What did you do?

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Hagrid sighed deeply as the boat approached the shore, its edges only just above the water. Las' time I wen' ter a little island on a boat, mighta been the happiest day o' my life.

The dark stone of the spiral tower was wet with rain, and for the same rain the Hit Wizards were shouting, though their words had not grown terribly more distinct for all their effort. Bleedin' bureacrats- jus' shut up, it ain't worth it. Still bound, he walked through several detection checkpoints, likely looking for wands or dark artefacts. All his life he had stayed away from dark magic, so he did not expect they would find anything of interest, nor would they bother to deprive him of some empty potion bottles he kept to contain cures for toxins found in particularly interesting creatures. He was lucky enough that they did not detect what remained of his wand.

His trial had been quick and without particular attention paid to the facts discovered by the investigation. He had gotten off by the skin of his teeth last time, and only because he had been a minor. It had always been his view that Dumbledore had been able to work a real miracle in keeping him out of trouble, citing hundreds of reasons that he was the least likely possible suspect of being the Heir of Slytherin, he had only just managed to counteract the naked prejudice of the court. Several members of the Wizengamot had insisted that he should be tried as an adult for no reason other than being 'bigger than one by about four stone'.

"State your name!" an Auror shouted, probably for the third time at least.

"Yeh know who I am, Rob. Rowed yeh an' yer little girlfriend across the lake back in, what was it, '82?"

The magical prison guard gave a brief sidelong glance before shouting that he was clear of dark artefacts. Can't believe they think I need any 'o those. Really shoulda checked fer another dragon egg, seein' as I'm not allowed to keep 'em anywhere. Cadswallop.

Wrought iron gates opened and someone with a greater appreciation for symbolism might have seen something else, but Hagrid saw a cage for keeping dangerous monsters. As they led him through the tunnel of an entrance, which he imagined could be collapsed if need be, he prepared his eyes for the darkness.

Dementors moved about silently, but he could tell they were excited. All my life I've been studyin' creatures, an' they're all misunderstood, every last one of 'em. Don't mind the trolls; mostly, they know how to keep to themselves, pointin' and gruntin' at each other. People think they're blood thirsty buggers, but not really.

He passed between the shades, an odd feeling of forgetfulness passing over him.

Centaurs don't lose sleep over anythin' closer'n the moon, but they jus' want their woods an' everyone else out of it. People think they're dull. Can't say much good fer trolls, but centaurs are bloody brilliant in their own way.

The ground floor of the tall spiral was the same width as the rest of them, but this seemed to make no difference.

Dementors are the worst understood of 'em all. See, people think they can control 'em. They're kiddin' themselves.

As he was led up the central twisting stair, he saw no empty cells, guessing they needed to take him to the very top to find an open space. Before arriving he had figured those who had been subject to the Kiss were not fed or given drink, and as such were treated like the dead and heaved out a nearby window. In this sense, anyone the dementors had eaten to their satisfaction was like enough to a corpse, and of no further use to the masters of the prison.

In that light, it became easier to see how cells opened up.

They're kiddin' themselves 'cause it's been the dementors controllin' them the whole time. If they didn' feed 'em somebody, they'd be eatin' on somebody else.

Hagrid did not mention this to anyone at Hogwarts, nor did he like to think about it, but he kept a few silver bolts in his quiver for werewolves. There was a flask of rum in his coat pocket in case he ever needed to go after a Hidebehind, one of the creatures he had suspected was killing the unicorns. He even had a cucumber in a jar in his hut in the unlikely event he ran into a kappa.

Dementors, however, could not be killed. As a result, they had no fear of wizards.

Ah, it wouldn' be the firs' stupid thing the Ministry's ever done.

His cell was minuscule and cut into the stone, which he knew was enchanted up and down with curses and wards and whatever else to prevent escapes. Wandless magic was forbidden, of course, but it was common knowledge only the most capable wizards could do it anyway. He had to duck as he entered, and to his displeasure he had to remain at half height until he sat down, guessing the treatment he was receiving violated some law somewhere that no one had read since it was written.

Leas' they didn' put me in a zoo. Woulda been among friends, but I wouldn' enjoy the implication.

