Disclaimer: Everything you recognize is J.K. Rowling except for Jamie, Luka, and Ariana.

Chapter 14- Professor Trelawney's Prediction

My euphoria at finally winning the Quidditch Cup lasts at least a week. Even the weather seems to be celebrating; as June approaches, the days become cloudless and sultry, and all anybody feels like doing is strolling onto 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 we can't. Exams are nearly upon us, and instead of lazing around outside, the students are forced to remain inside the castle, trying to bully their brains into concentrating while enticing wafts of summer air drift in through the windows. Even Fred and George Weasley have been spotted working; they are about to take their O.W.L.s (Ordinary Wizarding Levels). Percy is getting ready to take his N.E.W.T.s (Nastily Exhausting Wizarding Tests), the highest qualification Hogwarts offers. As Percy hopes to enter the Ministry of Magic, he needs top grades. He is becoming increasingly edgy, and gives very severe punishments to anybody who disturbs the quiet of the common room in the evenings. In fact, the only person who seems more anxious than Percy is Hermione.

And I'm seriously starting to worry for my best friend's sanity. Harry, Ron, and I have given up asking her how she has managing to attend several classes at once, but we can't restrain ourselves when we see the exam schedule she has drawn up for herself. The first column reads:

Monday

9 o'clock, Arithmancy

9 o'clock, Transfiguration

Lunch

1 o'clock, Charms

1 o'clock, Ancient Runes

"Hermione?" I say cautiously, because she is liable to explode when interrupted these days. "Er — are you sure you've copied down these times right?"

"What?" snaps Hermione, picking up the exam schedule and examining it. "Yes, of course I have."

"Is there any point asking how you're going to sit for two exams at once?" says Harry.

"No," says Hermione shortly. "Have either of you seen my copy of Numerology and Grammatica?"

"Oh, yeah, I borrowed it for a bit of bedtime reading," says Ron, but very quietly. Hermione starts shifting heaps of parchment around on her table, looking for the book. Just then, there is a rustle at the window and Hedwig flutters through it, a note clutched tight in her beak.

"It's from Hagrid," says Harry, ripping the note open. "Buckbeak's appeal — it's set for the sixth."

"That's the day we finish our exams," says Hermione, still looking everywhere for her Arithmancy book.

"Well at least there's some good news." I say rubbing my forehead, trying to ward off a headache.

"And they're coming up here to do it," says Harry, still reading from the letter. "Someone from the Ministry of Magic and — and an executioner."

Hermione and I look up, startled.

"They're bringing the executioner to the appeal! But that sounds as though they've already decided!" She cries

"Yeah, it does," says Harry slowly.

"They can't!" Ron howls. "I've spent ages reading up on stuff for him; they can't just ignore it all!"

"I know Ron, but sometimes the Ministry is more complex to navigate than this. I've tried messaging Kingsley to see if he can put a stop to this with our position, but he hasn't responded to my letters in the last few months. Always away on assignments…" I trail off staring out the window blankly.

I feel a hand on my arm but I ignore it. Why can't I seem to catch a break this year?

Exam week begins and an unnatural hush falls over the castle. The third years emerge 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?"

I didn't do nearly as bad as I thought that I was so I was happily pleased with the results. Then, after a hasty lunch, it is straight back upstairs for the Charms exam. Hermione was right; Professor Flitwick does indeed test us on Cheering Charms. I fly through my exam with flying colors and a very excited and happy look on Professor Flitwick's face as he roars with laughter.

"J-Just… like your mother!" He cries. I beam a smile at him and exit the room. After dinner, the students hurry back to their common rooms, not to relax, but to start studying for Care of Magical Creatures, Potions, and Astronomy.

Hagrid presides over the Care of Magical Creatures exam the following morning with a very preoccupied air indeed; his heart doesn't seem to be in it at all. He has provided a large tub of fresh flobberworms for the class, and tells us that to pass the test, our flobberworm had to still be alive at the end of one hour. As flobberworms flourish best if left to their own devices, it was the easiest exam any of us have ever taken, and also gives Harry, Ron, Hermione, and me plenty of opportunity to speak to Hagrid.

"Beaky's gettin' a bit depressed," Hagrid tells us, bending low on the pretense of checking that Harry's flobberworm is still alive. "Bin cooped up too long. But still . . . we'll know day after tomorrow — one way or the other —"

We have Potions that afternoon, which is an unqualified disaster. Try as I might, I can't get my Confusing Concoction to thicken enough, and Snape, standing watch with an air of vindictive pleasure, scribbles something that looked suspiciously like a low mark onto his notes before moving away. Well that's just perfect.

