Everything at Hogwarts—from the sweeping sky to the damp earth, the depths of the Great Lake to the most mundane student pranks and extracurricular activities—seemed inextricably, obsessively linked to magic.
The prevailing logic among the student body was simple: if what you were doing didn't involve a wand, a potion, or a magical creature, weren't you basically just acting like a Muggle?
Therefore, it was completely understandable that when the Hogwarts Keeper of Keys and Grounds, Rubeus Hagrid, spotted a scrawny, pureblood wizard scaling a massive oak tree with his bare hands, the half-giant was so astonished his jaw practically hit the grass.
Why in Merlin's name is he climbing a tree? Hagrid thought, blinking his beetle-black eyes. Wait... is he really just climbing a tree? No wand? No levitation charms? And why is he moving so bloody fast?!
High above in the canopy, a translucent blue notification repeatedly flashed across Regulus's vision:
[Successfully climbed ten meters vertically continuously. Climbing Skill +1]
[Successfully climbed twenty meters vertically continuously. Climbing Skill +2]
This was Regulus: a veteran gamer diligently grinding his skill proficiency the hard way. He deeply missed the golden days of his past life—the days of excitedly clicking a mouse, mashing a keyboard, and destroying his liver with energy drinks while his on-screen avatar did all the physical labor. Now, to actually level up his passive abilities, he genuinely had to locate a ridiculously high object and use all four of his actual limbs to haul himself up it.
At this precise moment, his arms burning and his fingers slick with sap, he desperately wished the system he'd bonded with wasn't Assassin's Creed, but Hogwarts Legacy. Oh, how obscenely overpowered he was in that game... a god among wizards. But alas, no one in this timeline would ever know his digital greatness.
"Hey! You up there! What do you think yer doing?!"
A thunderous voice shattered the peaceful rustling of the leaves. Hagrid squinted up into the branches for a moment before cupping his massive hands around his mouth. "Be careful! Get down from there before yeh break yer neck!"
Regulus, who had been intensely focused on finding his next handhold, jumped so badly he nearly slipped and plummeted to his death.
Wait a minute, Regulus thought, his heart hammering against his ribs. I'm completely hidden behind a dense layer of foliage. From that angle on the ground, no one should be able to see me.
Had his 'Stealth' state suddenly failed?
He carefully peered down through the overlapping green leaves. Far below, standing by the massive roots of the oak, was a towering man with a wild, bushy beard, wearing an oversized moleskin overcoat. He was holding the leash of an equally massive, slobbering black boarhound. A pair of glinting, beetle-like eyes peered anxiously up at him through a tangle of wiry hair.
It was Rubeus Hagrid!
Regulus's mind raced. Ah. The Stealth state must have failed because of his Giant bloodline. Magic resistance. A massive, utterly genuine smile—one he didn't even realize he was making—broke across Regulus's face. Without a second thought, he let go of his secure branch. Using a rapid combination of controlled drops, leaps, and sliding down the rough bark, he descended the massive oak in seconds, landing gracefully in a crouch on the soft grass.
Hagrid frowned, his bushy eyebrows knitting together as he looked down at the painfully familiar, emerald-trimmed robes of the little Slytherin standing before him.
"Hello, sir. You must be Mr. Hagrid, the Groundskeeper," Regulus said cordially. He smoothed his robes and offered a crisp, perfectly executed pureblood bow. "Regulus Black—entirely at your service."
"Er—oh. Right. It's you. The little Black from Slytherin," Hagrid mumbled, visibly flustered by the boy's hyper-formal words and inexplicably friendly, eager attitude. For a fleeting second, the half-giant's massive hand twitched, as if he wanted to offer it for a handshake, but he ultimately pulled it back, wiping it nervously on his coat. "I'm Hagrid. Yeh don't need ter 'serve' anything. Er... what exactly were yeh doing up there?"
"I was climbing a tree, sir."
"Climbing a tree? But... why? Don't yeh have a broomstick?"