Exhaling as if he had held his breath the entire time, he looked out the window, watching as the rain cleared. Azkaban was a dreary place, as he understood it, because the warding was so thick it kept out what little sunlight might have shone on a damn island in the North Sea, but it let the rain pass through. Birds were flying right by his window, and he guessed most animals could pass unhindered, else the muggles would notice before long, even if they did not let on. Don' know why everyone thinks they would. If I found an interestin' creature in the wood an' I didn' know what it was, I'd wanna watch it fer a little while.

He did not talk about Azkaban as often as he did anything else, but he had an at least cursory understanding of how the prison worked. Meet enough wizards tryin'a sell yeh illegal dragon eggs and yeh hear a bit about the place.

"What did you do?" a voice from the next cell over asked.

"Nothin'." he muttered reflexively. A cold laugh responded. Shouldn' expect ter be believed. "Well, 'parrently it ain' legal ter take a liking ter magical creatures. Gets yeh in a world 'o trouble, it does. Kill an Acromantula and yeh'll get on the cover o' Witch Weekly. Befriend one and yer on a list fer life."

The man was laughing again, though maybe what he had said was genuinely funny. Didn' mean fer it, but 'e probably ain' laughed in years.

"What abou' you?"

There was a pause.

"It's a long story."

"I got time. Well, not a lot, my friends'll get me out."

"I've heard that one before." the other man said, a note of curiosity in his voice.

"Not those kinds o' friends." Hagrid muttered. "My friends are a little band o' misfits that don' care what anyone thinks. They call me Hagrid for some reason, never asked why. Fer the rest of them it's always Mr. Hagrid or Groundskeeper sir. Never cared much fer titles." he explained, thinking about it. "My friends don' neither, Harry didn' from the day 'e was born. Didn' know about his titles o' course, prob'ly better of that way, s'what Dumbledore always said."

A long silence followed, or at least it felt long.

"Tell me about Harry."

"Well, 'sfunny yeh should ask, since 'e's not known fer bein' my friend. 'e's known fer beatin' Voldemort when 'e was just a baby."

"Strange. How did you get to know this Harry? I don't recognize your voice from anywhere, so I don't believe you are a public figure."

"Well, jus' about straight after 'e killed Voldemort I took him ter his new home with Dumbledore. I was worried 'e'd be scarred or somethin', but he fell right asleep over Bristol. Lucky 'is family took 'im in. Not the nicest folk, but they took 'im." He paused before continuing, not hearing any audible reaction. "Met up with 'im a few years later when I had ter go get 'im. Turns out the muggles didn't like 'im much, an only fer bein' a wizard. Nothin' I ain' seen, but, well, I guess I wasn' happy 'is own family'd treat 'im like that."

"Do you think they would treat him like that if they knew he had friends?"

"Ah, they know, but they know more'n that. Tried ter keep a lid on it, but there was this elf... well, they'd a found out sooner or later we couldn' really do anythin'."

Silence came again, and it came for a long enough time that Hagrid decided he might as well try to get some sleep. He was not tired, and he expected he would find it hard enough with how cold it was, but he would have to learn to sleep all the same.

"I wouldn't recommend sleeping here." the man's voice said quietly. "It'll keep you from going mad, but the dementors can prey on you more easily. You'll have to get yourself so tired you can sleep without dreaming."

"Thanks, friend." he responded, surprising himself as much as anyone else. He heard some heckling coming from another cell, possibly other inmates paying witness to their conversation. Nothin' I ain' heard before. "I mean it. It's right good of you."

There was no response.

He supposed he was living proof that not everyone in Azkaban was a bad man. Perhaps the other man had felt remorse for his crimes, or perhaps he too had been falsely convicted. Even as a young boy he had been no stranger to unfairness, and he could imagine a hundred reasons someone could lose a trial he really should have won. Blood would matter to some people on the Wizengamot, same with being a werewolf or a vampire, probably a half giant as well, though the evidence against him was pretty bad when he thought about it. He knew he was the only suspect both times, hardly a convenient position, and he was also known to have a passion for magical creatures, even then. There was a wizard in the year below named Selwyn who was injured by an Erumpent while in Africa, and for the life of him he could not figure out how it had been the beast's fault, especially when everyone knew they were a bit aggressive, in a playful way.

