#hagrid

The night had grown thick over Hogwarts. A damp wind slipped through the cracks in the castle stone, and the torches flickered with a faint, complaining hiss. Outside, the howls of some distant creature drifted through the trees, but inside the castle, all was silent… except for Hagrid’s heavy footsteps.

He had been wandering for hours — through corridors, corners, broom closets, and empty classrooms. Moony didn’t usually wander off this far. She was playful, yes, a little slippery at times, but she always came back when she was hungry or cold. This time, she hadn’t.

“Where’ve you gone off to, little one…?” Hagrid murmured to himself, pausing at the base of a spiral staircase.

By now, he had only one place left to check: the dungeons.

With a lantern swinging from his hand, he descended the stone steps slowly, his boots echoing down the damp hallway. He knew it was late. And that not everyone would be thrilled to see him roaming around down here.

He passed the Potions classroom door. Nothing. The air smelled of damp stone and old brews. No trace of Moony.

Until he stopped in front of a tall door made of dark wood: Professor Snape’s chambers.

Hagrid hesitated. Maybe it was overkill, but… what if the little one had slipped inside, drawn by a scent or the warmth?

He knocked gently at first. Waited. Nothing.

He knocked again, more firmly. Still nothing.

With a sigh, he raised his fist once more and gave a third knock, not quite realizing the strength behind it. The wood groaned faintly under the impact.

Finally, the door creaked open with a dry whisper. Just enough to let out a sliver of warm light from within… and reveal half of Professor Snape’s face.

“What in Merlin’s name do you want?” Snape muttered, voice rough with sleep, though clearly trying not to speak too loudly.

“Sorry, Professor,” Hagrid said quietly, inadvertently lifting the lantern and shining it right into Snape’s face.

Snape flinched, eyes narrowing instantly with irritation as if the light had physically struck him.

“Oh— sorry… didn’t mean to,” Hagrid muttered, lowering the lantern at once.

Snape didn’t answer, but his expression was all the response Hagrid needed.

“I’m lookin’ for Moony. My mooncalf. She went missin’ earlier today, and I’ve been searchin’ the castle ever since. I thought maybe... well, maybe she wandered in here without you noticin’.”

Snape stared at him with that trademark look of impatient skepticism, eyes half-lidded. His dark hair hung loose and slightly mussed, shadowing his face. He clearly had no interest in entertaining such an idea.

“A mooncalf,” he repeated, as though the word itself tasted offensive.

“Yes, sir. Small, grey, round eyes. Sweet as can be. She likes warm corners to curl up in…”

Snape narrowed the door slightly, as if that alone might end the conversation. But Hagrid, moved by concern more than manners, instinctively placed a large hand against the wood. With almost no effort, he nudged it open just a bit farther.

“I don’t mean to intrude,” he said earnestly. “Just a quick look, in case she’s here…”

But what he saw as he peeked inside stopped him cold.

The room was dimly lit by a single candle. The air was warm, touched by a soft, unfamiliar scent. And on the large bed, tangled in rumpled sheets, a woman lay sleeping on her side — pale, peaceful, barely covered, her breathing slow and deep.

Hagrid froze, blinking. A fierce blush rose up his neck, and he stumbled back at once, nearly tripping over his own feet.

“Oh— Merlin! I’m so sorry, Professor... I didn’t know you were… occupied,” he stammered, eyes fixed firmly to the floor as if that might undo what he’d seen.

The door shut immediately, not slammed, but pushed with that slow, chilling finality that spoke of restrained fury.

When it opened again, just a crack — just enough for Snape’s face to appear in the narrow slit — his eyes burned with silent outrage. Yet he still spoke, in that low, blade-sharp voice of his:

“Listen carefully, Hagrid,” he said, each word crisp and precise. “There is no creature here. No mooncalf. No furred thing, no slimy thing, and absolutely nothing that belongs to you.”

Hagrid opened his mouth, but no words came. He simply nodded, slowly, still red as a beetroot.

“Am I clear?” Snape added, even softer, each syllable sharpened by the effort to avoid waking the figure behind him.

“Y-yes, sir… I didn’t mean to… just thought maybe…”

“You thought wrong,” Snape cut in. “Good night.”

And the door closed with final, decisive quiet.

Hagrid stood there for a moment, facing the carved wood, mouth slightly open, hat in hand, heart thudding just a little faster than usual. That awkward, sinking feeling settled in — the one that comes when you’ve accidentally crossed into someone’s private world. He hadn’t meant to see anything. But he had.

“Moony… wherever yeh are, yeh better show up soon, before I stick my foot in it again,” he muttered, before turning away and walking off at a brisker pace, the lantern swinging gently at his side.

The morning had dawned damp, with a fine drizzle that felt more like mist than rain. The stone steps of the castle were slick, and the ground gave a soft crunch under Hagrid’s boots as he stood near the main entrance, his gaze lost in the distant trees.

In his hands, he held an old blanket—the same one he used to wrap Moony in when she was just a baby. His heart still felt a little tight, though he did his best to hide it.

Professor McGonagall’s voice pulled him out of his thoughts.

“Good morning, Rubeus.”

“Professor,” Hagrid replied, lifting his eyes with a gentle nod. “Lovely day for findin’ absolutely nothin’.”

She raised an eyebrow.

“Still no sign of your creature?”

Hagrid sighed and rubbed his beard.

“Not a trace. Like the castle swallowed her whole. I’ve been all over Hogwarts… every corridor, every empty room. I even went up to the Astronomy Tower, the east wing, the greenhouses...even squeezed through that portrait corridor where they’re always grumblin’, you know the one?”

Minerva nodded patiently.

“Even went down into the dungeons… ended up knockin’ on Professor Snape’s chambers.”

She turned her head slightly, just enough to show interest.

“He didn’t answer at first, but I kept at it. And when he finally opened up… well, I think I might’ve caught him at a bad time. There was a woman with him. Sleepin’. A very beautiful woman, if I may say so.”

The effect was immediate.

“Excuse me?” McGonagall said, suddenly bolt upright, eyes wide behind her glasses.

Hagrid blinked.

“Yes… well,” he stammered, lowering his voice a little, “she was in his bed. Didn’t get a good look, of course, she was covered up… just saw her back. I didn’t mean to stare, no ma’am. I apologized straight away and left. I was just lookin’ for Moony.”

“A woman… in his chambers?” McGonagall repeated, and there was nothing theatrical in her disbelief—it was pure, stunned astonishment.

And now Hagrid did flush. Not like a child caught misbehaving, but like someone who just realized they might’ve said something they shouldn’t have.

“I didn’t mean... I wasn’t tryin’ to interrupt or... tell tales out of turn,” he said quickly. “It was just a glance, Professor. Don’t even know who she was. But yes… she was there.”

Minerva looked at him hard, as if weighing every word, or perhaps hoping one might prove false on its own.

“Are you absolutely certain of what you saw, Rubeus?”

He nodded, regretfully.

“I am, Professor.”

The silence that followed was thick. Wind whistled through the empty corridor. Then McGonagall slowly smoothed her cloak, as though restraining a stronger reaction.

“Thank you for telling me. I hope you find your creature soon.”

And without another word, she turned with measured grace and made her way back into the castle.