Chapter Twelve: Rubeus Hagrid
Mungo and Duncan went back to the Hufflepuff common room in utter silence, shocked by what they had learned. Despite knowing Hagrid for only a few short detentions, Mungo had never seen any indication that the huge gamekeeper could possibly want to attack Muggle-borns. He hadn't even seen any indication that Hagrid would want anything at all to do with a basilisk, let alone kill his own roosters. However, the Fat Friar was always honest, and he had been there at the time.
Mungo puzzled over this for a long time, long after Duncan had gone to bed. It didn't make any sense, no sense at all.
For the next few weeks, there was a frantic buzz of activity as second-years decided what classes they would take in the third year. Mungo was rather upset that there could be even more work applied to an already strained load, but Duncan was ecstatic. He insisted on poring over the list of classes, and pointing out to Mungo which ones he'd like to take. All Mungo would really say on the matter was that if the classes had any more syllables, they would need a dictionary to hold them all. Duncan disapproved very strongly of this.
Mungo felt that he could be excused, as he personally felt that he was writing three dictionaries, two thesauruses, five or six almanacs, and at least seven encyclopedias with the amount of homework he was doing for the end-of-term exams. Duncan merely told him that it was the sunshine, and promptly closed all the curtains present in the room. Duncan was one of those people who believed that spring fever was an actual disease.
So they toiled, with sunshine and happy birds chirping outside the window, and enough paper-work to keep the bureaucracy busy for a good month inside. This was all, in truth,very enjoyable and normal compared to the state of terror they had been in previously, and Mungo and Duncan joined the group that said that the Monster of Slytherin would not bother Hogwarts again.
Mungo was very enthusiastic when the last Quidditch match of the season came for Hufflepuff, Hufflepuff vs. Gryffindor, and had dressed accordingly: He seemed to be made of solely black and yellow. He was also holding an enormous yellow banner with bold, black words: GO HUFFLEPUFF! He would have written something more imaginative, but there was only so much black thread.
He had no illusions about the Hufflepuff team's playing strategy. From what he could tell, they didn't really have any. But Mungo felt like they had enough spirit to at least do themselves decently.
Mungo and Duncan had just found a nice seat, and were getting into the spirit of the thing quite well, until suddenly Professor McGonagall came running across the field. Her voice was strangely magnified.
"All students will return to their dormitories, at once. This match has been cancelled. All students return to their dormitories."
And, with a groan of disappointment and confusion, everyone proceeded to exit the stands, talking nervously and angrily and a swirl of other feelings. Mungo was no exception.
"Why the ruddy devil have they cancelled the match!" Mungo growled, as he furiously rolled up his flag on its pole. "Surely it could have waited?"
"There must have been another attack, maybe even another double attack." Duncan said worriedly. It would have been wiser if he had not said it, as people around him heard and started whispering even more anxiously.
"Coom on, oot o' this madhouse." Mungo said, dragging Duncan to one side as soon as they had gotten out of the stands. There was a thick stream of students walking towards the castle, with an occasional broomstick belonging to the players. Mungo and Duncan made sure they were a good bit in the back.
"I doon't understand…" Mungo said, shaking his head.
They entered the Entrance hall, and walked down the stairs and through the corridors to the common room. There was a frantic buzz of talking going on, with nearly everyone participating in sharing their opinions. Mungo stood to one side and nervously fingered his wand in its sheath. Things weren't right…
Suddenly, out of the tunnel popped Professor Sprout. Of course, it wasn't that rare to se her: She often came up to give announcements or praise/buck up the Quidditch team after a match. However, this time her face had a distressed, harried look, and she looked very upset as she said,
"I am most grieved to have to tell you lot that there has been yet another double attack. A Gryffindor second-year and a Ravenclaw prefect have been Petrified. Because of this, we have put forth these new rules." Professor Sprout coughed uncomfortably as the Hufflepuffs leaned close to listen.
"All students must go to classes escorted by a teacher, and must be guided between classes by a teacher. Students are not to leave their common rooms except during classes and mealtimes." Professor Sprout sighed, and rolled up the scroll she had been reading from.
"I should ask all of you to proceed with great caution." She said. She looked as if she would say more, but she lowered her head and exited the common room. The conversation started again, and there wasn't a single protesting noise at the new security measures: they felt they needed it.
