14: Shadows of the Past

Rubeus Hagrid pulled off his soaked moleskin coat and hung it beside the fireplace. He had just returned from the Forbidden Forest. It was cold and windy enough to be mistaken for a winter night, not autumn, but he'd deliberately and cheerfully faced the stinging rain. It was Halloween, after all, and he'd enjoyed a lovely feast up at the castle; he wanted his friends in the forest to celebrate the holiday as well.

Hagrid had been expelled from Hogwarts and lost his magical privileges because of one of those friends, Aragog, but he was far too kindhearted to hold a grudge. He'd spent the next twelve years wandering the world, unwelcome in either human, wizard, or giant society, but universally accepted by animals both mundane and magical. Any creatures who were not calmed by his patient and gentle nature were no match for his persistence and sheer strength.

Albus Dumbledore recognized all of these qualities (and their value) in Hagrid. As soon as he became Headmaster of Hogwarts, he found Hagrid on a small Mediterranean island, getting to know a minotaur (or, to be completely accurate, attempting to get to know a minotaur. Such beasts were as reclusive and ill-tempered as centaurs, but with twice their muscle mass. Hagrid had foolishly annoyed the creature further by mentioning a wizard named Daedalus Diggle. It turned out that this very beast was a direct descendant of "The Minotaur" made famous in Greek mythology--when he was imprisoned in a Labyrinth by a bloke named Daedalus. It hadn't helped when Hagrid responded to this information by saying, "Amazin'!").

Dumbledore appointed Hagrid the gamekeeper at Hogwarts, and never regretted the decision. Hagrid kept all of the beasts in the Forbidden Forest under a firm but gentle thumb, and in addition grew some of the finest squash and apples in the UK. Ogg, the Keeper of Keys and Grounds at Hogwarts, had refused to retire from his post until he was certain that the castle would be left in capable hands. Within ten years of Hagrid's arrival, Ogg departed in complete satisfaction.

Despite Dumbledore's unyielding esteem, Hagrid did not feel it was his place to dine in the castle. He knew his beloved Aragog was not the Beast from the Chamber of Secrets, but he'd been raised to respect his "betters" and if they'd seen fit to expell him from the school, then by Jove he must've done something wrong. He tended his own garden and cooked for himself, but on holidays and special occasions, he would sneak down to the kitchens after the Great Hall had emptied and assist the other servants at eliminating all the leftovers. The house-elves always made plenty of food on such occasions, and they barely nibbled more than a kernel of corn at any one sitting, so Hagrid felt he was doing a valuable service by disposing of the excess.

As always, when he left the castle, the house-elves foisted upon him all the food he could carry (which was a considerable amount). Hagrid hauled it straight out to the Forest, sharing sweet pumpkin tarts with the unicorns and savory meats with the thestrals (his pride and joy, being the only breeding herd in captivity). Even a few of the younger, more "hip" centaurs were in the habit of trotting by for candied apples on Halloween, although this year the rain kept most of them in their deep forest dwellings. They preferred Hagrid's apples straight off the tree anyway.

The fireplace in the groundskeeper's cabin had been included in the Floo Network over 500 years ago, but like the rest of the castle, it was limited strictly to communication purposes, not travel (except during the summer months when there were no students present). There had been a legendary mistake in the 1870's when a hearth in Hogsmeade had been added to the routing and somehow crossed paths with the fireplace in the cabin. The groundskeeper at the time became so furious with unexpected "guests" popping through the Floo that he rigged up an elaborate deterrent system of pulleys and ropes, culminating in the release hatch of a huge reservoir of water over the hearth. At the first sign of movement, the hatch would open and drown the fire, leaving the poor traveler stuck in the network, too dizzy to find another fire and too drenched to get out anyway. Eighteen sorcerers had become long-term occupants of the Floo before the Ministry had managed to correct the problem; there may have been more, but only these were hauled out by the repair crew. The Ministry had developed a rather unfavorable impression of the cabin and its fireplace in lieu of the circumstances, and the Floo had never worked very well after that.

Thus Hagrid was taken quite by surprise, as he warmed his damp, chilly backside over the roaring flames, suddenly to hear Dumbledore himself speaking from the Floo. "Hag-- good gracious me, have I reached the right Floo? Oh. Quite so."

Hagrid performed a leaping pirouette that a ballerina would envy, were it not for the ungainly landing. "Headmaster!" he sputtered, chagrined by the view he had just provided his employer.

"Hagrid, this is most urgent. Meet me at the castle doors immediately!"

Hagrid paused only to pull on his leather boots before bursting from the cabin, without coat or umbrella. He dashed up the slippery lawn, nearly tripping over the first of the stone steps in the rainy darkness.

