THROUGH THE TRAPDOOR
“Where’re you going?” said Ron sleepily.
“I’ve just thought of something,” said Harry. He had turned
white. “We’ve got to go and see Hagrid, now.”
“Why?” panted Hermione, hurrying to keep up.
“Don’t you think it’s a bit odd,” said Harry, scrambling up the
grassy slope, “that what Hagrid wants more than anything else is a
dragon, and a stranger turns up who just happens to have an egg in
his pocket? How many people wander around with dragon eggs if
it’s against wizard law? Lucky they found Hagrid, don’t you think?
Why didn’t I see it before?”
“What are you talking about?” said Ron, but Harry, sprinting
across the grounds toward the forest, didn’t answer.
Hagrid was sitting in an armchair outside his house; his trousers
and sleeves were rolled up, and he was shelling peas into a large
bowl.
“Hullo,” he said, smiling. “Finished yer exams? Got time fer a
drink?”
“Yes, please,” said Ron, but Harry cut him off.
“No, we’re in a hurry. Hagrid, I’ve got to ask you something. You
know that night you won Norbert? What did the stranger you were
playing cards with look like?”
“Dunno,” said Hagrid casually, “he wouldn’ take his cloak off.”
He saw the three of them look stunned and raised his eye-
brows.
“It’s not that unusual, yeh get a lot o’ funny folk in the Hog’s
Head — that’s one o’ the pubs down in the village. Mighta bin a
dragon dealer, mightn’ he? I never saw his face, he kept his hood up.”
Harry sank down next to the bowl of peas.
265