Harry Potter and the Carnivorous Pony

"I'm sorry, Harry, really!" Hermione repeated for the thirtieth time. "I searched all day, honestly, I couldn't find anything!" she cried, looking close to tears. "It's too late now, seven o'clock, the library's closed, but—"

"It's fine, Hermione," Harry said, but wasn't heard, as Hermione was reciting the long and very complicated hours of the library to herself.

"It opens at ten in the morning, but that's only on weekdays, Sunday's a bit later… I think it's eleven, I could go then, but it closes at half past twelve for lunch—"

"Hermione, come off it! I understand," Harry said, but really he was disappointed. "I guess we'll just—Hagrid!"

"'We'll just Hagrid?'" Ron, who was sitting nearby in a maroon armchair, chided sarcastically. "When did 'Hagrid' become a verb?"

"No, you idiot, we'll go talk to Hagrid!" Hermione smiled, once again enthused. "Of course! Why didn't I think of him before? He probably knows all about the horse things! Likely he's even bought a few illegally. Come on, let's go now, while we're still allowed. Hurry!" Five minutes later, the three of them stood outside Hagrid's quaint little cabin, slightly out of breath and clutching their sides. When he opened the door, the first thing that came to mind for Harry was an enormous purple and yellow bird sitting on a large black rock. Then, realising he was seeing Hagrid, Harry took a step back. Hagrid's crazy mane of think black hair was combed to cover the majority of his face. The bird was actually a hideous feathered hat. All three of them stood still, shocked, until Hagrid ushered them inside. "Well, come on in!" Hagrid said. "I've jus' brewed up some tea an' rock cakes."

It was only when the tea had been poured that Harry, Ron, and Hermione recovered their voices. "Hagrid, what is that thing on your head?" Ron said uncertainly.

"This ol' thing?" Hagrid said, as if they could have easily overlooked a four-foot-wide hat. "A close friend o' mine sent it up from Albania las' week. Er—don' you like it?"

"Of course, Hagrid," Hermione lied through her teeth, "but why are you wearing it indoors? And why is you hair in front of your face?"

"I—yeh see—DOWN, FANG, DOWN!" Hagrid bellowed, shoving Fang to the floor as he jumped up and grabbed the disgusting hat off his head. Hermione gasped as his hair fell back and revealed two large hoof-shaped bruises, one on either side of his forehead.

"Hagrid—what happened?" she asked tremulously.

"I—er—the thestrals…" Hagrid wrung his hands nervously.

"We know there's something in the castle, Hagrid." Hermione leaned closer to him. "We know it's some sort of horse. We know it's not a thestral. And we know that you know exactly what it is." She leaned so close to him that her brown curls fell perilously close to his teacup. "Now, are you going to tell us, or will we have to find out on our own?"

Hagrid looked out the window, then whispered conspiratorially, "Fine, then. I'll tell yeh if yeh promise not ter hurt Penelope."

Ron looked disgusted. "That horse that attacked Seamus has a name?"

"Tha's no horse, Ron," Hagrid half-whispered. "She's a—a—carnivorous pony."

The blood emptied from Ron's face at the word "carnivorous." Hermione, on the other hand, giggled, saying, "You can't be serious. They don't exist!"

"Hagrid, just what are carnivorous ponies?" Harry asked, concerned. He knew all too well about Hagrid's penchant for keeping bloodthirsty and usually illegal creatures as pets.

"They aren't real, Harry," Hermione repeated haughtily. "They're just a made-up creature. It's supposedly what you get when you cross a normal horse with a chimaera. No one's ever actually done it, of couse," she added, seeing the terrified look on Ron's face. (Ron had never gotten on well with Buckbeak, Hagrid's old pet hippogriff, and wasn't one to reckon with anything more dangerous than a lobster.)

"Tha's where yer wrong, Hermione," Hagrid interrupted. "Bought 'er off an old man in the street. Said 'e guaranteed she's a real one, too. On'y cost me ten Galleons!" he said, banging his plate-sized fist on the table so hard that all the teacups jumped two feet in the air.

"But—but why is it in the school?" Ron stuttered. "It could ruddy well kill someone!"

"Er—well, I migh' have not tied 'er tight enough, an' while I was feedin' 'er, she flew off. Landed on one o' the towers, I reckon." Hagrid stood up suddenly. "Yeh'll be doin' me and yerselves a big favor if yeh get 'er out o' there. She'll get hungry fer sure, and hidin' all day, she'll need ter stretch 'er wings. Poor girl, Penelope, I'm not surprised she attacked yer friend. She's trapped, poor thing. There's on'y one way ter help 'er—her 'er out the door. I'll be waitin' with a rope an' harness, but just in case, yeh might want ter all three be there."

"When should we do it? Tonight?" Hermione asked.

"Sure, the sooner she's out, the better. How bou' eleven?"

"How exactly do we lure her? Being carnivorous and all—you don't mean for us to…" she trailed off, at a loss for words.

"I'm sorry, Hermione, it's the on'y way!" he sniffled. "I jus' want my Penelope back."

"What? What do we use to lure her?" Ron looked from Hagrid to Hermione, being a bit slow on the uptake.

"Fresh meat."