Then comes Astronomy at midnight, up on the tallest tower; History of Magic on Wednesday morning, in which I scribble everything Harry told me that Florean Fortescue had ever told him about medieval witch-hunts, while wishing I could have had one of Fortescue's choco-nut sundaes with me in the stifling classroom. Wednesday afternoon means Herbology, in the greenhouses under a baking-hot sun; then back to the common room once more, with sunburnt necks, thinking longingly of this time next day, when it will all be over.

Exams this year seem to be a hundred times harder than the previous years. Our second to last exam, on Thursday morning, is Defense Against the Dark Arts. Professor Lupin has compiled the most unusual exam any of us have ever taken: a sort of obstacle course outside in the sun, where we have to wade across a deep paddling pool containing a grindylow, cross a series of potholes full of Red Caps, squish our way across a patch of marsh while ignoring misleading directions from a hinkypunk, then climb into an old trunk and battle with a new boggart.

"Excellent, Harry," Lupin mutters as Harry climbed out of the trunk, grinning. "Full marks." It had been my turn to go before Harry, and I had done to stunningly until I came to the boggart where I froze for a moment. It was the same as last time. Augustus Pendragon in all his decrepit glory jumped out of the trunk. Before he could open his vile mouth though I cast the spell, and Augustus was dressed in a pretty pink dress, and a matching pink bonnet on his head.

When I had climb out of the trunk Lupin had asked to talk to me for a few moments after the exam. Flushed with his success, Harry hangs around to watch Ron and Hermione with me. Ron does very well until he reaches the hinkypunk, which successfully confuses him into sinking waist-high into the quagmire. Hermione did everything perfectly until she reaches the trunk with the boggart in it. After about a minute inside it, she bursts out again, screaming.

"Hermione!" says Lupin, startled. "What's the matter?"

"P-P-Professor McGonagall!" Hermione gasps, pointing into the trunk. "Sh-she said I'd failed everything!" Oh Merlin! Only Hermione would have a boggart like that!

After the last student had gone, I slowly make my way up to Professor Lupin wondering curiously what he could possibly want to talk to me about. When he sees me approach, he turns to face me directly. I know that Harry likes him, but I've had hardly any interaction with his professor since the train and class. "You wanted to speak to me?" I ask him cautiously.

He levels an unreadable look on me. "I know who your boggart is Jamie Pendragon. I went to school with your father, and for one year your uncle as well. I assume that since you're boggart is of him, that you know of his existence and the true story behind your parents death?" He asks me softly.

I stiffen, and nod my head rigidly in response. "Come by my office sometime before school ends. I have something that I have been wanting to give you, but it never seemed like the right time." I nod my head dumbly again and trudge up to my friends.

"What was that about?" Hermione asks me.

"I'll tell you later." I say not exactly sure what to make out of everything that was going on.

Ron is still slightly laughing at Hermione's boggart, but an argument is averted by the sight that meets us on the top of the steps.

Cornelius Fudge, sweating slightly in his pinstriped cloak, is standing there staring out at the grounds. He starts at the sight of Harry.

"Hello there, Harry!" he says. "Just had an exam, I expect? Nearly finished?"

"Yes," says Harry. Hermione, Ron, and I, not being on speaking terms with the Minister of Magic, hover awkwardly in the background.

"Lovely day," says Fudge, casting an eye over the lake. "Pity . . . pity . . ." He sighs deeply and looks down at Harry.

"I'm here on an unpleasant mission, Harry. The Committee for the Disposal of Dangerous Creatures required a witness to the execution of a mad hippogriff. As I needed to visit Hogwarts to check on the Black situation, I was asked to step in."

"Does that mean the appeal's already happened?" Ron interrupts, stepping forward.

"No, no, it's scheduled for this afternoon," says Fudge, looking curiously at Ron.

"Then you might not have to witness an execution at all!" says Ron stoutly. "The hippogriff might get off!"

Oh he probably shouldn't take this tone when talking to the Minister. All those etiquette lessons are coming back to me.

Before Fudge can answer, two wizards come through the castle doors behind him. One is so ancient he appears to be withering before their very eyes; the other is tall and strapping, with a thin black mustache. Harry gathers that they are representatives of the Committee for the Disposal of Dangerous Creatures, because the very old wizard squinted towards Hagrid's cabin and says in a feeble voice, "Dear, dear, I'm getting too old for this. . . . Two o'clock, isn't it, Fudge?"

