Troll: 51. Hanging with Hagrid (Patreon)

Chapter 51: Hanging with Hagrid

Blaise ZabiniHogwarts, Great Britain

As decided, I went to go find Hagrid the next day. It was about eight in the morning and the sun hadn’t even risen yet. Januarys in Scotland were like that; we probably wouldn’t see dawn until eight-thirty or nine.

It was cold and I almost cracked my head open trying to walk across the slippery yard. Padma had no idea what she was talking about; walking sticks weren’t silly, even if I didn’t need one anymore. Already, my bog oak stick was proving its worth. 

This early in the morning, I doubted I’d be disturbed. Most of my peers were asleep, eager to drown in the delusion of denial that classes wouldn’t resume tomorrow. And of the ones who were awake, none were crazy enough to want to visit our friendly groundskeeper through snow and black ice in the dark.

I found the half-giant chopping firewood behind his hut. It was honestly rather awe-inspiring. He was nearly twelve feet of magically enhanced muscle, with enough thick furs piled on to give him the general profile of a roided out bear. He seldom used magic, not since he had his wand snapped, but seeing him in person, I could see how he could be considered a serious threat to a wizard.

The splitting maul he was using was as tall as I was. Its thick, wedged head had to weigh twenty pounds or more. And yet, Hagrid swung it with the same ease I held my practice saber. Each swing crashed down with the sound of thunder. A hunting rifle would have been more subtle. Thick sections of hardwood, each half my height and thrice my weight, practically exploded apart into kindling with every impact.

This man was, like all giants, heavily resistant to magic. Life wasn’t a video game. Big, strong people weren’t slow, lumbering oafs; more power usually meant more speed, too. It made me wonder where the wizard arrogance came from. If Hagrid decided to get mean, there was fuck-all the average wizard could do about it.

I waited a respectful distance as he worked. Seeing him like this, Hagrid’s warped sense of danger when it came to magical creatures made a lot of sense. Most “dangerous” creatures probably looked cute and cuddly to him. Their lashing out could be dismissed as the pouty tantrum of a puppy. He probably had some resistance to venom as well so even the gigantic Aragog might not register as a true threat.

I had to convince this man, this goliath, to give up his dragon egg. His reluctance in canon made perfect sense. 

The thought almost made me turn back and give this up as a bad job.

Still, I remained. I supposed I could have told Violet about the egg and had her nag Ron into contacting Charlie, or just shoot the man a letter myself, but that didn’t seem as much fun.

If I was being honest with myself, this was one station of canon I didn’t mind repeating. I liked Hagrid. I’d been meaning to speak with him last term, but there always seemed to be something going on. So, here I was, visiting one of my favorite childhood characters before my life got too hectic with schoolwork, random drama, and the stone.

With a final crack of thunder, he finished reducing a whole-ass oak tree into so much tinder. The shaggy giant wiped the sweat from his brow. Turning, he finally noticed me standing at the edge of his homestead.

“Eh? Well, how long have you been standing there?” he asked gruffly. He wasn’t unfriendly exactly, but he was somewhat guarded.

I figured this would be the case. I didn’t take it personally. If anything, it’d be stranger had he not held any bias against my house.

He was a half-giant, but sometimes, the emphasis should be on half-wizard. He used to be a student here, back during ol’ Tom’s time. Tom, the then Slytherin model student, framed him for the murder of Myrtle Warren, who was now the ghost known as Moaning Myrtle.

That was fifty years ago. I doubted Hagrid knew Tom would go on to become Lord Voldemort, but he didn’t have to. He was expelled, had his wand snapped, and was forced to “kill” Aragog, releasing the acromantula into the Forbidden Forest. Had it not been for Dumbledore, Hagrid could well have ended up in Azkaban.

“Good morning, Hagrid. I haven’t been waiting long, figured I’d let you finish,” I told him with what I was told was a rather charming smile.

“Well, good on you, lad. I’m finished. What can I help you with?”

I held out my walking stick to him. “Say, you wouldn’t know how to go about heat-treating this, do you? I heard I should fire-harden wood if I want to use it as a staff.”

“Heat-treating? Is that bog oak? You don’t need to do that.” He stomped over, not because he meant to stomp but because his every footstep made the soft soil and snow tremble. Taking the stick from me, he eyed it with careful hum. “Bog oak’s sturdy stuff, practically good as-is. You just need to dry it off over a slow fire. Looks like you’ve already done that.”

