The Muffin Man
It is a soft but thunderous crack that signifies Leon's arrival to Scotland. It comes with a half-falter stumble and a tightness in their skin. A wince, a frown, and their chilled hands slide down their face.
It has admittedly been a while since they've apparated - but apparating near the edge of capacity thrice in succession is a trial for any wizard. Part of them can hardly believe they made it all this way without being splinched. Again.
Ah, but were they? They pause to take their extremities in. No, they hadn't been splinched. Again.
Their skin pulls tight against their ribs as they inhale. Their exhale is visible in its warmth, a furnace to the Scottish chill.
A quick stamina charm quiets most of their physical discomfort, but that apparition buzzing lingers just below their skin. It's probably there to stay. Erasing their frown, they drop their hands and scour their surroundings.
There's something revitalizing about the stag, thin air of the Scottish coast. Harboring a sirens call wind and bluffs more nefarious than blades, the coarseness of nature so beautifully flourishes with the lack of man. Perpetually cloudy, air heavy with smog - yes. It's any hobbit hole lover's dream - and Leon's bag isn't only filled with essentials.
There is an understood consensus among adults that living the dream is a slogan only meant for adolescents or the willfully ignorant, and truthfully - Leon had hoped to merely surpass half-hearted contentment in their life. This, though.. already stands to offer more. They'll make sure of it. Again.
The parchment they Accio is slightly crumpled from hiding away in their pocket, but still legible. Kind of. Leon has to squint to make out the erratic scrawl.
...if ye take a gander off ta yer left, the plateau of Montrose should be...
...this is where I stumbled upon me first Augurey, after all. Clawed it's way right in'a me heart, ya know? Wasn't but a second till it latched itself....
...ended up on the wrong continent, so I figured I ought to take it in meself...
Leon exhales heavily, rapidly unraveling the tightly coiled parchment. Hagrid's rambling is endearing - and always entertaining - but it's cold on the coast. Their hands are quickly becoming frigid and stiff, but they find his instructions in due time.
Anyway, alls this ta say Montrose is 'bout as close as ye can get s'far as apparatin' goes. If ye stumble upon a map, perchance, I'd say Boddin is yer safest bet. Not many muggles tend to stray round those edges. Ain't the safest place for nothin but dyin', I suppose, but there ain't no harm in a wizard such as yourself landin' nearby! I'll have a bucket of ferrets waiting further in for ya. Rudderash's the nicest hippogriff I've got, so don't you worry none. I'm sure you know how ta do the rest - just tell 'im Hogwarts is where yer headed and he'll be off. Brilliant creatures, hippogriffs are - s'ppose you already know that though. That reminds me 'bout the time I took a trip for Professor Sprout...
Leon scours the paper for a minute longer before stowing it away, humming. The ferrets were a nice touch - and Leon appreciates the gesture - but knowing where the hippogriff actually is would have been a deal more helpful. Is it just wandering around? Near a No-Maj town? Is it even here at all? Shit, is this even Bodding?
It's very on brand for Hagrid to omit the most important information.
Leon picks crust from their eye while they scan the forest ahead of them. A mile away at best, it's the most ideal place to start their search. Despite their fatigue, it fills them with a flicker of excitement - a menial task, yet still so many miles above their typical day to day.
Still, Leon has spent five days traveling - apparating from Ontario to New York City, New York City to Maine, and then ferrying a charter to Ireland - only to apparate from Schull, Ireland to Falmouth, UK (in search of a rumored strand of thestral hair - a total bust) and then to Manchester, and finally Montrose, Bodding.
All of that to say they're tired. Unbearably so - especially as an underfed twenty-three year old with a proclivity for caffeine and sleeping draughts.
Not at the same time - that would be stupid. Totally stupid. Incredibly so. Which is, again, why they have never attempted it even once.
Not even once.
Leon promptly shoves two fingers into their mouth, inhales deep, and releases a shrill whistle. The note pierces the air and startles nearby avians. One second, three, seven, and they release. It should only take a minute now.
