“I jus’ knew . . . knew you were like me. . . . Was it yer mother or yer father?” “I — I don’t know what you mean, ’Agrid. . . .” “It was my mother,” said Hagrid quietly. “She was one o’ the las’ ones in Britain. ’Course, I can’ remember her too well . . . she left, see. When I was abou’ three. She wasn’ really the maternal sort. Well . . . it’s not in their natures, is it? Dunno what happened to her . . . might be dead fer all I know. . . .” Madame Maxime didn’t say anything. And Harry, in spite of himself, took his eyes off the beetle and looked over the top of the reindeer’s antlers,
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