Mungo went to bed early, but didn't sleep. He stood at the window, where he could just see Hagrid's hut. To think that that man could be the Heir of Slytherin, to think that he was causing all this fear…
Mungo suddenly saw a man with long silver hair, accompanied by someone else, going from the castle to Hagrid's hut. Mungo squinted, but he couldn't see who they were. They silver-haired one could be Dumbledore, but Mungo had no inkling who was with him.
They reached the door, and a small square of light appeared and then was blocked by something large. The large thing disappeared again and Dumbledore and his companion went in.
"What are you looking at?" a voice behind him asked. It was one of his fellow first-years, a skinny, sallow-faced boy named Arthur Stapleton.
"Nothing," Mungo said automatically. Arthur was a very nice boy, in his way, but he had a tendency to curve anything he heard, saw, or did himself into a state different than the uttermost truth. In less polite words, he was as slippery as a greased eel impersonating a New York hotdog.
Arthur stood next to Mungo and looked out as well.
"There's a blonde man out there. Going to Hagrid's hut. You don't think they suspect him, do you? It can't be Harry any more." He remarked.
"Eh? Why not?" Mungo asked, confused.
"Well, the Gryffindor second-year that was Petrified was Hermione Granger, and Harry and her are good friends. Harry wouldn't attack her. Stands to reason." Arthur said. He looked out the window again, and went back downstairs.
Mungo looked out the window again, and saw Dumbledore, his companion, the blonde man, and something very much larger than all of them which Mungo identified as Hagrid.
"They're sackin' Hagrid…" Mungo said to himself. That wasn't right.
In the morning, Mungo discovered that a good deal wasn't right after that. The school governors had suspended Dumbledore himself. Nearly everyone believed that things could not get any worse at all than with Dumbledore gone. People wandered around the corridors guided by their teachers very subdued. Nearly every face was stony.
Except for one.
Professor Lockhart was getting more and more unbearable by the second. His cheerful smile grated against everyone's nerves like gravel wrapped in sandpaper. He went on about how he always knew Hagrid was no good, and how he suspected the gamekeeper all along. Mungo had to sit on his hands to refrain himself from throwing his inkbottle or something heavier at the smiling idiot.
It didn't help matters that they were studying for their end-of-term exams. Nearly everyone had protested, but they had gotten no respite. To the first-years it was especially important: they had to pass these tests to get into the second year of Hogwarts. Tristan Sutorius, the only prefect runner-up to Percy Weasley's pompousness and bossiness, often excruciatingly emphasized this fact. He insisted on everyone drawing up study schedules to help them work, and would pester them to no end to finish them. Even then, he would pursue them in corridors and ask,
"Have you finished your study schedule? Are you sure you have the times right? You don't want to overwork yourself, mind, but you could squeeze in a few more hours, see, right after lunch here."
Several days later, at breakfast, Mungo and Duncan were eating their usual quiet bacon and eggs when someone tapped Mungo on the shoulder. Mungo looked around, and saw Neoni.
"Hi, I've been trying to reach you. I've just thought of something." She said. "You know who got Petrified last time, right?"
"Aye, Granger an' tha' prefect." Mungo agreed.
"Several people in Ravenclaw were saying that Potter's not the Heir any more, andthey aresaying that in Hufflepuff?" Neoni asked.
"Aye, Ernie MacMillan was just saying how he was wrong to suspect Potter, because he wouldn' attack his own friend." Mungo replied.
"Well, I've thought of a reason that Potter may still be the Heir, or tool of the Heir. You know how smart Granger is? Odds are she might have put two and two together, and she's discovered how Harry- or whoever- is attacking everyone. And Harry might have found out, and-"
"Had her eliminated." Duncan interrupted.
"But th' mandrake potion is almost ready. It wouldn' do any good yet- she'd still tell on him later."
"Unless the Heir has some other aim. Maybe he only needs her- and the rest of the victims- out of the way just for now." Duncan said.
Neoni gasped.
"What if they're after Dumbledore?"
Mungo dropped his spoon, but Duncan snorted derisively.
"Well, looks like he's defeated himself. Dumbledore's gone."
Just then the bells for nine o' clock rang, and the teachers started escorting the students to their classes. Mungo hurriedly gathered up his books (and a few more bits of bacon) and said,
"See ye later. This needs thinkin' on." Mungo said, and Neoni nodded.
However, they didn't meet Neoni again for the rest of the day. Her suggestion did make sense. What could the Heir's aim be? What was his purpose?
