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"Did he." said Hagrid, looking both astonished and touched. "Tha's tha's righ' nice of him, that is, an' not turnin' yeh in either. I've never really had a lot ter do with Horace Slughorn before. .. . Comin' ter see old Aragog off, though, eh. Well. . . hed've liked that, Aragog would. . . ." : Harry thought privately that what Aragog would have liked most about Slughorn was the ample amount of edible flesh he provided, but he merely moved to the rear window of Hagrid's hut, where he saw the rather horrible sight of the enormous dead spider lying on its back outside, its legs curled and tangled.
"Are we going to bury him here, Hagrid, in your garden." "Jus' beyond the pumpkin patch, I thought," said Hagrid in a choked voice. "I've already dug the yeh know grave. Jus' thought we'd say a few nice things over him happy memories, yeh know " His voice quivered and broke. There was a knock on the door, and he turned to answer it, blowing his nose on his great spotted handkerchief as he did so. Slughorn hurried over the threshold, several bottles in his arms, and wearing a somber black cravat.
"Hagrid," he said, in a deep, grave voice. "So very sorry to hear of your loss." "Tha's very nice of yeh," said Hagrid. "Thanks a lot. An' thanks fer not givin Harry detention neither. . . ." "Wouldn't have dreamed of it," said Slughorn. "Sad night, sad night. . . Where is the poor creature." "Out here," said Hagrid in a shaking voice. "Shall we shall we do it, then." The three of them stepped out into the back garden. The moon was glistening palely through the trees now, and its rays mingled with the light spilling from Hagrid's window
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