Dumbledore had already propped open one oak door, his pointed hat eclipsing all but a sliver of the golden torchlight within the Entry Hall. In an uncharacteristic fashion, he waved to Hagrid impatiently, almost frantically. The summons was unnerving enough, but the concept of Dumbledore needing to rush sent Hagrid into a near frenzy. He bolted up the steps four at a time, again nearly losing his footing on the sleek wet stone.

"Hurry, Hagrid," said Dumbledore, stepping outside onto the landing and closing the oak doors behind him. Casting a cautious glance overhead, Dumbledore finally leaned close to Hagrid and placed a silver quill in his hand. "Take this. A Portkey. Listen carefully, Hagrid, there may not be much time." Hagrid swallowed hard, straining to hear and memorize every word that Dumbledore uttered.

"The Portkey will take you to Godric's Hollow, to the home of the Potters," said Dumbledore in a quiet, strained voice. "I will activate it in a moment with the password. I believe something very terrible, or very great, has happened, but I also fear a trap. I do not know what you will find. Search thoroughly, Hagrid, but do not be seen by anyone, Wizard or Muggle. You will repeat the password to return here when you must."

Dumbledore paused and put his hands on Hagrid's forearms. "Hagrid, please be cautious. I dread that I may be sending you into great danger, but I dare not leave the castle undefended. You must be my eyes and ears, Hagrid. Are you ready?"

Hagrid nodded, too astounded to reply, and Dumbledore responded with a curt nod of his own. "Very good. Listen closely: the password to the Portkey is Campanula--" At the end of the last syllable, Hagrid felt as though his belly had tossed out a rope and lassoed a passing train.

In an instant, the wind, rain, and castle were gone and all Hagrid could see was a giant pile of rubble. "The Potter's house?" Hagrid mumbled. It took him a moment to process the notion that the detritus before him was all that remained of his destination. Dumbledore's ears and eyes, he thought, and forced himself to concentrate. He had to collect every detail at the scene, even those he might not usually grant a second glance, for it was impossible to tell which ones would be crucial.

Something had been dragged along the ground from the rubble. Hagrid followed the smudges through the dust, but the trail ended at a paved road, the stiff macadam indifferent to Hagrid's desperate need for information. He returned carefully alongside the trail to the edge of the wreckage, noting the occasional marks of dragging fingertips or heels; clearly a body had been hauled over the dirt. He identified a few partial shoeprints here and there along the trail, though most had been obliterated. Men's style shoes, pointing toward the rubble; it appeared that the cadaver had been pulled out by one person walking backwards, barely strong enough to lift the torso from the ground.

Hagrid knelt at the point where the trail began, observing a few more prints of that same shoe. He tried to envision the pathway within the rubble where the pilferer had removed the body, and sure enough, he could see a few bits of cloth, blood, and tissue snagged on some of the debris. The blood was still wet; Hagrid realized with a shiver that whatever happened here had taken place just moments ago.

He could barely hear the distant wail of a siren, but otherwise all was still. No, not completely. There was a sound coming from...where? Hagrid pulled his unkempt hair from his ears and turned his head...it was within the rubble! Something was still alive in there, a cat by the sound of it.

Or, he suddenly realized, a baby.

Hagrid had not known Lily or James terribly well, but joyous gossip of babies always traveled widely at Hogwarts. He knew the Potters had a wee tot. Whoever had pulled the body (Lily's? James's?) out of the rubble had left the poor lad behind. Hagrid no longer considered his charge of gathering information; there was a life at stake, and that trumped all other concerns.

He focused completely on the sound and made a beeline toward its source. Fortunately it was not very far into the jumbled heap. There, under that bit o' roof. Hagrid flipped it out of the way, to reveal a human baby so small he could hold it in one palm.

Hagrid had seen babies before, certainly many baby animals, but this little tyke looked so tiny

and delicate that he hardly dared pick it up. He told himself not to be so silly, the little one had just survived his house crashing down around him, and besides, he had to be at least a year old, surely past that floppy, fragile stage. Poor little angel. Hagrid steeled himself and picked up the baby carefully, bringing along the little blanket to bundle the wee thing.

There was a sudden rumble of machinery approaching, but it was too loud and sudden to be the Muggle vehicle with the siren. Hagrid stood up and scanned around anxiously, then saw a glint of thin moonlight reflecting from the chrome fenders of a motorbike. He recognized it at once; Sirius Black had earned the ire of a great many centaurs by leaving a number of "donuts" in their favorite clearing of the Forbidden Forest. "Black?" he called.

A strangled groan came to him in response. Hagrid headed straight for the sound with little Harry crying loudly in his hand. Black stood frozen beside the motorbike, clenching and unclenching his hands in helpless fury. He sputtered a few more times, unable to form a coherent sentence, but when Hagrid grew nearer, a glimmer of recognition formed as Black heard Harry's cry.

