CHAPTER TWELVE
himself in the high chair behind the desk and fixed Harry with his
penetrating, light-blue stare.
Before Dumbledore could speak another word, however, the
door of the office flew open with an almighty bang and Hagrid
burst in, a wild look in his eyes, his balaclava perched on top of his
shaggy black head and the dead rooster still swinging from his
hand.
“It wasn’ Harry, Professor Dumbledore!” said Hagrid urgently. “I
was talkin’ ter him seconds before that kid was found, he never had
time, sir —”
Dumbledore tried to say something, but Hagrid went ranting
on, waving the rooster around in his agitation, sending feathers
everywhere.
“— it can’t’ve bin him, I’ll swear it in front o’ the Ministry o’
Magic if I have to —”
“Hagrid, I —”
“— yeh’ve got the wrong boy, sir, I know Harry never —”
“Hagrid !” said Dumbledore loudly. “I do not think that Harry at-
tacked those people.”
“Oh,” said Hagrid, the rooster falling limply at his side. “Right.
I’ll wait outside then, Headmaster.”
And he stomped out looking embarrassed.
“You don’t think it was me, Professor?” Harry repeated hopefully
as Dumbledore brushed rooster feathers off his desk.
“No, Harry, I don’t,” said Dumbledore, though his face was
somber again. “But I still want to talk to you.”
Harry waited nervously while Dumbledore considered him, the
tips of his long fingers together.
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