Hagrid had not returned since the night of the tragedy. Alan stood alone in front of the hut, staring blankly at the dark treeline of the Forbidden Forest. An inexplicable rage boiled in his chest, hot and suffocating.
As he struggled to vent this nameless fury, the magic within him surged uncontrollably. Giant pumpkins and heavy wooden barrels were yanked from the ground, caught in a chaotic orbit around him as they mirrored his fractured thoughts.
Suddenly, as if a rusted lock had been forced open, the atmosphere shifted. The frantic spinning stopped. The floating objects were suddenly gripped by invisible, immovable hands, fixed rigidly in mid-air.
"Ah!" Alan roared, a primal release of all his grief and anger. In response to his cry, the objects—the barrels, the fence posts, the pumpkins—were instantly crushed into fine powder, as if squeezed by an immense, unseen weight.
As the debris settled, the sky seemed to empathize with his pain, and a light, cold rain began to fall.
Feeling the chill of the droplets, Alan slowly regained his senses. He looked around to find a ten-meter radius of devastation. Nothing was intact. The large water buckets, the garden fence, and the ripening vegetables had all been pulverized into dust.
Alan subconsciously extended his right hand. A shimmering, transparent limb appeared in the empty space a few meters in front of him, its outline revealed by the falling rain. As he flexed his fingers and moved his arm, the transparent hand responded with perfect synchronization.
"This is... my Shield Charm?" Alan whispered. Under the pressure of his intense emotional fluctuations, his shield—which had already reached the level of instinct—had broken through its limits.
"It's become a true Mage's Hand." He looked at the translucent construct, realizing it had reached an extraordinary level of power. He could no longer call it a simple shield, yet the achievement brought him no joy. He simply stood there, soaked and hollow, in the middle of the ruin.
In the distance, the faint sounds of laughter drifted from Hogwarts Castle. Fireworks whistled into the sky, and students celebrated on broomsticks, their joy echoing across the grounds. Alan lowered his head and began the silent, lonely task of cleaning up the mess.
The joyous harmony of the castle formed a cruel contrast to the desolation of the hut.
After a restless night, the early morning air was broken by the low, mechanical rumble of an engine. Alan dressed quickly and stepped outside just as Hagrid was landing a motorcycle in the clearing.
"Hagrid? Where have you been these last two days? And why do you have Sirius's bike?" Even without the sidecar, Alan recognized it instantly.
Hagrid pulled off his goggles and climbed off the seat, his face a mask of dejection. He sniffed loudly, his eyes red. "I don't know if you've heard yet, Alan. James and Lily... they're..."
"I know," Alan said softly. He looked at the machine. "But what about the bike? Professor Bones told me Sirius betrayed them. Why did he give you his motorcycle?"
"That goes back to the night before last," Hagrid said, ushering Alan into the hut. He slumped into a chair and took a massive gulp of water from a copper mug. "Dumbledore sent for me. He told me to go to Godric's Hollow to find Harry—the boy."
"So, while I was out here doing my experiments, they were...?" Alan felt a lump form in his throat.
"Aye," Hagrid sighed, tears welling up again. "When I got there, I found them. James was in the hall... and Lily was lying right next to little Harry's crib."
Mentioning it broke him. Hagrid pulled out a massive, spotted handkerchief and blew his nose with a sound like a foghorn. "The poor Potters... lying there all alone. Dumbledore gave me orders to get Harry to safety, to take him to Little Whinging."
After another forceful blow of his nose, Hagrid continued, "But as I was leaving the house, I ran into Sirius. Damn it, I almost believed him for a second. He told me to hand Harry over to him, but I wouldn't. I had my orders."
"You saw Sirius?" Alan asked, surprised. "He wanted to take the boy? And then he just gave you the bike?"
"He knew I was there on Dumbledore's business. He told me he wouldn't be needing the bike anymore and gave it to me. I spent the next day traveling to the meeting spot. Dumbledore placed Harry on his relatives' doorstep. Poor little scrap..." Hagrid broke down completely, sobbing like a heartbroken child.
As Alan listened, his mind began to race. Why would Sirius go to the house after the attack? If he were truly the traitor, why didn't he kill Hagrid and take the boy? Why give away his most prized possession?
"Hagrid, is Headmaster Dumbledore back?" Alan felt a desperate need for answers that only the Headmaster could provide.
"He should be. I rode through the night, but he'd have ways of getting back faster than me," Hagrid choked out.
"Alright. Rest up, Hagrid. I need to speak with the Headmaster."
Alan offered a few more words of comfort before heading toward the castle.
Meanwhile, inside the Headmaster's office, a different confrontation was taking place.
"You promised to keep her safe!" Snape shouted, his voice raw and hysterical.
"Lily and James put their faith in the wrong person, Severus," Dumbledore said, his expression grave and weary. "Much as you did. But the child lives."
"The boy doesn't need protection! The Dark Lord is gone!" Snape cried out in despair.
"The Dark Lord will return, and when he does, the boy will be in mortal danger." Dumbledore looked at the broken man before him. "He has her eyes, Severus. If you truly loved her..."
The words hit Snape like a physical blow. He looked up at Dumbledore, his gaze steadying through the pain. "No one can know."
"Come to Hogwarts. Help me, Severus. I will deal with the Ministry's accusations against you," Dumbledore offered.
Snape nodded silently. He took a deep breath, wiped the moisture from his eyes, and walked toward the door. By the time he descended the spiral staircase, his face had returned to its habitual mask of cold indifference.