Giving Notice

A little wooden flute. Carved it meself, especially for Harry's tiny hands - small hands, even for an eleven-year-old. Ruddy Dursleys. Gave it to him for his first Christmas at Hogwarts.

And now Harry's given it back to me.

When yeh give a gift, yeh don't expect to get it back. Definitely never this way.

The professor's holding it now, turning it over and over in his hands. Professor Snape, that is. He dragged me back here to my hut after dinner - grateful to him for that, I am. He was right - 'taint no good to upset people more by shouting at Trelawney, though she'd have deserved it. Looks like a praying mantis, sounds like a mosquito, and hurt the kids worse than a wasp.

She would'a deserved it, all right - but it won't help Ron none to yell at her. Won't help Hermione neither, nor anyone else. Would only disappoint Dumbledore, Professor Snape said. Great man, Dumbledore.

Yeh're still staring at Harry's flute, Professor. Stroking it with those thin, potion-stained fingers. Even sniffing at it carefully. Why are yeh staring at it so hard? What is it that yeh see? Or is it something that yeh're looking for?

Whatever it was, yeh don't look too happy about finding it - or not finding it. Yeh hand it back carefully, putting yer distance up again. I'd forgotten how small it was in me big hands. Surprised I managed to carve it without breaking it, truth be told.

"I didn't know Potter played the flute."

"Hm? Oh, I don' think he does- I mean, did. Think he mighta been tone-deaf; I know his father was."

The eyebrow goes up. So yeh're surprised to hear that, are yeh, Severus? "I wasn't aware that Potter - either of them - were tone-deaf; though in James Potter's case I really ought to have guessed." Remembering an old trick, judging by the look on yer face - I've been at Hogwarts since before yeh were born, and I know yeh well enough by now, student, teacher an' man. "But if he didn't play this flute, why is it polished?"

"Well, I put varnish on it to stop splinters going in his fingers, same as wands get." As if I'da' given Harry a present that could hurt him!

"I realise that, Hagrid." I hate it when yeh put on that dry voice - really makes yeh see why all the kids get aggravated about Potions. "But there's a further polish on this flute - not wand polish, either."

"Mus' be broom polish. He always had plenty o' that. He loved flying, loved his broom. Took good care of it." It was always lovely to watch Harry fly; he belonged up there. That Creevey boy in my fourth year Care of Magical Creatures class gave me a few photographs of him flying, and a couple of others besides; one of Harry having a cuppa with me, one of him, Ron and Hermione, one with him holding his ruined arm after that game with the tampered Bludger - and if I ever get a hold of whoever did that, they'll wish they were a dead man. It coulda killed him.

I'm grateful to young Creevey for his gift to me - right thoughtful, that was. I never was much of a one for keeping photographs - had to write to all James and Lily's old friends to get hold of enough snaps for the little album I gave him, after the incident with the Stone and all. I shoulda been thrown out for telling things I shouldn't have, nearly getting Harry killed meself, but instead Dumbledore let me take the day off to make the album as nice as I could for him. You shoulda seen his face when he saw it - like someone who saw somethin' beautiful for the first time ever in their life.

I didn't have no photographs of James and Lily of my own to give to Harry - I shoulda learned from that and gotten some photographs of Harry while I had the chance. But I didn't. Now I only have a few from someone else, in a little heap on the table next to the teapot.

"Ah. Broom polish. That would be the smell, yes." Yeh always had a sensitive nose, Severus - a better sense of smell than Fang, I think sometimes. No wonder yeh went inta potions. No wonder yer nose is all scrunched up now.

"Broom polish ain't so bad, Severus."

"No, just too bloody strong." Ah, don't yeh know yeh're too young to try and act like an old grouch? Or maybe it ain't so much that yeh're young, but more of me getting older. I am nearly seventy, after all, and yeh're only just thirty-six. To me yeh're in the prime of yer life, nobbut a child almost. Guess yeh feel older, though - we're all feelin' older. And the kids shouldn't be that old, but fer that Trelawney -

"Speaking of strong, Hagrid... you wouldn't happen to have something to drink on hand, would you?" What? Oh. I should've thought of that. Rotten hospitality. I shake me head to clear it of angry thoughts.

"Oh yes, I do. Er... tea, coffee, or summat stronger yet?" I don't have no scotch handy though, which is what the professor likes. Only got some ale, and the Ogden's Firewhiskey.

"Stronger yet. And don't worry - whatever you have will do nicely, thank you," with a raised hand.

I scratch my head, a bit embarrassed. Ogden's is good stuff, but it ain't a refined drink fer a refined man like Severus. Still, he did say it would do... Now, I definitely put them somewhere -

"Er, Hagrid, really, you don't need to give me any cakes - after all, I just ate at supper; the drink alone will be sufficient."

"Oh. All right, then." I turn to put them back in the cupboard. "It's just that I made them t'other week for Ha- fer the kids in case they came to visit, and they'll go terrible hard and stale soon if they aren't eaten..." Would yeh look at me, sniffing over a plate of rock cakes like a big baby? Harry would be right ashamed of me.

A sigh. "You have a point, Hagrid. I'd hate for them to... become... hard. Bring them and the bottle over here, then."

I forgot - he can't stand the thought of waste. "I din' mean teh make yeh feel obligated or nothin', Professor-"

"I know that, Hagrid. Now sit down, for heaven's sakes. Tell me more about these photographs."

