“And why would we want to raise them?” said a cold voice.
The Slytherins had arrived. The speaker was Draco Malfoy. Crabbe and Goyle
were chuckling appreciatively at his words.
Hagrid looked stumped at the question.
“I mean, what do they do?” asked Malfoy. “What is the point of them?”
Hagrid opened his mouth, apparently thinking hard; there was a few seconds'
pause, then he said roughly, “Tha's next lesson, Malfoy. Yer jus' feedin' 'em
today. Now, yeh'll wan' ter try 'em on a few diff'rent things—I've never had
'em before, not sure what they'll go fer—I got ant eggs an' frog livers an'
a bit o' grass snake—just try 'em out with a bit of each.”
“First pus and now this,” muttered Seamus.
Nothing but deep affection for Hagrid could have made Harry, Ron, and Hermione
pick up squelchy handfuls of frog liver and lower them into the crates to tempt
the Blast-Ended Skrewts. Harry couldn't suppress the suspicion that the whole
thing was entirely pointless, because the skrewts didn't seem to have mouths.
“Ouch!” yelled Dean Thomas after about ten minutes. “It got me.”
Hagrid hurried over to him, looking anxious.
“Its end exploded!” said Dean angrily, showing Hagrid a burn on his hand.
“Ah, yeah, that can happen when they blast off,” said Hagrid, nodding.
“Eurgh!” said Lavender Brown again. “Eurgh, Hagrid, what's that pointy thing
“Ah, some of 'em have got stings,” said Hagrid enthusiastically (Lavender
quickly withdrew her hand from the box). “I reckon they're the males... The
females've got sorta sucker things on their bellies... I think they might be
ter suck blood.”
“Well, I can certainly see why we're trying to keep them alive,” said Malfoy
sarcastically. “Who wouldn't want pets that can burn, sting, and bite all at
“Just because they're not very pretty, it doesn't mean they're not useful,”
Hermione snapped. “Dragon blood's amazingly magical, but you wouldn't want a
dragon for a pet, would you?”
Harry and Ron grinned at Hagrid, who gave them a furtive smile from behind
his bushy beard. Hagrid would have liked nothing better than a pet dragon, as
Harry, Ron, and Hermione knew only too well—he had owned one for a brief period
during their first year, a vicious Norwegian Ridgeback by the name of Norbert.
Hagrid simply loved monstrous creatures, the more lethal, the better.
“Well, at least the skrewts are small,” said Ron as they made their way back
up to the castle for lunch an hour later.
“They are now,” said Hermione in an exasperated voice, “but once Hagrid's
found out what they eat, I expect they'll be six feet long.”
“Well, that won't matter if they turn out to cure seasickness or something,
will it?” said Ron, grinning slyly at her.
“You know perfectly well I only said that to shut Malfoy up,” said Hermione.
“As a matter of fact I think he's right. The best thing to do would be to stamp
on the lot of them before they start attacking us all.”
They sat down at the Gryffindor table and helped themselves to lamb chops
and potatoes. Hermione began to eat so fast that Harry and Ron stared at her.
“Er—is this the new stand on elf rights?” said Ron. “You're going to make
yourself puke instead?”
“No,” said Hermione, with as much dignity as she could muster with her mouth
bulging with sprouts. “I just want to get to the library.”
“What?” said Ron in disbelief. “Hermione—it's the first day back! We haven't
even got homework yet!”
Hermione shrugged and continued to shovel down her food as though she had
not eaten for days. Then she leapt to her feet, said, “See you at dinner!” and
departed at high speed.
When the bell rang to signal the start of afternoon lessons, Harry and Ron
set off for North Tower where, at the top of a tightly spiraling staircase,
a silver stepladder led to a circular trapdoor in the ceiling, and the room
where Professor Trelawney lived.
The familiar sweet perfume spreading from the fire met their nostrils as
they emerged at the top of the stepladder. As ever, the curtains were all closed;
the circular room was bathed in a dim reddish light cast by the many lamps,
which were all draped with scarves and shawls. Harry and Ron walked through
the mass of occupied chintz chairs and poufs that cluttered the room, and sat
down at the same small circular table.
“Good day,” said the misty voice of Professor Trelawney right behind Harry,
making him jump.