"The baby? Harry? Hagrid?" said Black. "Where are they? Where's James?" He gripped Hagrid's forearm tightly as soon as he was near enough to reach; Black's hands were clammy and white as the moonlight.

"I dunno, Black, I dunno what happened. Someone's been dragged out, maybe it was James pullin' Lily, I dunno."

Black's eyes glazed with horror. "It wasn't James," he said, choking on the words. "James is dead."

Hagrid pondered this only long enough to reason that if someone had pulled James's body from the rubble, then Lily might still be in there, possibly alive. "Lily," he said with determination. "Take the lad." There was no need to give that order; Black was already reaching for the baby with a look of reverent gratitude, and hugged the little bundle tightly against his chest. Hagrid strode immediately back into the ruined house to search for Lily. "A good mum'd be near her tot if there was danger," he muttered, kicking aside large sheets of plaster and roofing on his way back to the crib.

He found her. Sure enough, she must have been only steps from the baby. The sight of her gave Hagrid a chill. She looked calm and serene as though she were merely staring off into space, lost in thought. Hagrid knew she was dead, from the Kedavra curse, by the look of it. She was barely out of school. Hagrid howled in agony over the terrible injustice that would leave a young woman dead and her baby an orphan.

Her remains were pinned underneath a heavy piece of timber, probably the main crossbeam that held the roof together. Hagrid couldn't lift it, and to his chagrin, the sirens were definitely coming closer. He clambered back out of the wreckage once more to find Black sitting on the ground, pressing little Harry to his chest and rocking his upper body as if to comfort the child, but his own sobs kept the baby from calming down.

Hagrid plopped down beside Black, knowing they must go before the Muggle authorities arrived. He squeezed Black's shoulders and patted his hair gently, trying desperately to find something to say to dispell the young man's grief. "Black! Pull yourself together, lad! We gotta go! Gotta get little Harry someplace safe, lad. There's a good chap," he said, as Black nodded in recognition of Hagrid's point and rose unsteadily to his feet.

"I'll take him," said Black with firm finality.

Hagrid wasn't too sure about that decision. "Maybe he oughter come with me, ter Hogwarts... Dumbledore might--"

"I'LL take him," snapped Black, looking him in the eye. "I'm his godfather. I'm all he has left. He's all I--" Black's voice cut off under threat of renewed sobs. He opened his black leather jacket and put Harry inside, cinching the belt at the bottom very snug and buckling the front nearly all the way up, leaving only Harry's little face peeking out. The baby had stopped crying, as though comforted by Black's presence, but he still whimpered with distress. "Ma, ma, ma," he said plaintively, as a Muggle police wagon rounded the last bend up the road.

"Where will yeh take him?" asked Hagrid urgently, but Black leapt onto the motorbike and sped off without another word. The headlights from the Muggle vehicle were approaching rapidly; Hagrid took hold of the silver quill in resignation and muttered, "Campanula."

"Hagrid!" Dumbledore sat behind the desk in his office. Hagrid noticed right away that the furniture had been moved to clear a space for him, but Dumbledore nonetheless jumped at his sudden appearance. "I didn't expect you back so soon."

"Had ter get out right quick, Headmaster," said Hagrid. "The Muggles were showin' up."

"Tell me everything, Hagrid," said Dumbledore in a level but urgent tone.

The Headmaster had winced as though stabbed in the chest when Hagrid told of finding Lily's body in the destroyed house, but he took the news of the mysterious disappearing cadaver with his usual unflappability. As Hagrid described his rescue of little Harry and the peculiar cut on the child's forehead, Dumbledore's face grew more and more solemn. He was scowling deeply by the time Hagrid reached the end of the tale.

"Hagrid... you asked young Sirius where he intended to take the child?"

"Yessir. He din' answer, sir." Dumbledore's demeanor was making Hagrid feel more apprehensive by the minute, and he began absently fiddling with the nearest silver contraption on the Headmaster's desk. Dumbledore whapped Hagrid's hand smartly, but did not look up from his internal reverie nor speak for several minutes.

"I have a number of concerns, Hagrid," Dumbledore finally began, lacing his fingers together on his desk with a grim stiffness that suggested he'd prefer to be wringing his hands then holding them so calm and still. "I believe Sirius is acting somewhat rashly at the moment. I don't think he has much experience with young toddlers and has bitten off far more than he can chew. Nor is he the only remaining family of the child. I would like the boy brought to me."

Dumbledore took a small scrap of parchment from his desk drawer and tapped it with his wand, muttering softly under his breath. An address appeared on the parchment, along with a small green arrow pointing south. Dumbledore looked long and hard at the writing and nodded, then offered the parchment to Hagrid.

