Hermione was right, it transpired, as Hagrid’s hut came into view. They were stood at the edge of the forest: Hagrid practically looming over Draco, a frown of displeasure on his brow, and Draco, his posture tense, his arms held stiffly by his sides, and his neck craned back in an effort to maintain eye contact with the half-giant. Hagrid’s mouth was moving, but they were too far away to hear what he was saying. Harry guessed, from the ever-increasing discomfort in Draco’s posture, that the conversation wasn’t going well.