Hagrid and Harry went back to the business of the day. “Have you found out anything else?” Harry asked. “Seen or heard anything?”

  Hagrid huffed. “Haven’t bin back at night, at leas’ not right close. Durin’ th’ day, me an’ the pups bin scoutin’ it out th’ way y’ just said, cautious-like.”

  “Do you have a map of the Forest? Could you show me the affected areas?”

  Hagrid’s smile was a little rueful. “I kin do yeh a drawin’ o’ some o’ the main areas. They’re pretty good about stayin’ put.” At Harry’s quizzical look, he went on, “Th’ Forest is like th’ School, maybe a little more so. Time t’ time, stuff moves and changes. Not any pattern t’ it tha’ I kin see, an’ ever’ now an’ then, a big change, but tha’s rare, that is.”

  Hagrid’s sketching skills were excellent, neat and precise, and, frankly, artistic. Harry wasn’t very surprised. Hagrid’s handwriting had always been perfectly legible, even if the individual characters looked more like ancient runes than anything else.

  “Here’s th’ School, th’ Quidditch pitch, th’ Lake. Over here is where we built the enclosure for th’ Dragons...” Hagrid lost his train of thought for a moment. That must have been one of his favorite memories. It certainly wasn’t going to make Harry’s Top Three. Or Top Ten, for that matter. It might squeak into the Top One Hundred, but only because he had completed the task successfully. And lived. It was a little concerning how many of Harry’s ‘triumphs’ had come down to just managing to live through them.

  Hagrid came out of his reverie. “Where was I? Oh, yeh. And here’s the Whomping Willow, the grumpy ol’ bas...” All three of the dogs’ heads came up, looking at Hagrid in, it seemed, anticipation. Hagrid coughed, then continued, “..bas...ket of twigs.”

  Harry gave him a raised eyebrow. Hagrid blushed, and whispered, “Th’ P-U-U-P-S has got it inter their ‘eads tha’ if I use.., that word, they’re allowed to attack whatever I uses it on.”

  “Or, perhaps, whoever?” Harry asked cynically.

  Hagrid shrugged. “Eh. Pups aren’t welcome in th’ Hog’s Head anymore.”

  “I’m surprised you are.” Harry grinned.

  The big man grinned back. “Aberforth barred me for a while, bu’ when it ‘came plain tha’ Mundungus Fletcher wasn’ going t’ come within three shires of Hogsmeade ever again...’ His grin became wicked when the dogs all growled at the little thief’s name.

  “Bloody hell,” Harry was eyeing the ‘pups’ with new respect. “Now I’m kind of sorry I already gave them their treats.” He put on an affected, saccharine voice. “Who’s a good pack of hounds? You are, aren’t you?” The dogs all gave him a lolling-tongue grin, and wagged their tails. A cast-iron andiron went flying. They returned to what was left of the roasts. All of them were down to worrying the bone, with Direfang casually crunching off an inch or so of his every few minutes, chewing it with a grating crackle which was making Harry’s teeth hurt.

  Hagrid noticed, “Dire boy! Crack Junior and Sweetie’s bones so they can get at the marrow!”

  Direfang obediently got up and stepped to the others. Neither objected as he crunched down, breaking and splitting each bone into three or four pieces, then dropping them. Sweetfang even held her bone up, where the massive Direfang could get at it easily. Mission accomplished, the wolf-dog returned to what was left of his bone.

  Harry shook his head. “Such good dogs!”

  That brought a proud smile to Hagrid’s bearded face, but he kept concentrating on the map. He beckoned Harry over. Harry walked up to the Hagrid-sized rough wood table, whose top was at about the level of Harry’s shoulders. Mentally waving goodbye to his dignity, he climbed on to the other Hagrid-sized rough wood chair and stood on the seat.

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  Ignoring this byplay, Hagrid started. “This is th’ grove that was th’ center of the old nest. Over here is th’ cavern where th’ new colony is set. This star is where Aregag firs’ set up, an’ here is where she moved to. (Hagrid tapped the map with his pencil, and bright yellow stars emerged from the background), From our scoutin’ over th’ las’ few days, these circles are th’ wand wood trees that were bein’ fought over, (he tapped the map again, and circles appeared, glowing green), and these cross-marks are where I remember there bein’ trees that are... gone.” He repeated the tap once more, and red crosses emerged to join the circles and stars. Harry realized that the odd-looking giant pencil was actually a sophisticated magical tool. And it hadn’t blown up in Hagrid’s hand. Sophisticated, indeed.

