"I've always had a soft spot for the more... misunderstood residents of the forest, Hagrid. And Buckbeak is certainly at the top of that list."
Alan offered a reassuring smile, reaching up to clap a hand against Hagrid's massive, trembling forearm. The leather of Hagrid's vest felt damp, a testament to the nervous sweat he'd been shedding all evening.
"But listen to me," Alan's tone shifted, becoming more grounded. "The bottle stays corked from now on. You need your wits about you because the Malfoys don't just get mad—they get litigious. You should probably look into relocating Buckbeak for a while. Out of sight, out of mind, at least until the dust settles."
Hermione nodded so sharply her curls bounced. "Alan is right, Hagrid. You've had more than enough to drink. It's hard to defend yourself when you can barely stand."
Without waiting for an answer, she snatched the bucket-sized pewter tankard from the table. The smell of stale ale wafted through the hut as she marched toward the door and tossed the contents out into the dark.
Hagrid let out a low, mournful groan, but he didn't protest. He swayed as he pushed himself up from the reinforced chair, which creaked in protest. Staggering slightly, he followed Hermione out into the cool night air.
A moment later, a rhythmic, heavy splashing sound echoed back into the hut.
"What's he doing now?" Harry asked, his voice tight with anxiety. He looked toward the door, half-expecting Hagrid to have collapsed into the vegetable patch.
Hermione returned, carrying the empty tankard with a look of grim satisfaction. "He's dunking his head in the water trough. Probably the fastest way to kill a hangover I've ever seen."
When Hagrid finally stepped back inside, he looked like a drowned rat the size of a grizzly bear. Water cascaded from his matted hair and soaked into his beard, dripping onto the floorboards in heavy thuds. He wiped his eyes with a massive, hairy palm, blinking back the clarity of the cold water.
Alan instinctively pulled Hermione back a few steps, a move that proved to be a stroke of genius.
"Right then," Hagrid rumbled, his voice much clearer now. He gave his head a violent, canine shake.
A spray of cold water flew in every direction. Harry and Ron, who hadn't moved back, were instantly doused. Ron spluttered, wiping a stray droplet from his nose, while Harry just stood there, looking startled.
"That's much better," Hagrid grunted. "I say, it really is decent of you lot to come down here. I was feelin' a bit... well, you saw me. It means a lot."
Suddenly, Hagrid's expression froze. He stared at Harry as if seeing him for the first time that night. The warmth in his eyes vanished, replaced by a sudden, sharp realization of the danger they were in.
"What are you lot still doing here?" he suddenly roared. The volume was so unexpected that Fang let out a startled yelp and hid under the table. "Harry! You can't be out here after dark! And the rest of you—how could you let him wander across the grounds with that Black fellow on the loose?"
Hagrid didn't wait for an explanation. He lunged forward, his massive hand closing around Harry's upper arm with surprising gentleness for such a frantic movement.
"Out! All of you!" Hagrid urged, ushering them toward the door. "I'm walkin' you back to the castle right now. Don't you come down here after sunset again. D'you hear me? I'm not worth you gettin' expelled or worse!"
The walk back was silent and brisk. When they reached the safety of the oak doors, Hagrid didn't linger; he turned back into the darkness, his large silhouette quickly swallowed by the mist.
Harry watched him go, his heart heavy. "He's terrified for us," he whispered. "After everything we did to ruin his first day, he's still worried about my safety."
Alan adjusted his cloak, looking at the three of them. "If you really want to make it up to him, don't just stand here feeling sorry. Start researching. Look into Ministry precedents for 'Magical Creature Aggression.' Find out what the legal defense is for a provoked animal. You're going to need it when the Committee for the Disposal of Dangerous Creatures gets involved."
With a final nod, Alan turned toward the Ravenclaw tower, leaving the trio in the entrance hall.
"Alan seems... frustrated," Ron remarked, leaning against a stone pillar.
"Wouldn't you be?" Hermione snapped, her patience finally snapping. "He gave Hagrid a perfect lesson plan to keep everyone safe, and you two turned it into a gladiator match. Anyone with half a brain can see how reckless that was!"
She turned on her heel and marched off toward the Gryffindor stairs, her hair wildly agitated. Ron and Harry were left standing in the flickering torchlight, looking like two students who had just realized they were in way over their heads.
The following morning brought a crisp, clear sky and a surprisingly resilient Hagrid. When the Ravenclaws and Hufflepuffs gathered for the afternoon session, Hagrid was already waiting, looking revitalized and professional.