"There are things I must attend to, my friend," Dumbledore said. "I would like you to perform one more service for me. I ask you to find the boy and bring him to this address. It is in London--a distinctly Muggle section of London. I will meet the two of you there at midnight tonight, but you will still need to be discrete when you approach. The arrow will direct you," Dumbledore added with a reassuring smile, but the casual demeanor didn't fool Hagrid for a minute. His normally ruddy hands were pale and trembling as he took the parchment and tucked it into a shirt pocket.

"I'm not certain where Sirius would take the boy," continued Dumbledore in a conversational tone. "Obviously, you might first try his house in Bristol, then the house of his parents in London. If neither proves productive, you must attempt to track him down. I can think of no one more resourceful at tracking than you, Hagrid. Just be sure to bring your umbrella." Dumbledore leveled a knowing look at Hagrid that made him gulp uncomfortably.

"I think it is probably best, Hagrid, if you encounter any other wizards during your efforts, to keep mum about what you have seen. I also caution you that young Sirius may be most unwilling to part with the baby. Perhaps utterly unwilling." Dumbledore paused as the anxious scowl returned to his face momentarily. "I hope that you can persuade him, however, it may be necessary to be more... firm."

"I'll have little Harry to yeh by midnight," said Hagrid quietly.

Dumbledore's eyes sparkled briefly behind his crescent-moon spectacles. "Of that I have no doubt, Rubeus."

Hagrid charged into his cabin to snatch up his umbrella and pull a large slab of pork from the icebox. His puppy, Fang, yipped excitedly at his return, particularly when the pork appeared, and Hagrid automatically let him outside as he took the meat into the forest and set it out to attract a thestral. The rain had stopped, and he hoped that the forests' denizens would still be prowling nearby in expectation of their annual Halloween tidbits. Fang naturally fled back to the cabin at the sound of the first snapped twig. Hagrid had considered bringing him along on the hunt--the pup had a clever nose that might come in handy. But there was no foot trail to follow, after all, and Hagrid knew of some magical creatures that might better serve his purposes than his cowardly pooch. He had no bait with which to entice them, however, so he set out the pork and hoped the thestrals would hurry.

Indeed, a small herd arrived scant minutes later, clopping softly in the wet undergrowth. Hagrid placed a lariat around the neck of the largest one he could find and tethered it to a tree. He shooed the others away to enable the one to eat all of the meat; it had a long ride ahead of it.

Hagrid knew he had no peppers in his cabin, so he ran back up to the castle. There were only a handful of house-elves in the kitchen preparing pastries and muffins for breakfast; they were only able to find a few somewhat withered green bell peppers for him, which he knew would not suffice. For a moment, he considered waking the new Potions professor, who must have a store of capsaicin-rich plants in his stockroom. Hagrid had many years of experience handling grouchy creatures, however, and decided to hold that off as a last resort. Instead, he scooped up the peppers and charged up the stairs to Minerva McGonagall's quarters.

She opened her office door wearing a tartan bathrobe and ridiculous fuzzy slippers, her hair in disarray and smelling vaguely of cucumbers. "Hagrid?" she said skeptically, blinking at the torchlight in the corridor and looking dangerously close to clubbing him with the nearest heavy object.

"I'm sorry, Professor, emergency. Can you Transfigure these fer me? Only I've gotter catch some Fireflies an' these aren't strong enough."

She blinked a few more times, then shuddered off the last vestiges of sleep and stepped back to allow the groundskeeper into her office. "Of course. Fireflies. Whatever for, Hagrid?"

He cleared his throat nervously. "I've gotter find someone quick."

Rolling her eyes, McGonagall set the peppers out on her desk for the Transfiguration. "I inferred that much, Hagrid," she said pointedly, and glared at him expectantly.

"I'm not s'posed to say nothin' about it, Professor, but trus' me, it's important."

Her brows flew up in surprise at his unusual discretion, but she Transfigured the bell peppers into a small, red-orange, shrunken variety that looked positively lethal even to Hagrid and his cast-iron stomach. Just picking them up and wrapping them in his handkerchief made his fingertips tingle uncomfortably. "They're perfect, Professor," he said with a little bow of gratitude. "Thank you."

She called after him before he closed the door. "Hagrid? You dropped this." In her hand was the scrap of parchment with the address in London where he was to meet Dumbledore. It was too late to stop her; she was already studying it curiously.

"Ah, tha's nothin' there, just..." Hagrid began, but he was one of the world's worst liars, and she one of the world's shrewdest judges of character. The battle was lost before it had begun and he knew it. "I'm meetin' the Headmaster there at midnight," he confessed resignedly. "But please don' tell anyone else! It's... very important."

