Hagrid
Minerva looked at the plate of ginger newts that was left from her breakfast, then at the scones, butter, and marmalade. Everything seemed fresh, still. Some kind of house-elf charm, no doubt. Yes, she would bring a few treats down to Hagrid. She wondered whether she should bring the tea, as well, but then decided that would be insulting. Milk, however, might be acceptable. She wondered if Hagrid’s culinary skills had improved any with the years.
She sighed, thinking of Hagrid’s expulsion from Hogwarts. The unfairness of it all. Yet he had been able to build a life for himself here, with the help of Albus, one perhaps as good as any he may have had otherwise. But there would always be that shadow hanging over him: the disgrace of his expulsion, the shame of being made an inferior to his former fellow students, and the ultimate indignity of having his wand snapped. It distressed Minerva to this day, thinking about it. She wondered if his current unhappiness had anything to do with that or if it were totally unrelated.
She had been outraged when, two days after Myrtle’s death, Professor Gamp had walked her to Dumbledore’s office after her Arithmancy final exam and she had learned of Hagrid’s expulsion. The decision had been made to allow the NEWTs and OWLs testing, as well as the regular final exams for the other students, to proceed as usual, but with an abundance of precautions. No student was to be unaccompanied by an adult, ever, when outside of their dormitories, not even to use the bathroom; when not in exams or taking lunch in the Great Hall – the only meal still served there – the students were confined to their common rooms and dormitories; teachers took shifts in the common rooms to be on hand in case of any trouble. The staff was stretched thin, and their nerves and tempers were on edge, as a result. Professor Gamp was one of the few teachers who seemed the same to Minerva, as though untouched by the additional demands on her time and by the stress that the uncertainty and danger were causing everyone else.
Leaving Madam Perlecta to accompany the rest of the students to their next exams or their dormitories, depending on their schedules – the librarian had been dragooned into chaperone duty, despite her vehement protests that she was unsuited at her age and that she hadn’t used a defensive spell in fifty years – Professor Gamp hurried Minerva out of the classroom and down the hall.
“Where are we going, Professor?”
“The Deputy Headmaster would like to see you, Miss McGonagall. I thought it best if I accompany you to his office myself.” Professor Gamp glanced at the Gryffindor trotting along beside her. “If we hurry, I may be able to relieve Madam Perlecta of a few of her charges and escort them to wherever they are going.”
Minerva hoped that didn’t mean they needed to walk any more quickly. But apparently not. They soon arrived at the Transfiguration classroom, where Professor Gamp rapped on the door. The door shimmered a moment, then it opened and Professor Dumbledore greeted them quietly.
“I will be going now, Albus. I think that Livia could use some assistance. Would you like me to return and fetch Miss McGonagall later?”
“No. No, that will not be necessary. Although I would like to see you later,” Professor Dumbledore replied.
Professor Gamp nodded. After she had left, Dumbledore closed them into the classroom and warded the door.
“Those precautions may not be necessary much longer,” he said with a weary sigh.
“What?! Are they closing the school?” Minerva asked, alarmed.
“No. They, that is to say, the Headmaster and the Board of Governors, are satisfied that the cause of these attacks has been discovered.”
Confused by her mentor’s demeanor, she asked, “But that’s good, isn’t it? Unless . . . you don’t believe that they are right. That’s it, isn’t it?”
Dumbledore led Minerva into his office, where they each sat in an overstuffed armchair. “They believe that the culprit has been identified, and, as you have said, I do not believe that they are correct.”
“What . . . or who was it? Or who do they think it was?”
“Rubeus Hagrid.”
“What!?” Minerva gaped at her teacher. “But that’s absurd. Rubeus would no more hurt a student than I would – in fact, it’s less likely! Not to mention he’s only a third-year! How was he supposed to have done these horrible things?”
“It seems that young Rubeus, in his fondness for all creatures, had the extremely poor judgment to adopt one of the wizarding world’s less . . . beloved creatures. He brought an Acromantula into the castle and was raising it in an abandoned room. He is adamant that his spider never escaped into the rest of the school; further, he said that he was removing Aragog – that is the name he gave the spider – from the castle because the spider told him he was frightened by some other beast that has been loose in the castle.”