The black-mustached man is fingering something in his belt; I look and see that he is running one broad thumb along the blade of a shining axe. Ron opens his mouth to say something, but Hermione nudges him hard in the ribs and jerks her head toward the entrance hall.

"Why'd you stop me?" says Ron angrily as we enter the Great Hall for lunch. "Did you see them? They've even got the axe ready! This isn't justice!"

"Ron, your dad works for the Ministry, you can't go saying things like that to his boss!" I say, but she too looks very upset. "As long as Hagrid keeps his head this time, and argues his case properly, they can't possibly execute Buckbeak. . . ."

I don't really believe what she is saying. All around them, people are talking excitedly as we eat our lunch, happily anticipating the end of the exams that afternoon, but Harry, Ron, Hermione, and I are lost in worry about Hagrid and Buckbeak, don't join in.

Harry's, Ron's, and my last exam is Divination; Hermione's, Muggle Studies. We walk up the marble staircase together; Hermione leaves us on the first floor and Harry and Ron proceed all the way up to the seventh, where many of our class are sitting on the spiral staircase to Professor Trelawney's classroom, trying to cram in a bit of last-minute studying.

"She's seeing us all separately," Neville informs us as we go to sit down next to him. He has his copy of Unfogging the Future open on his lap at the pages devoted to crystal gazing. "Have any of you ever seen anything in a crystal ball?" he asks us unhappily.

"Nope," says Ron in an offhand voice. He keeps checking his watch; Harry and I know that he is counting down the time until Buckbeak's appeal starts. I'm just as worried as he is.

The line of people outside the classroom shortens very slowly. As each person climbs back down the silver ladder, the rest of the class hisses, "What did she ask? Was it okay?"

But they all refuse to say. "She says the crystal ball's told her that if I tell you, I'll have a horrible accident!" squeaks Neville as he clambers back down the ladder towards Harry, Ron, and me, now reaching the landing.

"That's convenient," snorts Ron. "You know, I'm starting to think Hermione is right about her" — he jabs his thumb towards the trapdoor overhead — "she's a right old fraud."

"I never thought that she could actually predict anything." I tell him.

"Yeah," says Harry, looking at his own watch. It is now two o'clock. "Wish she'd hurry up . . ."

Parvati comes back down the ladder glowing with pride. "She says I've got all the makings of a true Seer," she informs us. "I saw loads of stuff. . . . Well, good luck!"

She hurries off down the spiral staircase towards Lavender.

Only a hack could really think that either one of the two of them actually have seen anything in those crystal balls of hers. I shiver in disgust. "Ronald Weasley," says the familiar, misty voice from over our heads. Ron grimaces at Harry and me and climbs the silver ladder out of sight. Harry and I are now the only people left to be tested. We settle ourselves on the floor with our backs against the wall, listening to a fly buzzing in the sunny window, our minds across the grounds with Hagrid.

Finally, after about twenty minutes, Ron's large feet reappear on the ladder.

"How'd it go?" Harry asks him, standing up.

"Rubbish," says Ron. "Couldn't see a thing, so I made some stuff up. Don't think she was convinced, though. . . ."

"Meet you in the common room," I mutter as Professor Trelawney's voice calls, "Jamie Pendragon!"

The tower room is hotter than ever before; the curtains are closed, the fire is alight, and the usual sickly scent makes me cough as I stumble through the clutter of chairs and tables to where Professor Trelawney sits waiting for me before a large crystal ball.

"Good day, my dear," she says softly. "If you would kindly gaze into the Orb. . . . Take your time, now . . . then tell me what you see within it. . . ."

I bend over the crystal ball and stare, stare as hard as I can, willing it to show me something other than swirling white fog, but nothing happens.

"Well?" Professor Trelawney prompts delicately. "What do you see?" I stare harder into the mist and let my imagination flow.

"I see the castle, but it's not as big as it should be, it looks as if it is from above the ground. I can hear wind whistling around me, and I feel weightless. I look up, and see a creature above me." I start still gazing into the ball allowing my eyes to glaze over.

"Ooh… can you see what the beast is?" Professor Trelawney asks leaning in closer to me.

"No… no only that the creature has talons and that they are digging into my shoulders." I tell her.

"So you're in danger then!" She declares. I glance up at her shortly to see the excited look on her face. Okay whatever makes her happy. I let a shiver roll through my body.

"Yes… I believe that. I don't feel very well." I say abruptly. I lurch to my feet a little dizzy not quite believing the shadow that I've seen in the crystal ball.

"Why yes dear, of course you are finished. I dare say that you will become a fabulous seer in the future." Professor Trelawney tells me with a vacant smile.