McGonagall's expression softened. "So you've said. Well. I don't suppose the Headmaster would object if one of his staff took a holiday to discreetly scout out this important meeting place. Perhaps I shall see you at midnight, Hagrid--which leaves me less than twenty-one hours to locate this address. I bid you adieu, then," she said, stuffing the parchment into his hand and closing her office door firmly.

Bolting down the marble stairs to the Entry Hall, Hagrid gnawed on a wisp of his beard and muttered, "I shouldn'ta tol' her that."

For what he hoped was the last time that night, Hagrid rushed back to the Forbidden Forest and set out his next bait near the thestral, which was already beginning to tug at its tether impatiently. Although it realistically took no more than five minutes, it seemed like hours had passed and dawn must surely be imminent before the peppers worked their own magic. A single flash of light, soon followed by two more, appeared over the dry pods. Hagrid tossed his handkerchief over the peppers and the three Fireflies eagerly gobbling them up, then folded them all together and stuffed them into a pocket. He hoped the peppers were big enough to keep them munching contentedly until he was ready to use them, otherwise he'd need a new shirt when they burned their way out of his pocket.

Hagrid gave the thestral an apologetic pat as he climbed on its back. It snorted at him but took to the air obediently, and within twenty minutes, the lights of London appeared as a steady glow on the distant horizon. The beast soon put London well on his left, heading for Bristol.

Like all of its kind, the thestral had an innate and magical sense of direction, and took him directly to Sirius Black's doorstep. Pity they can only find locations so easy, not people, Hagrid thought as he dismounted the reptilian horse. He felt doubtful; there was no sign of the motorbike and the house was dark and silent. Hagrid pounded on Black's door for some time anyway, until an irate neighbor shouted something barely intelligible but almost certainly derogatory. Hagrid sighed. Black could ignore enough pounding to wake the neighbors, but the baby would be wailing by now if he were within.

The thestral found the Black's ancestral home in London quickly enough, though it reared at the curb and refused to step off the pavement. The sun had not risen but there was certainly enough ambient light for the beast to be seen quite clearly as it stood in the road, but Hagrid didn't have many options. Fortunately, few people would be up at this hour, and even fewer of them had the prerequisite experience to see a thestral anyway. Hagrid tethered the beast to a lamppost, wishing he had Dumbledore's marvelous little Put-Outer for the occasion.

The house itself existed in Unplottable space between two other homes; a non-wizard would never even know it was there. But the thestral was not fooled by such things, and Hagrid knew he could trust it. He simply walked up to the region where the thestral refused to tread and, sure enough, the lawn parted to reveal another sidewalk. Two steps upon the cobbles and the neighboring houses parted similarly, as the House of Black appeared between them.

Hagrid paused at the top of the worn stone steps. It was one thing to wake Professor McGonagall in the middle of the night on semi-official business, but another entirely to disturb the powerful and wealthy Blacks unannounced. Hagrid knew that Sirius Black had been at odds with his family; one look at the door knocker in the shape of a twisted serpent explained why. This was a house of pureblood wizards, most likely Dark at that. Hagrid would not be welcomed here under any circumstances, particularly the current ones.

He had one shining beam of hope: these aristocrats probably kept servants who would respond to the door at this hour. Crossing his fingers, Hagrid attempted to lift the silver tail of the serpent and knock, but the blasted thing was obviously charmed to resist the grip of non-purebloods or non-humans, or whatever "undesirables" the Blacks saw fit to exclude (a category to which he obviously belonged). Not very hospitable at all, I'd say, he thought, and resorted to rapping the door very gently with a knuckle.

A wizened house-elf yanked open the door on his third attempt and stared at him reproachfully. It regarded him silently for so long that Hagrid began to wonder if it was a mute. When it finally spoke in a deep, croaking voice, Hagrid quickly decided he preferred the silence.

"What's all this, then? Someone leaving garbage, great dirty heaps of it, on Mistress's front step? Who would guess that such ill manners still existed in this modern world, that decent folk would be harassed at all hours of the night by giant heaps of rubbish?"

"An' a good mornin' to you too, there, yeh little weasel," said Hagrid; it had been a long night and he was in no mood for this sort of treatment. "What say yeh turn off the snide an' help me out, so's we don' hafter bother yer precious Mistress."

"It speaks! And an unusually wise heap of rubbish it is, to realize that the Mistress should not waste her time attending to it herself. Perhaps I should throw a few nice pieces of trash upon it as a reward."

Hagrid came dangerously close to throttling the little twerp, but he was not yet tired or footsore enough to lose his head. "I'm lookin' for Sirius Black. If yeh can tell me where he is, I'll be on my way an' we'll both be the better for it."

The creature's watery gray eyes bugged out even further and a hint of red popped into its cheeks at the mention of that name. "How dare you speak of that traitor in this household?" it hissed, too angry for games anymore.