“Over an incendio in my dorm. It’s probably not ideal, but that’s alright. I just need it to last for a few weeks.”

“Aye, it’s good enough for that.” He gave me a squinty-eyed stare. “You’re that snake, the one that knows things.”

“I am. I’m Blaise Zabini, a seer and a friend of Violet’s,” I said. Name-dropping his favorite firstie surely couldn’t hurt.

“Come on in, then. You’ll want a metal shoe for the foot. Castle stone’s real rough on wood otherwise. I reckon I’ll be able to fix something up.”

“Thank you, Hagrid.”

I followed him into his cabin. The cabin was actually quite large, nearly the size of a small barn. It only looked small because of Hagrid’s bulk and the sheer number of random knickknacks crammed inside. I shuffled to the side as Fang leapt for where I’d been a moment ago. 

Fang, Hagrid’s boarhound, wasn’t quite as oversized for his species as Hagrid was for humans, but he was still a big dog. His “playful” tackle would have been enough to launch me off my feet. Had I not known he was friendly, I probably would have drawn my wand.

Hagrid palmed the boarhound’s head with one, meaty hand. “Down, boy. Sorry about him. Fang’s just eager, don’t get too many visitors around here.”

“I know. Fang’s a good boy. I saw it. He’s a bit of a scaredy-cat, though,” I said with a teasing laugh. I held out my hand so he could catch my scent. His warm tongue flicked out, covering my hand in slobber.

“Hah, that he is.” Hagrid dug around in his pantry for a moment before returning with a dark-brown, oblong lump. “Rock cake?”

I eyed the “treat” with a considering frown. 

On one hand, rock cakes weren’t literally rock. They were a type of British fruitcake, made with candied fruits, nuts, and sometimes soaked in spirits. They were actually quite tasty and reasonably popular, especially around the holidays.

On the other hand, these were Hagrid’s rock cakes. The man had no oven, so cooked everything either in kettles or directly on top of smoldering coals. These things were so dry that they really were like rocks. I’d probably chip a tooth if I took a bite.

My stomach growled. I hadn’t had the chance to have breakfast today. Seeing how it’d be rude to refuse, I took the fossilized loaf. “Say, do you have a bowl of warm milk?”

“Milk? I do, at that. Give me a sec.”

Hagrid got me a bowl and I used a bludgeoning hex to chip the rock cake into fragments. Once they were small enough, I soaked them in the bowl of milk and set it over the coals to heat up and rehydrate. It was like cereal, but with more crunchy bits.

“Clever snake,” he muttered. The sound of grinding granite filled the air as he bit through his own. “You know, I think I’ll start serving my rock cakes like that.”

“It’d be kinder on our teeth,” I told him with a wry smile. “We smaller folk aren’t as tough as you, Hagrid.”

He took out a hunk of metal, some rivet or joinery from one old furniture or other. With his bare hands, he began to mold it into shape like clay before wrapping it around one end of my staff. He pressed his palms together, and with a loud whine, the metal conformed to the staff.

“There,” he grunted with satisfaction. “I’ll get you a pin to keep that in place, but that’ll hold.”

I eyed his meaty hands with quiet amazement. “Thanks, Hagrid. That’s really impressive. I knew half-giants are strong, but it’s different seeing it in person.”

“Heh, this isn’t much. You know, I’ve heard a lot about you.”

“From Violet?”

“Aye, and Professor Dumbledore. Says you’re a good sort.”

“Say, how’s the forest been? I know things got a bit noisy during the holidays.”

“That, it did. The centaurs also talk about you. You weren’t very subtle when you visited.”

I nodded and chewed. Even soaked in warm milk, his rock cakes took a bit of work to break down. “I tried to keep things quiet, but circumstances escaped me. I figured they’d tell you; you’ve got the best relationship with them of anyone in Hogwarts, after all.”

“Shucks, so I do,” he muttered abashedly. He then waved his half-eaten rock cake at me. “What you did? Don’t do it again. The forest is a dangerous place for a young wizard.”