I scurry back over to the trapdoor, and start down the ladder. As soon as I clear the landing, I let go of a shaky breath. Harry's concerned gaze meets mine. "Its all a bunch of rubbish Harry." I reassure him in a slightly shaking voice.

"Harry Potter!" She cries. I bid bye to Harry and make my way back up to the tower. I make it back to the common room and see Ron and Hermione huddled around a table both of them looking miserable.

"What happened?" I ask feeling the heavy feeling in my stomach increase tenfold.

"Buckbeak lost." Hermione says her voice wobbling.

"That rat bastard Malfoy made it so that Hagrid never had a chance!" Ron growls. The three of us sit in heavy silence, Hermione and I sniffing every once in a while waiting for Harry to come back.

After a few minutes Harry comes hurrying into the common room, and over to us in the corner. "Professor Trelawney," Harry pants, "just told me —"

But he stops abruptly at the sight of our faces. "Buckbeak lost," says Ron weakly. "Hagrid's just sent this."

Hagrid's note is dry this time, no tears have splattered it, yet his hand seems to have shaken so much as he wrote that it is hardly legible.

Lost appeal. They're going to execute at you can do. Don't come down. I don't wantyou to see it.

Hagrid

"We've got to go," says Harry at once. "He can't just sit there on his own, waiting for the executioner!"

"Sunset, though," says Ron, who is staring out the window in a glazed sort of way. "We'd never be allowed . . . 'specially you, Harry. . . ."

Harry sinks his head into his hands. "Where is it?" says Hermione.

Harry tells us 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 finishes.

"That's true," says Hermione, getting to her feet. "If he sees you. . . . How do you open the witch's hump again?"

"You — you tap it and say, 'Dissendium,'" says Harry. "But —"

Hermione doesn't wait for the rest of his sentence; she strides across the room, pushes open the Fat Lady's portrait and vanishes from sight.

"She hasn't gone to get it?" Ron asks, staring after her. She has. Hermione returns a quarter of an hour later with the silvery Cloak folded carefully under her robes.

"Hermione, I don't know what's gotten into you lately!" I say, astounded. "First you hit Malfoy, then you walk out on Professor Trelawney —"

Hermione looked rather flattered, and the plan is set. We have to go and see Buckbeak and say goodbye.

We go down to dinner with everybody else, but do not return to Gryffindor Tower afterward. Harry has the Cloak hidden down the front of his robes; he has to keep his arms folded to hide the lump. We skulk in an empty chamber off the entrance hall, listening, until we are sure it is deserted. We hear a last pair of people hurrying across the hall and a door slamming. I pokes my head around the door.

"Okay," I whisper, "no one there — Cloak on —"

Walking very close together so that nobody would see us, we cross the hall on tiptoe beneath the Cloak, then walk down the stone front steps into the grounds. The sun is already sinking behind the Forbidden Forest, gilding the top branches of the trees.

We reach Hagrid's cabin and knock. He is a minute in answering, and when he does, he looks all around for his visitor, pale-faced and trembling.

"It's us," Harry hisses. "We're wearing the Invisibility Cloak. Let us in and we can take it off."

"Yeh shouldn've come!" Hagrid whispers, but he stands back, and they step inside. Hagrid shuts the door quickly and Harry pulls off the Cloak from us.

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

"Wan' some tea?" he says. His great hands are shaking as he reaches for the kettle.

"Where's Buckbeak, Hagrid?" says Hermione hesitantly.

"I — I took him outside," says Hagrid, spilling milk all over the table as he fills up the jug. "He's tethered in me pumpkin patch. Thought he oughta see the trees an' — an' smell fresh air — before —"

Hagrid's hand trembles so violently that the milk jug slips from his grasp and shatters all over the floor.

"I'll do it, Hagrid," I say quickly, hurrying over and starting to clean up the mess. The guilt of my inability to help, is getting to me badly.

"There's another one in the cupboard," Hagrid says, sitting down and wiping his forehead on his sleeve. Harry glances at Ron, who looks back hopelessly.

"Isn't there anything anyone can do, Hagrid?" Harry asks fiercely, sitting down next to him. "Dumbledore —"

"He's tried," says Hagrid. "He's got no power ter overrule the Committee. He told 'em Buckbeak's all right, but they're scared. . . . Yeh 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 swallows. His eyes are darting all over the cabin as though looking for some shred of hope or comfort.

"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. . . ."

I come back from rummaging in Hagrid's cupboard for another milk jug, let out a small, quickly stifled sob. I straighten up with the new jug in my hands, fighting back tears.