Minerva listened, mouth open, incredulous. “But, well, I’m no expert, but it doesn’t seem to me that an Acromantula could have such an effect on the students. I should ask Murdoch about Acromantula venom – ”
“There is no need. Professor Slughorn confirmed that, in rare instances, Acromantula venom, even from an immature specimen, can cause complete paralysis in humans.”
“‘Paralysis’? These students aren’t merely paralysed! And why haven’t any of the standard remedies worked on them, if that’s the case? Why are we still waiting for the Mandrakes? And that must be one huge Acromantula, to have been able to kill Myrtle!”
“Aragog says that he has not harmed any students, but of course, his testimony is inadmissible, as he is a beast. And it would hardly behoove him to inculpate himself. As to his size, he is not yet full-grown – his body is somewhat larger than a Quaffle, although his legs make him seem much bigger than that.” Dumbledore sighed. “I, too, do not find it credible that the Acromantula is responsible.”
“What are they going to do to it? And is anything going to happen to Hagrid?”
When her professor remained silent, dread began to grow in Minerva’s stomach. “They’re going to expel him, aren’t they?”
“Worse than that, I’m afraid.”
“Worse?” Minerva whispered. “Azkaban? He would never survive.” Tears sprang into her eyes, thinking of the innocent young Gryffindor who, though larger than most grown men, was one of the gentlest people she knew.
“I think I have forestalled that, although there are still some voices in the Ministry and the Board of Governors that would like to see him sent there. He will be expelled, though; I have had no success in dissuading them from that decision.”
“What will happen to him, then? Rubeus has no parents. He may look as though he can take care of himself, but he’s only fourteen years old!” Minerva had wondered where he had gone over the summer last year after his father had died and had worried about him, then; his situation was much more dire now.
“I think I can provide for him, Minerva. Last summer, he stayed in a room over the Hog’s Head, where my brother tends bar.” At Minerva’s expression, Albus chuckled dryly. “Yes, not a particularly wholesome environment for a child, but the only other option was a Muggle orphanage, as he has no relatives. Can you see Hagrid in such a setting? Or the Muggles’ reactions to him? The Secrecy laws would certainly be stretched.”
“Well, that may be fine for a summer, but what about the next few years, and what will happen to him later? If he can’t take his OWLs, what kind of job will he be able to get? If he’s an orphan, he won’t be able to afford private tutors – ”
“There will be no need for tutors, Minerva,” Dumbledore said softly. “They are going to snap his wand.”
Minerva was speechless. She felt as though someone had punched her in the stomach. Regaining her voice, she asked, “What is to become of him, then? How can they do that to him?”
“I am working on a solution, Minerva. I cannot avert the expulsion, and as for his wand . . . it will be snapped. But I have been appealing to Headmaster Dippet’s sense of fairness. I think I will prevail.” He smiled grimly. “I may not be a Slytherin, but I am quite capable of calling in favours and exerting some . . . pressure, when necessary.”
Now that what her professor had told her had sunk in, Minerva had another question. “How did anyone find out about his Acromantula?”
Dumbledore paused before answering. “A prefect found Hagrid as he was preparing to move Aragog from the room where he had kept him.”
Minerva froze. “Riddle. It was that bloody toe-rag, Riddle!”
“Language, Minerva,” Albus admonished mildly. “Yes. It was he.”
“How?”
“He had met with Headmaster Dippet, asking to be allowed to stay at school over the summer. Dippet informed him that not only was that impossible, particularly under current circumstances, but that the school might be closed permanently if the perpetrator of the attacks was not caught and if there were no assurances that there would be no more of them.” An unusually cynical smile appeared on Dumbledore’s face as he continued. “Inspired by his ‘loyalty’ to the school and out of ‘respect’ for his deceased fellow student, Mr Riddle scoured the school and caught the perpetrator.”
“Loyalty! Respect! He doesn’t know the meaning of those words! And he was one of Myrtle’s worst tormentors when she was alive . . . You know, Professor, I’ve heard an odd rumour . . . It’s hard to get gossip with all of the current restrictions, but we’ve been hearing that, well, that Myrtle is haunting one of the Slytherin girls and that the fourth-year exams were disrupted by Myrtle’s ghost.”