He had always taken the utmost care not to harm the creatures he was studying, even the ones who made it clear they would rather be left alone. Old Aragog took years to realize he sympathized with the notion from time to time, though he longed for friends who understood him. He remembered meeting the family of Acromantulae in the Forest not long after he had released his friend, and he remembered laughing when they told him he was too much a wizard to be recognized as a friend, though Aragog interceded.

Hagrid chuckled at the irony of the memory, then struggled to bury it deep as a dementor approach, warning him with its bone chill. He was no master of the mind arts, nor was he particularly good at concealing things, but he knew a thing or two about the creatures. Proper term's 'non-being', so they say in the books. Don't particularly care for bright light. Right bleedin' cowards too, can't stand anythin' tha' might threaten 'em. His fingers were on his umbrella, but he knew if he used it, he would only be in more trouble, and not for a false accusation.

"Yeh weren't falsely accused too, were yeh?" he asked, not knowing when the other man would go to sleep.

"They don't know what I did." he responded at length. "I know what they think they did and I know I'm innocent, but I am not a good man. My faults are many."

"What do yeh mean?"

"Is it worse to be a bystander when something bad happens or do it yourself?"

Hagrid entertained the question honestly. Ethics had never been a great strong suit of his, not when everything seemed pretty black and white, at least most of the time. The trouble was that there were other people with bichromatic vision, and they rarely agreed with him about anything.

"I don't know. Reckon they're about the same."

"It's something that's been plaguing me for years." the wizard's voice revealed. "Am I guilty? How guilty am I?"

Yeh've had too much time ter think about it.

"Yer thinkin' yeh might be guilty because you could done somethin'?" Hagrid asked, not expecting to understand it. Man's talkin' ter himself. He decided it was most likely he was just an informant who never really gave out any answers, or at least none the Ministry did not already know.

"Yes. It's possible that I really do belong here."

A long silence followed.

"Yeh know, it might be yer the only one thinkin' that." he supposed in a joking voice, thinking of how the man had laughed when he told him he had done nothing. Yeh'd think that's what yeh'd always hear outta prisoners. Makes sense, really, if yeh think there's any chance at all someone'll take yer story seriously. Can't just go admittin' it ter everyone in prison.

Strangely, though, the joke did not land. Hagrid allowed a few moments to pass before speaking again.

"Bein' honest, maybe yeh should feel guilty abou' somethin', but that doesn' mean yeh need ter go ter Azkaban fer it." he advised, thinking of his own past mistakes. "Do yer best ter be better an' don' make the same mistakes again."

"I don't have the opportunity. I couldn't make the same mistake again if I tried." He let out a long breath before speaking again. "The thing is, I'll never get out of here by showing remorse for the reason I'm here."

"Well, no, they mostly don' let yeh out ever. Mostly yeh jus' die here." Prob'ly one o' them mad Death Eaters if 'e doesn' even feel bad about it. They'll be here 'till the dementors all die. He knew as much as he cared to absorb about their ideology. What he understood was reprehensible enough.

Nothing was said for a while as he assumed the other man was going to sleep. Per his advise, Hagrid stayed awake, staring across the way at the assortment of criminals who had been locked up for one reason or another. In more than a few cells there was a sleeping husk of a man, and he wondered what exactly warranted his placement in a maximum security prison for dark wizards. Might be 'e was dangerous a long time ago. Well, might be 'e was innocent.

One particularly interesting cell across from him featured a grey-haired wizard in dark robes with a completely blank expression on his face. He was sitting cross-legged, and it seemed doubtful the man had moved in days. Occlumency. Guess tha's one way o' keepin' out the dementors.

He often wondered how much further he might have gone had he been allowed to stay in school, but he had not allowed himself to hope that he would ever be entirely exonerated. Startin' ter look like I was right. They don' ever mean ter let me off the hook, not after all these years... here I am, alone in the dark.

Night passed slowly.

If the dementors had decided to ignore him, he would feel left out sometime after he bothered to find out why.

The other man was badgering the passing guards about something, but it seemed unimportant.

"They're just checking to see if I'm alive." he explained as they went away. "Are you still alive?"

