The aftermath of the match took a few weeks to dissipate, as did Severus's bad temper. He contented himself with taking his frustration out on his students, setting ever more rigorous homework as summer marched on, and devising intricately difficult exams in the cool air of the Dungeons.

The rest of school were, however, celebrating – apparently along with the weather; as June approached, the days became cloudless and sultry, and all anybody felt like doing was strolling into 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 they couldn't. The exams were nearly upon them, and instead of lazing about outside, the students were forced to remain inside the castle, trying to bully their brains into concentrating while enticing wafts of summer air drifted in through the windows – and of course the staff had to remain indoors to keep an eye on them. Even Fred and George Weasley had been spotted working; they were about to take their OWLs (Ordinary Wizarding Levels). Percy was getting ready to sit his NEWTs (Nastily Exhausting Wizarding Tests), the highest qualification Hogwarts offered. As Percy hoped to enter the Ministry of Magic, he needed top grades. He was becoming increasingly edgy, and gave very severe punishments to anybody who disturbed the quiet of the common room in the evenings. In fact, the only person who seemed more anxious than Percy was Hermione.

Even Amelia had taken to avoiding her cousin as she became crabbier the closer the exams crept. For her part, she had prepared a series of written, aural and visual tests, ranging from Muggle history to popular culture. Remus, she understood, had prepared practical tests for all his classes.

Exam week began and Amelia kept a close eye on her cousin. An unnatural hush had fallen on the castle, allowing many of the staff to catch up on their reading in the unaccustomed quiet.

The third-years emerged 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?"

That evening, amongst much hilarity, Amelia showed Remus a note from Hermione about how Harry had overdone his Cheering Charm somewhat out of nerves and Ron, who was partnering him, ended up in fits of hysterical laughter and had to be led away to a quiet room for an hour before he was allowed to perform the charm himself.

After the third years took Severus's potions exam he had entered the staffroom cackling vindictively and many of his colleagues had since given him a wide berth (and a series of worried looks).

Amelia watched the third-years taking Lupin's exam from the greenhouses, where she was helping Pomona set up her next exam.

He had prepared a sort of educational assault course, where they had to wade across a deep paddling pool containing a Grindylow, cross a series of potholes full of Red Caps, squish their way across a patch of marsh, ignoring the misleading directions of a Hinkypunk, then climb into an old trunk and battle with a new Boggart.

Helping Remus clear up the obstacle course, the two of them saw the grim looking group meet Harry, Ron and Hermione on the castle steps.

Amelia swore under her breath.

"They've even brought the axe! Buckbeak doesn't stand a chance."

Remus frowned, "But the appeal –"

"It doesn't look like they intend to listen."

Remus expelled his breath angrily.

"We could always release him."

"They'd think it was Hagrid. Besides," she continued, looking down towards Buckbeak, who was tethered up by Hagrid's cottage, "the great soppy beast would just come straight back."

0o0o0o0

She met her cousin after her Muggle Studies exam. Hermione was frowning, mind clearly on the appeal that must be happening in the grounds below. Even so, she managed to spare some words of encouragement for her cousin's first exam paper:

"Not a bad exam," she said, chewing her nails.

Amelia gave her arm a light slap.

"Sorry," the girl said, "it's just – Buckbeak's appeal –"

"Yeah. I saw the executioner."

"How can they do this?" she cried; Amelia put a comforting arm around her shoulder and looked at her a little hopelessly.

"Well, it's out of our hands now," she sighed. Hermione nodded unhappily.

Once her cousin had gone, Amelia settled down to mark the day's papers, knowing full well that throughout the castle, every other teacher apart from Hagrid was probably doing the same.

0o0o0o0

In the Gryffindor tower, Hermione was sat with Ron, both numb with shock at the letter they had just received. Ron was holding the offending piece of parchment and staring blankly at Hermione as Harry ran in, panting.

"Professor Trelawny," Harry panted, "just told me –"

But he stopped abruptly at the sight of their faces.

"Buckbeak lost," said Ron weakly. "Hagrid's just sent this."

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

Lost appeal. They're going to execute at sunset. Nothing you can do. Don't come down. I don't want you to see it.

