The force of Hagrid's sneeze was such that he hit his head quite sharply on the top of the stone mantle in front of him. Rubbing his hand over the bump that was already starting to develop, he clambered out of the fireplace with difficulty, brushing the soot off of his clothing onto the dirty floor. Once he had satisfied himself with cleaning as much soot off as possible, he turned to survey his surroundings.

It was quickly apparent that wherever he had come out, the building in which he found himself was quite abandoned. There was a heavy amount of dust on the floor and on the few pieces of furniture still around. Thick coats of grim covered the windows, blocking the slowly rising sun from illuminating the small room. A strong odor of mold permeated the damp air within the room. In the past, Hagrid had found himself in worse environments than this, but he was still eager to escape the dwelling.

Moving out of what was once a lounge, he headed for the front door. Pulling it open, he was greeted with the sight of the sun peeking over the distant horizon, slowly bathing the countryside in the soft glow of dawn. Looking pensively down the dirt pathway that led away from the house, he was relieved to find there was not a soul in sight. Despite the fact that there wasn't anyone nearby, he still closed the door gently behind him and started down the path.

Quickly striding down towards the main cluster of buildings comprising the village square, Hagrid kept his eyes and ears alert for movement. Dumbledore's letter still hadn't enlightened him as to what he was looking for, but now that he was here, he knew he would need to be wary, now that he was so close. He now had reason to believe he may not be the only one searching for whatever Dumbledore had sent him off in search of.

Reaching the village square a couple of minutes later, he paused in the center, looking carefully around him. Nothing stood out in an unusual way, though he kept standing there, as if expecting something to happen. When nothing did, he sighed and took a seat perched precariously on a low stone wall surrounding a tiny park-like setting in the village square. After a few more minutes of nothing happening, he started humming a tune, not realizing until a few bars in, that he was humming the same song the drunk had been singing in the wee hours of the morning. Annoyed that such a Muggle song had wormed its way into his brain, he quickly stifled the tune and sat in silence, occasionally surveying the buildings around him.

::~*~::

He had only been sitting there for about fifteen minutes when he heard it. It was so faint, he might have missed it, had the slight breeze of the early morning not brought it to his ears. It came and went for the next several minutes and Hagrid vaguely wondered why the mother's ears weren't more finely tuned to the cries of her baby. When it still went on unabated, even growing a bit in intensity, Hagrid got heavily to his feet and decided to follow the sound, wondering...thinking...perhaps it had something to do with his mission...

The crying led him away from the village square. Following it down a cobblestone paved street, lined with cottages on both sides, he continued on. At one point the crying cut off abruptly and he was left standing still, wondering if it was merely a child waiting for a mother to come. He had turned and taken one step back towards the village square when the crying began again more in earnest this time. Spinning back towards the sound, he hastened forward a few steps and turned the corner. The sight that greeted him brought him to a stumbling halt, his bearded mouth dropping open in horrific shock.

Directly in front of him, a cottage stood, though it no longer resembled anything like a habitable dwelling. The entire façade that he could see was blackened to a horrible degree, as though a great fire had raged around the exterior of the house. A gaping hole had been blasted into the side of an upper room of the house, a darkened, sightless eye gazing down upon the empty street below. A small bit of rubble littered the bright green lawn below, as if ashamed that such bright color could possibly be associated with such a gruesome scene. Hagrid took a few awkward steps forward, knowing full well that he didn't need Dumbledore there to tell him that's exactly where he was supposed to be. A horrible sinking feeling settled in the pit of his stomach as he realized the crying was coming from the wreckage. Never one to stand idly by while another was suffering, he crossed the street in several giant strides, walking right up to the front door, which was no longer there. Peering cautiously inside, he saw the front door lying on its side in a narrow hallway, stubbornly blocking access to a darkened kitchen, barely visible in the gloomy interior.

Hagrid stepped uncertainly inside, wondering whether he should call out for anyone, afraid that no one would answer if he did. Hagrid was a brave soul, but everything about this situation, quite frankly, scared him. He was scared of what he would see. There was no denying the fact that a young child had been crying for at least ten minutes...and no one had tried to comfort him or her. The crying was coming from upstairs, but Hagrid froze in the entryway. Instead of rushing up the stairs, he chose to quickly search the main floor.

Now that he was standing in the front entryway of the ruined house, Hagrid's movements were cautiously planned. There didn't appear to be anyone hiding in the wreckage, but appearances had an awful tendency of turning out wrong. Hagrid glanced into the gloomy living room off of the entryway. In the light of the rising sun, struggling to penetrate the curtains covering the windows, he could see pieces of candy littering the floor and a pale blue blanket, haphazardly hanging off of the sofa. A camera had apparently fallen onto the coffee table as some batteries had popped out and were lying carelessly next to the camera. A small toy broomstick was lying on the floor in front of a wooden chair that had fallen on its side.

Suppressing a shiver that had nothing to do with the chill in the autumn air, Hagrid turned away from the room. His attention caught by the dark kitchen at the end of the hallway, he took a few steps forward, bending down to pick up the front door from out of the way and standing it up against the wall so that he could pass it. The crying continued upstairs, and Hagrid was very close to throwing caution to the wind and rushing to rescue the child, but his feet wouldn't carry him towards the stairs. Instead they continued forward, seemingly moving of their own volition, as Hagrid was still struggling internally about what to do.