Their feet carry them forward, aimlessly wandering before they stumble upon Hagrid's aforementioned bucket. Five ferrets - a generous snack. Leon finds amusement at the thought of Hagrid carefully adding one, and then another, before undoubtedly stressing and adding three more. Of all the magical creature caretakers they've met, Hagrid surely is the most dedicated.
Leon pulls a ferret out by the tail, stretches, smacks their lips. They look around. The hippogriff still isn't here. Damnit.
With aching legs and a resigned sigh, they head towards the forest with their bloody bucket in tow.
☆
Hagrid is an impossibly tall man - even in a world full of possible impossibilities. Taller than Leon had imagined. His beard is just as fable-esq - bountiful in its ringlets, blending intrinsically with his hair. A monumental man, even at a first glance, and so fitting for the scattered penmanship they've dutifully exchanged all these weeks.
He towers over his cottage, even - and oh, yes - his cottage is an enviable sight to any and all. Anyone with a modicum of taste, that is - or anyone with a rather overflowing muggle bookshelf of magic and whimsy. It is not pretty, no, but it is charming, homely, and oh so clearly handcrafted. Rough stone, bountiful moss, a perpetual smoke chugging from the chimney. A chimney. Beautiful.
Impossible still - a feat in and of itself - is the amiable joy in which the man exudes. It becomes all the more infectious the closer Rudderash takes them. It has taken them weeks to put everything together, to get here - unbelievably so - and they couldn't be more pleased at their arrival. Even if this asshole of a bird cost them an extra hour.
The creature hits the ground with minimal jostling, neighing and trotting towards its guardian. Leon is momentarily eye level with Hagrid before they slide off. The man is massive.
"Aye, Leon. Good ta 'ave ya 'ere!" Rosy cheeks, painfully excited eyes, a handshake deceptively soft. Hagrid's accent is so fitting, somehow, and Leon's painfully American mouth definitely dulls in comparison.
The hippogriff snorts, stomps, and Hagrid releases a ferret from a string upon his neck to feed it. The snap of the Hippogriff's beak is like thunder.
"It's great to finally be here, Hagrid." Leon can't help but upturn the corners of their lips. They can't remember the last time they had wholeheartedly meant those words. In front of a tub of ice cream, maybe - sans the name.
"I trust ya had no trouble with good ole' Rudderash?" Hagrid glides a hand down the creature's snout, chuckling at its incessant prodding - for more food no doubt. Hagrid tosses another ferret before shooing the beast away. It does so with an attitude - snorting and trodding before obnoxiously taking flight.
Leon's smile tightens. "Nope, none at all."
They covertly swipe mud off their palms and their pants. Hagrid beams at the news.
"Good on that, then! I ought to thank ye for feedin' 'im for me. Been a bit of a terror now that Autumn's rearin' its head - what with matin' season endin' and all. Puts the stragglers in a right tizzy, it does." Hagrid swipes his hands down his trench coat, distinctly more brown that it was seconds ago. Leon bemoans internally at the knowledge.
"I can only imagine." They respond. They scratch at their head awkwardly. Now they either have to keep up the ruse or immediately come out as a liar - and they simply cannot lie to Hagrid. They're pretty sure that's a national felony offense.
"He was good, really. You've raised him well. Took all the ferrets though."
Tried to take my face as well, but it's fine. Totally fine. What a good bird. Horse.
A bashful look over comes Hagrid, head dipping and hand carting down his beard. "Oh, no, all's I do is the feedin'. The creatures raise themselves, really. They're proud creatures, hippogriffs. Sayin' I had any part in raisin' them is surely an insult."
"Sure, Hagrid."
Hagrid nods, waves a hand to dismiss the topic. "Well, I ought ta bring you to the Headmaster n'at then." He looks at the sky, "Was hopin' to show ya 'round before meetin', but it seems time slipped away faster 'en I thought."
"I made a stop in Falmouth." They reason, one shoulder rising ever so slightly, "Guess I lost track of time. It won't happen again."
Haha. Liar.
Hagrid waves that away, too. "Aye, no worries. There ain't much in the way of plannin' here at Hogwarts, really. 'Cept of course if you've got an appointment with the Headmaster."
