Compared to Draco's table, Harry Potter's side felt much quieter, much heavier.
After entering The Three Broomsticks and approaching Hagrid's table, Harry immediately noticed that the three of them had little intention of talking. They simply kept lifting their Butterbeer and drinking in silence.
Hagrid, in particular, was gulping his down as if he meant to drown himself in it.
"Ron, have you noticed? Hagrid's arm looks a bit stiff. And he's got quite a few cuts on his face."
"Yeah. I saw that too."
Up close, the problem was obvious. Hagrid's left arm hung slightly lower than it should, as though he couldn't quite put strength into it.
And there were fresh wounds scattered across his rough, weathered face.
With the healing potions available in the wizarding world, injuries like that shouldn't linger on a wizard for long—let alone on a thick-skinned half-giant.
Hagrid dealt with dangerous magical creatures all the time and rarely looked this battered.
Unless he'd been caught off guard.
"Harry? You're finally here. What'll you have? My treat."
Seeing Harry, Hagrid gave him a hearty slap on the shoulder with his enormous hand.
"Two Butter—" Harry coughed. "Lemonade will do."
"Don't worry. Minerva'll pretend she didn't see."
"Hagrid!"
Harry's arrival, along with the half-joking exchange between Hagrid and Professor McGonagall, eased the tension at the table a little.
Still, Harry couldn't help noticing that Madame Maxime's brow remained tightly furrowed, as if she were wrestling with a difficult decision.
He shot a questioning glance in her direction.
Hagrid cut him off before he could ask.
"So, how've you been? Heard you're getting special training from Severus. If it's you, I reckon it's going smoothly, eh?"
"That… maybe," Harry replied vaguely.
Just mentioning it made his expression stiffen.
It brought back too many unpleasant memories.
...
Dreams.
In psychology, dreams are said to reflect a person's deepest thoughts—what you dwell on during the day finds its way into your sleep.
From a medical standpoint, it's simply brain activity continuing while the body rests.
Even in a world filled with magic, wizards still dream.
But Harry's recent dreams were different.
Darkness. A ruined house. Black-robed wizards kneeling before him. And… a snake.
At first, they were only fragmented images. But as time passed, the scenes became clearer. He could hear the conversations in the dream. He could see the faces.
The real reason he had reported it to Dumbledore was because he had seen the incident at Azkaban unfold in his dream—only for the Daily Prophet to confirm it afterward.
Dumbledore knew this was no ordinary prophetic dream.
It was some kind of connection, one even he could not fully explain.
Hagrid, of course, knew about Harry's strained relationship with Snape.
"Listen, Harry. I don't rightly understand how it works, but Dumbledore doesn't make mistakes. You need to learn properly from Severus… that spell."
"…I'll try. But it's not easy."
"I know you can do it. You're just as brilliant as your dad."
Harry wasn't sure where Hagrid's confidence came from, but the words helped a little.
Just then, Maxime set down her empty Butterbeer glass.
"That's enough. Don't come to me about that matter again. I won't be able to help."
"Wait! What do you mean? Dumbledore wouldn't—"
"Ha! Can't you tell from Hagrid's condition? It's already failed. Failed!"
Her sharp voice made Hagrid instinctively tuck his injured arm behind his back, forcing a look as if nothing were wrong.
Minerva McGonagall, however, was not one to ignore reality. She let out a quiet sigh.
"I'll speak to Dumbledore. But—"
"No 'but.' Until things calm down on your side, I have no intention of getting involved in your plans."
"…I understand. I'll tell Dumbledore."
"Mm. And… I'm sorry, Hagrid."
Without giving him a chance to stop her, the headmistress of Beauxbatons Wizarding School placed the money for her Butterbeer on the table and strode out of The Three Broomsticks.
Just before she disappeared, Madame Maxime seemed to glance in Draco's direction.
...
With Madame Maxime gone, Minerva McGonagall had no intention of staying either. After quickly reminding Harry to master the spell Snape was teaching him as soon as possible, she, too, left the pub.
"Hagrid?"
"I'm fine. Just… a bit upset. We went through a lot together. Those might be the best memories of my life."
Hagrid lifted his Butterbeer again and took another heavy swallow.
Harry felt awkward. He had no idea what Hagrid was referring to.
Ron, however, was far more focused on something else.
"That looks pretty serious, Hagrid. Don't tell me you tried to take on a dragon by yourself?"
"Big, yes. Dragon, no. Though it was just as dangerous."
Harry and Ron exchanged a glance.
"Then what was it?"
"I suppose there's no harm telling you. But you've got to promise not to spread it around." Hagrid paused, then took another long gulp of Butterbeer.
"Of course!"
"We won't!"
The drink wasn't particularly strong, but there was a faint haze in Hagrid's eyes as he leaned closer, his broad face looming over them.
"Giants."
"Giants?"
"To deal with that person, Dumbledore's planning to win the giants over. Not a bad idea, eh?"
Silence fell between Harry and Ron.
Hearing such important information so directly made Harry instinctively draw his head back slightly.
He didn't know much about giants, but from Hagrid's tone alone, he could sense it.
Something was coming.
The air carried the faint scent of war.