"I'll speak it again an' again, as loud as I need to, 'til I get yer answer," Hagrid said boldly. "Is he here?"

The house-elf glanced fearfully over its shoulder and stepped out onto the porch, pulling the door nearly shut behind it. "Quiet!" it hissed again, glaring malevolently at Hagrid. "Mistress will be most upset if she hears you. That boy has not set foot in this house for years now. Not tonight, not any night. He is not permitted here. If you seek to punish him or collect a bounty, then I bid you good luck, but you will not find him here. Now go!"

"Funny you should mention bounties," Hagrid said coolly, crossing his fingers in hope that he could pull this off. "It'd help me quite a bit if I had summat of his, jus' ter give me trackers a whiff of his scent. You wouldn't have anythin' he lef' behind, now, would yeh?"

The elf opened its wrinkly mouth in a grimace, but stopped in mid-thought. "Something for a scent... there might be something. Not anything he owned, all his tainted rubbish was thrown away along with him, but if something he used would be sufficient?" It glanced up at Hagrid with a sly, malicious smile. "Wait here, bounty hunter." It slipped back through the front door, reappearing a few minutes later with a delicate silver comb clutched in its blue-veined hand.

"Mistress used this to comb the brat's hair when he was little. It was too beautiful to throw away, too beautiful; it can't help that it was used on his nasty head." The elf stuffed the comb through the crack to Hagrid. "Good riddance to it, if it helps you put an end to him," said the elf with an ugly smirk, and closed the door abruptly.

Hagrid took a good look at the comb. The teeth were thin and close together, obviously made for a baby's fine hair, but the spine of the comb was fashioned like an actual spine; the teeth were supposed to represent ribs hanging from the backbones. Now that's just wrong, he thought, but slipped the comb into his pocket with a relieved sigh. He permitted himself a wide grin as he returned to his thestral. He'd managed to get exactly what he needed from the elf, without an ugly scene. It was a stroke of pure luck that the creature had made assumptions on its own; if Hagrid had been forced to lie, he would probably be feeling the pureblood wrath of Lady Black by now.

Hagrid urged the thestral to Diagon Alley, but they were too late. The stars were slowly winking out overhead as the earliest rays of the sun illuminated the highest atmosphere, and the Fireflies could not show their faces in sunlight. Hagrid wished he had simply come to London first, but Dumbledore had told him to try Bristol... ah, well, no point in looking back, he was here now and could only go forward. He took the thestral around the back of the Leaky Cauldron and put it in one of the few livery stalls that the tavern still maintained, then ordered both of them a hearty luncheon to be served in their respective quarters. Adding a handful of hot peppers to his lunch menu as an afterthought, Hagrid finally climbed wearily to his room, yanked the mattress from the too-small bed to the floor, and collapsed upon it in exhaustion.

Hagrid awoke when the delicious scent of potatoes and cutlets pried its way through his dreams. He felt quite muzzy-headed, but gladly opened the door for old Tom the innkeeper bearing his lunch tray. He set aside the peppers for the Fireflies, and ceased devouring his lunch only long enough to assure Tom's stablehand that yes, there really was an animal in the third stall, just leave him the food and don't even think of skiving off a bite for yourself.

Hagrid next checked on the thestral, planning to take a cautious stroll down Diagon Alley and see if any news of the Potters had reached the general Wizarding public. He was quite stunned to find that not only had the story spread, it had acquired details that Dumbledore had never mentioned: that Voldemort himself had attacked the Potters and been killed, and that little Harry had survived. Hagrid began to wonder if he'd been talking in his sleep--how had all these people learned about Harry? He was afraid to stop and press anyone for details; he'd been told to keep quiet and he knew painfully well that he would spill the beans if he engaged anyone in conversation.

Not that it would have mattered, really, he thought to himself; everyone in the Alley seemed to know the whole story--up until the moment he and Sirius Black had entered the scene. He overheard two Ministry employees at a tea shop discussing how Lily and James were found in the destroyed house (though they had many little details incorrect), but no mention of the missing body that had been dragged off. It slowly dawned on Hagrid that the body must have been Voldemort's, a thought which threatened to bring his fine lunch back to the surface. Perhaps he's not dead at all! he thought, although everyone seemed so certain. But without a body, what proof was there?

On top of that, they were all raving about Harry's survival of the attack, yet no one mentioned Black or claimed to have seen Baby Harry at all. Hagrid grew more and more uneasy as the afternoon passed. How could they just swallow all this hogwash about You-Know-Who being killed when there wasn't a scrap of proof of it? Not to mention the part about Harry surviving, even though that was true--but whoever had started that rumor couldn't have known it was true...

... unless they'd been there in Godric's Hollow to watch all of the events unfold.

