Chapter 301: Hagrid

After the pleasant Halloween and the first match's decisive victory, November returned to quiet, with the Order of the Phoenix and the Death Eaters both advancing their work methodically, neither interfering with the other.

Aside from Mundungus's investigation into Harry Potter continuing to veer off course, others had gained some progress: confirming that two Death Eaters possessed Horcruxes in the form of the serpent Nagini and the golden cup, identifying several methods to destroy Horcruxes, and compiling a list of volunteers for operational teams—all was ready, now only needing to discover where the Death Eaters had hidden the Horcruxes.

The Death Eaters' several meetings rarely mentioned Horcruxes, which made sense: both Regulus and Severus were moles, Harry Potter was not of high rank but was also a mole; Lucius was not a mole, but an ambitious man busy courting smaller families to his side, so Bellatrix, the only one still outmaneuvering the Order, had no interest in sharing her work.

Suddenly, a surprising piece of good news spread through the school, sparking lively discussions among all students and adding new excitement to life—Hagrid had returned.

On a quiet afternoon, Harry and Ron decided to visit Hagrid.

Hagrid had evidently concluded a phase of his journey; he had spent time tidying his cabin, and though things were still cluttered and numerous, they were at least neater, the accumulated dust wiped clean, and his tea kettle now sat steaming on the fire, gleaming brightly.

"I didn't plan to tell you this—it's an Order secret," he grunted, yet his face couldn't hide his smile, "but you probably guessed—I went to find the giants."

"You found them?"

"Not hard to find—they live in a mountain range, I knew where, just needed to search once inside," Hagrid sipped his tea. "We set out in early August, climbing rocks, sleeping in caves. I never thought Olympe could handle it—she's always so refined—but she never complained once."

"So you went with someone else—Madame Maxime?" Harry asked.

"Yes, she proved remarkably strong. It was me—I kept thinking of Dumbledore, ah," Hagrid said, wiping his eyes.

Madame Maxime was French, after all; Dumbledore's death wasn't entirely bad for her, Harry thought uncharitably.

"We left Dijon, stopped in many cities—to show the Continent Bruxelles' stance, but Olympe said it was 'unofficial,' complicated…" Hagrid continued, "We traveled slowly, and it was quite interesting."

"Finally we entered the mountains, searched three or four days, and found them—only seventy or eighty giants remained," Hagrid said sadly. "We easily made contact with Grawp—I mean, the giant chief—gave gifts for days, then warned them to hide far away, so the Death Eaters wouldn't find them."

"But I think the Death Eaters won't bother searching for giants," Harry said, recalling the current situation, half-amused.

"No, they did search," Hagrid said seriously. "I'd gone before and found only a tiny group. Now I learn the Dark Lord had sent people to them long ago—last year, those giants joined his side. But fortune favored us: the former chief who sided with the Death Eaters died in a fight, and the new chief is kind to us—he gladly accepted our advice."

"That's about it. The giant matter is settled. Now I must prepare for other tasks," Hagrid leaned back comfortably in his chair as Fang licked his hand with a rumbling slurp.

"Will you stay here?" Ron asked hopefully.

"No, next I'm going to find a magical creature," Hagrid shook his head. "Besides, I'm useless here—I teach poorly."

"You teach well," Harry said sincerely. "The new professor barely speaks about magical creatures."

"Then what does he teach?" Hagrid asked curiously.

"Stunning spells, cutting spells, fire spells—even explosion spells," Ron rolled his eyes. "His favorite line is, 'Cut off the head, the rest is edible.'"

"Hmm, I think he's not wrong," Hagrid said earnestly. "Olympe told me not to impose my own thinking on students. For you, learning to protect yourselves before learning to protect magical creatures might still be meaningful."

After a brief silence, Hagrid took a dog can from a cabinet and began feeding Fang.

"This can," Harry suddenly sat up, "is it Wolfpack brand?"

"Yes, Fang tried it once and became obsessed—I don't know why," Hagrid held it up, examining it. "I bought it at a Muggle shop in London—they said it's the favorite flavor for dogs."