Hagrid

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

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

Harry sank his head into his hands.

"If only we had the Invisibility Cloak…"

"Where is it?" Hermione asked.

Harry told her 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 finished.

"That's true," said Hermione, getting to her feet and reflecting that both Severus and Harry would do well to abandon certain grudges. "If he sees you… how do you open the witch's hump again?"

"You – you tap it and say 'Dissendium'," said Harry. "But –"

Hermione didn't wait for the rest of his sentence; she strode across the room, pushed the Fat Lady's portrait open and headed directly for the one-eyed witch.

The trouble with boys, she thought, as she checked that the corridor was clear, is that they are too damn' obvious about this sort of thing. Too 'macho'.

Far better to casually wander towards your goal than constantly be glancing over your shoulder.

Reaching the witch, she worked quickly and swiftly returned to the common room, giving a friendly wave to Snape as he stalked past her and silently thanking whichever ancestor that had provided both herself and Amelia (and if family legend were true, Aunty Bea) with the expert thief gene. Upon her return both boys looked stunned and impressed.

"Hermione, I don't know what's got into you lately!" said Ron, astounded. "First you hit Malfoy, then you walk out on Professor Trelawny –"

Truth be told, Hermione was quite flattered.

0o0o0o0

They went down to dinner with everyone else, where they exchanged grim looks with Amelia up at the top table, but did not return to Gryffindor tower afterwards. Harry had the Cloak hidden down the front of his robes; he had to keep his arms folded to hide the lump. They skulked in an empty chamber off the Entrance Hall, listening, until they were sure it was deserted. They heard a last couple of people hurrying across the hall, and a door slamming. Hermione, fed up of waiting, poked her head around the door.

"Ok," she whispered, "no-one there – Cloak on –"

Walking very close together so that nobody would see them, they crossed the hall on tiptoe beneath the Cloak, then walked down the stone steps into the grounds. The sun was already sinking behind the Forbidden Forest, gilding the top branches of the trees.

They reached Hagrid's cabin and knocked. He was a minute in answering, and when he did, he looked all around for his visitor, pale-faced and trembling.

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

"Yeh shoudn've come!" Hagrid whispered, but he stood back, and they stepped inside. Hagrid shut the door quickly and Harry pulled off the Cloak.

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

"Wan' some tea?" he said. His great hands were shaking as he reached for the kettle.

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

"I – I took him outside," said Hagrid, spilling milk all over the table as he filled up the jug. "He's tethered in me pumpkin patch. Thought he ought to see the trees an' – an' smell fresh air – before –"

Hagrid's hand trembled so violently that the milk jug slipped from his grasp and shattered all over the floor.

"I'll do it, Hagrid," said Hermione quickly, hurrying over and starting to clean up the mess; she felt a little better with something to do, but not much.

"There's another one in the cupboard," Hagrid said, sitting down and wiping his forehead on his sleeve. Out of the corner of her eye, Hermione saw Harry and Ron glance at each other hopelessly.

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

"He's tried," said Hagrid. "He's got no power ter overrule the Committee. He told 'em Buckbeak's all right, but they're scared… you 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 swallowed. His eyes were darting all over the cottage, as though looking for some shred of hope or comfort.

As she worked, Hermione could feel tears welling up inside her; Hagrid was such a kind man and there was nothing they could do to help him.

"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…"

Hermione, who had been rummaging in Hagrid's cupboard for another milk jug, let out a small, quickly stifled sob.

I wish Mel was here, she thought, unhappily. She'd know what to do.

She straightened up with the new jug in her hands, fighting back tears.

"We'll stay with you too, Hagrid," she began, but Hagrid shook his shaggy head.

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

Silent tears were now streaming down Hermione's face, but she hid them from Hagrid, unable to stop them. Instead, she bustled around making tea.

As she picked up the milk bottle to pour some into the new jug, she caught a movement at the bottom of the vessel and shrieked.

Startled and suddenly feeling very girly, she blushed and cried out:

"Ron! I – I don't believe it – it's Scabbers!"

Ron gaped at her.

"What are you talking about?"

She carried the milk jug over to the table and turned it upside-down. With a frantic squeak, and much scrambling to get back inside, Scabbers the rat came sliding out onto the table.