A very thin woman with enormous glasses that made her eyes appear far too
large for her face, Professor Trelawney was peering down at Harry with the tragic
expression she always wore whenever she saw him. The usual large amount of beads,
chains, and bangles glittered upon her person in the firelight.
“You are preoccupied, my dear,” she said mournfully to Harry. “My inner eye
sees past your brave face to the troubled soul within. And I regret to say that
your worries are not baseless. I see difficult times ahead for you, alas...
most difficult... I fear the thing you dread will indeed come to pass... and
perhaps sooner than you think...”
Her voice dropped almost to a whisper. Ron rolled his eyes at Harry, who
looked stonily back. Professor Trelawney swept past them and seated herself
in a large winged armchair before the fire, facing the class. Lavender Brown
and Parvati Patil, who deeply admired Professor Trelawney, were sitting on poufs
very close to her.
“My dears, it is time for us to consider the stars,” she said. “The movements
of the planets and the mysterious portents they reveal only to those who understand
the steps of the celestial dance. Human destiny may be deciphered by the planetary
rays, which intermingle...”
But Harry's thoughts had drifted. The perfumed fire always made him feel
sleepy and dull-witted, and Professor Trelawney's rambling talks on fortune-telling
never held him exactly spellbound—though he couldn't help thinking about what
she had just said to him. “I fear the thing you dread will indeed come to pass...
But Hermione was right, Harry thought irritably, Professor Trelawney really
was an old fraud. He wasn't dreading anything at the moment at all... well,
unless you counted his fears that Sirius had been caught... but what did Professor
Trelawney know? He had long since come to the conclusion that her brand of fortunetelling
was really no more than lucky guesswork and a spooky manner.
Except, of course, for that time at the end of last term, when she had made
the prediction about Voldemort rising again... and Dumbledore himself had said
that he thought that trance had been genuine, when Harry had described it to
“Harry!” Ron muttered.
Harry looked around; the whole class was staring at him. He sat up straight;
he had been almost dozing off, lost in the heat and his thoughts.
“I was saying, my dear, that you were clearly born under the baleful influence
of Saturn,” said Professor Trelawney, a faint note of resentment in her voice
at the fact that he had obviously not been hanging on her words.
“Born under—what, sorry?” said Harry.
“Saturn, dear, the planet Saturn!” said Professor Trelawney, sounding definitely
irritated that he wasn't riveted by this news. “I was saying that Saturn was
surely in a position of power in the heavens at the moment of your birth...
Your dark hair... your mean stature... tragic losses so young in life... I think
I am right in saying, my dear, that you were born in midwinter?”
“No,” said Harry, “I was born in July.”
Ron hastily turned his laugh into a hacking cough.
Half an hour later, each of them had been given a complicated circular chart,
and was attempting to fill in the position of the planets at their moment of
birth. It was dull work, requiring much consultation of timetables and calculation
“I've got two Neptunes here,” said Harry after a while, frowning down at
his piece of parchment, “that can't be right, can it?”
“Aaaaah,” said Ron, imitating Professor Trelawney's mystical whisper, “when
two Neptunes appear in the sky, it is a sure sign that a midget in glasses is
being born, Harry...”
Seamus and Dean, who were working nearby, sniggered loudly, though not loudly
enough to mask the excited squeals from Lavender Brown—”Oh Professor, look!
I think I've got an unaspected planet! Oooh, which one's that, Professor?”
“It is Uranus, my dear,” said Professor Trelawney, peering down at the chart.
“Can I have a look at Uranus too, Lavender?” said Ron.
Most unfortunately, Professor Trelawney heard him, and it was this, perhaps,
that made her give them so much homework at the end of the class.
“A detailed analysis of the way the planetary movements in the coming month
will affect you, with reference to your personal chart,” she snapped, sounding
much more like Professor McGonagall than her usual airy-fairy self. “I want
it ready to hand in next Monday, and no excuses!”
“Miserable old bat,” said Ron bitterly as they joined the crowds descending
the staircases back to the Great Hall and dinner. “That'll take all weekend,
“Lots of homework?” said Hermione brightly, catching up with them. “Professor
Vector didn't give us any at all!”
“Well, bully for Professor Vector,” said Ron moodily.