"Of course—it's Sirius's company," Harry laughed. Seeing his godfather's product so popular made him happy.

"Oh right—he could taste it himself," Ron chuckled too.

They chatted a while longer about Sirius, then a rhythmic knock interrupted them.

"Mr. Hagrid, I've been wanting to speak with you," Arnold stood at the door in a navy-blue suit, a faint smile on his face.

"Now?" Hagrid glanced inside. "I'm just—"

"I chose this time specifically to speak with Harry as well," Arnold nodded, his tone firm.

"What do you want to say?" they settled in, and Hagrid asked curiously.

"You know I hold another position besides teaching, correct?" Arnold spoke slowly. "As Senior Investigator of Hogwarts, I am initiating an investigation into the former Care of Magical Creatures professor, Rubeus Hagrid."

Harry and Hagrid tensed instantly.

"First, we're most concerned with your relationship with Dumbledore—that's why I want Harry to observe," Arnold's tone grew slightly serious. "I need your honest answers."

"Uh, Dumbledore was a wonderful man—he took me in," Hagrid clearly wasn't sure how to define himself, "I tried hard to help him."

"No, Hagrid, you're being too modest," Harry said firmly—whether out of truth or protection, he had to make Arnold understand—"Dumbledore trusted you deeply. He entrusted you with his most important tasks. Do you remember the Philosopher's Stone?"

Hagrid's expression turned strange, and Harry continued, "And you've underestimated your own abilities, Hagrid—we all consider you one of the world's foremost experts in magical creatures."

In a way, Hagrid himself was a magical creature, so this wasn't wrong.

"Speaking of magical creatures, there's one matter worth mentioning—the Chamber monster," Arnold flipped his notebook to a blank page. "It's said the Acromantulas in the Forbidden Forest are connected to you—is that true?"

"Uh," Hagrid tensed, but answered honestly, "I did raise a spider…"

"But you didn't expect his offspring would become a major menace in the Forbidden Forest, did you?" Arnold raised an eyebrow.

"It's not entirely a menace," Hagrid struggled for words, trying to defend Aragog, "they did contribute—like, uh…"

"Even if Hagrid made a mistake here, Dumbledore still chose to keep him as Keeper of the Keys and appoint him as Care of Magical Creatures professor—proof of Dumbledore's trust in him," Harry changed the subject.

"Very reasonable," Arnold narrowed his eyes. "Final question: what do you think of Hagrid's teaching ability? Would you want him to continue as professor?"

"I think Hagrid teaches us very well—he deserves to keep teaching," Ron rushed to say.

"No, no, children—I admit I teach poorly," Hagrid said sincerely. "And compared to teaching students, I have more urgent matters to attend to."

"Excellent," Arnold smiled, packing away his notebook and pen. "Typically, launching an investigation yields nothing—launching it is precisely to prevent anyone from finding anything."

"You mean—?" Hagrid looked confused.

"You may continue doing whatever you wish, Mr. Hagrid," Arnold stood, reaching for his hat. "The Ministry needed to clarify rumors about you. Now it's clear—they're baseless."

After Arnold left, they all exhaled in relief. Ron naturally remarked, "Someone didn't want you to keep teaching, Hagrid. But the good news is—the Ministry's on our side."

"Perhaps the Ministry sided with us because Hagrid himself offered to step down," Harry said helplessly. "They're always like this—following the wind."

"It doesn't matter," Hagrid beamed. "Knowing the Senior Investigator supports Hogwarts makes me very happy."

They enjoyed the rest of their afternoon tea, until early the next morning, when Harry realized Arnold's implication: if the Ministry needed a conclusion, they wouldn't investigate—Sybill Trelawney stood in the entrance hall, holding a massive suitcase, her face sorrowful, one hand gripping a bottle of wine, the other a wand, pleading eyes fixed on calm Arnold.

"I've been here sixteen years! You can't—" tears streamed down her cheeks—"I beg you, don't fire me."