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

He grabbed the struggling rat and held him up to the light. Hermione felt a pang of guilt – had Crookshanks scared Scabbers this badly? He looked dreadful. He was thinner than ever, large tufts of hair had fallen out leaving wide bald patches, and he writhed in Ron's hands as though desperate to free himself.

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

Hagrid suddenly stood up, his eyes fixed on the window. His normally ruddy face had gone the colour of parchment.

"They're comin'…"

The three of them whipped around. A group of men were walking down the distant castle steps. In front was Albus Dumbledore, his silver beard gleaming in the dying sun. Next to him trotted Cornelius Fudge. Behind them came the feeble old Committee member and the executioner, MacNair.

"Yeh gotta go," said Hagrid. Every inch of him was trembling; Hermione had the sudden urge to hug the half-giant. "They mustn' find yeh here… go on, now…"

Ron stuffed Scabbers into his pocket and Hermione picked up the Cloak; it felt like her limbs were moving through treacle.

"I'll let yeh out the back way," said Hagrid.

They followed him to the door into his back garden. Hermione felt strangely unreal, and even more so when she saw Buckbeak a few yards away, tethered to a tree behind Hagrid's pumpkin patch. Both Harry and Ron were pale and wearing identical frowns, deepened by the fading light. Buckbeak seemed to know something was happening. He turned his sharp head from side to side, and pawed the ground anxiously.

"It's ok, Beaky," said Hagrid softly. "It's ok…" He turned to Hermione, Ron and Harry. "Go, on," he said. "Get goin'."

But they didn't move.

"Hagrid, we can't –"

"We'll tell them what really happened –"

"They can't kill him –"

"Go!" said Hagrid fiercely. "It's bad enough without you lot in trouble an' all!"

They had no choice. As Hermione threw the Cloak over Harry and Ron, they heard voiced at the front of the cabin. Hagrid looked at the place where they had just vanished from sight.

"Go quick," he said hoarsely. "Don' listen…"

Slowly, in a kind of horrified trance, the three of them set off silently around Hagrid's cottage. As they reached the other side, the front door closed with a sharp snap.

All at once, the reality of the situation hit Hermione and she felt sick; they were moving too slowly.

"Please, let's hurry," she whispered. "I can't stand it, I can't bear it…"

They started up the sloping lawn towards the castle. The sun was sinking fast now; the sky had turned to a clear, purple-tinged grey, but to the west there was a ruby-red glow.

Red sky at night, shepherd's delight, Hermione thought, involuntarily.

Ron stopped dead.

"Oh, please, Ron," Hermione began.

"It's Scabbers – he won't – stay put –"

Ron was bent over, trying to keep Scabbers in his pocket, but the rat was going beserk; squeaking madly, twisting and flailing, trying to sink his teeth into Ron's hand.

"Scabbers, it's me, you idiot, it's Ron," he hissed.

They heard a door open behind them and men's voices.

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

"Ok – Scabbers, stay put –"

They walked forwards; Hermione tried desperately not the listen to the rumble of voices behind them. She glanced at Harry, who had been silent since they left the cottage; he looked back at her unhappily. Ron stopped again.

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

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

Hermione swayed on the spot, shocked.

"They did it!" she whispered. "I d-don't believe it – they did it!"

0o0

Her mind went numb; it was as if she couldn't fit what she'd just heard into her head. Unconsciously, she put her hand to her throat and swallowed, hard. The three of them stood transfixed with horror under the Invisibility Cloak. The very last rays of the setting sun were casting a bloody light over the long-shadowed grounds. Then, behind them, they heard a wild howling.

"Hagrid," Harry muttered. Apparently without thought, he made to turn back, but both Ron and Hermione seized his arms.

"We can't," said Ron, who was paper-white. "He'll be in worse trouble if they know we've been to see him…"

Hermione's breathing was shallow and uneven.

"How – could – they?" she choked. "How could they?" In her mind that terrible swish and thunk of the axe was playing over and over.

"Come on," said Ron, whose teeth appeared to be chattering.

They set off back towards the castle, walking slowly to keep themselves hidden under the Cloak. Light was fading fast now. By the time they reached open ground, darkness was settling like a heavy woollen blanket around them.

