A Potter Secret

Creepy Prophecies

Hagrid, wearing a gigantic, hairy brown suit and perhaps the world's ugliest yellow and orange tie, stands knee- deep in the shallows of the Black Lake, skimming rocks as big as flagstones across the water's shiny gloss. As he turns, the trio catches a brief sight of his eyes, red with tears, then he looks away. "How'd it go, Hagrid?" Hermione asks.

"Buckbeak liked London," Hagrid says.

"I meant the hearing," Hermione replies.

"Oh. That. Well, I got up an' said my bit, You know, how Buckbeak was a good Hippogriff an' as long as yeh treated 'im with respect, he'd treat you the same. Then Lucius Malfoy got up an' said his bit, you know, how Buckbeak was a deadly dangerous beast that no teacher in their righ' mind would expose their students to," Hagrid mutters.

"And?" Hermione inquires, almost not wanting an answer. Hagrid slings another rock into water. "You mustn't blame yourself, Hagrid."

"Draco. It's him the Committee should punish. It's him they should send off to the forest, not Buckbeak," Ron says.

"Buckbeak's not going back to the forest," Hagrid says.

"Where's he going, Hagrid?" Hermione asks.

"He asked fer the worse, yeh see, Lucius Malfoy did. An' the Committee granted it. Buckbeak's bin sentenced ter death."

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Dark. Ominous. Dementors drift in the distance. Restless.

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Silent. A room of shadows. While those around him slumber, Harry lies awake, unable to sleep. Finally, he turns to his cupboard, takes the Marauder's Map. "I solemnly swear that I am up to no good," Harry whispers. The crooked corridors and serpentine passageways of Hogwarts radiate across the parchment, then a tiny dot catches Harry's eye. He frowns. It reads: "Peter Pettigrew."

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Harry moves down a dark corridor, map in hand, wand aglow. In the paintings he passes, the subjects snore softly. On the marauder's map, "Harry Potter" and "Peter Pettigrew" draw closer and closer. Harry squints toward the end of the corridor. Down at the map. Pettigrew moves quickly down the adjoining corridor. Twenty yards away. Ten. Only seconds away Wand trembling in his hand, Harry glances from the map to the dark corridor ahead, again and again. Then as the two dots are about to collide he looks slowly up turns the corner heart in his chest and meets himself reflected in a mirror. He blinks, startled, then glances back down at the map. Pettigrew has moved past him. Confused, Harry wheels, casts his wand along the walls. "Watch it there, boy!" a voice calls.

Harry jumps. But it's only an old man in a painting, scowling in the glare of Harry's wand light. On the map, "Pettigrew" continues to move away. Harry makes to follow, then stops. Harry hears footsteps. The wand's spot dances across the parchment, finds another dot. Approaching fast is "Severus Snape." "Mischief managed!" Harry whispers. Harry stashes the map, extinguishes his wand, and turns into the harsh glare of Snape's wand.

"Potter. What're you doing wandering the corridors at night?" Snape inquires.

"I was I was sleepwalking," Harry lies.

A sneer curdles the corners of Snape's lips. "How extraordinarily like your father you are, Potter. He, too, was exceedingly arrogant. Strutting about the castle-" Snape sneers.

"My dad didn't strut. Nor do I. Now, if you don't mind, I'd appreciate you lowering your wand," Harry replies.

Snape eyes Harry coldly. Containing himself. Lowers his wand. "Turn out your pockets," Snape says. Harry doesn't move, eyes still boring into Snape. "Turn out your pockets!" Finally, Harry obliges. Seeing the map, Snape's eyes glitter. "And this. What might it be?"