I almost burst out laughing. It wasn’t that I disagreed, but this was coming from the man who, in another life, decided Fang the cowardly dog was good company to have for a late night detention in the Forbidden Forest. Seeing Hagrid trying to be responsible was like seeing Lucius twerking at a muggle nightclub.

Nonetheless, I nodded with a chastised smile. “I know. Things should have settled down some by now, though. Did you catch the one hunting the unicorn?”

“No, but the centaurs scared it off. We don’t think it’ll come around again. You did a good thing, there.”

“I just provided some basic first aid. She’s okay, right? The unicorn I healed?”

“She is. How’d you know she’d be in danger?”

“I didn’t,” I said truthfully. “I just had some business of my own in the forest.”

“Did you now?” he hummed.

“Really, running into the centaurs was completely a matter of chance,” I insisted. “Trouble with being a seer is that everyone assumes everything I do is part of some cunning plan.”

“You’re a Slytherin. You lot always have a plan, or you think you do.”

“True. You’ll just have to take me at my word this time, Hagrid. I do have plans, but meeting the unicorn wasn’t one of them.”

“Fine, keep your secrets,” he said, shaking. He finished drilling a hole through the foot of my new walking stick and hammered in a metal pin with surprising precision. “Here, that’ll hold for a good while longer than a few weeks, I reckon.”

I took it with a grateful smile. “Thanks, Hagrid. You know, maybe I can help you out.”

“You? Help me?”

“Yes, with that dragon egg you’ve been keeping in the kettle over the fire,” I gestured. “Norwegian ridgeback, right?”

“How did you–Blasted seers,” he muttered with a flummoxed look on his face. “You’re not supposed to know that.”

“Don’t worry, the great part about talking to seers is that you don’t have to try to hide secrets from me because odds are, I already know them.”

“Is that right?”

“Yup. I mean, I needed a new stick anyway, but the dragon’s part of the reason I came to visit. I saw her in my dream,” I lied through my teeth. “You were going to name her Norbert but she’s a girl.”

“Is she now? What else did you see?” he asked curiously. “Does she grow up healthy?”

“I mean, I don’t know much about dragons, but she’ll grow up to be a good size in a few years. You know that you can’t keep her here, right?”

“Well, of course I can. I got her fair and square.”

“Hagrid, your cabin is made of wood. Norwegian ridgebacks learn to breathe fire faster than any other species of dragon. They shoot mostly puffs of cinder at first, sure, but she can still set something alight while you sleep. You’ve got a month, two at most, before she burns down your cabin.”

“Maybe I can keep her in the forest somewhere… There’s a cave near a pond I think she’ll like.”

“And how long will that last? Dragons grow fast, remember? How long will it take before she’s bigger than Fang and hunting the wildlife? And will the centaurs be happy with that?”

“I mean… Well, I probably could train her so she’s all friendly-like. She’ll know not to bother the centaurs or come to the castle,” he grumbled awkwardly. It was a bit like reasoning with a child. A hilariously strong, but well-meaning child with such a warped sense of danger that it may as well not exist.

“You know, it’s not just about what you want. You have to think about what’s best for the creatures that already live in the forest,” I tried appealing to his love of magical fauna. “Everything has a place in nature, right? Would the creatures in the forest really appreciate a dragon neighbor?”

“They can learn. They’re all friendly, promise. They’ll get along just fine once we give ‘em time to get to know each other.”

“Or they’ll feed Norberta. Look, Hagrid. I’m not trying to take your dragon from you, but you gotta think about what would make her happiest. Where do Norwegian ridgebacks live?”

“Why, up in the cliffs, of course,” he said with a confident smile. “They like to leap off high places and dive on just about everything. Sheep. Moose. Even whales if they breach near shore.”

“Right. That’s their natural habitat. I bet the cliffs also help prevent wildfires since there aren’t as many flammable trees around. The forest, though? You can see that this isn’t her habitat, right? Being here wouldn’t make her happy,” I pointed out, quite reasonably in my opinion.

He squirmed in discomfort. “Alright, fine, but I want to see her hatch. I can keep her with me for a month or two, right?”

“If you really want to, fine,” I conceded. This was probably the best I’d get. “But once she starts breathing fire, you need to let her go.”

“I will. You’re right, Blaise. You’re a good bloke,” he sniffed, snorting a wad of snot back up his nose.

