Prologue

The step heaved as Hagrid stepped onto it. He paused and looked down. That's new. He retreated back to the previous step carefully as to not disturb the precious cargo in his arms before preceding to the upper step. And again, it sighed under him. A frown came upon him as he made a mental note to bring tools to fix the step the next time he was here. And there would be a next time. Probably not soon after this visit—the war made that a guarantee.

Only one other stepped heaved on him before he crested the stairs. The door to the orphanage now stood before him now. It was an old thing. Worn from years of service. Originally, it used to be white but now it was a sickly grey color. He had offered to fix it on multiple occasions even paint it to a more welcoming color, but Ms. Poltik had always declined his offer with a glare and a shout; she liked that it showed its history. But the doors history wasn't a pleasant one. The door had seen its fair share of misery and pain. Maybe too much even. Just staring at it made Hagrid uneasy.

He wasn't even sure how he became the courier for orphaned children. Actually, he knew why—everyone else was too busy with the war effort and because he couldn't do magic that made him expendable. Expendable to do the things everyone else was too busy for. This wasn't his only contribution to the war effort, but it was his primary one. And he despised it. No. He loathed it. Ferrying children to a place where they will know very little of love made him seethe at times. And seeing the children of whose parents he knew made him hateful.

He looked down at the bundle in his arms and pushed back a bit of cloth. A mop of black hair revealed itself to him. He knew this ones parents well. When he found out about their death, he wanted to go find the bastard himself. But, of course, he couldn't. It wasn't his place. Not the place for a person who couldn't do magic.

Sighing, he covered the boy back up.

Approaching the door, he raised a hand up to knock. He commanded the muscles that would allow him to knock to do it as gently as possible. Too often would he knock too hard. The first time he did so he got an earful from Ms. Poltik. And the third, and the fourth, and the tenth. Only just recently has he been able to control his strength. Some of the cracks that the door housed were actually a result of those previous uncontrollable times. Though that gave him a diabolical idea. If he knocked hard enough, he could probably break the door accidentally. He contemplated it for a moment before shaking his head. Probably not one of his best ideas. He would never hear the end of it from Ms. Poltik.

And so, he knocked. Gently.

The door still rattled a bit but not enough to warrant any concern. Ms. Poltik was aware of his coming but even still it would probably take her a few minutes before she got to the door. She was rather old. And as a result, a bit slow. Not wanting to stare at the door he hated unconditionally for what could be ten minutes, he swiveled around to examine his surroundings.

Stemple Lane was quite different from Diagon Alley. For starters, just as the name implied, it was a straight lane that had buildings of various sizes on either side. Quite different to Diagon with its loops and curves. That was, however, not what was most different about it. The feel was different. He always felt welcomed in Diagon alley but here, he did not. Everyone looked at him suspiciously. But that wasn't limited solely to himself; everyone looked everyone with suspicion. But still, it was quite nerve-racking. And for whatever reason, it was always so gray here. Even if it was sunny in the sky, down at street level it would be gray.

Maybe that's why Ms. Poltik didn't want to paint the door; it matched with everything else.

Finally, he heard the familiar sound of Ms. Poltik's shuffling. It ceased after a moment and he took that as a sign that she was now by the door. Her annoyed muttering followed by the sound of locks turning confirmed his suspicions. He mentally prepared himself as the door slowly opened inward. He didn't hate Ms. Poltik, he barely hated anyone—except for that bastard, of course. But that still didn't mean that Ms. Poltik wasn't difficult to interact with considering the situation he was in and her personality. Plus, he suspected that she didn't very much care for him.

He sighed.

The door was now open fully revealing a short hallway that connected to a lounge room. On either side of the hallway was a singular door that led to who knows where. The first time he saw the interior of the orphanage he was quite shocked, to say the least. Everything was brown. Quite literally. The furniture, the walls, the flooring, all brown. He didn't have anything against brown—his favorite overcoat was brown. But Ms. Poltik took it to the next level. He had gotten used to it now, but it was still unnerving to see.

Ms. Poltik's popped out from the around the door causing him to jump slightly and to cease his musings.

"You're late. You were supposed to be here at 02:00. It's 02:23. Not everyone has the luxury of being able to take as much time as they want with things! Some of us have important things to attend to. So, when you say you'll be here at a certain time you best be here at that time!" her grey eyes seethed at him and the wrinkly skin around her mouth became taut.

"Sorry, Ma'am-" he was cut off.

"And what had I told you about knocking too loudly! You very well could have woken the children! You know how long it takes to put all those children down for a nap? Hours! And your barbarous knock could have ruined all of that!"

Hagrid looked at her, mouth agape. It had been a long time since she was this worked up as a result of something he did wrong.

Ms. Poltik huffed. "Close that mouth right up! And get in here already. I'm not in the business of providing everyone their heat!"

He did as instructed and bounded through the door.

