Harry stared at her, utterly bewildered

Harry stared at her, utterly bewildered, as she seized a frilly napkin and dabbed at her shining face with it.

‘Cho?’ he said weakly, wishing Roger would seize his girlfriend and start kissing her again to stop her goggling at him and Cho.

‘Go on, leave!’ she said, now crying into the napkin. ‘I don't know why you asked me out in the first place if you're going to make arrangements to meet other girls right after me ... how many are you meeting after Hermione?’

‘It's not like that!’ said Harry, and he was so relieved at finally understanding what she was annoyed about that he laughed, which he realised a split second too late was also a mistake.

Cho sprang to her feet. The whole tearoom was quiet and everybody was watching them now.

‘I'll see you around, Harry,’ she said dramatically, and hiccoughing slightly she dashed to the door, wrenched it open and hurried off into the pouring rain.

‘Cho!’ Harry called after her, but the door had already swung shut behind her with a tuneful tinkle.

There was total silence within the teashop. Every eye was on Harry. He threw a Galleon down on to the table, shook pink confetti out of his hair, and followed Cho out of the door.

It was raining hard now and she was nowhere to be seen, he simply did not understand what had happened; half an hour ago they had been getting along fine.

‘Women!’ he muttered angrily, sloshing down the rain-washed street with his hands in his pockets. ‘What did she want to talk about Cedric for, anyway? Why does she always want to drag up a subject that makes her act like a

human hosepipe?’

He turned right and broke into a splashy run, and within minutes he was turning into the doorway of the Three Broomsticks. He knew he was too early to meet Hermione, but he thought it likely there would be someone in here

with whom he could spend the intervening time. He shook his wet hair out of his eyes and looked around. Hagrid was sitting alone in a corner, looking morose.

‘Hi, Hagrid!’ he said, when he had squeezed through the crammed tables and pulled up a chair beside him.

Hagrid jumped and looked down at Harry as though he barely recognised him. Harry saw that he had two fresh cuts on his face and several new bruises.

‘Oh, it's yeh, Harry,’ said Hagrid. ‘Yeh all righ?’

‘Yeah, I'm fine,’ lied Harry; but, next to this battered and mournful-looking Hagrid, he felt he didn't really have much to complain about. ‘Er—are you OK?’

‘Me?’ said Hagrid. ‘Oh yeah, I'm grand, Harry, grand.’

He gazed into the depths of his pewter tankard, which was the size of a large bucket, and sighed. Harry didn't know what to say to him. They sat side by side in silence for a moment. Then Hagrid said abruptly, ‘In the same

boat, yeh an’ me, aren’ we, ‘Arry?’

‘Er—’ said Harry.

‘Yeah ... I've said it before ... both outsiders, like,’ said Hagrid, nodding wisely. ‘An’ both orphans. Yeah ... both orphans.’

He took a great swig from his tankard.

‘Makes a diff'rence, havin’ a decent family,’ he said. ‘Me dad was decent. An’ your mum an’ dad were decent. If they'd lived, life woulda bin diff'rent, eh?’

‘Yeah ... I s'pose,’ said Harry cautiously. Hagrid seemed to be in a very strange mood.

‘Family,’ said Hagrid gloomily. ‘Whatever yeh say, blood's important ...’

And he wiped a trickle of it out of his eye.

‘Hagrid,’ said Harry, unable to stop himself, ‘where are you getting all these injuries?’

‘Eh?’ said Hagrid, looking startled. ‘Wha’ injuries?’

‘All those!’ said Harry, pointing at Hagrid's face.

‘Oh ... tha's jus’ normal bumps an’ bruises, Harry,’ said Hagrid dismissively ‘I got a rough job.’

He drained his tankard, set it back on the table and got to his feet.

‘I'll be seein’ yeh, Harry ... take care now.’

And he lumbered out of the pub looking wretched, and disappeared into the torrential rain. Harry watched him go, feeling miserable. Hagrid was unhappy and he was hiding something, but he seemed determined not to accept

help. What was going on? But before Harry could think about it any further, he heard a voice calling his name.

‘Harry! Harry, over here!’

Hermione was waving at him from the other side of the room. He got up and made his way towards her through the crowded pub. He was still a few tables away when he realised that Hermione was not alone. She was sitting at

a table with the unlikeliest pair of drinking mates he could ever have imagined: Luna Lovegood and none other than Rita Skeeter, ex-journalist on the Daily Prophet and one of Hermione's least favourite people in the world.

‘You're early!’ said Hermione, moving along to give him room to sit down. ‘I thought you were with Cho, I wasn't expecting you for another hour at least!’

‘Cho?’ said Rita at once, twisting round in her seat to stare avidly at Harry. ‘A girl?’

She snatched up her crocodile-skin handbag and groped within it.

‘Its none of your business if Harry's been with a hundred girls,’ Hermione told Rita coolly. ‘So you can put that away right now.’

Rita had been on the point of withdrawing an acid-green quill from her bag. Looking as though she had been forced to swallow Stinksap, she snapped her bag shut again.

‘What are you up to?’ Harry asked, sitting down and staring from Rita to Luna to Hermione.

‘Little Miss Perfect was just about to tell me when you arrived.’ said Rita, taking a large slurp of her drink. ‘I suppose I'm allowed to talk to him, am I?’ she shot at Hermione.

‘Yes, I suppose you are,’ said Hermione coldly.

Unemployment did not suit Rita. The hair that had once been set in elaborate curls now hung lank and unkempt around her face. The scarlet paint on her two-inch talons was chipped and there were a couple of false jewels

missing from her winged glasses. She took another great gulp of her drink and said out of the corner of her mouth, ‘Pretty girl, is she, Harry?’

‘One more word about Harry's love life and the deal's off and that's a promise,’ said Hermione irritably.

‘What deal?’ said Rita, wiping her mouth on the back of her hand. ‘You haven't mentioned a deal yet, Miss Prissy you just told me to turn up. Oh, one of these days ...’ She took a deep shuddering breath.

‘Yes, yes, one of these days you'll write more horrible stories about Harry and me,’ said Hermione indifferently. ‘Find someone who cares, why don't you?’

‘They've run plenty of horrible stories about Harry this year without my help,’ said Rita, shooting a sideways look at him over the top of her glass and adding in a rough whisper, ‘How has that made you feel, Harry? Betrayed?

Distraught? Misunderstood?’

‘He feels angry, of course,’ said Hermione in a hard, clear voice. ‘Because he's told the Minister for Magic the truth and the Minister's too much of an idiot to believe him.’
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