Ch 120
What had happened in the Great Hall the night before moved almost everyone to tears. From breakfast to lunch, from corridors between classes to the common rooms, students everywhere were talking about the legendary story of Peter Pettigrew.
A lone hero who had sought out the enemy by himself was always the kind of figure young people admired most. He had known he was no match for his opponent, yet he still pressed forward stubbornly and bravely. The tragedy of his failure filled people with both sympathy and awe.
"He smells terrible," Luna muttered softly at the table, shaking her head. Her voice was so quiet that no one seemed to notice.
A brief craze even broke out among the students who suddenly wanted to learn how to become Animagi. After all, how cool would it be to transform into an animal at will? That enthusiasm, however, was quickly extinguished by Professor McGonagall. She spent an entire lesson explaining the severe consequences of failed Animagus transformations, stressing that anyone who wished to learn it needed not only talent, but also determination and perseverance.
Peter Pettigrew himself went to the Ministry of Magic to deal with matters related to Animagi. Even though he had returned as a hero, he did not wish to receive any special treatment, and formally registered his Animagus form with the Ministry's Office for the Regulation and Control of Magical Creatures.
Countless newspapers and magazines requested interviews with him, eager for first-hand information. The wizarding world had been drowning in bad news recently, and both editors and readers were desperate for something uplifting to dispel the gloomy atmosphere. Pettigrew's return was like a timely gift, and reporters flocked to him like moths to a flame.
Strangely enough, the Daily Prophet was nowhere to be seen.
As the newspaper with the largest circulation in Britain's wizarding world, this absence was highly unusual.
Of course, rival reporters were secretly delighted. Everyone knew how terrifying Rita Skeeter's interview style could be. She always managed to dig up deeper, more explosive material than anyone else, leaving ordinary reporters to be scolded mercilessly by their editors afterward.
Yet she never appeared. The Daily Prophet didn't even send a single journalist, which was baffling.
Unsurprisingly, its sales plummeted the very next day. Such a sensational event was mentioned only briefly in a corner of the paper—written in a restrained, almost coldly objective tone.
Compared to the overwhelming coverage in other magazines, it was pitiful.
No one really bothered to investigate the reason. Perhaps the paper's backers had lost their minds and were trying to shut it down. If you wouldn't even hype up a hero, what exactly were you publishing for?
This oddity was nothing more than a passing footnote. The Hogwarts students didn't care in the slightest. What truly occupied their minds was their own grand event—the Quidditch Cup.
Nearly half the matches were already over, and the standings were extremely tight. Had Slytherin and Ravenclaw not suffered such crushing defeats earlier, they would have been firmly in first place by now.
As it was, the rankings could change at any moment.
With the Firebolt beneath him, Harry seemed almost unstoppable. His confidence infected the rest of the team, and everyone performed exceptionally well. Gryffindor won match after match, suddenly leaping into first place.
Still, it wasn't over yet. Other Houses had yet to complete the full round of matches. Slytherin still had one more game to play against Hufflepuff. As long as Slytherin failed to score enough points in that match, Gryffindor would take the championship.
"They'd need to be at least three hundred points ahead of Hufflepuff," Wood said confidently. "They'd have to score a hundred and fifty points before their Seeker could even catch the Snitch. Is that really possible?"
He looked smug. "And look—not a single Slytherin came to watch today's match. They've already accepted defeat."
In the Gryffindor common room, some students lounged on the soft sofas while others played wizard chess at the tables, savoring a rare moment of leisure. They had poured so much energy into training that it finally felt like time to enjoy the rewards.
"I really miss Hagrid," Harry suddenly said.
"Me too," Ron replied, his excitement fading. He still couldn't accept that things had turned out so badly that Hagrid was being investigated for so long.
"If he knew how we're doing now, he'd be thrilled," Harry said.
"Yeah, he hasn't even seen the Firebolt yet. When he comes back, we'll definitely let him take a good look at the best broom in the world," Ron added hopefully. He knew Hagrid would love it.
"Hermione, what are you doing?" Ron leaned forward, peering at Hermione, who was scribbling furiously at a small table.
"Nothing," Hermione said, snapping the book shut when she noticed him watching.
She smiled at Harry. "Congratulations in advance."
"Thanks," Harry said, then hesitated. "Do you know anything about Hagrid? What's happening with him? We're all really worried."
Hermione shook her head helplessly. "I've looked up almost every similar case I could find. Even in the worst situations, magical creature breeders were never detained for this long, and the creatures themselves were rarely punished so severely."
She glanced at Ron. "And Ron—you wouldn't insist on pressing the matter in front of Hagrid, would you? The few cases that ended badly all involved victims who demanded harsh judgments."
"I'm the one who caused all this. How could I do that to him?" Ron protested immediately.
"I know," Hermione said. "That's why it's even stranger." She frowned, unable to find an explanation. "Nothing adds up."
"Maybe we should trust Dumbledore," she said finally, sighing. "The Headmaster wouldn't lie to us. He said Hagrid is doing fine."
"Maybe he's doing it for our sake," Harry added. "He doesn't want us distracted."
Ron grabbed his hair in frustration. "I'm going mad. Can someone please tell us what we're supposed to do?"