"Were you talkin' ter the Minister himself?" Hagrid asked, thinking he had recognized the hurried walk of Cornelius Fudge.

"Was I? How many have they had since I came here? Three? Seventeen?"

"Don' really keep track o' politics myself. Never really liked any o' them."

"Neither have I." the other wizard muttered.

"Hah!"

"What?"

"I had you fer a Death Eater about half an hour after we met."

"Well, why would I like them? They left me to rot in here, and not for any crime I committed. Really, they had a few they could have picked."

"Sure, like muggle baitin' an' bein' a jerk ter everyone not as pure as you?"

There was no answer, and Hagrid decided he would allow as much time as necessary for his new friend to respond. Whatever the man believed, it was entirely unimportant, since he was never getting out. Way I see it, even someone who didn' like makin' friends'd have two choices. Talk ter the man who's willin' ter talk ter yeh, or not talk ter anyone forever. Seems like an interestin' fellow anyway.

"I'm not a good man, Hagrid. There are more kinds of people than good people and Death Eaters."

"Well, there's everyone tryin' ter throw werewolves in 'ere fer no reason."

"Hear, hear."

He was confused for a moment, but remembered a possible explanation the wizard would personally know werewolves.

"Almost forgot Voldemort got werewolves to fight for 'im. Giants too, if I'm right abou' that." He shook his head, not caring that no one could see him. "It's mad. Couldn't tell you how 'e did it." At one time he had thought it a certainty that no wizards seeking to place wizards above all magical creatures would ever have a ghost of a chance, but the main thing they seemed to be trying to do was place one wizard over another, and the werewolves were in favor, probably figuring they would be better off if the Ministry were distracted. There were other reasons, of course, the giants were rarely treated well by magical government, and to some of them Voldemort might have represented a return to the old ways, where giants and wizards would live with some degree of grudging mutual respect, fighting for their lands with clubs instead of notarized forms, submitted in triplicate by the appointed date.

Of course, the giants were just as prejudiced as wizards when it came to 'half-breeds' like himself.

He had visited giant settlements on multiple occasions during the war, finding them cold and only grudgingly adhering to their own rules of hospitality, which he had learned to navigate. One of the gentler ones had been kind enough to tell him that his sort was unwelcome, a visual representation of two irreconcilable societies that should not be blended. He had been around fifty years old at the time and asked where exactly he did belong, if not with wizards and not with giants, having never considered this matter previously. The giant sighed, explaining that the prejudiced had probably never spared a thought for what the half-breeds should do or could do to better themselves; their very existence was a perceived threat to the giants and their way of life.

It was perhaps the darkest hour in his life, more so even than being kicked out of school, as the great Albus Dumbledore had made a mistake in sending him instead of a human, and all because of his parents, one of them still alive, though he never saw her. He had been able to bear the injustice of his wand being snapped because he had been the sole victim of that decision, but in failing to gain the support of the giants he had quite possibly doomed the whole of the wizarding world. As a young man he had hoped the giants were in the right about most things, and that wizards had a monopoly on cruelty, but he had only to look at his own parents to see that in some cases, it was the opposite. As the gentle giant explained what half-giants represented to their society, he had realized his own mother probably wanted nothing to do with him.

It would have to be a truly desperate time to drive him back across the Channel, to meet with the giants once more.

"Well, the way the Ministry treats werewolves, I would hardly be surprised to see them siding with anyone against the status quo."

They've only made the same as I did, thinkin' the enemy 'o my enemy'd be my friend.

"Got werewolf friends? Figures."

"I'm not a Death Eater."

It seemed a meaningless statement, but that did not matter. 'e was sayin' not every bad man is a Death Eater. Should've figured I'd be stuck in 'ere with someone bad.

The man's words stayed with him for days, though he spent most of it wondering what it was he had said, if the silence between the cells was his fault after all. It was possible, of course, that the other man simply was not much for talking, and he could respect that, since he had every expectation that it got easier to stay silent over time, and it seemed his new acquaintance had been in Azkaban a fair bit. It would take him longer to get used to it, to be sure, but at least the place lacked a pub. Prob'ly fer the best. Can't imagine why anyone out there'd be willin' ter pay fer it.

