"That's none of yer business!" Hagrid's face darkened at once. His massive hand slashed the air, voice rough with fury. "Get away from me!"
Then he turned, stomping off toward his wooden hut with such force that Snape had to half-run just to keep up.
"Hagrid!" Snape shouted after him. "What's going on?"
BANG.
The hut's door slammed shut with a finality that sent a gust through the garden.
Well. That was a disaster.
Snape stood there in the dirt, frowning deeply. He'd never expected Hagrid to open up like he would to Harry, but he hadn't thought he'd get shut down that hard—no chance for diplomacy, no room for explanation.
And as for Abbo's suggestion—asking around the staff or the castle's resident ghosts—Snape doubted he'd get anything of substance. Dumbledore had surely instructed anyone in the know to stay silent.
So… would he really have to walk straight into the girls' second-floor lavatory?
But what excuse could he possibly offer for striking up a conversation with Moaning Myrtle?
If he wasn't careful, Dumbledore would see straight through the entire act.
No. He needed to provoke something bigger.
He clenched his jaw, stormed up the steps, and pounded on Hagrid's door.
BANG. BANG. BANG.
"Hagrid! Don't just hide in there. If you had the nerve to get that girl killed, you should have the nerve to open the door. Come on! OPEN UP!"
Seconds passed.
Then the door was flung open.
Hagrid stood framed in the threshold, holding a loaded crossbow—pointed straight at Snape.
"I didn't do it!" he roared. "Aragog would never hurt a human!"
Snape didn't flinch. "Aragog? That the spider The Daily Prophet mentioned?"
He took a step forward, calmly brushing the crossbow aside.
"Please. You're not going to hurt me, Hagrid."
The weapon lowered, though Hagrid's eyes still burned with fury. His tangled beard twitched with every laboured breath.
"So I was right, wasn't I?" Snape said quietly. "You were the one expelled in 1943?"
"Let's talk inside."
Hagrid hesitated—then finally stepped aside.
The hut was a cramped single-room space. Ham and pheasants hung from the rafters, and the bed was heaped with patchwork quilts. A familiar pink umbrella leaned against the rear wall.
Snape sat at the rough-hewn table, the only one large enough to accommodate both of them.
"Abbo told me a little about you," Snape began. "Any chance you've got one of those rock cakes you're famous for?"
Hagrid gave a reluctant grunt and returned moments later with a plate of them, slamming it down in front of Snape.
Snape bit into one and immediately regretted it—it was like chewing granite—but forced himself to smile through the pain.
He set the half-eaten cake down and checked it for pieces of his own teeth before speaking.
"Hagrid, I don't think you were the one responsible for what happened that year. If you were, Dumbledore would never have let you stay at Hogwarts.
"What I said earlier—that was bait. Just to get you to open the door."
He pulled several folded issues of The Daily Prophet from his robes and slid them across the table.
"Read for yourself. This is what the world believes."
Hagrid shifted uncomfortably.
"Would you… tell me about Aragog?" Snape asked.
"I can't," Hagrid muttered. "I'm not sayin' a word."
"Then I'll speculate," Snape said calmly, sitting upright and fixing Hagrid with a steady gaze.
"In 1943, the school was in panic. Students were being attacked. One girl died.
"Tom Riddle—top of his class, charming, brilliant—discovered you were keeping a giant spider in the castle. He accused it of being the monster."
"No… Aragog didn't…" Hagrid's face turned paper-white under his beard.
Snape pressed on. "Regardless of the truth, the attacks stopped.
"Riddle was hailed a hero. Received the Special Award for Services to the School.
"And you—the 'guilty student'—were expelled. Your wand was snapped."
Sweat gathered on Hagrid's brow. His beetle-black eyes brimmed with unease.
"So," Snape said softly, "can we talk now?"
Hagrid gave a stiff, defeated nod.
"If Aragog wasn't the killer, then what was?"
"It wouldn't say," Hagrid rasped. "I asked it over and over. But it was too afraid.
"Said there was an ancient creature wandering the school—one it feared more than anything. But it wouldn't name it."
Snape tapped his fingers against the table. He was close now—very close.
"What did you think of Riddle?"
"Brilliant," Hagrid admitted. "Top marks in every class. Head Boy. Polite."
"And afterward?"
"Dunno," Hagrid said. "He left the school and vanished."
So, Hagrid knew nothing about Riddle's transformation. That was good—it meant Snape could control the narrative.
"And the girl? The victim?"
Hagrid hesitated. Then—
"She never left," he said quietly. "She's still here."
Snape blinked. "What do you mean?"
"Moaning Myrtle," Hagrid muttered. "She's the one who died. Found in the bathroom. And she… came back."
"The ghost that sobs in the girls' bathroom?"
"Aye." Hagrid shrugged, looking ashamed to even mention her name.
Snape stood.
"Thank you, Hagrid. What you've told me… it helps. And I won't breathe a word to anyone except Dumbledore. Not that he doesn't already know."
He stepped toward the door.
"Still, for personal reasons… I'll try to uncover the truth. And if I can clear your name, I will."
Snape stepped out into the cool, dusky air. The light from the castle windows shimmered through the fading twilight like signals across the lake.
He had what he needed.
Now all he had to do was find a moment alone—speak to Myrtle—and finally "discover" the entrance to the Chamber of Secrets.
He still didn't know how to open it.
But it was a start.