Unable to Face the Half-Giant

The second week of term arrived, and autumn deepened.

Hogwarts gradually grew colder. The days became shorter and shorter, and by the time classes ended, it was nearly dark. The herbs in the Greenhouse grew languid. Professor Sprout led the second year students in repotting Mandrakes. The Whomping Willow's leaves began to yellow, and the leaves in the Forbidden Forest started to fall. Occasionally, they would wake in the morning to find white frost clinging to the treetops, beautiful beyond words.

With their hands in their pockets, Loren and the others slowly made their way to Hagrid's Wooden House by the Forbidden Forest.

Once they stepped onto the path through the Forbidden Forest, it was no different from usual. They had come here hundreds of times over the past five years; they would not get lost even with their eyes closed.

Yet their movements were sluggish, every step dragged out. The short walk beyond the school grounds somehow felt like crossing mountains and rivers. It was not because anything was wrong with them physically. They simply felt guilty. All four of them did.

Since First Year, they had been mooching food and drinks in the Forbidden Forest: fresh meat stew, freshly picked vegetables, organic pumpkins grown naturally without pesticides. Other than Rock Cakes, they had missed out on nothing. Sometimes they even ate and took food away, bringing it home for their families to try.

Hagrid had always given them whatever they asked for, pouring his heart and soul into it.

The Unicorn Hair Loren had used when he first practiced Alchemy had been plucked from Hagrid's rug. Hermione had spent several birthdays in the Wooden House. Ron had eaten and drunk more than Fang. As for Harry, there was no need to mention him—Hagrid was practically half a godfather