patreon.com/palevolt100 _Read early chapters of up to chapter 104
+++++
In the days that followed, Henry noticed a subtle shift in the way people looked at him as he moved through the corridors.
Some whispered as he passed; others stepped aside and gave a small nod of greeting. A few of the younger Hufflepuff girls would blush and say something like "yesterday's match was wonderful" before hurrying away.
He responded in his usual manner, nodding, smiling, offering a quiet word of thanks, his pace entirely unhurried, as though this were simply part of the ordinary texture of the day.
Draco's feelings about all of it were complicated.
"Why do people speak to me as though I'm some kind of rare discovery?" he grumbled during afternoon tea, driving his fork into a smoked salmon sandwich with more force than the sandwich required. "As if your being decent is proof that Slytherin occasionally produces something other than villains. As if you're some exotic specimen."
"He is something of a rare specimen," Pansy said, with complete composure. "Has there ever been a prince in the entire history of Hogwarts? A prince who plays Seeker and catches the Snitch in his first year?"
"All right, all right," Draco said, without really arguing.
Daphne sipped her tea and said nothing, her eyes curved in quiet amusement.
Pansy slid her scones toward Draco.
In the last week of November, Hogwarts received its first proper snowfall.
It began quietly in the night, and by morning the entire castle was buried under a thick, even white. The pine branches at the edge of the Forbidden Forest bent under their load. The Quidditch pitch had disappeared beneath a pristine expanse of undisturbed white.
From a distance, with smoke rising steadily from its chimney, Hagrid's hut looked rather like a gingerbread house freshly iced.
"All it needs is a singing owl," Harry said, rubbing his hands together as he came through the door.
"Owls don't sing," Ron said, heading directly for the fireplace. "They just eat and stare at you."
Hagrid laughed deeply and pressed large wedges of freshly baked scone into each of their hands.
Henry arrived slightly later than the others, carrying a small jar of Balmoral honey and a hand-knitted wool scarf.
Lucy had made the scarf on a quiet afternoon, red with a gold border, unmistakably Gryffindor in character. Henry had made a point of finding out which House Hagrid had belonged to.
"For me?" Hagrid took the scarf and went still for a moment, his beetle-black eyes growing visibly bright. "Merlin, Henry, this is...I haven't had a hand-knitted scarf in years."
He wound it around his neck three times and still had some to spare.
The red and gold against his wild beard made his smile look even broader and more genuine than usual.
"It suits you," Henry said sincerely.
Fang circled Henry with considerable enthusiasm, his tail in constant motion.
Harry and Ron exchanged a look, each arriving independently at the same slightly uncomfortable conclusion that they had never once thought to bring Hagrid anything, and that a Slytherin had just quietly shown them up.
Hermione was not with them, she was in the library working through the Standard Book of Spells in preparation for end-of-year examinations, which were still months away.
Exactly what drove someone to memorise a spellbook in November remained a subject for private philosophical reflection.
"How has the Forest been lately?" Henry asked, settling into one of Hagrid's chairs and accepting the enormous mug of strong tea.
Hagrid's expression lost some of its warmth. He set down the teapot and sighed. "A bit unsettled."
"Unsettled?" Harry straightened up immediately.
"The centaurs say the stars are telling them something bad might happen," Hagrid said, his thick fingers moving unconsciously along the rim of his cup. "I keep wondering if it's poachers, or something else entirely."
The crackling of the fire felt smaller against the quiet that settled over the room.
Henry set down his cup. "The creatures in that Forest are your friends, Hagrid. If anyone, or anything, tries to harm them there, you won't let it pass."
Hagrid looked up at him, was silent for a moment, and then nodded with the slow, resolute certainty of someone who has been reminded of something they already knew.
"You're right, Henry. I won't let it pass."
When they left the hut, the snow had stopped. Harry fell into step beside Henry.
"What you said in there," Harry said, after a moment. "Hagrid seemed genuinely steadied by it."
Henry turned slightly, and smiled. "Hagrid is someone who needs to know he's trusted. That's all it takes."
Harry thought about this and nodded. Ron, walking behind them, did not say a word against it.
December arrived, and the castle transformed.
Holly and ivy wound themselves along the marble staircase railings; the suits of armour were polished to a bright gleam and fitted with sprigs of mistletoe behind their visors; and the Great Hall became something genuinely spectacular, hung with cascading ribbons of holly and lit by eleven towering Christmas trees, some glittering with icicles, others alive with hundreds of tiny candles.
Professor McGonagall spent the better part of an afternoon supervising Professor Flitwick's arrangement of the Christmas lights, which Flitwick insisted on configuring into the constellation of Cancer.
Professor McGonagall considered this both unnecessary and a misuse of everyone's time.
"Eleven trees, twelve once Hagrid brings the last one," Flitwick said from his stack of books, directing operations with one small finger. "Gifts must be stacked beneath each tree. That is the tradition."
"The tradition," Professor McGonagall said, without visible emotion, "is that you arrange the lights into an astronomical chart every year, and I readjust them every year."
"That is because you have no appreciation for the beauty of the night sky," Flitwick replied.
Dumbledore passed through at this point, took in the situation, and with a serene smile managed to redirect the conversation entirely toward the question of whether the Christmas turkey ought to be served with cranberry sauce or orange marmalade, a debate that occupied both professors for the remainder of the afternoon.
Henry, at the Slytherin table, looked up to find the entrance of the Great Hall entirely blocked by an enormous fir tree on the move, accompanied by the sound of very loud wheezing and two very large boots visible beneath the lower branches.
Hagrid was bringing in the last tree.
"Ah, Hagrid, could you put it in that corner there?" Professor McGonagall said.
Henry noticed Harry, Ron, and Hermione drift over toward Hagrid and say something to him in low voices.
Whatever it was, Hagrid looked alarmed and shook his head repeatedly.
When they moved away, Hagrid stood where he was for a moment, his expression troubled and faintly irritable, the scarf still wound around his neck.