"Scabbers, keep still," Ron hissed, clamping his hand over his chest. The rat was wriggling around frantically. Ron came to a sudden halt, trying to force Scabbers deeper into his pocket. What's the matter with you, you stupid rat? Stay still – OUCH! He bit me!"

"Ron, be quiet!" Hermione whispered urgently. "Fudge'll be here any minute –"

"He won't – stay – put –"

Scabbers was plainly terrified. He was writhing with all his might, trying to break free of Ron's grasp.

"What's the matter with him?"

But Hermione had just seen – slinking towards them, his body low to the ground, wide yellow eyes glinting eerily in the darkness – Crookshanks. Hermione froze. Surely he couldn't see them under the Cloak – he must be following the sounds of Scabbers's terrified squeaks.

"Crookshanks!" she moaned. "No, go away, Crookshanks! Go away!"

But the cat was getting nearer –

"Scabbers – NO!"

Too late – the rat had slipped between Ron's clutching fingers, hit the ground and scampered away. In one bound, Crookshanks sprang after him, and before Hermione or Harry could stop him, Ron had thrown the Invisibility Cloak off himself and pelted away into the darkness.

"Ron!" Hermione moaned.

She and Harry looked at each other, then followed at a sprint; it was impossible to run full out under the Cloak; they pulled it off and it streamed behind them like a banner as they hurtled after Ron; they could hear his feet thundering along ahead, and his shouts at Crookshanks.

"Get away from him – get away – Scabbers, come here –"

There was a loud thud.

"Gotcha! Get off you stinking cat –"

Hermione and Harry almost fell over Ron; they skidded to a halt right in front of him. He was sprawled on the ground, Crookshanks scratching at him, but Scabbers was back in his pocket; he had both hands held tight over the quivering lump.

"Ron – come on – back under the Cloak –" Hermione panted, pulling Crookshanks off Ron's legs by the scruff of his neck and throwing him a little way away from them. The orange ball of fury hissed at her in the darkness. "Dumbledore – the Minister – they'll be coming back out in a minute –"

But before they could cover themselves up again, before they could even catch their breath, they heard the soft pounding of gigantic paws. Something was bounding towards them out of the dark – an enormous, pale-eyed, jet-black dog.

Hermione gasped and reached for her wand. She felt a rush of air beside her as the great dog hit Harry full in the chest; she stumbled back in terror, afraid to see what those long, cruel teeth had done to her friend.

But the force of its leap had carried it too far; it rolled off Harry, who struggled to stand, gasping for breath. Hermione could hear it growling as it skidded around for a second attack.

Ron was on his feet. As the dog sprang towards them, he pushed Harry aside; the dog's jaws fastened instead around Ron's outstretched arm. Hermione smelled, rather than saw, the deep crimson beads of blood on his arm form rivulets as he cried out. Harry lunged at the dog and seized a handful of the brute's hair, but it was dragging Ron away as easily as if he were a rag-doll –

Out of nowhere, something rushed through the air – she heard Harry cry out in pain, seconds before something heavy thudded against her stomach with great force. On the ground, she coughed and wheezed, lungs burning from the force of the impact. Somewhere nearby Harry had lit his wand, lighting the trunk of a thick tree; they had chased Scabbers into the shadow of the Whomping Willow and it branches were creaking as if in a high wind, whipping backwards and forwards to stop them going nearer.

And there, at the base of the trunk, was the dog, dragging Ron backwards into a large gap in the roots – Ron was fighting furiously, but his head and torso were slipping out of sight –

"Ron!" Harry shouted, trying to run forward, but a heavy branch whipped lethally through the air and threw him backwards.

All they could see now was one of Ron's legs, which he had hooked around a root in an effort to stop the dog pulling him further underground. Then a horrible crack cut the air like a gunshot; Ron's leg had broken, and the next second, his foot had vanished from sight.

"Harry – we've got to go for help –" she cried, helplessly, as she felt blood trickling down her arm; Amelia would know that she was in trouble by now.

"No! That thing's big enough to eat him, we haven't got time!"

