Hagrid's self-imposed exile dragged on for what felt like an eternity. By Saturday afternoon, Hermione declared she simply couldn't bear it any longer—they hadn't glimpsed Hagrid in the Great Hall for ages, and were beginning to suspect he might have quietly packed his bags and vanished altogether.
"Hagrid shouldn't let that stupid, vile woman get to him! Half-giant... half-giant! What's the bloody big deal?! Nobody gets to choose how they're born!" Hermione stormed ahead with such fierce determination that Orli, Harry, and Ron had to sprint to keep pace. Finally, she broke into an outright run, leading them in a mad dash across the grounds straight to Hagrid's hut.
The curtains remained stubbornly drawn, and they could hear Fang's mournful barking as they approached.
"Hagrid!" Hermione shouted, hammering on the door. "Hagrid, enough of this! We know you're in there! Nobody cares that your mother was a giant, Hagrid! That horrible Skeeter woman—you can't let her win! Come out, please, you're not—"
The door swung open. Hermione stopped mid-sentence, because standing before them wasn't Hagrid at all, but Albus Dumbledore.
"Good afternoon," he said pleasantly, his eyes twinkling as he smiled down at them.
"We—er—we wanted to see Hagrid," Hermione said in a small voice.
"Ah, I rather suspected as much," Dumbledore replied, his eyes dancing with gentle amusement. "Why don't you come in?"
"Oh... um... all right," Hermione managed.
They stepped into the hut to find Hagrid slumped at his table, two enormous teacups sitting before him. He looked absolutely wretched—his face was blotchy and swollen, his eyes red-rimmed and puffy. As for his hair, he'd swung to the complete opposite extreme: instead of trying to tame it, he'd abandoned all effort entirely, leaving it a wild, tangled mess that resembled a bird's nest made of black wire.
"Hello, Hagrid," Harry said gently, his voice heavy with concern.
Hagrid lifted his head with obvious effort.
"'Lo," he croaked, his voice barely more than a rasp.
"Have some more tea," Dumbledore said, closing the door behind them. He drew his wand and gave it an elegant flick; instantly, a spinning tea service materialized in midair, complete with a plate of cakes. Dumbledore guided the floating tray to the table with practiced ease, and they all settled into chairs. After a moment of weighted silence, Dumbledore spoke:
"Hagrid, did you happen to hear what Miss Granger was shouting just now?"
Hermione flushed pink. Dumbledore smiled warmly at her before continuing, "Judging by their rather dramatic attempt to storm your door, I'd say Hermione, Harry, Orli, and Ron are still quite eager to call you their friend."
"Of course we want to be your friends!" Harry burst out, staring at Hagrid with fierce loyalty. "You can't possibly think that Skeeter cow—sorry, Professor." He shot a quick, apologetic glance at Dumbledore.
"I seem to have developed a temporary case of selective deafness, Harry," Dumbledore said mildly, examining his fingernails with great interest while gazing at the ceiling. "Didn't catch a word."
"Er—right," Harry said, looking slightly less mortified. "What I mean is—Hagrid, how could you think we'd care what that woman writes?"
Two enormous tears welled up in Hagrid's beetle-black eyes and rolled slowly down his cheeks, disappearing into the tangled wilderness of his beard.
"Hagrid, that proves precisely what I've been telling you," Dumbledore said, still contemplating the ceiling with apparent fascination. "I've shown you dozens of letters from parents—people who were students here themselves and remember you fondly. They've made it crystal clear that if I were ever foolish enough to dismiss you, they'd never forgive me—"
"Not everyone," Hagrid said hoarsely, his voice thick with pain. "Not everyone wants me ter stay."
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