Betrayal? Dumbledore Was No Saint Either (IV)

By the time the last Charms class of the afternoon ended, the sky outside had already darkened. Professor Flitwick stood atop a stack of books, going over the final points, but Harry did not hear a single word. His eyes remained fixed on the darkening sky beyond the window, his mind filled with Hagrid.

Ever since last night, he had kept thinking of Hagrid's hunched back as he was escorted away, of the chains biting into his wrists, of those red, bloodshot eyes when he had turned back to look at him.

"Harry." Hermione's voice came from beside him. She was packing her bag, moving much faster than usual. "Let's go."

Ron had already slung his bag over his shoulder, and there was none of his usual post-class ease on his face. The three of them said nothing as they crossed the corridor, went down the stairs, and passed through another corridor. All along the way, students were talking about it—Dumbledore's suspension, Hagrid's arrest, the Aurors sent by the Ministry of Magic, and the people in dark red robes standing outside Filch's Office.

When the Fat Lady saw them at Gryffindor Tower, she did not challenge them for the password for once. She did not even say, "You're back so late again." She merely looked at them, sighed, and tipped forward to reveal the passage. Harry threw his bag onto the sofa. Ron followed behind him and nearly collapsed into an armchair. Hermione did not sit down. She stood before the fireplace, her fingers twisted together and her lips pressed into a thin line.

"We need McGonagall's signature," she said. "Without her authorization, the Aurors at the door won't let us in."

"Then we'll go find her now." Harry stood up.

"Professor McGonagall is very busy right now." Hermione shook