The Child of the Seventh Month

11. The Dark Mark

Once the last day of his first year came, Harry woke up extra early and waited impatiently for everyone to arrive for breakfast. He didn't eat anything, just sat still as they chatted beside him. Even Draco Malfoy, who had been complaining all month that he would be going to his grandparents’ house for all summer, looked eager to go home. Harry could see Neville from the other end of the Great Hall, looking uncharacteristically grumpy. He was pecking at his food with a fork, not really paying attention to talking to him Ron. Harry wondered what made him so upset.

But before he knew it, Professor McGonagall was up on her feet and announcing the train's departure in an hour. Notes were handed to all students on their way out of the Hall, warning them, to Harry's bewilderment, not to use magic over the holidays. Hagrid was waiting for them outside the castle to take them to the fleets of boats that sailed across the lake; then led them towards the train that would take them back home. But before Harry entered, Hagrid tugged at Harry's robe, trying to be gentle, but dragging him backwards from the steps in the process. 

Harry readjusted his robe, looking up at the giant in confusion. Hagrid cleared his throat, letting Neville and Hermione board the train on their own before he spoke to Harry, “Happy ter go back home, huh?”

Harry tilted his head, even more puzzled now. “Yeah…”

“I've got yeh a present.”

Harry perked up, though another part of him got immediately concerned. “Cookies?” secretly, he wasn't very fond of Hagrid's baking. 

“Nah. Dumbledore gave me the day off yesterday ter fix this. ‘ere,” and the giant handed Harry a handsome, leather-covered book. 

Harry looked up at Hagrid, then took the book carefully and examined it. At first glance, it looked very ordinary, like a sketch book. The paper was thick but the pages were empty. Harry lifted his eyes back to Hagrid, confused. But Hagrid was smiling, his eyes crinkled at the corners. 

“Use your wand,” he instructed. 

Harry raised his eyebrows, but did as he was asked. Once the tip of his wand made contact with the front page, a picture appeared, and everything became clear – it was a photo album. But it wasn't the one Hagrid had shown him so many times before – the pictures were ones he had not yet seen. 

As Harry turned the page, Hagrid leaned over him, pointing with a finger the size of a sausage at his mother's smiling face. "That was when she got her 'O' Level results," he said. "Told yeh, didn't I, that she'd been one of the best in her year?”

"Once or twice," Harry murmured in response, not quite listening. There was another picture of his father, young and handsome, levitating an amused-looking man over a patch of flowers. And here was his mother again, this time obviously pregnant, patting her belly and smiling. Harry took a deep breath and snapped the book shut, pushing it back at Hagrid.

“Hagrid, I can't take it. It's yours,” he said insistently. He had been fine with listening to Hagrid's stories of his late parents in the past, but he had refused any souvenirs the giant had offered him before. 

“No, no. Yer parents would wan’ yeh ter have this.”

“Hagrid, I don't want that,” Harry said, a little irritated. What use did he have for pictures of some people he never knew? He had refused any pictures during his first meeting with Hagrid, and after ten months, nothing had changed. 

“If you're worried about 'im finding out,” Hagrid lowered his voice, leaning in to Harry. “It's charmed so tha' on'y your wand will be able ter make the pictures visible.”