  Harry interjected with a question of sorts, “The trees that were being fought over..?”

  “Yeh,” said Hagrid. “While we wuz out, we broke up th’ Bowtruckle fights that were still goin’ on, took all the ones that had los’ their trees, I dunno wha’ t’ call it? Prisoner? Inta custody? We spent mos’ o’ th’ day atter finding them new trees. Direfang, there, wuz a big help. He’s right sensitive t’ things tha’ have magic in ‘em. Won’t even take a wee on a tree that has magic.” Hagrid looked up, confused, as Harry snorted a laugh.

  “Sorry,” Harry said, as he sobered up. He looked down at the map, trying to fix things in his mind’s eye. He couldn’t help marveling at the intricate detail, and at the shading that gave depth to the sketch. “Hagrid, do this for me. Take your pencil and draw a line that encloses all the missing trees, without enclosing any of the trees that are still there. Make the curve as smooth as you can, while you are dodging about.”

  Looking over the map, Hagrid slowly stood, pushing his chair away with the backs of his knees. He leaned forward, holding the long wooden pencil with its pointed lead, and looked more directly down on the drawing. He put the point down, and, in one smooth motion, drew the most beautiful freehand circle Harry had ever seen. It sank into the map, then, at another tap from Hagrid, returned, now glowing blue.

  Harry gaped. He looked over at the map, consigned his dignity to the uttermost regions of Hel, got on the tabletop, crawling on his hands and knees over to get a closer look. It. Was. Perfect.

  Near him, on the bottom right quadrant of the map, the inside of the circle missed the site of a missing tree by less than the width of the tube of a biro ink refill. About five-twelfths of the way around the circle, the outside of the line missed a still-extant tree by an even smaller margin. Aregag’s original nest site had been well within the circle.

  “Mark the center,” Harry husked. Hagrid did so, without any of the bother of straightedge and measuring tools Harry would have needed.

  Dead in the center of the spider grove. If Harry was not mistaken, he had stood on that exact spot while talking with Aragog.

  “Di’n’t get tha’ close.” Hagrid sat silently for a moment, then went on. “We scouted aroun’ as bes’ we could. But th’ closer we got t’ the old nest the worse it felt. I felt it, Junior and Sweetie felt it, but Direfang felt it th’ worst, I c’d tell. He wasn’t afraid, in fact, ‘e was gettin’ right angry.”

  Hagrid reached up and rubbed the little bit of forehead that was all that could be seen between his thick hair and his curly eyebrows. “Harry, it wuz like we wuz smotherin’! There was plenty of air, but there was something we needed that was missin’!”

  He dropped his hand. “An’, Harry, it wasn’ just us. There weren’t a magical creature or plant to be seen or sensed. Not a Pixie, Puffskein, Mooncalf, Niffler, Fairy, not even a Flobberworm. No Bouncing Bulbs, Bubotubers, Devil’s Snare, Fanged Geraniums, neither Flitterblooms nor a Flutterby Bush. It was like.., like.., a desert. Yeh, jus’ like a magic desert!”

  Harry checked the watch Mrs. Wealey and family had given him for his 17th birthday. “I saw in the Prophet’s Forecast that sunset will be about 10 pm. That should give us plenty of time to get ready.” Spotting Hagrid’s worried look, he continued, “Yes, we are going in, but we’re going to be prepared. If you’re worried, you can leave the, uh, D-O-G-S here.”

  All three of the animals bounced to their feet, front paws slightly apart, staring at Harry fixedly. Constant growls rumbled in their chests, like the overlapping sound of distant thunder.

  As Harry stared in astonishment, Hagrid closed his eyes and shook his shaggy head. “Harry, Harry, Harry. Why di’ yeh think I misspelled ‘pups’? They ain’t stupid, y’know?” To the dogs, he went on, “Settle down, nah. Harry was making a joke.”

  He looked at Harry. “A stupid joke. Nobody is stayin’ home.”

  “I’ll plead to the charge of being stupid,” Harry muttered. Louder, he addressed the dogs, “Okay, boys and girl, we are all going out tonight, we are going to be protected from whatever magic is happening, and we are definitely going to straighten this mess out, once and for all. And, if anybody gives us any trouble, I, Harry James Potter, Head Auror at the Ministry of Magic...”

  He paused for effect. “...will have Hagrid call them BASTARDS!”

  The howling threatened to shake the cabin apart. Harry went over to half-yell into Hagrid’s ear. (Eventually. He had to climb back up on the chair).

  “Who up at the Castle can get me into the Potions cupboard?”