Leon's mouth sours like lemon. "Am I late?"
"No, no! Yer perfectly on time, actually. Best we head up now."
Hagrid bypasses them, and then they're carted backwards by a hand larger than their head, frantically shuffling to right themself. Pretty soon they're almost jogging to match Hagrid's stride.
"Blimey, am I excited. Been a while since I 'ad a hand 'round here." Hagrid sways on his feet as he walks - much like that of an overgrown child. "Not that there's so much work that I've been struggling! Not at all-" Hagrid catches himself, large hand waving apologetically before him, "Not to say that I don't need any help at all, either! What with the new grounds an' creatures an' that - an' the Opaleye incident in the forest. Truly, it's a shame to admit it's been a right mess 'round here lately." He looks a little embarrassed, halting mid sentence to rub the back of his head. Bashful.
Despite themself, Leon's smile stretches. They remember his ramblings well.
"The school is lucky to have you. I'm sure it's not as bad as you think."
They decide to finally peer at their surroundings, and it proves rightfully welcoming. Such a large estate would be difficult for anyone to maintain - let alone one (admittedly large) man - yet Hagrid has done it immaculately.
Rolling hills, charming outcrops, meticulously maintained vine overgrowth. The looming castle, they're sure, is well kept by the house elves and grounds keeper. Hagrid had mentioned he only slightly dabbles in these affairs when circumstances call for an overlap. Typically the Keeper of the Grounds - Gamekeeper - is elected a myriad of roles, with the most notable being magical creature care and the ever so famous Forbidden Forest upkeep.
It's all so foreign, so hypnotically alluring. They remember a time where it wasn't.
"I trust y'ad no troubles packin'?" Hagrid sidesteps the respectful response completely. Whether it be from discomfort or embarrassment, Leon isn't sure. The Scottish hills take their woes with greedy fingers.
"None at all." Leon responds. They jostle the bag on their back as way of proof, "It was all easy enough to bring over."
Hagrid finally scans his - hopefully - new Interim Gamekeeper. There's a weird look upon his face at the sight of them. A moment of pause. A realization.
"Don' tell me that's all ye gone and brought over!" His hand comes forward to pull a strap of their bag. They jerk to the left at the tug. Hagrid stops walking, stopping them in tow, and he frowns. They feel like an unruly kitten, dangling by the neck.
"Feels like there ain't nothin' but air in 'ere. Is yer stuff comin' at a la'er date?"
"Cast an extension charm on it, and an admittedly scrappy weight reduction charm. I've got more than I need, really." At Hagrid's skeptical stare Leon slings the bag down one arm to pull it open. Hagrid leans forward to peer inside. They shove their arm in and root around, careful to avoid the long knots of Hagrid's hair. "Let me just-"
They pull out a jar slightly larger than their hand - hardly a size to show off their impressive charm casting.
"Ah.. I meant to grab something.. more.. you know..."
Hagrid grabs the jar, squinting at it peculiarly while they search for something else. His face soon turns into one of astonishment.
"Blimey! Don' tell me this is what I think it is!"
"...Okay." They watch him marvel at the jar, peeling their hand from their bag. "I won't."
"'Ow'd ya manage ta snag the horn off a graphorn?"
"Magic."
Hagrid ignores their quip to hold the jar to the light. Nearing a foot, gold in appearance - his shock is warranted. Acquiring a Graphorn horn is no easy feat - that one in particular.
"Aye, I 'aven't seen one in ages! Last I saw was ten odd years ago, kept prim in the Headmaster's office, as it were." He reluctantly hands it back. Leon stows it away and throws their bag back on. They resume their trek, slightly faster than before. There's no doubt in Leon's mind that they'll end up tardy. Ah, well, there's no helping it now.
"You haven't been in his office in ten years?"
Hagrid bumps their shoulder good-naturedly. Leon struggles to stay upright, tripping mid step. "Cripes, I ain't done nothin' so nefarious as to warrant a ban from the Headmaster's office!" Hagrid seems to think to himself, "'Aven't done somethin' so nefarious that it warranted a summonin' either, though. My best guess," Hagrid raises his brows, looking around before leaning down to whisper, "Is that it was all used up after the war. Dire circumstances an' whatnot."