I wondered how this man hadn’t gotten himself arrested via a crazy, hare-brained scheme. Truly, Dumbledore’s influence was vast and deep. I left after promising to sic Violet on him if he didn’t keep me updated; the two were still pretty close in this timeline.

Truthfully, I did feel a bit bad. I now knew how my dad felt in my past life when I brought home a stray cat and he made me take it to a shelter. There was an unreasonable part of me that wanted to let Hagrid have his dragon, even knowing it’d turn into a disaster. At least things wouldn’t be boring.

Then again, Charlie Weasley’s dragon reserve probably was the best possible place for Norberta. It was in Hungary or Romania or someplace and I was pretty sure I could get a response from the man without Ron’s help. The man loved dragons. He didn’t need another reason.

The dramatic trip to the astronomy tower wasn’t necessary, either. We could just as easily have him pick up the hatchling from Hogsmeade. Or, if we wanted to be discreet, any ol’ clearing in the Forbidden Forest worked just as well. Hagrid hid his giant half-brother and building-sized pet spider. I refused to believe the forest couldn’t tolerate a poodle-sized dragon hatchling for one night.

I paused, my new walking stick twirling in my hand. This meeting with Hagrid jogged some memories I’d shelved in the back of my mind. The seven books weren’t the only sources of canon knowledge. There was a whole expanded canon, including a prequel game called Hogwarts Legacy. 

Earlier in the year, I considered searching for the Undercroft, a secret space similar to the Chamber of Secrets passed down through the Gaunt family. I’d dismissed the idea because I already knew where the Chamber was and didn’t feel the need to find another.

I’d never played Hogwarts Legacy, but I knew the broad strokes by osmosis. Apparently, the player character could essentially play Pokemon using something called a nab-sack. The premise was saving magical creatures across the Scottish highlands from poachers, capturing and relocating them to a magical vivarium… located in the Room of Requirement…

There was an idea. Perhaps, Hagrid wouldn’t need to say goodbye to Norberta, after all. Hagrid certainly wouldn’t mind hunting food for her and the Room did make a passageway all the way to Abeforth’s bar in Hogsmeade in the Deathly Hallows. Hagrid probably wouldn’t even have to come up to the seventh floor to reach the vivarium. And if all else failed, I would probably trust the Hogwarts house elves to help out.

There were other considerations, of course. It could be that adolescents lived in dragonflights and needed to socialize or they’d go insane. Or, they could be a species that learned important hunting and nesting skills from older individuals, much as many raptors did.

They might even be too aggressive to bond with a human. In which case, even having the right habitat wouldn’t be good enough. The isolation itself would be a disservice to the dragon.

I truly didn’t know enough about dragons in general and Norwegian ridgebacks specifically. Whatever the case, it promised to be an interesting enough diversion. I had until about a month or two after the egg hatched so I wasn’t in any immediate rush.

Humming in thought, I headed back into the castle for warmth.

Author’s Note

Short chapter. I didn’t think I’d dedicate a chapter to Hagrid, but here it is.

Hagrid is described in the books as being almost twice as tall as a grown man. That’s between eleven and twelve feet. The movies make him out to be about eight feet tall. I’m going with the books because it sounds more impressive.

Hmm… Hogwarts Legacy is a free game now. So, Norwegian ridgeback. Keep or nah? I could go either way, honestly.

Animal Fact: I’ve been way too SFW with my animal facts lately. It’s time to get back to my roots (read: rocket powered duck penis).

All female marsupials (read: Aussie pouch-furries) have three vaginas and two uteruses. That’s kangaroos, koalas, wallabies, Tasmanian devils, etc.

Now, guess how many prongs a male marsupial’s penis has.

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If you guessed three, you’re wrong. A marsupial penis is not a trident; it’s a dowsing rod. Meaning, it’s actually a two-pronged affair. The ureters, tubes that carry piss from the kidneys to the bladder, travel between the gaps of the three vaginal tubes.

Since you’re no doubt curious by now, male marsupials have two-pronged penises because they only enter the side vaginas. The side channels carry sperm to the two uteruses while the central channel is exclusively for giving birth.

This weird setup is why infants are so underdeveloped when they’re born. The central channel is too narrow for anything else. For example, a newborn kangaroo is only the size of a jellybean and must crawl up into its mother’s pouch.