‘Yeah, that's right,

‘Yeah, that's right,’ said Harry, losing track of what he was agreeing to. Cho Chang had just walked across the courtyard, determinedly not looking at him.

The final match of the Quidditch season, Gryffindor versus Ravenclaw, was to take place on the last weekend of May. Although Slytherin had been narrowly defeated by Hufflepuff in their last match, Gryffindor were not daring to hope for victory, due mainly (though of course nobody said it to him) to Ron's abysmal goal-keeping record. He, however, seemed to have found a new optimism.

‘I mean, I can't get any worse, can I?’ he told Harry and Hermione grimly over breakfast on the morning of the match. ‘Nothing to lose now, is there?’

‘You know,’ said Hermione, as she and Harry walked down to the pitch a little later in the midst of a very excitable crowd, ‘I think Ron might do better without Fred and George around. They never exactly gave him a lot of confidence.’

Luna Lovegood overtook them with what appeared to be a live eagle perched on top of her head.

‘Oh, gosh, I forgot!’ said Hermione, watching the eagle flapping its wings as Luna walked serenely past a group of cackling and pointing Slytherins. ‘Cho will be playing, won't she?’

Harry, who had not forgotten this, merely grunted.

They found seats in the topmost row of the stands. It was a fine, ckar day; Ron could not wish for better, and Harry found himself hoping against hope that Ron would not give the Slytherins cause for more rousing choruses of ‘Weasley is our King'.

Lee Jordan, who had been very dispirited since Fred and George had left, was commentating as usual. As the teams zoomed out on to the pitch he named the players with something less than his usual gusto.

‘... Bradley ... Davies ... Chang,’ he said, and Harry felt his stomach perform, less of a back flip, more a feeble lurch as Cho walked out on to the pitch, her shiny black hair rippling in the slight breeze.He was not sure what he wanted to happen any more, except that he could not stand any more rows. Even the sight of her chatting animatedly to Roger Davies as they prepared to mount their brooms caused him only a slight twinge of jealousy.

‘And they're off!’ said Lee. ‘And Davies takes the Quaffle immediately, Ravenclaw Captain Davies with the Quaffle, he dodges Johnson, he dodges Bell, he dodges Spinnet as well ... he's going straight for goal! He's going to shoot—and—and—’ Lee swore very loudly. ‘And he's scored.’

Harry and Hermione groaned with the rest of the Gryffindors. Predictably, horribly the Slytherins on the other side of the stands began to sing:

‘Weasley cannot save a thing

He cannot block a single ring ... ’

‘Harry,’ said a hoarse voice in Harry's ear. ‘Hermione ...’

Harry looked round and saw Hagrid's enormous bearded face sticking between the seats. Apparently, he had squeezed his way all along the row behind, for the first- and second-years he had just passed had a ruffled, flattened look about them. For some reason, Hagrid was bent double as though anxious not to be seen, though he was still at least four feet taller than everybody else.

‘Listen,’ he whispered, ‘can yeh come with me? Now? While ev'ryone's watchin’ the match?’

‘Er ... can't it wait, Hagrid?’ asked Harry. ‘Till the match is over?’

‘No,’ said Hagrid. ‘No, Harry, it's gotta be now ... while ev'ryone's lookin’ the other way ... please?’

Hagrid's nose was gently dripping blood. His eyes were both blackened. Harry had not seen him this close-up since his return to the school; he looked utterly woebegone.

‘Course,’ said Harry at once, ‘course we'll come.’

He and Hermione edged back along their row of seats, causing much grumbling among the students who had to stand up for them. The people in Hagrid's row were not complaining, merely attempting to make themselves as small as possible.

‘I ‘ppreciate this, you two, I really do,’ said Hagrid as they reached the stairs. He kept looking around nervously as they descended towards the lawn below. ‘I jus’ hope she doesn’ notice us goin'.’

‘You mean Umbridge?’ said Harry. ‘She won't, she's got her whole Inquisitorial Squad sitting with her, didn't you see? She must be expecting trouble at the match.’

‘Yeah, well, a bit o’ trouble wouldn’ hurt,’ said Hagrid, pausing to peer around the edge of the stands to make sure the stretch of lawn between there and his cabin was deserted. ‘Give us more time.’

‘What is it, Hagrid?’ said Hermione, looking up at him with a concerned expression on her face as they hurried across the grass towards the edge of the Forest.

‘Yeh—yeh'll see in a mo',’ said Hagrid, looking over his shoulder as a great roar rose from the stands behind them. ‘Hey—did someone jus’ score?’

‘It'll be Ravenclaw,’ said Harry heavily.

‘Good ... good ...’ said Hagrid distractedly. ‘Tha's good ...’

They had to jog to keep up with him as he strode across the lawn, looking around with every other step. When they reached his cabin, Hermione turned automatically left towards the front door. Hagrid, however, walked straight past it into the shade of the trees on the outermost edge of the Forest, where he picked up a crossbow that was leaning against a tree. When he realised they were no longer with him, he turned.

‘We're goin’ in here,’ he said, jerking his shaggy head behind him.

‘Into the Forest?’ said Hermione, perplexed.

‘Yeah,’ said Hagrid. ‘C'mon now, quick, before we're spotted!’

Harry and Hermione looked at each other, then ducked into the cover of the trees behind Hagrid, who was already striding away from them into the green gloom, his crossbow over his arm. Harry and Hermione ran to catch up with him.

‘Hagrid, why are you armed?’ said Harry.

‘Jus’ a precaution,’ said Hagrid, shrugging his massive shoulders.

‘You didn't bring your crossbow the day you showed us the Thestrals,’ said Hermione timidly.

‘Nah, well, we weren’ goin’ in so far then,’ said Hagrid. ‘An’ anyway, tha’ was before Firenze left the Forest, wasn’ it?’

‘Why does Firenze leaving make a difference?’ asked Hermione curiously.

’ ‘Cause the other centaurs are good an’ riled at me, tha's why,’ said Hagrid quietly, glancing around. ‘They used ter be—well, yeh couldn’ call ‘em friendly—but we got on all righ'. Kept ‘emselves to ‘emselves, bu’ always turned up if I wanted a word. Not any more.’