They reached the entrance hall, which was packed with people queuing for
dinner. They had just joined the end of the line, when a loud voice rang out
“Weasley! Hey, Weasley!”
Harry, Ron, and Hermione turned. Malfoy, Crabbe, and Goyle were standing
there, each looking thoroughly pleased about something.
“What?” said Ron shortly.
“Your dad's in the paper, Weasley!” said Malfoy, brandishing a copy of the
Daily Prophet and speaking very loudly, so that everyone in the packed entrance
hall could hear. “Listen to this!
FURTHER MISTAKES AT THE MINISTRY OF MAGIC
It seems as though the Ministry of Magic's troubles are not yet at an end,
writes Rita Skeeter, Special Correspondent. Recently under fire for its poor
crowd control at the Quidditch World Cup, and still unable to account for
the disappearance of one of its witches, the Ministry was plunged into fresh
embarrassment yesterday by the antics of Arnold Weasley, of the Misuse of Muggle
Malfoy looked up.
“Imagine them not even getting his name right, Weasley. It's almost as though
he's a complete nonentity, isn't it?” he crowed.
Everyone in the entrance hall was listening now. Malfoy straightened the
paper with a flourish and read on:
Arnold Weasley, who was charged with possession of a flying car two years
ago, was yesterday involved in a tussle with several Muggle law-keepers (“policemen”)
over a number of highly aggressive dustbins. Mr. Weasley appears to have rushed
to the aid of “Mad-Eye” Moody, the aged ex-Auror who retired from the Ministry
when no longer able to tell the difference between a handshake and attempted
murder. Unsurprisingly, Mr. Weasley found, upon arrival at Mr. Moody's heavily
guarded house, that Mr. Moody had once again raised a false alarm. Mr. Weasley
was forced to modify several memories before he could escape from the policemen,
but refused to answer Daily Prophet questions about why he had involved the
Ministry in such an undignified and potentially embarrassing scene.
“And there's a picture, Weasley!” said Malfoy, flipping the paper over and
holding it up. “A picture of your parents outside their house—if you can call
it a house! Your mother could do with losing a bit of weight, couldn't she?”
Ron was shaking with fury. Everyone was staring at him.
“Get stuffed, Malfoy,” said Harry. “C'mon, Ron...”
“Oh yeah, you were staying with them this summer, weren't you, Potter?” sneered
Malfoy. “So tell me, is his mother really that porky, or is it just the picture?”
“You know your mother, Malfoy?” said Harry—both he and Hermione had grabbed
the back of Ron's robes to stop him from launching himself at Malfoy—”that expression
she's got, like she's got dung under her nose? Has she always looked like that,
or was it just because you were with her?”
Malfoy's pale face went slightly pink.
“Don't you dare insult my mother, Potter.”
“Keep your fat mouth shut, then,” said Harry, turning away.
Several people screamed—Harry felt something white-hot graze the side of
his face—he plunged his hand into his robes for his wand, but before he'd even
touched it, he heard a second loud BANG, and a roar that echoed through the
“OH NO YOU DON'T, LADDIE!”
Harry spun around. Professor Moody was limping down the marble staircase.
His wand was out and it was pointing right at a pure white ferret, which was
shivering on the stone-flagged floor, exactly where Malfoy had been standing.
There was a terrified silence in the entrance hall. Nobody but Moody was
moving a muscle. Moody turned to look at Harry—at least, his normal eye was
looking at Harry; the other one was pointing into the back of his head.
“Did he get you?” Moody growled. His voice was low and gravelly.
“No,” said Harry, “missed.”
“LEAVE IT!” Moody shouted.
“Leave—what?” Harry said, bewildered.
“Not you—him!” Moody growled, jerking his thumb over his shoulder at Crabbe,
who had just frozen, about to pick up the white ferret. It seemed that Moody's
rolling eye was magical and could see out of the back of his head.
Moody started to limp toward Crabbe, Goyle, and the ferret, which gave a
terrified squeak and took off, streaking toward the dungeons.
“I don't think so!” roared Moody, pointing his wand at the ferret again—it
flew ten feet into the air, fell with a smack to the floor, and then bounced
upward once more.
“I don't like people who attack when their opponent's back's turned,” growled
Moody as the ferret bounced higher and higher, squealing in pain. “Stinking,
cowardly, scummy thing to do...”