The feast finally wound down, the golden platters clearing themselves as the last crumbs of pumpkin pasties vanished into thin air. Dumbledore gave a final wave of his hand, dismissively sending the students off to their respective towers. The Great Hall was soon a chaotic sea of black robes and tired yawns as everyone shuffled toward the staircases.
Allen was swept up in the Ravenclaw tide, surrounded by housemates who were treating him like a war hero returned from the front lines. He was halfway to the exit when a freckled hand reached through the crowd and snagged his sleeve.
"Allen! Hold up!"
It was Ron. The redhead looked slightly out of breath, his tie askew. "We're heading up to the High Table to give Hagrid a proper shout for the new job. You coming? It won't be the same without the guy who actually kept us alive on the train."
Allen looked over at Edward, who was waiting nearby. His fellow Ravenclaw caught his eye and gave a knowing, weary smile. "Go on, Allen. I'll make sure your bed isn't occupied by a confused first-year by the time you get back."
"Thanks, Edward," Allen said, nodding appreciatively before turning back to Ron. "Lead the way."
They found Harry and Hermione hovering near the steps of the staff dais. Harry looked a bit anxious, likely wondering if he'd get a point deduction for approaching the teachers after hours, but Hermione was vibrating with excitement.
"Hagrid! Oh, Hagrid, congratulations!" Hermione's voice was several octaves higher than usual as they reached the giant man.
Hagrid was currently occupied with a napkin the size of a tablecloth, vigorously mopping his damp, shiny cheeks. He looked up, his eyes bloodshot but beaming. "It's all thanks to you lot... truly it is," he rumbled, his voice thick with emotion.
"Actually, I think Allen did most of the heavy lifting this time," Harry added with a sincere grin, gesturing to his friend.
"Professor Hagrid," Hermione whispered, the words sounding like a sacred title. "I can't believe it. It's exactly what you deserved after everything last year."
They all knew what this meant. Hagrid wasn't just a gamekeeper anymore; he was a peer to the people who had once expelled him. His name had been cleared, his wand—or at least the pieces of it hidden in that pink umbrella—was no longer a source of shame. It was a redemption arc that would have made any novelist weep.
"Dumbledore... he's a great man," Hagrid snuffled, burying his face back into the napkin. "Kettleburn said he'd had enough—wanted to spend more time with his remaining limbs, I reckon—and Dumbledore came straight to me. Said he couldn't think of a better fit."
As Hagrid's shoulders began to shake with renewed sobs, Allen noticed Professor McGonagall nearby. Her lips were pressed into a line so thin it was practically invisible, and her eyes were darting toward the lingering students. A crying Professor at the High Table wasn't exactly the image of authority the school needed on opening night.
"So, Hagrid," Allen cut in, his voice calm and practical, "why on earth did you pick The Monster Book of Monsters as our text?"
The distraction worked perfectly. Hagrid stopped sobbing mid-snuffle and looked down at Allen, his eyes lighting up with a different kind of intensity. "Oh, it's a brilliant bit of work, isn't it? Very... interactive."
"If by 'interactive' you mean it tries to take your fingers off at the knuckle, then sure," Ron muttered under his breath. Allen fought the urge to smirk; Ron's bluntness was becoming one of his favorite things about the boy.
"The students seemed to find it... spirited," Hagrid said, looking a bit hopeful.
"Yes, spirited," Hermione said quickly, giving Ron a sharp nudge in the ribs. "Very unique choice, Hagrid."
Allen sighed internally. He loved Hagrid, but blind encouragement was exactly how someone ended up losing a limb in the Forbidden Forest. He looked at the giant man, whose face was full of raw, unfiltered excitement.
"Hagrid," Allen said, stepping forward. "I need to be honest with you. Not everyone shares your... high tolerance for 'stimulating' creatures. Especially not the third-years who are just starting this elective."
Hermione turned on him, her eyes wide with disapproval. "Allen! He needs support right now, not a critique!"
"I am supporting him, Hermione," Allen replied calmly, meeting her gaze. "The best way to support a new teacher is to make sure their first lesson isn't their last. Hagrid wants to be respected, right? He wants the students to actually learn something without ending up in the Hospital Wing five minutes after the bell rings."
He turned back to Hagrid, who was listening with a confused but attentive expression. "You've got your first class tomorrow. What were you planning to bring out?"
Hagrid's chest puffed out slightly. "I was thinking... a Hippogriff. Buckbeak. He's a beauty, Allen. Strong, proud, smart as a whip."