“It is rather amazing how quickly such a rumour circulates, even under these circumstances. It is only partially correct, however, since it was the fifth-year OWL exams that were disrupted by Myrtle’s ghost, as Miss Hornby is in her fifth year, and it is she whom Miss MacNair has decided to haunt.”
Unconcerned about Olive Hornby’s predicament, Minerva asked excitedly, “Can’t you just ask Myrtle what attacked her, then? It can’t have been Rubeus – if it was any student, I’d lay my galleons that it was that Riddle boy!”
“We have questioned her, Minerva – as soon as she materialised, in fact. Unfortunately, she only remembers hearing a boy’s voice in the bathroom, then coming out of her stall to tell him to leave, and nothing else until she woke up dead in the girls’ toilet. The Mandrake potion will be ready this afternoon, Professor Slughorn tells me, and although we will, of course, question the students who were petrified, I do not expect any more enlightening answers from them. In the meantime, Mr Hagrid is being held in a dungeon room awaiting their final testimony.”
“But surely Myrtle would have recognised Rubeus’s voice, if it had been him! He has a very distinctive accent.”
“Unfortunately, she was unacquainted with him; they were in different years, so shared no classes, and, obviously, they were in different Houses. She knew who he was only because of his unusual size. Oddly enough, she seems to possess no ill-will toward him, even after the Headmaster asked her whether he was the boy whom she heard in the bathroom, preferring instead to blame Olive Hornby for all her troubles.”
“I guess ghosts are like that, fixated,” Minerva replied disconsolately. “What about Veritaserum? Certainly in these circumstances, it could be justified for use on Rubeus – and on Riddle, for that matter.”
“Unfortunately, although the Ministry has allowed me to act as an informal guardian to Mr Hagrid, that status has never been officially conferred on me. Rubeus is in the odd position of being unable to consent to the administration of Veritaserum because he is underage, and yet there is no one either to provide or to withhold consent for him, regardless of what may be in his best interest. In addition, because of his parentage, there is some question as to the dosage and even the efficacy of Veritaserum. I did make that suggestion, myself, Minerva.”
“Of course.” Curious, she asked, “What did you mean by ‘his parentage’?”
“You are a friend to Rubeus?” her mentor questioned.
“Well, I don’t know him that well,” Minerva replied, “but he is in Gryffindor, and if he ever needs a friend, as he does now, I will be one.”
“Some know this already, and others, it seems, have guessed it. I am surprised that speculation hasn’t been rampant in Gryffindor House. Mr Hagrid’s mother was a giantess and his father was a wizard.”
“Oh. No wonder Riddle was so pleased to incriminate him, then. Always going on about ‘blood.’ Pathetic.”
“Mmm. Mr Riddle does have some . . . interesting views, from what I have heard.”
“Poor Rubeus. How’s he doing?”
“As well as can be expected, my dear. As well as can be expected.”
In due course, the students in the infirmary were dosed with Mandrake potion, questioned, revealed nothing about their attacker, and Hagrid was expelled. To Minerva’s horror, his expulsion and wand-breaking were public events, held in the Great Hall. Wanting to avert her eyes from this travesty of justice, Minerva forced herself to watch, to see what her fellow Gryffindor had to endure, and to lend him her silent support by looking on with respect. If he could bear it, she would bear it with him, however little she could share in his disgrace. She was shocked to see that it was the Deputy Headmaster who actually broke the boy’s wand, and she was coldly furious with him. She could not believe that he would do such a thing.
Storming up to his classroom, pacing outside the door, as her password had not yet been reset after the curfew was lifted, Minerva’s anger boiled. After all that he had said about helping Rubeus, he had been the one to have delivered the final indignity. How could he? She was disappointed in her mentor, almost disillusioned, in fact. This was not the wizard whom she had grown to respect. After forty-five minutes of wearing a path in the flagstone, Minerva looked up to see Professor Dumbledore walking toward her, looking more cheerful than he had in some weeks. Judging his expression, Minerva half-expected him to break out whistling a carefree tune at any moment.
