The corridors leading to the Headmaster's office always seemed longer when you were walking with a professor. Albert kept his pace steady behind Professor Smith, his mind still buzzing with the golden clarity of the Felix Felicis. Every step felt rhythmic, every breath felt optimized. They rounded a corner where a particularly disgruntled gargoyle stood guard.
"Chocolate Frog," Smith said clearly.
The Hippogriff statue didn't just move; it seemed to unfold with a series of heavy, stone-on-stone grinds, revealing the moving spiral staircase. Following Smith onto the rising steps, Albert felt the air change—shifting from the drafty, dust-laden atmosphere of the castle into something more refined, more scholarly.
When the door to the office swung open, the familiar chaos of Dumbledore's sanctuary greeted them. Silver instruments whirred and puffed on spindly tables, and the portraits of past headmasters immediately tucked their chins into their chests, feigning sleep with suspicious synchronized snoring.
"Rowena? Is there an emergency?" Dumbledore didn't look up immediately. He was hunched over a piece of parchment, his quill moving with a fluid, scratchy grace.
"Not an emergency, Albus, but perhaps a situation that requires your specific brand of... oversight," Smith replied, stepping aside to let Albert take center stage. "Young Mr. Anderson here has stumbled upon a secret that Hagrid has been keeping quite literally under his hat—or rather, in the woods."
Dumbledore finally looked up, his half-moon spectacles catching the afternoon light. The parchment on his desk folded itself into a neat square, and with a flick of his wrist, it was sealed. He didn't use an owl. Instead, he whistled softly, and Fawkes—the magnificent crimson phoenix—glided down from a golden perch. The bird took the letter in its beak and vanished in a silent burst of flame.
Using a Phoenix as a courier, Albert thought, impressed. Now that is a flex even I can't buy with gold.
"It's about Hagrid, sir," Albert began, keeping his voice steady but laden with the 'concern' the Liquid Luck dictated was the most effective tone. "He's been keeping a Cerberus. He calls it Fluffy. The creature escaped its enclosure a few days ago and is currently roaming the Forbidden Forest. Hagrid's been out there all morning trying to track it down, but he's terrified of what will happen if you find out."
He went into detail, painting a picture of a well-meaning but overwhelmed groundskeeper who was currently wandering into spider dens out of sheer desperation. Albert watched Dumbledore's face for any flicker of surprise, but the old wizard's expression was as unreadable as a closed book.
"Professor, you won't... you won't expel him, will you?" Albert asked, putting on his best 'worried student' mask. "He only wanted to give the creature a home."
"Expel him? No, Mr. Anderson," Dumbledore said, his voice warm and reassuring. "Your instincts in coming to me were impeccable. Gryffindor will have twenty points for your level-headedness. A Cerberus is not a stray cat; it is a Class XXXXX creature. We must settle this before the forest becomes too small for both the dog and our students."
"What's the plan for it, sir?" Albert pushed gently.
"Returning it to its native land is the only humane option," Dumbledore replied, then turned to Smith. "Rowena, are you occupied? I believe a walk in the fresh air might do us all some good."
"I am entirely at your disposal, Albus," Smith said with a charming smile. "I've never actually seen a live Cerberus. It would be quite the educational experience."
"Can I come?" Albert cut in. "I promised Hagrid I'd see this through. I don't think he'll take the news well unless I'm there to soften the blow."
Dumbledore looked at Albert, those piercing blue eyes seeming to search the boy's very soul for a second. Then, he nodded. "A loyal friend is a rare thing. Come along, then."
The walk to Hagrid's hut was brisk. When they arrived, the giant was sitting on his front step, morosely chewing on a piece of rock cake that looked hard enough to chip a tooth. When he saw the trio approaching, he nearly choked, his eyes going wide with terror as they landed on Dumbledore.
"Albert... what've yeh done?" Hagrid whimpered, his gaze darting between the boy and the Headmaster.
"I saved your job, Hagrid," Albert said firmly, stepping forward. "I couldn't let you keep wandering into the dark until something ate you. The Headmaster knows everything, and he isn't going to expel you. But we need to find Fluffy. Now."
Hagrid's relief was so physical it looked like he might melt into the grass. "I'm sorry, Albus... I just... he was so small when I got him..."
"We shall discuss the definition of 'small' later, Hagrid," Dumbledore said dryly. "For now, we need to locate him. Any suggestions, Rowena?"
Smith tilted his head, looking thoughtful. "I'm no magizoologist, but perhaps we should consult someone who is. Silvanus Kettleburn is just a stone's throw away. He's spent more time with dangerous beasts than with humans."
They moved as a group toward Kettleburn's nearby dwelling. The Professor was outside, currently waist-deep in a bin of Flobberworms, looking perfectly content.
"Albus! And Rowena! What brings the faculty to my humble muck-heap?" Kettleburn barked, wiping a bit of slime onto his trousers.
When Dumbledore explained the situation, Kettleburn didn't look horrified; he looked delighted. "A Cerberus! So that's what's been making those tracks near the northern ridge. I thought we had a stray dragon for a moment. Finding him won't be easy, though. The forest is deep, and he's likely hunkered down."
"He suggested food," Hagrid muttered, glancing at Albert. "Same as you, lad."
"I shall have the kitchens prepare some raw beef," Dumbledore said, but he looked like a man who didn't want to wait for delivery.
"Sir," Albert suggested, "what about a specialized Summoning Charm? If we can't find him, why not bring him to us?"
"I tried that, Albert," Smith noted. "The magic resistance of a Cerberus is legendary. One wizard isn't enough to pull that much weight across that distance."
"But what about three?" Albert looked at Dumbledore. The Liquid Luck was whispering in his ear now, a confident hum of this is the way. "If you, Professor Smith, and I cast it in unison, surely we could overcome the resistance? Especially with the Headmaster leading the flow."
Dumbledore paused, his long fingers drumming against his chin. "A synchronized Summoning. It's an elegant solution, Mr. Anderson. Risky, perhaps, but elegant."
"I'm game," Smith said, drawing his wand. It was a beautiful thing, dark wood with intricate carvings.
"Hagrid, stand back," Dumbledore commanded. "If this works, you'll have several hundred pounds of angry dog flying toward you. Be ready to restrain him."
"I've got me strength!" Hagrid promised, bracing himself.
The three wizards formed a small triangle. Albert felt the air begin to hum. He raised his wand, focusing every bit of his intent on the image of the three-headed beast. He could feel Dumbledore's magic—it wasn't like a flame, it was like the ocean, deep and vast and impossibly heavy. Smith's magic felt sharper, like a cold wind.
"On three," Dumbledore whispered. "One... two... three!"
"FLUFFY ACCIO!"
The combined shout echoed through the trees, vibrating in Albert's very teeth. He felt a massive tug on his wand, a resistance so strong it felt like he was trying to pull a mountain out of the earth. He gritted his teeth, pouring everything he had into the link.