Allen felt a headache forming. A Hippogriff. A Category Three creature that demanded a formal bow and had talons long enough to disembowel a cow. For a group of thirteen-year-olds who had spent the last two years barely managing to keep Flobberworms alive? It was a recipe for disaster, especially with Draco Malfoy in the class looking for any excuse to cause trouble.
"Hagrid, listen to me," Allen said, his tone shifting into the one he used when he was acting as Dumbledore's teaching assistant. It was a voice of authority, one that demanded attention. "The Ministry has a classification system for a reason. Beasts, Beings, and Spirits. It's a scale of one to five."
Hermione looked like she wanted to interrupt, but Allen's firm gaze held her back.
"A Hippogriff is a Category Three," Allen continued. "The Ministry guidelines say they can be tamed, but only by experts. You're asking children—some of whom can't even cast a proper Shield Charm—to manage a creature that takes offense if you blink the wrong way. If one student forgets to bow, or if someone like Malfoy decides to be an idiot, you're looking at a bloodbath. And if that happens, the Ministry won't just fire you; they'll execute the creature."
The color drained from Hagrid's face. The thought of Buckbeak being hurt clearly hit him harder than the thought of losing his job. Even Hermione was silent now, the logic of Allen's argument sinking in.
"Teaching isn't just about showing off what you love," Allen said gently. "It's about understanding where your students are. You have to bridge the gap between their fear and your passion."
"But... where do I find these levels?" Hagrid asked, sounding a bit lost. "I just thought... if they saw how noble he was..."
"The Department for the Regulation and Control of Magical Creatures handbook," Hermione blurted out, unable to help herself. She looked at Allen, her face flushing slightly as he gave her an appreciative, lingering look.
"Exactly," Allen said. "Hermione knows her stuff. You should listen to her."
The praise seemed to go straight to Hermione's head—or perhaps her heart. She beamed, a radiant smile breaking across her face that had nothing to do with grades or house points.
"Maybe I could do Flobberworms?" Hagrid suggested, sounding dejected. "They're safe. Boring, but safe."
"No," Allen said quickly, grimacing. "Please, for the love of magic, no Flobberworms. I'm in that class too, and I'd rather face a Dementor than spend an hour watching a giant slug eat lettuce. Safety is the floor, Hagrid, not the ceiling."
Everyone looked at him, confused.
"A popular class needs to be interesting," Allen explained, warming up to the topic. "You want something that piques their curiosity without threatening their lives. Why not Diricawls? They can vanish and reappear—it's like a game of hide and seek. Or Mooncalves? They're incredibly gentle and their dances are fascinating. If you want the girls on your side, find some Fairies or Kneazles. Start small, build their confidence, and then work your way up to the Hippogriffs once they've proven they won't get themselves killed."
Ron looked at Allen with genuine awe. "Blimey, Allen. You really have thought this through, haven't you?"
Harry nodded in agreement. "He sounds like he's been a professor for twenty years."
Even Professor McGonagall, who had been hovering nearby, was listening with an unreadable expression. She stepped forward, her silk robes rustling. "Mr. Harris makes a compelling argument, Hagrid. Pedagogy is a fine balance of engagement and caution. Perhaps you should take his suggestions to heart."
Hagrid looked at Allen, then at his massive hands. "Diricawls, eh? I think I know where a covey of 'em is hiding near the edge of the forest. And the Mooncalves... yeah, they're out tonight."
He reached out and clapped a hand onto Allen's shoulder. The force was enough to send a normal wizard through the floor, but Allen anticipated it, going limp and letting the momentum carry him into the side of the table with a theatrical "oof."
The tension broke instantly. Harry and Ron burst out laughing, and even Hagrid let out a booming chuckle.
"Oops! Sorry there, Allen! Still don't know me own strength," Hagrid grinned, his eyes sparkling again.
As they began to move away, Professor McGonagall lingered for a moment. She looked at Allen, a rare, ghost of a smile playing on her lips. "You continue to surprise me, Mr. Harris. If you keep this up, I suspect Hogwarts might have a permanent office waiting for you the day you graduate. Though I hope you'll choose a subject slightly less... hazardous than Care of Magical Creatures."
Allen gave a mock bow. "I'll keep that in mind, Professor. But for now, I think I'll settle for getting through my third year in one piece."
As the four of them walked back toward the entrance hall, Allen felt a sense of satisfaction. He had likely just saved a Hippogriff's life and a giant's career—all before the first day of classes had even officially begun.