“Ah, Minerva! Good! I had wanted to speak to you. We never finalised our plans before these tragedies occurred. We can talk now, hmm?” He seemed oblivious to her mood, so good was his own.
As soon as they had entered the classroom, Minerva closed the door behind them and stopped there. Dumbledore, realising that she was not following him into his office, turned. Before he could say a word, however, Minerva asked the only question she had: “How could you do that? You had to be there, I know. But did you have to do that? I could not believe my eyes.”
“Minerva, hush. I told the Ministry and the Board of Governors that as the Head of his House, it was my right to do so. I assured them that I would dispose of his wand properly, just as I disposed of the Acromantula last night.”
“Your ‘right’? That is just . . . just sick!” Tears pricked Minerva’s eyes. She walked over to one of the windows, unable to look at her professor just then.
“Hmm. I suppose one could view it that way. I certainly would, under other circumstances. Do you know, Miss McGonagall, how I disposed of the creature?”
“No. I only hope the poor beast didn’t suffer very much.”
“Oh, no. I can honestly say that he didn’t suffer at all. In fact, he thanked me for it.”
“He thanked you? I didn’t know that Acromantulas possessed a death wish,” Minerva scoffed.
“Far from it. No, he was quite pleased with his new home in the Forbidden Forest. Yes, it shall be even more forbidden, now, I fear.”
“His new home? But I thought . . . I had heard . . . wasn’t he supposed to be destroyed?” Minerva turned toward him as he walked over to join her at the window.
“I believe that is what the Ministry and the Board of Governors assumed when I told them I would take care of the dangerous creature that could not be allowed to live amongst humans, but I never told them I was going to kill him.”
“Oh. But I did see you snap Rubeus’s wand.”
Dumbledore sighed. “I took no delight in it. But I thought, first, that it might be easier for him, knowing that it was being done by someone who had faith in him, someone who believed that snapping his wand was a miscarriage of justice, than if it had been performed by another. Second, I do intend to ‘dispose of it properly,’ my dear,” he said with a twinkle.
“Oh. Well, I suppose you have something in mind. I wish I had known, though. It was awful, watching you participate in that travesty. It made me quite sick.”
“I am sorry, my dear,” he said, laying his hand over hers where it rested on the windowsill, comforting her. “I wasn’t sure that my plan would work. And there was no time to warn you, either. I know it must have been difficult to watch, as you are fond of Rubeus.”
“It wasn’t that, Professor. Of course, I am fond of him. It’s just that I didn’t understand why you would do such a thing, and I’ve . . . I’ve come to have such high regard for you, it just didn’t match up with what I had come to expect of you.”
With a slight smile, he replied, “So you preferred to believe that you were wrong about my character than to think I may have had a reason for what I did?”
“No. Not exactly. It was just such a shock. I couldn’t think clearly. If I hadn’t seen you today, I probably would have eventually decided that you must have had a good reason for doing what you did, but I still would not have been happy with it.”
“And you are now?”
“Well, I’m unhappy with the whole situation, but not with you. I won’t lose faith in you again, I promise.”
“Beware of such open-ended promises, Minerva. Life can be long, and one may change one’s mind along the way,” he responded, but he smiled even as he warned her.
“Not about you, I won’t. I hadn’t really, even now. If I had, I wouldn’t have come to see you to find out why you did what you did, after all,” she pointed out. Her professor’s hand still rested on hers, and It was making Its presence known, but Minerva did not know how to remove her hand from his without belying the words she had just uttered. Ignoring It, she asked, “What will happen to Rubeus now, sir?”
“I have secured him a position at the school. I had to exert considerable . . . influence on the Headmaster, and there are conditions attached, but I believe it to be the best we could hope for under these circumstances. Hagrid will remain at Hogwarts as the Groundskeeper’s assistant and trainee. Ironically, he will spend this summer, and every summer after that, if he wishes, here at the castle. The Headmaster has imposed some rules upon him, in order to impress on him and others that he is no longer a student here, but they should not prove too onerous, I hope.” With a squeeze to Minerva’s hand, he asked, “Would you like to have tea with me, Minerva? If I am forgiven, of course!”
Unable to disappoint her professor, Minerva smiled at him and agreed.
