They crossed the grounds and made their way to Hagrid's hut.
The place reeked of chicken blood. Wet dirt was streaked with dribbles of it, and Hagrid was over by the fence, looking frazzled as he scrambled around.
"The chickens aren't for Norbert, right…?"
Hermione gingerly lifted her robes to avoid the blood splatter.
"You know, it'd take a *ton* of chickens to keep a dragon fed…"
"Looks more like something slaughtered the whole flock," Cohen said, nodding toward the pile of dead chickens near Hagrid.
This had to be the second batch of dead chicks. Probably Lockhart cleaned up the first wave, then Draco took another swing at it over the past few days.
Hagrid looked up, spotted the four of them, and wiped his forehead with a muddy hand—completely unbothered by the mess. Except now his sweaty forehead was smeared with dirt. Realizing his mistake, he kept wiping with his still-muddy hands, and by the end, his whole face was caked in blood-streaked muck.
"Hagrid, just… stop," Hermione said, stifling a laugh as she flicked her wand with a cleaning charm to scrub the grime off his face.
Hagrid beamed and ushered them inside with his usual warmth.
"Phew…" He let out a long breath. "Bloody weird, this is. Third batch o' chickens dead at the school now. I was just settin' up some traps—feels like them Thestrals might've got peckish…"
"Thestrals eat chickens?" Harry asked, puzzled.
"Not usually, no, but they've been actin' odd lately, wanderin' about more'n usual. Maybe they're after a lil' somethin' new to chew on…" Hagrid guessed. "Anything happenin' at school?"
Harry couldn't wait to fill Hagrid in on everything that'd gone down lately.
"What?!" Hagrid's eyes bulged. "A student got attacked yesterday?"
"And it's the same deal as Filch," Harry added. "A house-elf told me some student's helping Voldemort come back…"
Hagrid shivered at the mention of Voldemort's name.
"We gotta tell Professor Dumbledore right now," he urged. "This is You-Know-Who we're talkin' about—yeh lot need to stay safe. Can't believe some student'd help him—why'd anyone back somethin' that evil…?"
"Will Professor Dumbledore even believe us?" Harry asked, sounding doubtful. Even he thought the whole thing felt a bit too wild to buy.
Just some random house-elf's word? Hardly solid proof.
"He'll believe yeh," Hagrid said with total confidence. "If yeh're worried, I can go talk to him meself—perfect timing, actually. I need to ask him somethin' anyway. Wanna put a charm 'round the chicken coop, keep the next batch o' chicks safe and sound…"
Cohen nabbed the suitcase from Hagrid. Lately, Hagrid had been too swamped to look after Norbert.
Not that Norbert needed much. Its life was eat, sleep, repeat. The only real chore was chucking a cleaning charm into its nest every so often—otherwise, you'd end up with a mountain of bones and dragon dung.
"Hagrid's right," Hermione said to Harry and Cohen as they headed back. "We should've gone to Dumbledore ages ago. Remember that weird creature that showed up in your dorm and woke you all up?"
"Yeah," Harry nodded. "But back then, we were scared they'd pin the attacks on us."
"It's different now. There's no way we're the ones behind it," Hermione reasoned. "When Colin got hit, Cohen, Ron, and I were probably all in the dorm…"
"Oh, yeah, totally," Ron chimed in, nodding hard. He and Cohen had crashed early last night.
Cohen didn't say anything.
Well… technically, he *said* he'd slept, but he'd actually snuck out in the middle of the night. No one caught him, though.
Harry's face darkened as something clicked.
"It wasn't me," he said flatly. "Colin got attacked on his way to see me. He was probably just a few doors away from me in the hospital wing."
And it happened right when Dobby came to visit.
Dumbledore had been there too. Harry had turned over and faked sleep—he had a hunch Dumbledore knew he was awake.
Knowing Voldemort's name was tied to this didn't add much weight to the story. In the end, they didn't go to Dumbledore.
But Dumbledore came to them.
After lunch, he sent a prefect to track them down, saying he wanted them over for tea.
"Why's every secret meeting gotta be over tea?" Cohen grumbled on the way to the headmaster's office. "Feels more like we messed up at school and they're calling our parents—"
"What's Professor Dumbledore want with us all of a sudden?" Harry asked, worried.
"Probably Hagrid said something," Hermione guessed sharply. "But he doesn't know the full story, so Dumbledore's calling us in to clear it up."
The prefect leading the way didn't catch a word of it—just focused on being a good guide.
The prefect rattled off the password to the gargoyle outside the office.
"I hate that password…" Ron shuddered like someone dumped ice water on him. "Spiders…"
He'd always been terrified of them.
"In you go," the prefect said, leaving them as the spiral staircase kicked into gear.
They reached the top and knocked on the office door.
Dumbledore's calm voice carried through.
He was seated behind his desk, four chairs already set out in front.
Cohen knew the place like the back of his hand, but the other three were on edge—they'd never actually been inside the headmaster's office before.
"Good afternoon, take a seat. What'll you have? Tea, milk, pumpkin juice?" Dumbledore greeted them with a warm smile. "Oh, and of course, Cohen's favorite—milk tea—"
Did he really have to single me out like that?!
Cohen grabbed the milk tea floating over to him, topped with caramel-brown foam.
Fine, for the sake of something sweet, he'd open up a little to Dumbledore this time. Give the old man that "Cohen trusts me more" vibe—make him happy.
"Hagrid mentioned you've got something important to report, but he didn't seem clear on the details. Care to fill me in?"
Dumbledore's gaze slid over the four of them from above his half-moon glasses, landing on Harry.
"Y-Yeah—yes, Professor…"
Harry swallowed hard and started piecing together the story, stumbling over his words as he went.