Hagrid suddenly felt as though a giant glowing target was affixed to his forehead. He scurried back up the Alley and into his room as quickly and discretely as a half-Giant could. He spent the rest of his day with the doors and shutters locked, his back pressed tightly into the corner of the room and his pink umbrella balanced at the ready on his knee.

The sun set around 4:30 and he waited another hour to let the Fireflies out of his handkerchief. They were glowing intensely orange and had not even finished their first peppers; McGonagall had truly outdone herself this time. Hagrid let them fly free in the room for a few moments to get their bearings, then set down to business.

He trimmed down the wick of the oil lamp on the nightstand until only a tiny blue wisp of flame remained, then removed the glass chimney. The Fireflies immediately came over and buzzed about the fire in concern; they instinctively tended any dimming flame as though it were a fallen comrade. Hagrid next pulled out the comb and waved it slowly about the wick, brushing it gently against the insects when they flew near until he was certain it had touched each of them at least once. Holding the comb very near the lamp, Hagrid suddenly raised the wick, restoring the flame to a warm yellow glow. The Fireflies hummed triumphantly, landed on the comb, and began to polish it lovingly with their front legs. Though their bottoms were bright, their heads were not particularly so; they assumed that the comb had rescued the flame and considered it a friend for life.

Now that Hagrid had their attention, he carefully submerged the comb in a tall glass of water (making sure he did not dampen the Fireflies in the process). The water would block it completely from their senses and they would soon become frantic, wondering where their new ally had gone. Hagrid raised the sash of the window just an inch, then cautiously crept downstairs to the stable and led out the thestral. The two of them watched carefully until the three Fireflies emerged from the window, circling one another in a luminous braid as they searched for the comb.

Now was the tricky part. Hagrid reckoned they would fly first to Grimmauld Place, and he was correct. A waste of time, but it couldn't be helped; they were very good at finding their "loved ones," but only because they were so utterly methodical in their search methods. Fortunately, they would recognize very quickly that Lady Black was irrevocably not the beloved comb they were seeking, and would immediately take it upon themselves to sniff out Sirius. Hagrid could only hope that no one else had used the comb, or that the Fireflies wouldn't waste the whole night exploring Hogwarts or Godric's Hollow or any other place Sirius had ever been.

The Fireflies bonked their hard little heads a dozen times on the glass panes of Lady Black's bedroom until that same house-elf opened it and pointed some sort of atomizer at them. They zipped away to a respectable distance and hovered, weaving around each other in an apparent intense discussion. The elf soon began to nod, undoubtedly realizing who they were looking for, and did not spray them with his atomizer. "You won't find what you want here," it rumbled softly to the Flies, who slowed their intricate dance. The elf cackled nastily and called, slightly louder, "Good hunting," then silently closed the window.

The Fireflies apparently understood the house-elf, for they immediately pulled into a close formation and headed off in a new direction. Hagrid knew they'd already begun to work at one of the other scents on the comb, hopefully that of Sirius Black. The thestral followed them without any urging, apparently enjoying the prospect of a scenic flight on a nice evening like this.

It took them over an hour to reach the house in Bristol, but Hagrid was relieved. He knew the Flies were certainly trailing the right person, and would now get a much stronger whiff of Black's scent or magnetism or whatever it was they followed. It was now only a matter of catching up to Black; if he hadn't left the country, Hagrid should make it to Privet Drive in time.

The Fireflies resumed their tight formation and began racing to the northwest. With a good solid scent to guide them, they traveled at considerable speed--the Muggles below would believe them a shooting star. To the thestral, however, this was barely a canter, and it kept pace with them easily. After nearly another hour, Hagrid began to wonder if they were heading for Ireland, but the Fireflies presently descended over Gwynedd in Wales. That made sense; the homeland of Taliesin the Bard was packed with sorcerors, perhaps even outnumbering the Muggles. Hagrid knew the story of Taliesin by heart; the Bard's mother had been a witch and his father (well, stepfather, to be more precise) a giant.

There was not a light to be seen where the Fireflies were heading. They soon reached the treetops of a dense forest, which proved a bit of a challenge for the larger travelers. Once again Hagrid silently thanked McGonagall for her excellent Transfiguration; her peppers had turned the Fireflies' bottoms into miniature lighthouses, enabling him to spot them even after he and his mount had struggled to the ground through the boughs.

There was Black, sitting beside his motorbike in a small clearing with his back against a giant stump, and the little bundle that must be Harry in his arms. The Fireflies had already landed on Black's arm and were presumably cuddling him affectionately, but he made no effort to brush them away. Hagrid realized that Black was asleep. The young man looked terrible, with streaks of tears traced all through the dust and grime on his face. Even though Hagrid was careful to make no sound, Black started awake as Hagrid approached, already raising his wand.

