knocked to the ground by the large brown body of Hagrid's giant, gaping-mouthed dog. The boy's arms came up to protect his head, but he could not avoid the massive dog's attempts to lick his face . . . and after a moment, the boy realized that's all Fang was doing.
'Geroff 'im, Fang!' came another growl from Hagrid, and the dog backed off just a bit, enough so the boy could open his eyes and stare up at the big man. 'You a'right there, Harry?'
Harry blinked, squinting into the sun. 'Hagrid?' he asked, his voice no louder than a soft breeze.
But Hagrid heard him. 'One'n only. C'mon, 'Arry, let's get you up off the ground, a'right? Care for some tea? I made cakies to go with. They're still warm.'
'Uh . . .' Harry pushed himself up on his elbows, and looked up at the castle, so far away now. He had run away from Mrs. Weasley. She must be terribly angry at him. A shiver ran through him at the very thought of what kind of trouble he was in.
'Harry?' Hagrid stepped closer, and his large body blocked the sun, casting Harry in shadow. 'Somethin' wrong?'
He tried to tell Hagrid, but the words wouldn't come. How was he to tell the man that he was nervous about getting in trouble, but about something that was all his fault? How could explain running away? Or the choking feel of fear when Mrs. Weasley leaned over him like that? His throat was choked, even now. While he was still struggling to speak, Treacle Tart made herself known, climbing into his lap and butting her head against his hands, to get him to scratch her head. With a sigh, he did so, and the simple act of petting the kneazle loosened something inside him.
Peering up at Hagrid through his lashes, he admitted, 'I ran away from class.'
Hagrid frowned, but it didn't look like he was angry, just . . . confused. 'What 'appened, then? Were those twins getting' outta hand? Or was Ronnie teasin' ye?'
'No!' Harry said quickly. 'It was nothing like that. Nothing, really.'
Hagrid cocked his head to the side and shook it slightly, his gaze searching Harry's face, but Harry had no idea for what. 'Doesn't sound like nothin'. Sounds like somethin' went wrong.'
Harry stared back at his hands, and Treacle, in his lap. She was rubbing her head against his skin, and it was so soft, softer than even the fur on the Baku. He was terribly glad that Father let him have Tree. He loved her.
Father.
What if Mrs. Weasley told Father that he had run away? Would he be real angry, too? Would he shout and send Harry away? Would he send Tree away? Would he be upset that Harry had messed up his writing, too? He'd know Harry was stupid now, and maybe he didn't want a stupid boy for a son.
Hagrid was crouched in front of him, and one of his massive hands moved in slowly toward Harry's face. Harry saw it, though, and wasn't scared. Hagrid wouldn't hurt him.
'Tell me what's what, lad,' he said softly. 'Some things are better shared.'
Could he? Could he tell Hagrid what really happened? The memory of what Aunt Petunia had done that particular morning was still raw, but he had, by this time, pushed it mostly away, trapped the fear, the pain, the look of disgust on his aunt's face in a box buried deep inside, where no one could see. The box was full of such memories, but he could always fit more inside. Such hiding was the only way he could deal with everything most of the time.
After a few minutes, when it became clear Harry was not going to speak, Hagrid said quietly, 'C'mon, 'Arry, let's at least get you some