Right. The war. Leon hadn't been around for it - too young, too American, a bad taste in their mouth. Leon isn't sure why.
They ignore the thought with ease. "I can imagine the need for an Antidote to Uncommon Poisons was important, then." They recall. Hagrid nods solemnly.
"Aye, you'd be right. Don't know much about potions myself." He gives Leon a curious glance, "Is that one'a them ingredients needed?"
"It is indeed." Leon scratches at their chin pensively, "You can swap it for ground Unicorn horn, but-"
"Blimey!" Hagrid interjects, appalled, "Ain't nothin' more immoral than drinkin' a unicorn's blood or takin' it's horn!"
And really, there's no way Hagrid didn't know unicorn horn was commonly used for potions - so he must just be that passionate about it.
"I agree." They try to guess the time it'll take to reach the Headmaster's dwelling. They're just now reaching one of the grandiose courtyards that Hogwarts offers. Hagrid is a great man, but a deplorable chauffer. Bless his soul. And Leon's.
"Both are somewhat immoral, especially for such a base-level potion. You'd think the effects would be stronger, you know? When I first learned about it, I couldn't believe they were used for an uncommon antidote." Leon swipes their curls away when the breeze rustles them, "I had figured it'd be around Felix Felicis level."
Hagrid's attention turns dubious. "Ya seem to be well-versed in potions an' whatnot." His fingers pluck at each other before dropping to his sides, "Ya know, there ain't much in the way of potionin' fer this position, not like there'd be with one'a the Professors. Ya sure this's where ya wanna settle?"
Leon turns their gaze to Hagrid. Curious, ever so perplexed - his inquiry is valid. They offer him an appeasing quirk of their lips, hands loose around the straps of their bag.
"I've been a fan of potion making long before I started looking into magical creatures." They say as way of answer. Cobblestone finally clicks below their feet as they pass the first arch of the school.
"But you kind of need the ingredients before you can do anything as far as that goes, so I swapped paths." Students emerge from the elaborate doors up ahead, peering curiously at the unidentified form next to Hagrid's. Leon offers a thoughtless, bland smile to those that meet their eyes. "And then I ended up enjoying the work - finding quirks in a species, and then independent traits in each creature. I think by the time I bonded with my first Matagot I was sold. It's kind of hard to forget something like that - even dismiss it."
Leon is momentarily bewitched by the eclipsed sun above and behind the school. The world turns dark and cool as they enter the castle, and then they're staring at a gorgeous open beam ceiling. Sweet mother of pearl.
"Aye, can't help but think ya'd get on with Professor Snape, then. He's a right Master Potioneer, as far as I know."
The windows gleam and the entrance seems to glow warm with the light. Awed, Leon cranes their head left and right to take in the sights. They hardly hear Hagrid, overwhelmed by the woodsy-renaissance gothic architecture and ghosts and daunting midnight flood of students. This must have cost a fortune! Which - back when it was made, was probably like, a shoelace or something.
Leon hadn't ever seen such grandiose interior. Cathedral ceilings, columns, arched windows taller than Hagrid. Low-lit candles floating just above, crests and lanterns and talking portraits on the walls. Ilvermorny was nice, yes, but it was decidedly more modern. Magic - raw, unbridled, academia - Hogwarts surely is something extraordinarily its own.
-ah... Hagrid said something about a Professor Snake. Cool, right. They'll have to meet him sometime. What does he do again?
Hagrid continues, "If ya don't mind my askin', what critters 'ave ya been ravin' ta see?" Leon rips their eyes from students unabashedly lighting fireworks indoors to meet Hagrid's gaze. He runs a hand down his beard, his tone ever so endearingly curious, "A man's curiosity can only be warded off fer so long, y'see. Hard ta chat with likeminded folk - what with me workin' in'a department'a one." He chuckles to himself, giving a teasing raise of his brow, "Side from the first years, y'see - kids will be kids an' all. Blimey love all the fantastical things 'round the grounds."