"All right there, Black? It's jus' me, Hagrid."

"How did--oh." Black's wand was pointing directly at him, but the young man was looking at the Fireflies on his forearm. "Are you alone?" Black asked in a slightly less belligerent tone.

"Jus' me, an' me thestral," Hagrid announced cautiously. "Mind if I come over to yeh?"

Black nodded, dropping his defensive posture; even from a distance Hagrid could see he was exhausted and pale. Hagrid came up and sat beside him, immediately fumbling through his pockets for something to eat. He turned up a nice dinner roll from the Halloween feast, but Black waved it away with a grimace.

"No, thanks, Hagrid, I have food, I just can't eat yet. I'm too sick about what's happened." He kissed little Harry's forehead as the tot began to stir from all the chattering.

"We're all sick about it," agreed Hagrid. "Though there's a lot o' rumors goin' roun' about what happened back in the Hollow."

"I know what happened," said Sirius Black dully, but he did not elaborate.

Hagrid debated whether to press him for details, but he had one assignment from Dumbledore: to retrieve the baby. It was getting late, and he didn't want to disappoint the Headmaster by showing up late for the meeting. He decided to try a direct approach.

"Listen, Black, Dumbledore's asked me ter come an' fetch little Harry there, an' I have to say, yeh don't look like you're up teh carin' for him at the mo'."

Black closed his eyes tightly and pressed his mouth against Harry's fuzzy head. He was clearly in agony; tears began to spill down his cheeks. His voice was still dull when he spoke, however, as though he had already cried so much that his throat had no remaining capacity for grief. "I don't want to let him go, Hagrid. He needs me. I'm the only one in the world who knows him."

"Yer a mess, Black," said Hagrid gently. "Yeh look like yeh got one foot in the grave an' the other on a banana peel. You know Dumbledore'll take good care of the lad. Don't yeh think he's better off safe in the castle than out here alone in the woods wi' you? Let me take him back to the Headmaster, put 'im down in a nice, cozy bed tonight. We'll figure out what ter do with him tomorrow. Or the next day. If what they're sayin' is true, he's not gonna want for nothin'."

Black continued to nuzzle Harry's head for some time, but his face gradually relaxed. "I don't want to give him up, Hagrid," he finally said. "But you're right. There's something I need to take care of, and little Harry can't go with me." He paused briefly, then continued in a firmer tone. "Did you say you came here on a thestral?"

"I did," said Hagrid. "He's over there... ah, no he's not, hang on." Hagrid leapt to his feet; he hadn't tethered the beast this time, and it was already sneaking off. "Get back here, you!" He stomped into the brush and caught the errant thestral by the tail. "Shame on yeh, tryin' ter run off. After all the nice food I give yeh, an' let yeh see the sights..." The beast lowered its head and tail meekly and trotted after Hagrid, a guilty look in its hollow white eyes.

Black almost managed a smile as Hagrid led the beast into the clearing. He stood up awkwardly, trying not to jostle the baby. "Give me the lead, Hagrid, I could use a ride that's fast and silent. You take my motorbike and bring Harry to Dumbledore. Harry likes it, the sound seems to soothe him a little." Black stopped, looking down at the baby stirring in his arms. "I'll come find you as soon as I can, sproggie," he said in a shaking voice, then handed Harry off to Hagrid.

"He'll be okay," said Hagrid, a little shakily himself. "I'll see to him an' then I'll bring yer bike back to yer place in Bristol."

Black shook his head grimly; his face had transformed into a mask of hard determination. "Keep it. I won't be needing it anymore." Black bent forward to kiss Harry's forehead one last time, then raised his wand and performed an enlargement charm on the motorbike so it would fit Hagrid. He turned his back, leapt gracefully onto the thestral, and launched into the starlit sky without another word.

Hagrid had never ridden a motorbike, but he was always game to try something new. It was a bit awkward, settling onto the machine and figuring out the levers and knobs with the baby in his hand, particularly since the child decided it was a fine time to wake up and experiment with pulling on Hagrid's beard. Hagrid quickly handed Harry the dinner roll, which produced the desired effect; the tot began to gnaw it cheerfully, filling the beard with soggy crumbs. It kept him from squirming too much, and Hagrid was able to suss out the keys, throttle, and brakes until he felt ready to ride the chopper. He stuffed the now sticky baby into his shirt as Sirius had done the night before, leaving Harry's head poking out through his beard, started the motorbike, and took to the air. Little Harry kept gnawing on the roll as though he didn't have a care in the world.

A/N: This chapter is the first to really challenge Canon. I want to explain the "missing 24 hours" between the destruction of the Potter household and the arrival of Hagrid on Privet Drive to meet Dumbledore and give Harry to the Dursleys.

~F7