"I firmly believe that wizards should engage in rigorous physical exercise, sir!" Regulus stated emphatically, puffing his chest out slightly. "Wizards certainly possess miraculous magical abilities and delightfully long lifespans, but physically? We are far too fragile. If all wizards could be even half as strong and resilient as you are, sir, I truly believe we could better defend ourselves against danger and properly enjoy the physical world."
Hagrid blinked, completely taken aback. "So... yeh just climb trees?" he asked suspiciously. Then, shifting uncomfortably, he added, "An' yeh really don't need ter call me 'sir'..."
"Understood, sir," Regulus replied with absolute seriousness. "Climbing trees is an exceptionally beneficial sport. You get to enjoy the wonderful sunshine and fresh air. By climbing to the highest peaks, you are rewarded with unparalleled views of the castle and the Forbidden Forest. Furthermore, tree climbing is a comprehensive, full-body workout that drastically improves core physical fitness, enhances self-confidence, and serves as an excellent stress reliever..."
"Alright, alright, I get the picture," Hagrid chuckled, nodding slowly. He found the little Slytherin's intense, overly academic speech pattern inexplicably endearing, though he was trying hard not to laugh. "Still, taking a fifty-foot fall is no laughing matter, little Black."
Hagrid paused, his tone softening. "An' like I said, yeh don't need ter call me 'sir'. Just call me Hagrid."
"Okay, Hagrid." Regulus smiled warmly. He stepped forward, entirely unafraid, and leaned over to vigorously scratch the massive black boarhound behind the ears. The dog's dark fur was incredibly stiff and slightly prickly against his palms.
The terrifying-looking hound instantly melted, letting out a happy whine and leaning its heavy head into Regulus's legs. Such a good boy, Regulus thought. I wonder if this is Fang?
"Well, look at that. Seems like Fang's taken a real shine ter yeh," Hagrid smiled, his rigid posture finally relaxing. "So, are yeh plannin' ter climb any more trees today?"
Ah, so it is Fang.
"I think I've exhausted my upper body strength for the afternoon, Hagrid," Regulus admitted, wiping dog drool from his hands. "What are you up to today? Mind if I tag along for a bit?"
"Er... alright then," Hagrid agreed, seemingly surprised but pleased by the company. "But yeh gotta keep up. Come on, Fang, let's go."
There is a unique phenomenon in human interaction: when you are in the immediate presence of someone who is fundamentally straightforward, genuinely simple, and inherently decent, you often find yourself feeling completely revitalized and bursting with positive energy.
Consequently, as they walked side-by-side across the sprawling, sunlit grounds, Regulus found himself talking infinitely more than he usually did. He chattered away happily, feeling as though he were simply catching up with an old, beloved friend from his school days.
"Is the job of Groundskeeper fun, Hagrid? And as the 'Keeper of Keys,' exactly how many keys do you actually have to carry around? Is it heavy?"
"With so many incredible magical creatures living in the Forbidden Forest, have you personally interacted with all of them? Which species is your absolute favorite?"
"You know so much about the local fauna! Honestly, I think you could easily teach the 'Care of Magical Creatures' class yourself."
(Beneath his tangled, wiry beard, Hagrid's cheeks quietly flushed a deep, pleased crimson at the compliment.)
"Since you're so familiar with the local geography, where do you think would be a suitable spot for me to practice actual rock climbing? Trees are great, but I need a sheer, steep stone face to really test my grip strength."
"Your hut on the edge of the forest... would it be alright if I came by to see it sometime?"
Hagrid was having an absolutely fantastic time chatting. It was incredibly rare for any student to treat him with such blatant, unvarnished respect and genuine interest. It was even rarer for a younger student not to be at least slightly terrified of his massive size. But what shocked him the most was that this enthusiastic, polite boy was a pureblood from Slytherin—the House he historically disliked the most, or rather, the House that historically treated him like dirt.