He could wait.

Wait he did.

Hagrid felt the chill of the dementors before he saw them, but their presence was only that. They were guided by the familiar light of a patronus, and Cornelius Fudge himself, followed by robed wizards he recognized as Aurors.

"Evenin' Minister." he said politely. It is, right- oh damn, I don' remember. His greeting was met with a diplomatic squint. "Somethin' the matter?"

"It is quite time to question you, Mr. Hagrid. There has been another attack at Hogwarts."

"Who?!" he asked, pressing against the bars and making everyone on the other side draw back. The politician's stiff upper lip was replaced by a look of bewilderment, though it faded soon enough.

"It appears it was one Ginny Weasley. She has disappeared." one of the Aurors said.

"No..." he slumped back in his cell, feeling the palpable ease return to the voices and demeanor of those who had come to visit. He would not want anyone to die from the efforts of the Heir of Slytherin, but it always seemed worse when it was a first-year. It was perfectly apparent Harry and his friends could take care of themselves, but it was not something that could really be expected of them. "Wai ta minute. Isn' she a pure blood?"

"It goes against the direct implication of the trend, yes, but it is still possible the Heir of Slytherin would have animosity toward families traitorous of their blood status." one of the Aurors explained. Usin' big words like I don' understand 'em. Yeh ain' the firs'.

"Well, why's she disappeared and not found? Rest of 'em were-"

"It may be that her unfortunate fate is the same, and her petrified form is yet to be discovered. What is manifest to us is that your involvement renders itself almost certainly mendacious, farcical to conceive." It's really not that clever, yeh know. I got about three o' those words.

"Yer sayin' I don' belong here? Coulda asked anyone."

"Now, now, Mr. Hagrid, the Ministry had to act." Cornelius Fudge reasoned with him. "You were associated with the previous event and narrowly escaped justice at the time-"

"I didn' escape justice, yer thinkin' of Azkaban. No evidence, no conviction. Seems like justice ter me."

Nothing was said for a moment.

"What we need to know is where the monster might have taken the girl." an Auror redirected. He might have recognized her voice. "The school no longer insists on handling the matter internally, not after the Headmaster was suspended." Bleedin' gov'nors. Couldn't a been anyone else.

"Well tha's only gonna make it worse!" he objected.

"The only way to make it better is to give us some idea of what kind of monster we're up against."

"Well it's not a ruddy Acromantula, they're bleedin' harmless. Predator hunts ter kill, not capture. What yer lookin' fer is a reptile- cockatrice, drakon, basilisk, maybe even a runespoor; I'd prepare for anythin'. Slinks around the school unnoticed, so it's prob'ly afraid of large numbers. Nothin' yeh can't kill if yeh can find it."

"Where would it have taken the girl?"

"No idea. Was lookin' for the bleedin' thing fer the better part o' the year. Wherever it is, it can get outta there sharpish. Most o' me traps were-"

"Why would it take the girl instead of trying to kill her?" one of the Aurors asked, interrupting.

"Yeh can ask 'im when you find 'im. Yer not gettin' any closer in 'ere."

The Ministry officials disappeared, almost certainly deciding there were slower ways to get nowhere. Hagrid had his doubts the investigation would even make it to Hogwarts before the year ended and the students all went home, where they would be far from whatever threat the Heir of Slytherin posed, at which point the Aurors would hardly be rescuing anyone. He would be long out of prison by then, as soon as cooler heads put together that he would never harm Ginny Weasley, and there was really no evidence against him in the first place. On the outside, he could resume his own investigation. A Red Cap would be able to tell him if the young witch had died, if she died violently, otherwise he would have to rely on Fang, whom he had trained to sniff out ectoplasm.

There had not been a death in Hogwarts since he had been there, and there was sure to be another ghost.

"What was all that?" the voice in the other cell asked.

"They're just gettin' it out that they know I don' belong here."

"Glad to hear it, friend. Would that I knew they would ever say that about me. I never even had a trial."

"It wasn' anythin' special. Don' feel too left out." Trial didn' help much when they'd already decided how it'd end. Basic'ly just a means to an end o' puttin' people in here.