"We'll stay with you too, Hagrid," I begin, but Hagrid shakes his shaggy head.

"Yeh're ter go back up ter the castle. I told yeh, I don' wan' yeh watchin'. An' yeh shouldn' be down here anyway. . . . If Fudge an' Dumbledore catch yeh out without permission, Harry, yeh'll be in big trouble."

Silent tears are streaming down Hermione's face, but she hides them from Hagrid coming to help me make tea. Then, as she picks up the milk bottle to pour some into the jug, she lets out a shriek. I whip my head around to where she's standing next to me.

"Ron! I — I don't believe it — it's Scabbers!" Ron gapes at her. I can't believe my eyes, it is the old fuzzball.

"What are you talking about?"

Hermione carries the milk jug over to the table and turns it upside down. With a frantic squeak, and much scrambling to get back inside, Scabbers the rat comes sliding out onto the table.

"Scabbers!" says Ron blankly. "Scabbers, what are you doing here?"

He grabs the struggling rat and holds him up to the light. Scabbers looks dreadful. He is thinner than ever; large tufts of hair have fallen out, leaving wide bald patches, and he writhes in Ron's hands as though desperate to free himself.

"It's okay, Scabbers!" says Ron. "No cats! There's nothing here to hurt you!"

I can't believe that that rat is still alive. This must be some sort of fricken miracle! Hagrid suddenly stands up, his eyes fixed on the window. His normally ruddy face has gone the color of parchment.

"They're comin'. . . ."

Harry, Ron, Hermione, and I whip around. A group of men are walking down the distant castle steps. In front is Albus Dumbledore, his silver beard gleaming in the dying sun. Next to him trots Cornelius Fudge. Behind them comes the feeble old Committee member and the executioner, Macnair.

"Yeh gotta go," says Hagrid. Every inch of him is trembling. "They mustn' find yeh here. . . . Go now. . . ."

Ron stuffs Scabbers into his pocket and Hermione picks up the Cloak. "I'll let yeh out the back way," says Hagrid.

We follow him to the door into his back garden. I feel strangely unreal, and even more so when I see Buckbeak a few yards away, tethered to a tree behind Hagrid's pumpkin patch. Buckbeak seems to know something is happening. He turns his sharp head from side to side and paws the ground nervously.

"It's okay, Beaky," says Hagrid softly. "It's okay . . ." He turns to Harry, Ron, Hermione, and me. "Go on," he says. "Get goin'."

But we don't move.

"Hagrid, we can't —" Ron says.

"We'll tell them what really happened —" Harry starts.

"They can't kill him —" Hermione cries.

"I'm sorry Hagrid." I say tearfully.

"Go!" says Hagrid fiercely. "It's bad enough without you lot in trouble an' all!" We have no choice. As Hermione throws the Cloak over Harry, and me, we hear voices at the front of the cabin. Hagrid looks at the place where we have just vanished from sight.

"Go quick," he says hoarsely. "Don' listen. . . ." Oh Merlin! I force back a sob that wants to break through. This just isn't right.

And he strides back into his cabin as someone knocks at the front door.

Slowly, in a kind of horrified trance, Harry, Ron, Hermione, and I set off silently around Hagrid's house. As they reach the other side, the front door closes with a sharp snap.

"Please, let's hurry," Hermione whispers. "I can't stand it, I can't bear it. . . ."

We start up the sloping lawn towards the castle. The sun is sinking fast now; the sky has turned to a clear, purple-tinged gray, but to the west there is a ruby-red glow.

Ron stops dead.

"Oh, please, Ron," Hermione begins.

"It's Scabbers — he won't — stay put —" Ron is bent over, trying to keep Scabbers in his pocket, but the rat is going berserk; squeaking madly, twisting and flailing, trying to sink his teeth into Ron's hand.

"Scabbers, it's me, you idiot, it's Ron," Ron hisses.

"Sh! We need to stay quiet!" I hiss. We hear a door open behind us and men's voices.

"Oh, Ron, please let's move, they're going to do it!" Hermione breathes.

"Okay — Scabbers, stay put —"

We walk forward; me, like Hermione, am trying not to listen to the rumble of voices behind us. Ron stops again.

"I can't hold him — Scabbers, shut up, everyone'll hear us —"

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

Hermione swayed on the spot.

"They did it!" she whispers to Harry. "I d-don't believe it — they did it!" I turn, and bury my face into Harry's cloak beside me. Silent tears run down my face. This night just possibly can't get any worse.