"My mother? She's dead," Hagrid muttered, his voice sinking lower and lower. "Died years ago. I only found out around this time last year, from a few other giants."
Choking back sobs, he wiped his eyes with the back of his hand. Big tears splashed onto his trousers… even though just moments earlier he'd insisted he didn't care about her at all.
"I'm really sorry," Jon said quietly. He had more or less guessed it already—if Hagrid's mother hadn't died, he wouldn't have brought his "short" little brother Grawp, who was constantly bullied by other giants, to Hogwarts a year ago.
"It's alright." Hagrid pulled a filthy handkerchief from his pocket and blew his nose hard. The thunderous sound made Jon jump.
"Then, Professor Hagrid…" After Hagrid's emotions settled a little, Jon pressed on, unwilling to give up. "Do you know where the other giants are now? If I remember correctly, you've had contact with them before."
Hagrid thought for a moment before answering. "The other giants… About a year ago, last September, I saw them near Dijon. I was with Olympe then. We tried to get close to them—tried to earn their trust…"
"And after that…" Jon already knew how the story went.
Hagrid and Madame Maxime had brought Dumbledore's gifts to the giants, hoping to win their support in the Second Wizarding War. They'd made some early progress, but internal upheaval among the giants ruined everything in the end… and the giants ultimately threw in their lot with Voldemort.
After patiently listening to Hagrid's brief account, Jon asked, unable to hide his urgency, "So those giants… are they still near Dijon?"
"I don't think so," Hagrid shook his head.
"At the end of June this year, after Professor Dumbledore reached an understanding with the Ministry, Rufus Scrimgeour—the head of the Department of Magical Law Enforcement—led a group of Aurors there. They didn't find anything, though. Just ruins. The giants had already left months earlier. Most likely the Dark Lord arranged a new place for them."
Jon felt his heart sink.
"Alright… thank you," he said with a weak smile, then asked one last question. "There's really no other news about the giants?"
"No," Hagrid nodded. "I haven't heard anything else."
Jon couldn't help but sigh. Europe was vast. The giants could be hiding anywhere—north or south, east or west. Madrid. Minsk. Even Greenland.
Finding them would be like searching for a needle in a vast sea, unless they chose to reveal themselves.
And with Voldemort currently at a disadvantage, there was no way he'd be foolish enough to send his giant allies out to die.
Even in the original timeline, it wasn't until a year later—after Voldemort had fully seized control of the Ministry—that the giants reappeared, carrying out several horrific massacres of Muggles.
"By the way, Patrick," Hagrid asked curiously, "why are you so eager to find the giants?"
As he spoke, his expression grew stranger and stranger, his voice beginning to tremble. "Don't tell me… you're also…"
One massive hand came down on Jon's shoulder—
Jon finally snapped back to his senses and quickly wriggled free of Hagrid's grip. "Professor Hagrid, you're thinking too much! I'm this scrawny—how could I possibly be a half-giant? Just think about it!"
Shouting as he spoke, Jon bolted out of Hagrid's hut in a panic.
From inside, Hagrid's voice continued to boom, "Really, there's no need to care what other people think! Be brave and admit who you are!"
...
Thankfully, Rubeus Hagrid didn't come after him.
Jon walked along the path at the edge of the Forbidden Forest, his face full of disappointment. The giant lead—just when he'd finally seen a glimmer of hope, it had been cut off completely. It felt almost cruel.
A vivid red bird fluttered lightly down and landed beside him.
Though she didn't sing, the warmth radiating from her body was deeply comforting.
"Thanks, Fawkes," Jon said, forcing a smile.
Fawkes had brought him back from Beauxbatons to Hogwarts and left him here. While Jon had gone to visit Hagrid, she seemed to have been searching for food along the forest's edge.
"Is Professor Dumbledore at the school?" Jon asked softly.
It had been a long time since he'd last seen Headmaster Albus Dumbledore. Jon felt he should pay him a visit, offer his sincere regards… and perhaps Dumbledore knew more about the giants than Hagrid did.
The phoenix shook her head, signaling that the white-haired elder was not currently at Hogwarts.
That made sense.
With the wizarding world in a state of emergency against Voldemort and the Death Eaters, Dumbledore was undoubtedly far busier than before. He couldn't possibly stay in his office around the clock anymore.
Just as Jon was considering whether to visit the headmaster's office anyway and see the old portraits on the walls—
Fawkes suddenly bristled like an enraged rooster, every feather standing on end.
...
Jon's expression hardened instantly. He understood at once—Fawkes was warning him.
"Disillusionment!"
Without hesitation, he cast the charm. Both wizard and phoenix vanished completely.
Hidden in the shadows, Jon shifted his position carefully, scanning his surroundings. His hand rested lightly on Fawkes's tail feathers—if anything felt wrong, she could take him away at once. Other than a phoenix, very few creatures could Apparate within Hogwarts.
A set of furtive footsteps crept over from the direction of the greenhouses.
It was a bald old man, fat as a walrus, with bulging eyes and a thick, silvery beard just as bristly. He was wearing a dressing gown and clutching several twig-like objects in his hands.
Looking around suspiciously, he passed right through the spot where Jon had been standing and slipped quietly into the Forbidden Forest.
He never noticed the hidden wizard and phoenix.
It was Professor Horace Slughorn.
Once Slughorn had completely disappeared from sight, Jon finally let out a breath. For a split second, he'd thought a Death Eater had infiltrated the school.
"Let's go back to the castle," Jon whispered to Fawkes.
The phoenix nudged him with her beak and gestured upward.
Above Jon's head, an owl circled in the air, clearly searching for something—yet finding nothing at all.