PROPHECY CHILD

8

Predictably, Malfoy arrived at Hagrid's cabin with his familiar sneer firmly in place.

"Ah, look, boys, it's the champion," he said to Crabbe and Goyle the moment he got within earshot of me. "Got your autograph books? Better get a signature now, because I doubt she's going to be around much longer. . . . Half the Triwizard champions have died . . . how long d'you reckon you're going to last, Potter? Ten minutes into the first task's my bet."

Crabbe and Goyle guffawed sycophantically, but Malfoy had to stop there, because Hagrid emerged from the back of his cabin balancing a teetering tower of crates, each containing a very large Blast-Ended Skrewt. To the class's horror, Hagrid proceeded to explain that the reason the skrewts had been killing one another was an excess of pent-up energy, and that the solution would be for each student to fix a leash on a skrewt and take it for a short walk.

The only good thing about this plan was that it distracted Malfoy completely.

"Take this thing for a walk?" he repeated in disgust, staring into one of the boxes. "And where exactly are we supposed to fix the leash? Around the sting, the blasting end, or the sucker?"

"Roun' the middle," said Hagrid, demonstrating. "Er — yeh might want ter put on yer dragon-hide gloves, jus' as an extra pre- caution, like. Lyra — you come here an' help me with this big one. . . ."

Hagrid's real intention, however, was to talk to me away from the rest of the class. He waited until everyone else had set off with their skrewts, then turned to me and said, very seriously, "So — yer competin', Lyra. In the tournament. School champion."

"One of the champions," I corrected him instinctively.

Hagrid's beetle-black eyes looked very anxious under his wild eyebrows.

"No idea who put yeh in fer it, Lyra?"

"You believe I didn't do it, then?" I asked, feeling gratitude that someone still believes in me, because no one has ever believed in me, I mean no one ever has, sure they believe my facade but not me.

Despite everything, however, strong, confident I portrayed myself, there was a constant reminder at the back of my head reminding me how no one would believe me if I shouted, screamed or sobbed for them to just believe something I say just once. . . just once. Not try to discredit me, not mock me, not taunt me, not try to get something from me. Just me. Without any facades, without any masks just believe in me.

I blinked away the tears quickly from my eyes and I looked at Hagrid giving him a genuine, real smile, which has been too long since, I have given it to some other human than Madam Pormfrey.

" 'Course I do," Hagrid grunted. "Yeh say it wasn' you, an' I believe yeh — an' Dumbledore believes yer, an' all."

The last statement filled me with bitter sentiments, despite caring for Hagrid a lot I knew he was very much under Dumbledore's thumb and for all I know Dumbledore may be the one who wrote my name in the Goblet of Fire, it will not be the first time that he wanted me to do something heroic and majestic to improve my skills. 

Hagrid despite being under the influence of Dumbledore's greatness was the one who showed me some light away from the abusive Dursley's, introduced me to the Wizarding World, took me away from the world full of technologies to a world filled with fantasy and magic.

Something I would be forever grateful for. Magic—was the best thing that has happened to me, it was the very best part of me. Something that was pure, undiluted. Something that is just mine.

"Wish I knew who did do it," I said unable to hide the bitter tone.

The pair of them looked out over the lawn; the class was widely scattered now, and all in great difficulty.