But this little Black? Hagrid found it impossible to dislike him. Even Fang adored him, and Hagrid firmly believed that dogs were excellent, spiritual judges of character.
"Did yeh really jump off the Astronomy Tower like they're all sayin'?" Hagrid asked, looking down at the scrawny boy in wonder. "Are yeh sure yer a Slytherin? With how much yeh seem ter love danger an' adventure, yeh really ought ter be in our Gryffindor."
"Oh, absolutely," Regulus nodded smoothly, seamlessly sliding back into his habit of speaking absolute nonsense. "We Slytherins are just a diverse bunch of kids. Takes all sorts to make a House. Besides, as you know, my older brother is already in Gryffindor. The family is just diversifying our investments across the Hogwarts portfolio."
He paused, looking up innocently. "Speaking of my brother... have you seen Sirius and his friends around? Have they ever visited your hut?"
"Can't say they have," Hagrid replied.
"Ah! Then I'll have to drag him down to visit you sometime. Would that be alright?" Regulus offered eagerly.
The two of them walked and talked companionably until they crested a small hill. Not far away, standing completely alone in the center of the grounds, a highly conspicuous, massive willow tree loomed into view. Regulus's gaze was instantly and entirely drawn to it.
The tree's thick, grey trunk was violently twisted, as if caught in a permanent spasm. Its stout, heavily-leafed branches extended outward at sharp, unnatural angles, some of them easily as thick as an adult boa constrictor. Even in the gentle summer breeze, the tree seemed to twitch and shudder unnaturally. It radiated a distinctly villainous, violently aggressive aura that practically screamed: Do not come near me.
"Yeh probably haven't covered this particular plant in Herbology yet, have yeh? It's mighty rare!" Hagrid said proudly, leading him slightly closer but keeping a healthy distance. His beetle eyes shone with admiration. "It was transplanted here from somewhere else 'bout two years ago. Dumbledore had me help bring it in."
"The Whomping Willow," Regulus breathed, staring at the violently twitching branches without blinking. He softly spoke its legendary name.
"Well I'll be! Yeh actually know what it is!" Hagrid chuckled, genuinely impressed. "Fer a second-year, yer really well-informed, little Black. Then yeh must also know it's incredibly dangerous. If yer lookin' fer trees ter practice yer climbing on... absolutely do not try it on this one."
"Of course not," Regulus nodded vigorously. He was currently scanning the violent, thrashing branches with his newly acquired Assassin's vision, but no matter how hard he looked, he couldn't spot a single safe handhold. The tree was a literal death trap.
"Professor Sprout asked me ter come down an' give it some extra fertilizer before the full moon hits this week," Hagrid explained, patting a massive sack slung over his shoulder. "She wants ter make absolutely sure this beauty has enough strength ter fight in every direction if it needs ter."
Regulus clicked his tongue in wonder. This demonic tree already looks like it could easily bench-press a troll, he thought. And Professor Sprout somehow thinks it needs MORE fighting power?! The faculty at this school are absolutely unhinged.
Hagrid reached deep into the massive pocket of his moleskin coat and pulled out a battered, aggressively pink umbrella. He tapped it thoughtfully against his chin. "Now... where did she say? Ah, right. I need ter bury the dragon dung manure on the northeast side of the roots. Yes, the northeast side."
Hagrid turned to Regulus, his expression turning deadly serious. "I'm gonna go apply the fertilizer now. Yeh stay exactly right here. Do not move an inch closer, understand?"
"Hagrid, wait," Regulus said sharply. "Is it actually safe for you to just walk up and apply fertilizer while it's thrashing like that?"
"Hmm?" Hagrid stopped in his tracks, looking back over his shoulder.
"I remember reading in a highly obscure Herbology text," Regulus lied smoothly, "that the Whomping Willow typically has a specific, physical weak point hidden near its base. If you press it, the tree will become entirely paralyzed for a short period of time. Do you... happen to know anything about that?"