Thanks to the magical Invisibility Cloak left to Harry by his father, Hermione's escape from the castle was seamless.
However, as they passed the Great Hall, Hermione caught a glimpse of Madam Pomfrey at the staff table, deep in animated conversation with the librarian, Madam Pince. She hissed a hurried warning:
"Hurry up, Harry, Ron! Madam Pomfrey will be back in the Hospital Wing by ten. I don't want her finding an empty bed where a 'recovering' patient should be!"
"You didn't have to come, Hermione," Ron whispered, walking briskly while staring straight ahead to look as casual as possible. "We could have told you everything Hagrid said."
"Don't be thick," Hermione muttered. Even under the cloak, the bright morning light and the crisp breeze lifting off the grounds buoyed her spirits. Her amber cat-eyes glinted with focus. "If I left it to you two, you'd forget half of what he said before you even left the hut!"
Halloween was a distant memory, and with the Great Hall's decorations cleared away and the snow covering the pumpkin patch, Hagrid's wooden cabin looked tidier than usual. When the trio arrived, Hagrid was busy hacking the massive Christmas trees used to decorate the hall into firewood.
What would have been a grueling day's labor for any other man was a warm-up for Hagrid. Standing twice as tall and five times as wide as a normal man, he simply raised his axe and let it fall; the thick trunks snapped into neat logs as if they were mere twigs.
Fang, the black boarhound, spotted them first. He bounded onto a snowbank, let out a joyful bay, and wagged his tail so hard his whole back half shook.
"Quiet, Fang! You've just finished an entire chicken," Hagrid called out. When he looked toward the source of the dog's excitement, his face—hidden behind a wilderness of tangled beard—split into a grin.
"Ha! Harry, Ron! It's you two!" Hagrid waved a massive arm as Harry struggled through two feet of fresh powder. "Something's wrong, Harry. Usually, you only visit me at midnight under that cloak of yours!"
"That's because I have classes during the day, Hagrid!"
Oof!
Harry, supporting a cloaked Hermione, caught his foot on a buried root and pitched forward. Hermione, tethered to him, let out a sharp yelp as they tumbled into a heap.
"Stop laughing and help us, Hagrid!"
"Merlin's beard!" Hagrid froze mid-step as Hermione suddenly materialized beside Harry and Ron. "You brought me a... a cat-person?!"
Hagrid's hut was as cluttered as ever. Hams and pheasants dangled from the ceiling, a copper kettle whistled over the hearth, and the massive bed in the corner was piled with its usual patchwork of grimy quilts.
"Please, Hagrid, don't ask me why I look like this," Hermione said crossly as she sat on the edge of the bed. She had seen the burning curiosity in his beetle-black eyes. "It was a nightmare, and I'm not discussing it."
Ron let out a muffled snicker, and even Harry's tense expression softened into a smirk.
"Fair enough, fair enough," Hagrid chuckled, shrugging his massive shoulders. "I was just wondering if it was possible to breed a 'cat-person' through experimental charms. Since you aren't sharing... quiet, Fang! That's Hermione, not a stray. You should know her scent."
He pulled out several oversized mugs and tossed in some dark, leafy tea. While waiting for the water to boil, he offered a plate of his homemade treats. "You look troubled, Harry. Want a bit of treacle fudge?"
"Thanks, Hagrid, but I'm not really hungry..." Harry declined politely, remembering the tooth-shattering reputation of Hagrid's baking. He exchanged a silent look with Ron and Hermione before getting to the point. "Actually, Hagrid, we came to ask about someone. We think you might know him."
Hagrid, poking at the fire with a poker, let out a wheezing laugh. He looked at Harry through the steam of the kettle. "Who are you lot digging up now, Harry? I'm warning you—there isn't a Philosopher's Stone hidden in the castle this year!"
No Stone, but there's a Chamber, Harry thought grimly.
"Amossta Blaine, Hagrid. Have you heard of him?"
"Amossta Blaine?" Hagrid blinked, his expression shifting to genuine surprise. "Why on earth are you asking about him?"
"So you do know him?" Hermione pressed immediately. "Tell us, Hagrid. What do you know?"
Hagrid didn't answer right away. Instead, he looked at Ron with a puzzled frown. "You don't remember him at all, Ron?"
"I... I know I've heard the name somewhere," Ron said, his brow furrowed in concentration. "But I don't think it was from my dad. Why would I know him?"
"You've definitely heard the name," Hagrid said, lifting the boiling kettle and pouring the tea. "He was a Slytherin. He was in the same year as your brother, Bill. Graduated about three or four years ago. I haven't heard much about him lately, but that's not surprising. He was a quiet lad. Never one for the spotlight."
"Maybe Bill mentioned him once?" Ron muttered, still struggling with the lost memory.
"Quiet?" Hermione echoed, her confusion mirroring Ron's. She thought back to the man she met in the Hospital Wing—polite, sharp, and confident. He didn't seem like a typical Slytherin, but he certainly didn't seem 'quiet.'
"Well, maybe not quiet, exactly. Just... solitary," Hagrid corrected, standing as he spoke since the hut was too small for him and three guests.
"I didn't have much to do with him myself. Most of what I know is hearsay. They say Amossta Blaine was an orphan who grew up in a Muggle orphanage. You know how it is in Slytherin—an orphan isn't exactly welcomed with open arms. He had a rough time his first few years. If Professor Snape hadn't looked out for him, he'd have had it even worse."
Hagrid's voice was slow as he sifted through his memories. No one interrupted him; even Ron stopped trying to remember and stared intently at the half-giant.
"The professors used to say Blaine was a brilliantly studious boy. Very polite when asking questions. His marks were excellent—though not quite on the level of Bill or Percy, or you, I suppose," he said, nodding to Hermione.
"But you just couldn't get close to him. It was like he was intentionally keeping everyone at arm's length. Considering he was a Muggle-born orphan in the snake pit, the teachers figured he was just being cautious."
"He sounds... normal?" Ron frowned. "And if he was a Slytherin, why would Bill or Charlie have talked about him?"
"Ah, that," Hagrid said, taking a massive swig from a mug the size of a bucket. His eyes widened with remembered shock. "That would be because of the fight Blaine started in the Forbidden Forest during his fifth year! It's been years, but looking back, I still can't quite believe what I saw!"