While the living room had appeared as though something unexpected had occurred to startle the home's occupants, the rest of the rooms on the ground floor looked as ordinary as one would expect them to be. Far sooner than Hagrid expected, he was standing at the foot of the stairs. Walls on both sides prevented light from reaching up its carpeted steps, so Hagrid found himself facing the gloom and shadowy confines of the narrow staircase. He couldn't be entirely sure, but it almost looked as though something was obstructing the stairs at the very top. The crying continued unabated, though it had significantly lessened in volume, as though the child had given up on being rescued.

Hagrid took a deep breath, squared his shoulders, and started up the stairs. Nothing could have prepared him for what he saw next.

Like the other rooms downstairs, the upstairs hallway, as far as one could see, was ordinary in every respect, though, to the untrained observer, some shock might have been felt at noticing moving pictures framed on the walls. Fortunately, Hagrid was a trained observer, but he paid the moving photos no attention as his eyes were glued in horror at the body lying at the top of the stairs, a resigned, though determined look frozen upon his features. His glasses were hanging lopsidedly off of his face; his dark hair was slightly mussed, as though he had just run his fingers through it, mere moments before.

Hagrid had been struck dumb, not by the fact that there was a body lying at his feet, but by who the man was. James Potter, graduate of Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry, mischievous troublemaker, member of the Order of the Phoenix, forced into hiding for reasons unknown to Hagrid, husband to Lily Evans...father to Harry Potter... These last thoughts spurred Hagrid into action. If James was dead...

He thundered down the hallway, his massive bulk knocking pictures off of the walls. The noise he was making now seemed to hearten the child, which he now determined was young Harry, and the crying picked up in volume.

Hagrid came to a halt at the entrance to the room where the crying was coming from. The despair he felt grew exponentially with every room he went through, but it was nothing compared to what he saw now. In almost every aspect, it looked like a nursery should...except for the giant hole in the wall that overlooked the front lawn below and the crumpled figure of Lily Potter lying on the floor in front of the crib. Hagrid didn't need to check to know that she was dead. Her fallen husband in the hallway was enough of a testament to the reality of the situation. Instead, his eyes were drawn to the child standing at the side of the crib, his chubby little fingers wrapped around the railing, his green eyes fixed upon the giant of a man now standing in the room with him. His dark hair, so much like his father's, was messy and sticking up and down every which way.

At Hagrid's entrance, he had stopped audibly crying, but tears continued to flow down his cheeks. Without saying a word, a lifted a finger to point at his mother lying on the floor in front of him, never taking his eyes off of Hagrid. Hagrid, on the other hand, just wanted to break down and cry at the scene. He couldn't bring himself to go further into the room, but he also knew he couldn't let Harry continue to stare at his mother's lifeless body. Forcing himself to move, he did, quickly lifting Harry out of the crib and holding him close to his chest.

There was nothing he could do for Lily or James, but Hagrid still felt bad about leaving them there. Looking around for a couple of blankets to cover the Potters with, he was distracted by the sound of movement on the street below him. Completely unsure of how this whole tragedy had happened without one person hearing it, Hagrid pushed the thought from his mind and instead decided that he needed to get out of there before anyone saw him. It wasn't easy for him to hide, so he needed to be far from the house when the Muggles noticed what had happened and started giving in to their curiosity.

As quietly as a man of his size could, he hurried down the hallway and down the stairs. Initially desiring to look for a back door to flee from, he was stopped by a familiar figure rushing up the lawn towards the front door.

"Sirius!" he exclaimed, shocked to see the young man approaching him.

"Hagrid! What happened here?" Sirius gasped, clearly out of breath. Due to Hagrid's large frame, Sirius didn't see Harry at first, so he pushed past the half-giant and rushed into the house, calling for James, Lily and Harry.

The questioning inquires quickly turned to cries of anguish. "Oh, no! James!" and a moment later, "Lily! No! Harry? Where's Harry? Hagrid, where's Harry?" Sirius came bounding down the stairs again, but this time he caught sight of Harry nestled in Hagrid's arm, silently watching the two men. "I'll take him, Hagrid. I'm his godfather." He held out his arms in expectation of the child.

Hagrid tightened his hold upon the boy. "Sorry, Sirius. I've 'ready got orders from Dumbledore 'bout where to take 'Arry."

Sirius didn't speak, only stared at Hagrid. Hagrid stared right back. They stood that way for several moments, before Sirius' shoulders fell in defeat. He nodded his head and held out one hand. In it was a key. "Here. Take my motorbike. It'll get you away faster. Besides, I won't need it anymore." He turned to walk away, before Hagrid stopped him.

"Sirius. I'm sorry 'bout the Potters. I know you were close to them."

Sirius turned back to Hagrid and he was surprised to see a tear falling down Sirius' cheek. "He was my best friend, Hagrid. He stuck by me when no one else did. I owe him so much." He sighed. "The least I can do now is make things right." He squared his shoulders and when he made eye contact with Hagrid again, there was a determined resolve in his eyes. "Take care of him, Hagrid. I know he's in good hands with you." Sirius turned on the spot and Disapparated away.

Hagrid stood there silently for a moment, confused by Sirius' determination to "make things right." What had he meant by that? The sound of a door slamming urged him quickly on his way. Heaving himself onto the bike, he took one last look at the house. He hoped respect would be given to the bodies of the Potters and they would be kindly taken care of. Bringing the bike to life, he hastened away up the street, away from the horror behind him.