Setting the cakes and the Firewhiskey bottle down, I quickly grab two mugs and pour the Firewhiskey. Handin' one of the mugs over to Severus gets me a grunt o' thanks and I sit down, picking up the photograph on the top of the pile. "Ah. Yeh might remember this one, Severus - it were righ' after Dumbledore announced I were t' become a teacher, an' Harry, Ron an Hermione all ran up t' congratulate me..." Thirteen years old in that picture, and still so small - even more so next to a great lump like me.

"Mmm, yes, I remember. Of course, I recall that most people were quite pleased for you at that time - even some of my own House were." Which is Severus' way of saying that he was pleased for me too. "If I recall, that was soon after we had an alert that Potter had escaped from his family's home after inflating his Muggle aunt..."

"Oh, aye. That were a worryin' few hours, weren't it? I told Harry off for worrying us so - not sayin' nothin' about why, o' course. Still, it were accidental magic; he dinnae do it on purpose, and then he thought he'd get expelled for not havin' any control over it. I could see why he felt he had no choice but to run. He told me he could never bear it when she visited..."

"Visited? I thought he lived with his Muggle aunt; that is, Lily's Muggle sister and her husband?"

"Oh, aye, he did live with them. This was the husband's sister that he inflated. An' she was jus' like her brother, if not worse. Tellin' a thirteen-year-old that 'is parents deserved t' die for bein' drunk-drivers, hittin' a five-year-old with a walking stick - I'd'a hit her!"

"What?"

"Aye, 'twas dreadful. Bad enough Dursley himself just made him go without food or new clothes, an' Lily's sister made him work round the place like a house-elf..."

"Hagrid... What. The. Bloody. Hell. Are. You. Talking. About?"

Eh? His face is all confused and... he din' know? "Well, the Dursleys - that is, his aunt and uncle - they told him that his parents died in a car crash, an' they made him sleep in the cupboard under the stairs fer a bedroom 'til his Hogwarts letter came. He did half the housework, only got his lump o'lard cousin's hand-me-down clothes, got locked up with hardly any food for the least thing... and the aunt he blew up, she'd whack him round with her stick and insult him and his parents righ' t' his face... an' his cousin used tae hit him till he thought that Harry coul' hex him in return."

"But Albus - Potter was supposed to be safe there - "

"Well... I suppose Professor Dumbledore had his reasons. I delivered him to that awful house as a baby, and Dumbledore himself placed him on the step. Said something about not wantin' Harry to grow up in the wizard world because he'd get all overwhelmed by his past before he had a chance to choose who he was by himself - or something like that. An' anyway, I guess livin' there made him tough; when I came t' get Harry, he came forward and iden'ified himself when I'd mistaken his cousin fer him - but he din' know that I meant no harm, y'know? He was protectin' his great puddin' of a cousin, Heaven knows why."

"I... see."

A sloshing sound brings me out of me sad thoughts - Severus is refilling his mug with Firewhiskey. I shoulda' been the one to do that - terrible host, I am. Ah, well, I can give him a cake still... Severus himself always tells me ta eat if'n I'm going tae drink, as it helps or somethin'.

"...Thanks for the reminder, Hagrid. Yes, just, put it down there..."

Might have another dram meself... nothin' quite beats Ogden's Firewhiskey...

~*~*~*~*~*~

"...And this one is?" A frown crosses his features. "Stupid bloody Lockhart, get out of the way, I can't see a damn thing..."

Young Creevey musta given me more photos than I thought - I'd say too many, but there 'taint no such thing as too many photos of Harry no more. No more Harry. Just more Harry photos.

"Lockhart? Ah, tha' stupid bloke tried tae fix Harry's broken arm when that Bludger went crazy and wouldn't leave him be. Ended up takin' all the bones out instead o' helpin' him."

"Oh, yes. Incompetent moron. Wish I'd hexed him through the wall in the Duelling Club - but the Headmaster would've killed me. For doing a service to all wizards, no justice." Severus scowled at the picture when poor Harry winced as Lockhart manhandled his arm as he prepared to show off. "I still don't know who fixed that bloody thing. I knew it was Quirrell pulling that bloody broomstick stunt the year before, but I still don't know who did this. A piss-poor assassination attempt, if that's even what it was..."

"Yeh don' know who it were neither?" I woulda thought... after a couple o' years an' Severus bein' smarter than me, maybe he'da found out who was behind that rotten trick.

"No," was the gloomy answer as the professor took a large swallow of the Firewiskey and glared at the fire. "I've no idea. I've been wondering, but I never found out for sure, and I wasn't going to ask Potter. I assumed you would have."

I shook me head. "Nah, he had enough tae worry abou' that year - an' so did I, come tae think of it. I never thought t'ask later. I just thought maybe - well, no offense to ye sir, but young Malfoy weren't fond of Harry, and maybe..."

Shaking his hand in an irritated way, Severus said, "No. First people I checked - discreetly, of course. Wasn't any of the Slytherin team. I thought it might've been Lockhart, making an accident so he could show off by healing The Boy Who Bloody Well Lived, but I don't know for sure."

Looking at a picture where Harry was smilin' and wavin' up at me along with Ron an' Hermione, I sigh, feeling something in me go all flat with despair. "I just don' understan', Severus. You-Know-Who wasn't revived yet; everyone liked Harry. Who coulda hated him enough t' tamper wi' the Bludger? Who coulda ever wanted him dead?"

"You mean aside from himself?"

... What can I say t' that? I go quiet and so does he.

I know yeh, Severus. Yeh've been talkative, now yeh want t' be quiet. I'll let yeh be. I know that's what yeh want.

I just wish I'da' known what Harry wanted, so I coulda given it t' him, too.

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Next chapter update: by the end of April. I swear. *pulls out hair* I'm really sorry that I'm so slow at updating.