Holy-- That kid just threw up a slug! Disgusting! Even at Ilvermorny they hadn't seen something like that.
They struggle to remember Hargid's words. Curiosity, folk, first years - haha - what?
"I can imagine. I would've totally sharted my pants if I ran into zouwu as a kid." Leon's eyes twitch a second later, step stuttering momentarily before they fluidly carry on. A nearby student eyes them weirdly. They scratch the back of their neck.
"Maybe I shouldn't have used the words sharted my pants. Sorry. Still trying to learn professionalism - I meant to say poopied myself."
For his part, Hagrid offers a hearty laugh for three seconds before clearing his throat - in his own attempt at professionalism, no doubt. He scans the corridor before leaning down to whisper.
"Aye, I've 'ad the same sentiments myself."
Leon's eyes dart right, scanning the man shoulder to nose. "About sharting yourself?"
Hagrid smiles a wide, silly thing. "The lack'a professionalism." He corrects.
Hah.. that makes more sense.
Hagrid continues, "Don' worry, I won' tell a soul about your bowels. I'm good at keeping a secret or two, y'see?" He straightens up to his full height. "Still haven't told anyone 'bout Fluffy's proclivity to sound." As if to clarify, he reroutes, "Fluffy guards the third floor corridor, best be careful where you step at night, aye? Classical's his favorite, y'see. Nothin' makes him more inclined to sleep on the j-"
Leon good naturedly pinches their lips together, nodding nonchalantly as the man discredits himself. Catching himself, Hagrid covers his mouth and remains in a pensive silence for a minute. It's humorous, really, and also concerning. Clearly no secret is safe with Hagrid. Leon, undoubtedly, will be outed as a crass American within the hour - now it's just a question of who will spill.
"Don't tell anyone what ya just heard, yea?"
"About what?"
Hagrid meets their eye and smiles wide once more. Leon looks toward the ever magnificent stairway ahead, halting when the path goes no further.
Hagrid claps them on the back. Leon swallows their cough.
"Bout time I 'and ya off to the Headmaster now." He directs them to the corridor off to the right, "Alls ye gotta do is follow that there hall 'till ya hit the third staircase, and then make yer way up to the third floor." He retracts his pointing finger and straightens, "Yer gonna find a statue of'a gargoyle off t'the right. Alls ya gotta say ta get inside is -"
Hagrid cuts himself off, leaning down once more. His beard spills over their shoulder, and Leon's skin curls uncomfortably. They like Hagrid, but they'd never expected to wear his beard.
"Bollywog puddin'." He whispers. He gives them a pointed glance when they meet his eye, eyebrow raised above his droopy lids. Leon raises their brows in turn, and Hagrid nods, raises a finger to his lips, and pushes them forward. They stumble once more.
"Go'on then. Best not be late!"
Right.
They offer him a nod and a thanks before facing forward. The halls are still flooded, and Leon is softly jostled to and fro in the wave of students. They carefully make their way down the antiquated length, routinely receiving weird glances as they go. They look down.
Right. They're in muggle clothes - and a glance around shows everyone else donning robes. They forgot about that. Haha, they're just so different.
"Excuse me." A polite voice inquires. Leon spins to lock eyes with a child. They look over their shoulder. One, two, three, twenty-eight - there are so many goddamn doorways. Which one were they supposed to take? The thirty millionth?
"Yeah?"
The girl swipes a finger under her nose. Gross. "Who are you?"
"The muffin man." They respond, distracted. The fourth stairway? No, he said the third. Third doorway? Staircase? Is there a difference?
Leon yelps. The girl snatches her hand back, wide-eyed. She had pinched them!
"You don't feel like you're made of muffins."
Their brows knit, dumbfounded, "What?"
"How can you be the muffin man if you're not made of muffins?"
They open their mouth, close it, rise and repeat. Their face, undoubtedly, looks constipated. What?
"Uh.." They blink, see that she's still staring at them curiously, and they abruptly squat to her level.
"Say," they start, conspiratorial, "Do you happen to know how to get to the Headmaster's office?"