Hari ran her fingers over her wand - her wand! - with an absentminded delight. She could feel it, this extension of herself she'd not known was missing. How could she have lived so long without it?
Without any of this?
Wonderful, dangerous, strange.
Ghosts and talking hats and magic wands and friends! Everyone in Hufflepuff had been so very nice to her, she could just cry. She maybe did cry, just a little.
No one was awake to see.
She'd never felt such kindness before. She didn't know anyone could like her enough for that.
If there was one thing Hari had learned while living with the Dursleys, it was how to mind her own business. Life was just a little easier, a little safer, that way.
Oh, she didn't turn off her ears, or her brain for that matter - it paid to know what was going on around you, but she didn't go poking around where she wasn't wanted. That was how you got hit.
She'd earned more bruises than she'd like to admit before learning that lesson. Still, she had learned it.
So, though she thought it very strange that Hagrid picked up a little, secret package, especially while with a first year student like herself present, it was firmly none of her business, and she put it from her mind.
It went into the same Don't Ask box as the strange words of the wandmaker, and the odd feeling of quiet unease she'd felt at the Sorting. And the fact that she was apparently famous for killing a dark wizard as an infant. Which was dumb, but she was hardly going to point that out to these people - for all she knew, it was a regular thing with magic folk.