Blindly, the boy raced through the castle. He barely noticed the classroom door behind him slamming open against the wall and Mrs. Weasley's plaintive, "Harry, come back!" He barely heard the voice of Filch as he stumbled past the man, and his growled, "Running in the halls, are we?" All he knew was he had to get away, and he had plenty of room to run, far more than one short hallway that led to a cupboard. Far more than the length of the backyard or a leash.

The sun glared in the boy's eyes as he reached outdoors, and kept running, racing all the way down the hill, and toward the trees, where he could get lost, and lose those who wanted to hurt him. He was The Boy, the Freak, and he would be punished if he did not escape.

His breaths were coming hard, and his lungs hurt and his hand, too, with remembered pain. His flight slowed as he neared the trees, and he realized how dark, how forbidding they looked. He had enough energy to jump and yelp, however, when a dog barked from just behind him.

"Fang!" someone shouted, and before the boy could turn fully around, he was 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, the boy remembered. His name was 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. Father trusted him. Hagrid's fingers dipped under Harry's chin, and lifted his face so Hagrid could look him in the eye.

"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 tea." Hagrid held out his hand, and Harry took it, letting the giant pull him up. Carrying Treacle in his arms, Harry followed the man into his hut, and allowed himself to be settled on one of the big chairs. Hagrid fussed with a tea kettle hanging over his hearth, then brought two steaming mugs to the table.

Treacle had turned around in circles several times on Harry's lap before she laid down, and was now quite still. Harry rubbed at her ears absently, and when Hagrid placed the huge mugs on the table, he startled a little. "Sorry," he murmured, and noted the tea. "Thanks, Hagrid."

"It's hot, so be sure'n take care with it."

"Yes, sir." Hagrid lifted his bushy eyebrows in surprise, and Harry quickly amended to, "I mean, I will, Hagrid."

"Good lad." Hagrid took a long draught of his tea and swallowed noisily. Holding the mug between his hands, he turned it around and around. "Did y'not like yer class, then?" he asked carefully.

"I'm useless," Harry admitted. "And bad."

"Now, why would ye say such a thing as that? Who tol' ye such a thing?"

Harry shrugged and looked at his hands. "Aunt Petunia," he whispered. "And Uncle Vernon."

"Well they lied to ye, lad. Sure as spit. But no one here's said anythin' like that, 'ave they?" Hagrid's face was very serious. "Not yer Da."

"No!" Harry said quickly, and his words tumbled over each other in his haste to get them out, so Hagrid would not misunderstand again. "But I can't do writing or nothing like everyone else, and I made a real mess of things, and Mrs. Weasley was just trying to help, and I thought she was . . . I mean, know she isn't, and would never . . . but for a second, I thought . . ."

"Thought what?"

Harry jumped, startled again by the new voice, and practically fell off the chair as he spun around. He landed on his feet, though, and looked up to see Mrs. Weasley in the doorway of Hagrid's cottage. Her face was crinkled up, around the eyes, and there were deep lines in her forehead. Harry dropped his gaze back to the floor -- he wasn't supposed to look at people in the face; he knew that.

"Harry, dear?" She said, and stepped through the doorway. "What did I do to frighten you?"

"I wasn't scairt!" Harry protested. But he backed up a step. Couldn't help it.

Mrs. Weasley made an impatient sound, but then said softly, "Please tell me, Harry." She didn't try and come any closer, but crouched down where she was, so he didn't have to look up to see her. She kept one hand on the table for balance and her voice was still quiet and soothing. "If I don't know what I've done to upset you, I can't stop from doing it again."

Harry swallowed, and wrung his hands together. "I'm sorry, ma'am, that I ran out of school. I won't do it again."

"I didn't ask for an apology, dear heart." Her voice was so kind, it almost brought tears to his eyes. "I want to know, if you can tell me, what I did wrong."

That surprised him enough to look into her face. "No, ma'am! You didn't do nothing!"

"It's not true." Mrs. Weasley smiled at him, just a little. "I did, and I'd like you to tell me, please, what it was, so I can apologize."

Harry shook his head. "No, please! It was Aunt Petunia."

A touch of confusion appeared in her eyes. "Your Muggle aunt?"

"Yes, ma'am," Harry whispered.

"What did she do?" Mrs. Weasley's voice was as soft as his.

"Was a long time ago."

"You can still tell me."

Harry looked into her eyes, and she didn't yell, or hit him and didn't tell him he was a good for nothing, worthless whelp that shouldn't be allowed to live or should've been drowned at birth. She didn't ever call him Freak or Boy, and he liked that. And she had helped him, when he asked her to. Gathering his courage, he squared his shoulders and said, "She burnt me, Mrs. Weasley. Burnt my hand." He held it up so she could see the palm and the shiny patch of skin that covered it. "'Cause I was bad. So she grabbed my hand and put it on the stove."