"Crouch would never have given me a trial, even if he knew he could put me away. My imprisonment had to be as quiet as possible." Guess tha' makes me the opposite. Tossed me in 'ere just ter make it look like they're doin' somethin'.

"Mine was a ruddy show." Hagrid muttered back, condensing his thoughts. "Trial was abou' as pointless as puttin' me in here. Can't imagine it'll look good fer the Ministry when they let me out. Didn' save face so much as borrow it." The notion earned a chuckle from the other prisoner.

"In that case the loan they took from me is past due. If I ever get out of here, I'll look you up, Mr. Hagrid." Doesn' he remember me from Hogwarts? Might be 'e was never there.

"Might be I'll look you up." he offered, trying to get the man's name. He had an idea he would be out soon, and for that he needed to make plans. They don' call me Grounds Keeper fer nothin'. I'll deal with this beast 'fore the Ministry knows where ter find it or I'll eat me kettle. His new acquaintance, however, would most likely never get out, not if he was imprisoned during the war. He remembered old Sturgis Podmore telling Dumbledore Azkaban was worse than death, and that was one of the main reasons.

"I'm the same as anyone else who never had a trial, I'm afraid. It doesn't matter what we did, because none of us belong here." the voice said with an odd sense of conviction.

"Spose yer right. I'll do me best ter remember that not everyone in 'ere is guilty, not everyone guilty had a trial, and not everyone who had a trial was guilty. Anythin' I'm forgettin'?"

"If I think of anything, I'll tell you when I get out."

"See that yeh do."

The dementors had disturbed Hagrid, but their influence had been more subtle than he had realized, or even expected, as he had gone in thinking they would be directly preying on him day in and day out. It had come in the form of remembering his most painful experiences, made worse somehow as though seeing it through a madman's mirror. His last few days he spent planning and organizing his thoughts, doing his best to remember that he was innocent on the advice of his strange new acquaintance, though his knowledge of their passing came only in the form of the bowls of gruel they would receive, assuming his initial supposition was correct in that they were passed out twice a day.

The man in the other cell was no more of what he would pick for a friend than the fare was what he would pick to eat or the dementors for creatures to study, but such was the nature of Azkaban, and prisons in general, he supposed. He was relatively sure the wraiths did not keep themselves half-starved of their own accord, but rather because the warden had some interest in keeping prisoners alive, likely for visitors. Hagrid understood that you could at least bargain with them, if not reason. Mebbe I'll try fer Care of Magical Creatures after old Slyvanus has had enough. Keeps sayin' so, anyway. Won't be showin' the kids any of these buggers, but they'll learn about 'em. Better sooner 'n later.

Leaving the same way he came in, he stared up at the freakishly tall tower.

Not gonna miss yeh, Azkaban. Not fer all the Hippogriffs in the world.

 

It's an interesting character piece about Hagrid, and his experiences in Hogwarts, but at the same time how come Hagrid and Sirius don't know who each other are? Sirius literally handed Harry to Hagrid.

There's also not a lot that's going on in the story. The whole time I was reading I was waiting for the "Why should I care" and it never came. It's interesting as a character piece to get into Hagrid's head, to see the world as he does, but without marrying that to some sort of plot, there's not real tension in the story. He isn't forced to reflect on himself, on the consequences of his actions, or even to swear bloody vengeance Count of Monte Cristo style on all those that wronged him.

He also doesn't do much besides talk. There's no attempt at escape, no attempt at finding out some sort of information, no real climax in terms of why he's there. He just...talks and is there and thinks.

His emotions towards things also feels flat. I'd expect a more visceral reaction being sent to the worst place on earth for what I assume, from his perspective, isn't really a crime. This is the place for bad people, and he isn't that.

It reads like slice of life, except the slice of life is in Azakaban and he's surrounded by monsters. This is pretty well written, and the characterization is executed well. It just doesn't give me a reason to care.

There's so much potential with this piece that feels squandered.

2.5/5, rounding up to 3/5.

 

This is a great concept. I would love to see a second draft of this. Not for the flow of grammar etc, which are all pretty good. But for the development of an ending as strong as the beginning.

Your Hagrid feels authentic and his inner voice could have been intergrated better but felt very him .

I liked this one a lot. It's already good with the potential to be great 4/4