"Stop that insistent stomping of yours! You'll wake the children!" Hagrid heard Ms. Poltik call from behind him. And so, as much as he could, he slowed and quieted his steps.

Hagrid now found himself in the lounge room seated in one of the leathery, brown chairs after Ms. Poltik had finished lecturing him on his 'antics'. The woman herself was now in the kitchen making tea for the both of them and he was now seated in the chair wondering why Dumbledore decided to use this particular orphanage. Luckily, the bundle in his arms didn't stir once during hectic last few minutes. Which he was very much grateful for. He couldn't even begin to imagine what Ms. Poltik would have done to him if he had awoken. Just even thinking about the repercussions sent shivers down his spine.

Once again, he heard the familiar sounds of Ms. Poltik's shuffling feet. Except for this time, it blended with the sound of small wheels rolling on wood. He assumed they belonged to the tea cart.

His assumptions proved correct as the small stature of Ms. Poltik came into view from the hallway in front of him with a small tea cart in tow. She slowly maneuvered her way over to him before stopping by the arm of his chair. She grasped a teapot almost as large as her head before draining some of it into a teacup smaller than Hagrid's palm.

"Sugar?" she asked neutrally.

Hagrid gave her his best smile. "Yes, thank you."

She looked him up and down before giving him a scowl. "Of course, you would."

And with that comment, he knew she was still upset with him. She only commented on his weight when so. He found it funny, however. For his own kind, he was actually on the smaller side. In fact, his own kind made fun of him for being too scrawny.

Ms. Poltik poured herself some tea before giving herself some sugar. If this was anyone else, Hagrid would have noted the hypocrisy. But Ms. Poltik wasn't just anyone else and so he let it go. Hagrid smiled at her instead as she finished making her tea. She, in return, gave him a grimace before using her malnourished looking legs to walk over the matching chair directly across from Hagrid.

They both sipped on their tea for a time. Hagrid knew better than to initiate any conversion before Ms. Poltik did, especially during the times they had tea as rare as they were. A nervous bead of sweat rolled down his spine as he remembered that incident. He learned his lesson then and so he would remain silent.

And it was silent for a while. A silence that was more deafening than a roar from a dragon.

Ms. Poltik set her tea glass down and took in a deep breath before exhaling it.

"Bring the child here. Come on, bring him here," she told Hagrid as she motioned with her hands for him to bring the boy over.

Hagrid set down his teacup and looked down at the boy. His heart twanged with sorrow as he looked down at the face that matched the friends he had lost. And then it twanged with anger and pity as he realized the life the boy would have in this orphanage. He petitioned to keep the boy, to raise him himself. But ultimately, that idea was shot down as quickly as it was uttered. Dumbledore felt it was safer to have children that were the sons and daughters of people that opposed the bastard to be disconnected from the war as much as possible. And that involved being disconnected from the people involved in it. But everyone was involved in the war, including Ms. Poltik.

He used a finger to caress the boy's cheek. Before he brought the boy over to the orphanage, he contemplated with himself just running off with the boy. But with no magic and no connections outside everyone involved in the war, he would be found as easy as a bright fire burning in the middle of the night. So reluctantly, he gave in. A decision he was starting to regret.

Too late now.

Hagrid staggered to his feet and started walking over to Ms. Poltik. Her eyes trailed his movements as he came towards her. Ms. Poltik stretched her arms upward in a gesture that told Hagrid to give her the boy. Hagrid hesitated for a moment, and as he did, Ms. Poltik's gestures became more insistent. He sighed and started to hand the boy over.

He paused and his eyes widened.

The boy had awoken, and his eyes. His eyes. Those were her eyes! Her eyes were staring right at him! The exact same emerald green with a hint of mischief. Hagrid could feel himself begin to choke up as his gaze locked with those eyes. It only lasted for a moment. For the boy's eyes turned away from his and instead locked with Ms. Poltik's as she took him into her arms.

"He has quiet the eyes, doesn't he?" Ms. Poltik said as she wiggled her fingers at the boy making him laugh.

A laugh that made Hagrid's heart heavy. He felt numb. It was hard with the other children but not this hard. He thought he could be strong as he handed over his friend's child to someone he barely knew. But, he couldn't. He felt his strength. No. He felt his entire self melting away. Like he was the last bit of snow on a warm spring day. He needed to get out there before he did something he would come to regret.

Hagrid coughed to push back the lump in his throat, "I best, uh, be going. I have other things need taken care of."

Hagrid nodded to her and started to make his way out of the lounge.

"Wait!" he heard Ms. Poltik say. He turned around slowly and refaced her. "You never gave me his name," she spoke in an annoyed tone as Hagrid turned back around.

Hagrid searched the walls behind her, trying to control the tears that were guaranteed to flow at any moment.

Hagrid swallowed hard. "His name is Harry," he said reluctantly after a moment.

"Harry Potter."