As Harry finally ventured to peer up at the Head Table, his eyes settled upon the new Defense Against the Dark Arts professor. It was a woman, for the first time since Harry had been at Hogwarts. She wasn't old at all, appearing to have no more years than Sirius. Her black robes, while easily conforming to the uniform code, were cut in such a way that made it seem as if she had some sense of fashion. Wavy mahogany hair flowed down to the middle of her back, unfettered by any band or clip. Her face was full and soft, but silver eyes glinted behind her long lashes, leaving no doubt as to what her true personality was. She was talking animatedly with Professor Sprout.

At that moment, Dumbledore rose and tapped his glass. The room fell silent and the man spoke, gesturing to the new Professor.

"I would like you all to meet Professor Hanrahan. She is to be our Defense Against the Dark Arts teacher, and is planning to stay for more than a year."

Some students laughed at this; they hadn't had a single DADA teacher for more than one term in a long time. The nervous tittering died down as those unnerving eyes glared sternly around the room. Everyone hurried to consume their food, which had just appeared before them.

As plates laden with dinner became empty, the older students began to drift off to their respective dormitories. Only the prefects of each house were required to stay in order to lead the first years to their bedrooms; everyone else had leave to find their beds early. Hermione had to stay because of her new status, but Harry was free to go. The youth did so, the unbearable faces of the remaining Weasley's catching his vision every time he dared look up from his plate.

Even the corridors themselves were full of pain for him, every sight reminding of the friend he was trying so hard to forget and yet desperate not to. Here was the hall where they discovered Ron's inkpot had broken in his bag and turned all his potion ingredients into black gook; here was the spot where Harry had stepped on a new trick of the twins', which caused not only his face to turn purple, but also the next person he touched, who happened to be Ron; here was where the staircases had changed on them and sent them into a room that turned out to hold paintings of nudes. They had all screamed and hid themselves behind the frame as the boy recalled, and had stayed there as the two blushing males removed themself from that particular enclave.

Realizing he would be unable to find peace in the school right now, Harry headed for the forest and Hagrid's cabin, slinking through the shadows to avoid encounters with anyone else. Upon reaching it, his hand trembled as it rapped three times on the door then dropped to his side, as if it had lost all energy. The boy was beginning to wonder if the gamekeeper was even there when the door opened with a loud creak. Sad eyes were almost hidden in the voluminous beard, but they were visible enough to make out that he'd been crying too much lately.

"Harry? Is 'at you?" Hagrid's voice contradicted his face completely, calm and steady, quite uncharacteristic of the giant.

"Yeah, it's me. Can I come in?"

"Sure, why not?" The man stepped back, allowing the youth to enter. Eyes adjusting rapidly to the darkness, Harry leans against a wall rather than seating himself in one of the lumpy chairs. Hagrid, too, stood, as if to seat himself would be to make less grave the situation. An uncomfortable silence built, a tension caused by the absence of a comrade. The elder finally broke it, stating a rather unexpected statement for the youth.

"'t's not your fault, 'Arry"

Harry started, eyes refocusing sharply.

"I know that."

His words are a bit confused, as if he isn't quite sure why the other has brought this up. Instead of explaining himself, Hagrid repeats himelf.

"'t's not your fault."

"I know..."

This time Harry speaks as if he thinks Hagrid's mind may be going, but wisely, the opinion is kept to himself.

"'t's not your fault."

"I know!"

"'t's not your fault."

"Will you stop saying that?!?"

"t's not your fault."

"Damn it, I KNOW!"

"'t's not your fault, 'Arry."

"I KNOW!"

The boy's fist slams down upon a nearby table and the dishes on it rattle from the force, but the gamekeeper doesn't react except to reach out a hand and place it on Harry's shoulder. With that simple gesture, the youth crumbles inward, all rage instantly gone and replaced by grief. Crying as well, Hagrid pulls him into an embrace.

For a long time, they remain that way, crying until all the tears are gone, until they can stand without the other's support. As Harry slips out, he whispers a soft thank you in Hagrid's direction.

As he walks to the dormitories, the eerie sensation of being watched penetrates his senses. A glance around proves nothing is following him, but the youth remains suspicious.



* * *



He flitted through the wall rapidly, barely avoiding being seen by the youth....