“I’ll be back in a moment, then. I just need to check on a few things, put something away for safe-keeping, then I’ll call Wilspy.”
Minerva remained at the window, looking out. Students had been allowed to leave early and many had left as soon as their last exams were finished, so the Great Hall hadn’t been as filled with gawkers as it might have been. Now there were only a few students lounging on the grass out by the lake, and she saw Hagrid’s bulky form in the distance, watching them from afar. What must he be feeling? She saw him turn and walk away, taking a long route around to avoid the students and heading back behind the castle, then out of view.
Hagrid, as Minerva later learned, had elected to stay in a hut on the grounds rather than take a room next to Ogg’s in the lower levels of the castle. The Headmaster had encouraged this decision, finding it inappropriate for the disgraced boy to reside directly in the castle with his former fellow classmates. The hut had not been intended for habitation, but was an outbuilding for storage or a place where the Groundskeeper could duck in out of the rain or have a cup of tea whilst taking a break from work. Dumbledore told her that, although Dippet had forbidden the Hogwarts house-elves from assisting him, Wilspy had helped Hagrid to clean and clear the hut and to move in with his few possessions.
Minerva shook her head, clearing it of those unhappy memories from so long ago. Hagrid seemed to have done well enough. He was still at Hogwarts, after all. And given his loyalty to Dumbledore, he would be unlikely to leave as long as Albus was Headmaster. She conjured a basket and packed away the biscuits, scones, butter, marmalade, and milk, and headed out of her quarters to look for Hagrid.
She found him on his knees, weeding his pumpkin patch. “Hello, there, Hagrid! I thought we might have tea together. The elves made me far too many scones for breakfast, so I was wondering if you would share them with me.”
“’Lo, there, M’nerva!” He looked up at her and smiled. Even kneeling, sitting back on his heels as he was, he came to her shoulder. “I am a mite peckish,” he admitted. “Jes’ let me wash up a bi’, an’ I’ll be with yeh.”
“Where’s your kettle, Hagrid? Do you mind if I heat some water for tea?”
“Help yerself! Everythin’s the same as it was, pretty much.” As Hagrid went around to the pump on the other side of the hut to wash up, Minerva entered the open door of his hut. It was clean and tidy, quite comfortable, really, although there were peculiar things hanging from the ceiling in one corner of the room. Minerva didn’t look at them too closely, but crossed over to the hearth where she retrieved the kettle and filled it from the pump at the washstand beneath his window.
As she filled the kettle with fresh water, Minerva looked out the window and saw Hagrid standing at the outdoor pump, shirt off, washing his hands and arms, then splashing water over his torso. Finally, he ducked his head under the pump, which apparently had been charmed to continue pumping on its own, and wet down his head and beard. He certainly was . . . large, Minerva thought. Huge, in fact. She thought that he could be quite frightening, met on a dark night, if you didn’t know him.
Minerva hung the kettle from a hook over the fire. She began to unpack her basket on Hagrid’s well-scrubbed table when he came into the hut and grabbed a towel from where it hung on a peg next to the door. “’Scuse me, M’nerva,” he said, blushing. He ducked out again, apparently to dry himself off, and returned a minute later to repeat the exercise, this time grabbing a cleaner shirt from its peg. The third time he appeared in the doorway, he entered the room.
“Sorry, M’nerva. I ferget sometimes that there’s a lady about. ’Specially durin’ the summer, when jest abou’ everybody’s gone.”
“Don’t worry about my sensibilities, Hagrid,” Minerva laughed. “I do have older brothers, you know. And I’d be pleased to treat you just as I do them!”
Hagrid smiled and blushed, pleased. “I’d be real happy a’ that, M’nerva.”
“Well, then, that’s settled. You now have an honorary big sister! And given that I’ve always been the youngest, it will be a treat for me to have a younger brother,” she said with a smile.
“Yeh’ve always treated me right, M’nerva. Even after . . . yeh know. I was so happy yeh were here tha’ summer.” He sat at the table, eying the treats Minerva had laid out. “I don’ know what I’d ’a’ done without yeh. I don’ think I’ve ever thanked yeh proper for all yeh done fer me then.”