Mrs. Weasley gasped, and her hand flew to her mouth. Her eyes were suddenly wet, but she blinked her tears away. Harry could understand that. "That foul creature! How dare they treat you like that!"

Harry didn’t know how to answer that question, so he didn't, just hung his head and looked at Treacle, who was rubbing the side of her face against the top of his trainers.

Then, at a gulping sound behind him, he turned to see Hagrid, sitting on the edge of his bed, and mopping his face with a handkerchief the size of a tablecloth. "Ach, 'Arry," he moaned, wiping away the tears that fell unashamedly down his cheeks. "I'm so sorry!"

Harry shook his head. "You didn't burn me," he pointed out.

"But I helped bring ye to 'em, to those awful Muggles. The night yer parents d-died, Dumbledore had me pick ye up and bring ye to Surrey, and I'd no idea . . ."

When the big man trailed off in another round of weeping, Harry went to him, and climbed awkwardly up on the bed. Even as Treacle Tart leapt up beside him, Harry patted the man's shoulder. ''S'okay, Hagrid. I'm okay now, really."

Hagrid wept some more, but one of his arms snaked around Harry's back, and the giant squeezed Harry close in a half hug. Though he knew Hagrid could squish him to death if he wanted to, 'cause he was really strong, this hug wasn't even hard enough to squeeze the breath out of him, and Harry kept patting his shoulder and telling him that everything was just fine.

After a few minutes, though, when Hagrid was down to just sniffles, Mrs. Weasley cleared her throat. Her face wasn't so pasty now, but her eyes looked a little red. "I think it's time to go back to the castle, Harry. I had Ginny and the boys stay on the front steps to wait for us, when I saw you running down here, but I don't think they'll be patient much longer." She cast a look over her shoulder at the castle, as if wondering what mischief they'd gotten into without her constant scrutiny.

"Yes, ma'am," Harry said. He slipped down off the bed, and faced Hagrid. "Thanks for the tea, Hagrid."

"Yer welcome, Harry. See ye soon?"

"Yeah, okay. Oh! I a'most forgot. What does Tree eat, 'cause my father doesn't want her eating from my plate."

Hagrid stowed his handkerchief away after blowing his nose a final time. "Oh, any kind of meat, kneazles like that, rats and mice're good. Iffin ye let her roam the castle a bit, or spend time outside, she can catch 'er own feast of mice. Ye can give 'er milk, but water's fine for 'er, too."

"Great! Thanks, Hagrid!"

"Any time, Harry. And come see me, any time, too."

Harry nodded, and left with Mrs. Weasley. They were trudging back up the hill -- much slower than Harry would have gone, but Mrs. Weasley wasn't a "young thing" any more, so they had to "take it easy on her old bones" -- when she said, "It must have been . . . startling when I tried to take your hand, to show you a different writing technique."

Harry sucked in his breath and darted a look at her, but she wasn't yelling, still, and didn't look angry, so he decided to tell her the truth. "Yes, ma'am. I . . . that was when I 'membered what Aunt Petunia did."

"I understand," she said quietly. "And I'm glad you told me." She was silent for a few more paces, and then, as they reached the last steppe, said, "Does your . . . father know?"

Harry shook his head sharply. "I can't! I'm not s'posed to tell."

"Was that one of their rules? At your aunt and uncle's house?"

"Yes, ma'am."

Mrs. Weasley nodded. "You know, of course, that your father has different rules than they did. That he wants to know if anything bad happens. Or if something startles you because of things they did."

It took Harry a bit longer to respond this time, but finally he nodded. "Yes, ma'am. We have diff'rent rules."

"And he cares for you a great deal," she pressed. "And wants to know if anything bothers you. As do I."

Harry peered at her some more, trying to decide if she meant it. He thought she probably did. He gave her a tiny smile. "Yes, ma'am."

Mrs. Weasley smiled back. "Good. Let's see if I can wrangle the rest of the children together. I think we all need some outdoors running around time, though, don't you?"

Harry nodded with a grin. "Yes, ma'am!"

The next few minutes were spent with Mrs. Weasley dispelling some kind of spell that had made Ron's hair and skin green, and scolding the twins, who looked as innocent as Treacle could, with their twin wide eyes and upturned faces, while Ginny giggle behind her hands and Harry watched the whole thing bemusedly.

But then there was a game of tag, played with practice Snitches in gold and red and blue. As he jumped and ran and laughed along with the other children, Harry was able to put the horrible writing lesson and the memories of the Dursleys behind him, at least for a little while.