Throughout the day, everywhere she went, she saw signs of tighter security; Professor Flitwick could be seen teaching the front doors to recognize a large picture of Sirius Black; Filch was suddenly bustling up and down the corridors, boarding up everything from tiny cracks in the walls to mouse holes.
Sir Cadogan had been fired. His portrait had been taken back to its lonely landing on the seventh floor, and the Fat Lady was back. She had been expertly restored, but was still extremely nervous, and had agreed to return to her job only on condition that she was given extra protection. A bunch of surly security trolls had been hired to guard her, and they paced the corridor in a menacing group, talking in grunts and comparing the size of their clubs.
Ron had become an instant celebrity, telling anyone who would listen about the night's events, if they asked. It seemed that their group had grown closer again. Jules and Harry still weren't speaking much, unless they were required to, and neither were Hermione and Ron, yet they kept sitting together, discussing mundane things such as the weather.
Neville was in total disgrace. Professor McGonagall was so furious with him she had banned him from all future Hogsmeade visits, given him a detention, and forbidden anyone to give him the password into the tower. Poor Neville was forced to wait outside the common room every night for somebody to let him in, while the security trolls leered unpleasantly at him. None of these punishments, however, came close to matching the one his grandmother had in store for him. Two days after Black's break-in, she sent Neville the very worst thing a Hogwarts student could receive over breakfast — a Howler.
Jules had never received one, thankfully, yet she felt terrible for poor Neville, as he took off across the hall, his grandmother's voice booming loudly about how much of a disgrace he was. The Slytherin table was laughing, and the glint in Draco's eyes made Jules falter just a little, dropping her fork as they made eye contact. Did he know?
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"COME TO HAVE a good gloat?" Ron said savagely as he stopped in front of Jules and Hermione, Harry at his side. "Or have you just been to tell on us?"
"No," Hermione said. It seemed that the two boys had gone to Hogsmeade, while Jules had spent the last few hours consoling Hermione, skipping out on butterbeer and sweets because she was a good friend. Hermione was holding a letter in her hands and her lip was trembling; the two girls had received awful news. "I just thought you ought to know... Hagrid lost his case. Buckbeak is going to be executed."
"He sent me this," Hermione added, holding out the letter. Harry took it. The parchment was damp, and enormous teardrops had smudged the ink so badly in places that it was very difficult to read.
Dear Hermione, We lost. I'm allowed to bring him back to Hogwarts. Execution date to be fixed. Beaky has enjoyed London. I won't forget all the help you gave us. Hagrid.
"They can't do this," Harry protested. "They can't. Buckbeak isn't dangerous."
"Malfoy's dad's frightened the Committee into it," Hermione sniffled, wiping her eyes. "You know what he's like. They're a bunch of doddery old fools, and they were scared. There'll be an appeal, though, there always is. Only I can't see any hope... Nothing will have changed."