“Nonsense, Hagrid. It was nice for me, too. We had fun, didn’t we? I would have had no one but the teachers to talk to if you hadn’t been here!”
“Well, thank yeh, anyway. I think the water’s on the boil.” Hagrid rose and made them a pot of very strong Oolong tea. It had something else in it that Minerva didn’t recognise. It wasn’t precisely unpleasant, but peculiar, and Minerva was wary of any odd herbs he may have decided to add to his brew.
“Hmm, interesting tea, Hagrid. Is it a special blend?” she asked.
“Oh, yeah. ’Tis one o’ me own, actually,” he said proudly. “Bee balm. That’s the secret. P’rfesser Birnbaum lets me have some from the greenhouse. I useta use lemon balm, but bee balm’s me favourite now.”
Reassured that she wasn’t about to be inadvertently poisoned, Minerva relaxed and drank her tea. It tasted a bit like Earl Grey, she decided. Not bad, really.
She ate a ginger newt, insisting to Hagrid that she really didn’t need anything else when he apologised for not having any of his rock cakes made, but explaining to her that he hadn’t expected a guest that afternoon. That led the conversation around to what visitors he entertained. From what Minerva could tell, Hagrid was just lonely. He didn’t seem to entertain guests very often, although he mentioned that Professor Dumbledore came out occasionally, when he could spare a moment, and that Grubbly-Plank sometimes asked him for his help with some of the animals that she was using in her classes. Other than that, it seemed to Minerva that his social life consisted in going to the Hog’s Head in the evenings. Minerva herself wasn’t one to get out much, really, but she recognised that she had a lot of human contact on a daily basis, especially during term, and with Poppy there, she hadn’t had much occasion for loneliness. She resolved to spend a little time with Hagrid that summer, at least to stop by and chat now and then.
A clean, fresh breeze was coming through the open window and door of the small hut. Taking a deep breath of it, Minerva suggested, “It’s a beautiful day out, Hagrid. I know you have gardening, but won’t you take a bit of a walk with me? We could catch up, like old times.”
Hagrid agreed readily, and Minerva was glad that she had made the suggestion. The poor fellow was lonely. They walked around the castle to the edge of the lake. Minerva conjured two wooden garden chairs for them, sizing his appropriately.
“Yer a wonder with yer wand, M’nerva!” said Hagrid admiringly.
“It’s nothing, really. Not like what Albus can do, certainly,” she replied, although she was pleased with his compliment.
“Yeah, but there i’n’t any wizard or witch what’s like the Headmaster, is there?”
In agreement on that point, the two settled down for a lazy summer afternoon’s chat. Minerva asked him, with a wink, if he still had his pink umbrella, and Hagrid told her he did, safely tucked away in his wardrobe at the moment.
Hagrid filled her in on his own doings, then told her stories that he had heard about various students and former students, and Minerva shared a few stories of her own.
They were chatting quite convivially when Albus returned from his trip to the Ministry. Although he had Flooed from his office that afternoon, he Apparated back after running a few errands in Diagon Alley. Walking up from the gates, he smiled as he saw the two sitting amiably together, Hagrid gesticulating broadly as he illustrated one of his stories.
Albus remembered how young Minerva, after having protested accepting a stipend from him, asked him one day in mid-July, at the end of a long afternoon of experiments, if she could have an advance of two week’s allowance. Although he was inclined to give it to her, he was curious as to why she was asking for it. She paused before answering.
“Well, I have something put aside in one of the shops in Hogsmeade. The owner will only hold it until tomorrow, though. I have almost enough for it; I’m only three galleons short.” Albus knew that her parents, in an abundance of caution, had given her a good sum before she had left for the summer. What on earth could she possibly be purchasing that would take all of her money? He hesitated, worried about her spending all of her money on one item and then having little to carry her through the rest of the summer. But she was of age, and she could make her own choices and learn from them, he supposed.
Later that evening, standing in the Astronomy Tower with Gertie, he had looked out at a heart-warming sight. He could now see what Minerva had spent her money on: she had purchased Hagrid a family-sized broom and was attempting to teach him to ride it.
“Will you look at that, Gertie!”