"Morning, everyone! Or afternoon, rather!" Hagrid's voice boomed across the grass, reaching the back of the queue. "Right then, let's get straight to it. Books out!"
A few students flinched, remembering the snapping teeth of The Monster Book of Monsters. But as each student stroked the spine as instructed, the books settled into a purr.
"Excellent! See? Treat 'em with a bit of kindness and they're as docile as kittens," Hagrid beamed. The successful start was clearly giving him back the confidence Malfoy had stripped away.
While the students' eyes kept drifting toward the distant paddock where the Hippogriffs were tethered—the Malfoy incident having become the primary topic of gossip in every common room—Hagrid kept them focused.
"Today, we're looking at something a bit more... delicate," Hagrid announced. He reached into his oversized pocket and pulled out a tiny, shimmering figure.
It was a Fairy, barely five inches tall. It looked like a miniature human carved from porcelain, with iridescent, gossamer wings that hummed like a hummingbird's. It sat on Hagrid's thumb, preening its wings with an air of immense self-importance.
"Beautiful, aren't they?" Hagrid said, his eyes glowing with genuine affection. "They're a bit vain, mind you. They love a bit of luxury. Your task today is to build a suitable habitat—a treehouse, if you will—to attract one from the forest edge. If they like your work, they'll stay and let you observe 'em."
The class broke into groups. The girls were instantly charmed, whispering about how to decorate their tiny structures with moss and wild petals. The boys were less enthusiastic, their eyes still lingering on the 'dangerous' creatures in the distance, but the fear of Malfoy's fate kept them in line.
Alan, however, wasn't interested in a simple mossy hut. He found a secluded spot near an old oak and began to work. Using a series of intricate Transfiguration spells, he didn't just pile sticks; he wove living branches together, reinforcing them with silver-slicked leaves.
In a matter of minutes, a miniature Gothic castle stood nestled in the fork of a tree. It had tiny spires, a balcony, and even a microscopic courtyard.
When he moved deeper into the woods to find his "tenants," his enhanced senses caught the sound almost immediately. Fairies weren't silent; they were incredibly argumentative, emitting high-pitched, buzzing squabbles that sounded like radio static.
As Alan approached, the buzzing stopped. A group of about a dozen fairies hovered in the air, their wings a blur of neon blues and oranges. They watched him warily until he revealed the castle in his palms.
Their intelligence was primitive, but their vanity was absolute. They saw the shimmering, elegant structure and understood the silent offer. After a flurry of aggressive buzzing—a beauty contest to decide who was "worthy"—three of the most vibrantly colored fairies broke from the pack and settled into the castle's towers with haughty expressions.
Alan walked back to the clearing, the tiny castle held carefully in his hands. The fairies were already posing on the balconies, fluttering their wings for anyone who looked their way.
"Merlin's beard, Alan!" Hagrid exclaimed, leaning down to peer at the intricate stonework. "That's not a treehouse, that's a palace! Ten points to Ravenclaw for the most impressive habitat I've ever seen."
"Thank you, Professor," Alan said smoothly.
Hagrid froze, his face flushing a deep beet-red. "Professor? You... you called me Professor."
"It is your title, isn't it?" Alan replied with a respectful nod.
Hagrid looked like he might cry again, but this time out of pure joy. Even the Golden Trio still called him 'Hagrid' out of habit, but Alan's formality gave him a sense of legitimacy he desperately needed.
"Well, now... what can I do for you, Alan? Anything at all," Hagrid said, his chest puffing out with pride.
"I was wondering, Professor, if I might have a closer look at Buckbeak. Just a peaceful observation from the edge of the paddock. I'm fascinated by the way they interact with their environment."
Hagrid hesitated, his brow furrowing. "I dunno, Alan... after yesterday... I promised the Headmaster I'd keep the paddocks closed for a few days."
"I won't cross the fence," Alan promised, his eyes steady. "I just want to see him up close. He's a magnificent creature, and it would be a shame if Malfoy's ignorance was the only thing people remembered about the species."
Hagrid softened. "Alright. Just you. And stay behind the post, d'you hear?"
As Hagrid led Alan toward the paddock, the rest of the class—who had been struggling to get a single fairy to even look at their crude mud huts—abandoned their work and followed at a safe distance. The air was thick with anticipation as they approached the creature that had, overnight, become the most famous animal in Hogwarts.