GLORY // book one

- PART 3 -

THEO

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IF THERE IS ANY adult on earth who I don't actively hate, it's Hagrid. After years as Hogwarts faithful Groundskeeper, he was also the Care of Magical Creatures teacher.

After getting kicked out of Ghoul Studies for Merlin knows what, and a boring Prefect meeting I didn't pay attention too, my anger had yet to dissipate, even slightly. Not wanting to snap at Cedric— only because I wanted back the jacket he conveniently forgot —I went to a place I could safely rage. Hagrid's Hut.

Despite my mother didn't allow me to take Care of Magical Creatures— she refused to sign the wavier or buy the books —I actively tried to learn about Magical Creatures. The old teacher — Kettleburn —wasn't much for talking, but Hagrid always enjoyed a good discussion about the ethics and needs for raising certain beasts.

I banged on the door to the hut on the edge of the forest as I seethed, ready to rip out my hair or toss someone to the squid in the Black Lake. Hagrid opened his door with a grin that faded quickly upon seeing me. Ouch.

"Doe, are yer' skippin' lunch 'gain?"

"I already got scolded by Cedric, I don't need you doing it too." I groaned, shaking my head, "Can have the ax?"

My first year, I had bigger anger issues than I did now— not that I had anger issues. I had a normal amount of anger, just . . . bad ways of expressing it. Hagrid once caught me beating up a tree, all bloody knuckles and bruised toes. Once Madam Pompfrey had fixed my injuries, he made me go down to the Hut. I expected to get yelled at for being out after curfew or breaking the branches on the tree.

Instead, he gave me a heavy ax and taught me how to properly chop wood. I spent most of Potter's first year down there, taking out my anger by increasing Hagrid's Wood Pile. As Quidditch became more prominent in my life and my anger lessened slightly, I stopped needing the outlet as much. But right now, I was either going to go pick a fight or do this.

As I swung the ax down on the first log, my mind flashed to one of the first times I saw Potter away from the rest of the school.

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I had just finished destroying a pile of wood for Hagrid. The new batch of First Years were getting on my nerves easier than most. I felt out of control, and the still fading reminders left by my mother weren't helping. The cut on my forehead was still healing and obvious, going through my eyebrow onto the bridge of my nose. I didn't go to Pompfrey; if I went to her every time I returned from break injured, someone probably would have noticed something was up by now.

I rounded Hagrid's Hut, ax swinging in my hand. I was already in my school robes, tie loose around my neck. I had some mud on me, as it had been raining yesterday, and I came fresh in the morning, skipping breakfast.

A child's voice caught my attention as I passed by the open window. I could have— should have just left the ax outside like I'd done before and headed back to the castle to change before class. But, instead I peered through the window, spotting a trio of children with the Groundskeeper. A Weasley, a muggleborn, and Potter.