullioned windows. There was barely a face to be seen in the school that didn’t look worried and tense, and any laughter that rang through the corridors sounded shrill and unnatural and was quickly stifled.
Harry constantly repeated Dumbledore’s final words to himself “I will only truly have left this school when none here are loyal to me… Help will always be given at Hogwarts to those who ask for it.” But what good were these words? Who exactly were they supposed to ask for help, when everyone was just as confused and scared as they were?
Hagrid’s hint about the spiders was far easier to understand—the trouble was, there didn’t seem to be a single spider left in the castle to follow. Harry looked everywhere he went, helped (rather reluctantly) by Ron. They were hampered, of course, by the fact that they weren’t allowed to wander off on their own but had to move around the castle in a pack with the other Gryffindors. Most of their fellow students seemed glad that they were being shepherded from class to class by teachers, but Harry found it very irksome.
One person, however, seemed to be thoroughly enjoying the atmosphere of terror and suspicion. Draco Malfoy was strutting around the school as though he had just been appointed Head Boy. Harry didn’t realize what he was so pleased about until the Potions lesson about two weeks after Dumbledore and Hagrid had left, when, sitting right behind Malfoy, Harry overheard him gloating to Crabbe and Goyle.