"We're never going to get through without help –" She felt like screaming at him; as much as she wanted to help Ron, she couldn't understand Harry's insistence on always doing things alone.

Another branch whipped down at them, twigs clenched like knuckles.

"If that dog can get in, we can," Harry panted, darting here and there, trying to find a way through the vicious, swishing branches, but he couldn't get an inch nearer to the tree-roots without being in the range of the tree's branches.

"Oh, help, help," Hermione whispered frantically, dancing uncertainly on the spot and desperately hoping that the same connection that had sent Amelia hurtling across their small town two summers ago would bring her to their aid now, "please…"

Crookshanks darted forwards. He slithered between the battering branches like a snake and placed his front paws upon a knot on the trunk.

Abruptly, as though the tree had been turned to marble, it stopped moving. Not a leaf twitched or shook.

What the hell? She thought and grasped Harry's arm. "How did he know?"

"He's friends with that dog," said Harry grimly. "I've seen them together. Come on – and keep your wand out –"

They covered the distance to the trunk in seconds, but before they had reached the gap in the roots, Crookshanks had slid into it with a flick of his bottle-brush tail. Harry went next; he crawled forwards and disappeared. Hermione followed him and slipped headfirst down an earthy slope to the bottom of a very low tunnel. Crookshanks was a little way along, his eyes flashing from the light of their wands.

"Where's Ron?" she whispered, hearing the fear in her own voice.

"This way," said Harry, setting off, bent-backed after Crookshanks.

She couldn't understand her cat – first he helped the dog, then he helped them; what side was he on, anyway?

"Where does this tunnel come out?" she asked, out-of-breath.

"I don't know," Harry replied from in front of her. "It's marked on the Marauders' Map but Fred and George said no one's ever got into it. It goes off the edge of the map, but it looks like it ends up in Hogsmeade…"

They moved as fast as they could, bent almost double; ahead of them, Crookshank's tail bobbed in and out of view. On and on went the passage; Hermione could well believe that this could take them all the way to Hogsmeade. All she could think of was Ron, and what the enormous dog might be doing to him. They were both drawing breath in sharp, painful gasps, running at a crouch…

And then the tunnel began to rise; moments later it twisted, and Crookshanks had gone. Instead, Hermione could see a patch of dim light through a small opening.

She and Harry paused, gasping for breath, edging forwards. Both raised their wands to see what lay beyond.

It was a room, they discovered, a very disordered, dusty room. Paper was peeling from the walls; there were stains all over the floor; every piece of furniture was broken as though somebody had smashed it. The windows were all boarded-up.

Harry glanced at her, she swallowed and nodded; they had to find Ron, and quickly.

Harry pulled himself out of the hole and stared around before turning and helping Hermione up. The room was deserted, but a door to their right stood open, leading to a shadowy hallway. A sinking feeling crept over Hermione and she grabbed Harry's arm again, her wide eyes travelling around the boarded windows.

"Harry," she whispered miserably. "I think we're in the Shrieking Shack."

Harry blanched and looked around; he indicated a pile of shattered furniture in the corner of the room.

"Ghosts didn't do that," he said slowly.

At that moment, there was a creak overhead. Something had moved upstairs. Both of them looked up at the ceiling. Harry raised his eyebrows at Hermione, who realised that she still had his arm in a death grip and released him, embarrassed.

Quietly as they could, they crept out into the hall and up the crumbling staircase. Everything was covered in a thick layer of dust except the floor, where a wide, shiny stripe had been made by something being dragged upstairs.

Ron.

They reached the dark landing.

"Nox," they whispered together, and the lights at the end of their wands went out. Only one door was open, and it barely a crack. As they crept towards it, they heard movement from behind it; a low moan and a deep, loud purring. They exchanged a last look, a last nod.

Wand held before him, Harry kicked the door wide open.

On a magnificent four-poster bed with dusty hangings lay Crookshanks, purring loudly at the sight of them. On the floor beside him, clutching his leg, which stuck out at an odd angle, was Ron.

Hermione and Harry dashed across to him.

"Ron – are you ok?"

"Where's the dog?"

"Not a dog," Ron moaned. His teeth were gritted with pain. "Harry, it's a trap –"

"What –"

"He's the dog… he's an Animagus…"