“It’s okay, Beaky,” said Hagrid softly. “It’s okay…” He turned to Harry, Ron, and Hermione. “Go on,” he said. “Get goin’.”
But they didn’t move.
“Hagrid, we can’t —”
“We’ll tell them what really happened —”
“They can’t kill him —”
“Go!” said Hagrid fiercely. “It’s bad enough without you lot in trouble an’ all!”
They had no choice. As Hermione threw the cloak over Harry and Ron, they heard voices at the front of the cabin. Hagrid looked at the place where they had just vanished from sight.
“Go quick,” he said hoarsely. “Don’ listen…”
And he strode back into his cabin as someone knocked at the front door.
Slowly, in a kind of horrified trance, Harry, Ron, and Hermione set off silently around Hagrid’s house. As they reached the other side, the front door closed with a sharp snap.
“Please, let’s hurry,” Hermione whispered. “I can’t stand it, I can’t bear it….”
They started up the sloping lawn toward the castle. The sun was sinking fast now; the sky had turned to a clear, purple-tinged gray, but to the west there was a ruby-red glow.
Ron stopped dead.
“Oh, please, Ron,” Hermione began.
“It’s Scabbers — he won’t — stay put —”
Ron was bent over, trying to keep Scabbers in his pocket, but the rat was going berserk; squeaking madly, twisting and flailing, trying to sink his teeth into Ron’s hand.
“Scabbers, it’s me, you idiot, it’s Ron,” Ron hissed.
They heard a door open behind them and men’s voices.
“Oh, Ron, please let’s move, they’re going to do it!” Hermione breathed.
“Okay — Scabbers, stay put —”
They walked forward; Harry, like Hermione, was trying not to listen to the rumble of voices behind them. Ron stopped again.
“I can’t hold him — Scabbers, shut up, everyone’ll hear us —”
The rat was squealing wildly, but not loudly enough to cover up the sounds drifting from Hagrid’s garden. There was a jumble of indistinct male voices, a silence, and then, without warning, the unmistakable swish and thud of an axe.
Hermione swayed on the spot.
“They did it!” she whispered to Harry. “I’d — don’t believe it — they did it!”