Gertrude’s lips turned up slightly at the corners. “I had the impression that Minerva dislikes brooms.”
“I don’t believe she’s particularly fond of them. But she’s competent enough. Oh, no, look at that!” Hagrid was hanging from his new broom by one arm. But their alarm was short-lived as Minerva cast a quick spell that caught Hagrid and Levitated him back onto the broom. They were only about twenty feet up, and Minerva was demonstrating how to urge the broom forward, stop, turn, and hover.
“He didn’t take Flying his first year?” asked the Arithmancer.
“They couldn’t find a school broom that would lift him. No one considered using a family broom.” Albus continued to watch Minerva give the young half-giant flying lessons, a broad smile on his face.
“Does this contravene any of the terms of his punishment, Albus? I wouldn’t want either of them to get into trouble. If we can see them, surely others, including the Headmaster, can, too.”
“No. No, I’m sure it doesn’t. He is allowed to use any Charmed objects. He cannot use a wand, but a broomstick is not a wand. There is nothing that would prohibit him from using a broom. Of course, he may eventually outgrow it, since I think he’s got another growth spurt or two coming, but in the meantime, I think he should be allowed to enjoy it. At least while school is not in session. I shall ensure that the Headmaster agrees with me, as well.”
They continued to watch the impromptu flying lesson as it evolved into a game of Swivenhodge. Minerva had Transfigured something into a pig’s bladder and conjured a net to take the place of the traditional hedge. As the two young Gryffindors manoeuvered their brooms to bat the inflated pig’s bladder back and forth across the “hedge,” playing in a more co-operative manner than the game was usually played, Albus’s smile grew. Gertrude turned to him.
“You may want to have a word with the Headmaster sooner, rather than later, Albus. You can watch them play some other time, but if he decides to cut their game short, well, his pride may keep him from rescinding any prohibitions he places on Hagrid’s activities on the castle grounds, regardless of what you may later say.”
Albus had torn himself away and gone to find the Headmaster. Gertrude had been correct. He ran into Armando in the corridor on his way down to the grounds to put a stop to the “foolishness.” Albus had dissuaded him, assuring him that Hagrid would not be flying around the grounds during the school year, and reminding him further that Hagrid would likely outgrow the broom in a few years, anyway. “Come, now, Armando. He’s only a boy. He has borne his punishment like a man. Surely you can let him have a little time just to be a child again?”
Dippet had agreed, and he actually seemed relieved that he did not need to forbid Hagrid yet one more activity. He had done what he felt he must, but had never been completely comfortable with it. He had the sense that he was a pawn in someone’s game, and he didn’t like that at all. But having taken the actions he had, he felt obliged to uphold the edicts of the Ministry and the Board of Governors. Dumbledore’s reassurances that Hagrid’s activities were not forbidden by his life-long punishment were actually not unwelcome. Armando did not like feeling bad about himself. His self-image relied on his belief that he was a kind, fair, and beloved Headmaster. The events of the last few months interfered with that self-image. Dumbledore had helped him to save face, even if only in his own eyes.
As Dumbledore walked up toward the castle those many years later, he thought that Minerva and Hagrid had changed very little in the intervening years, at least not in any essential ways. And from a distance, he could almost believe it was that long past summer, Minerva looked so young, fresh, and beautiful in her deep yellow and raspberry-red robes. Albus veered from his path to the castle doors and walked toward the two.
“Hullo, P’rfesser Dumbledore!” Hagrid grinned at him. “Look who came by fer tea this afternoon!”
“Good-afternoon, Hagrid, Minerva.” He smiled at them both. “It’s good to see you out enjoying the fresh air – although I’m sure Hagrid has been out working on the grounds today.”
They exchanged some small talk, and then Albus said that he had to spend some time in his office before dinner. “I hope to see you both in the Great Hall later. I believe that, beginning tomorrow, we will move our meals to the staff room.” Albus thought an odd expression crossed Minerva’s face when he mentioned returning to his office, but perhaps she just wished he could stay and talk. He smiled to himself as he climbed the many stairs to the seventh floor. Minerva had seemed to enjoy their time together morning. He had, too, and now that he had come to terms with his feelings about her, he could continue to take pleasure in her company.