Her eyes were sweeping the cabin. Twice they stared directly into the corner where Harry stood, sandwiched between Ron and Hermione.
“Dolores Umbridge?” Hagrid said, sounding thoroughly confused. “I thought you were one o’ them Ministry—don’ you work with Fudge?”
“I was Senior Undersecretary to the Minister, yes,” said Umbridge, now pacing around the cabin, taking in every tiny detail within, from the haversack against the wall to the abandoned travelling cloak. “I am now the Defence Against the Dark Arts teacher—”
“Tha’s brave of yeh,” said Hagrid, “there’s not many’d take tha’ job any more.”
“—and Hogwarts High Inquisitor,” said Umbridge, giving no sign that she had heard him.
“Wha’s that?” said Hagrid, frowning.
“Precisely what I was going to ask,” said Umbridge, pointing at the broken shards of china on the floor that had been Hermione’s mug.
“Oh,” said Hagrid, with a most unhelpful glance towards the corner where Harry, Ron and Hermione stood hidden, “oh, tha’ was… was Fang. He broke a mug. So I had ter use this one instead.”
Hagrid pointed to the mug from which he had been drinking, one hand still clamped over the dragon steak pressed to his eye. Umbridge stood facing him now, taking in every detail of his appearance instead of the cabin’s.
“I heard voices,” she said quietly.
“I was talkin’ ter Fang,” said Hagrid stoutly.
“And was he talking back to you?”
“Well… in a manner o’ speakin’,” said Hagrid, looking uncomfortable. “I sometimes say Fang’s near enough human—”
“There are three sets of footprints in the snow leading from the castle doors to your cabin,” said Umbridge sleekly.