Chapter 4: The Wilderness Administrator Who Fell from the Sky

Harry was never bullied in Duntong, but whether it was old George, who had lived through the war years, or the four dedicated tutors, all of them held Harry to very high standards.

Through years of daily teaching and testing, the four tutors reached a definitive conclusion about Harry’s character: his experiences with his aunt and uncle had not twisted his heart; on the contrary, Harry possessed a natural gentleness toward those around him.

After years of education and cultivation, Harry had become more courteous, able to navigate interpersonal relationships with the polish of a true noble; he had acquired sufficient knowledge to form his own preliminary understanding of society and life. Though he sometimes lost his temper and could be stubbornly rigid, in their eyes, the boy was overall healthy.

In July 1991, the summer break in Duntong was pleasant. Harry and Ivy rose on time, dressed, and went to the dining room, where they found Sir Crowley, usually unseen, seated at the long table, reading a newspaper.

“Harry, my boy, come here.” George finished a sip of black tea, set down the newspaper, and waved Harry over. “You’ve graduated.”

“Yes, Grandfather. The teachers said the same.” Harry found the matter seemed hardly worth discussing, and felt puzzled. “What’s next? Will we get new tutors?”

“No, you need to meet more peers your age. I’ve already arranged with Eton. Time flies, Harry… Harry, Italy is pressing hard—I leave today.” George’s head sank lower. “Take care of Ivy. Carson will manage the estate, but don’t wander off so much he can’t find you… I’ll have to keep an eye on you both every day. Ivy, time moves so fast—you’ve both grown up.”

George paused, gazing at the distant trees.

“Harry, I love you—you’re like my own son. And Ivy, you’re both gifts from God. I’m old now; I won’t live to see Britain’s future. I only hope I can still live to see you both grow up healthy and happy.”

Harry and Ivy exchanged glances. In their eyes, this wasn’t like their grandfather’s usual words—it sounded gloomy, regretful.

“By the way, Harry, your birthday is coming—July thirty-first. Esh has already started preparing. I might not make it back, but I’ll send your gift.” George finished his last sip of tea, set down the newspaper, and stood. “Carson, tell the driver—we’re leaving.”

Harry watched Sir Crowley depart, then glanced curiously at the newspaper.

The left half’s headline read: “Yanayev Takes Firm Stance; U.S. Plans to Withdraw from Afghanistan.”

The right half’s headline read: “Sausage Manufacturers Adjust Standards to Align with EU Policy.”

The next day, an owl perched on a tree in the estate. The footman assigned to the mailbox found a letter addressed specifically to Harry Potter.

“Harry, what’s this?” Ivy asked eagerly.

“I don’t know. Hogwarts? It says I’ve been accepted to a magic school.”

“Magic? That’s weird. Could it be a prank?”

“Maybe. I’ll ask Carson to look into it.”

A few days later, the butler Carson concluded he could find no school named Hogwarts. Harry dismissed the matter, convinced it was a prank—likely the work of the humorous Miss Clara.

With only one day left until Harry’s birthday, Sir Crowley’s promised gift had not arrived. Harry felt a quiet anticipation. That night, rain poured heavily. Harry and Ivy leaned on the second-floor railing, watching the servants below hurrying back and forth. As his birthday neared, Harry felt less excited—he kept remembering the morning Sir Crowley left, his usually resolute grandfather seeming burdened with hidden worries.

“Harry, will you leave Grandfather one day?” Ivy’s eyelashes trembled slightly. “Live your own life?”

Harry suddenly remembered Jacob—the day on the lawn, sunlight in his eyes, asking him nearly the same question. Harry was momentarily dazed, unsure how to answer.

A loud crash echoed from upstairs, followed by the sound of shattering glass.

“What was that? Did lightning break the window?” Ivy seemed to forget her earlier question, grabbing Harry’s arm and dragging him upstairs.

They saw a motorcycle parked in the guest bedroom, surrounded by shards of glass—the floor-to-ceiling window had been completely shattered.

“Cough! Cough!” A man brushed dust and rain off his leather jacket, stepped off the motorcycle, and stood upright. Harry finally saw clearly: the man was extraordinarily tall, with wild, long black curls that merged into a full, dirty black beard, resembling a wool wig left in a warehouse for three years. His nose was large, his fingers thick, his belly protruding. As he tried to park the motorcycle on the balcony, he introduced himself: “Harry, right? Harry Potter? I’m Hagrid, Rubeus Hagrid. Delighted to meet you, Harry. I came specially to tell you—you’re a wizard!” Hagrid’s body shook as he spoke; rain dripped from him onto the floor. Harry instinctively stepped back two paces.

“What? I’m a wizard? What does that mean? And your motorcycle—how did it get up here? Oh, wait—do you need a towel?” Harry’s questions piled up.

“Towels! That’d be wonderful! Thank you! Did you get the letter? Dumbledore sent it—your acceptance letter to Hogwarts. You didn’t get it? He feared you’d ignore it, so he sent me to check on you.”

“That letter… is real?” Harry handed Hagrid a towel, keeping some distance. “Ivy? Where are you?”

“Of course it’s real! Hogwarts is the finest magic school in the world! Every young wizard receives their acceptance letter at age eleven—I mean, British children. Oh, right, I nearly forgot—here’s your birthday gift. Happy birthday, Harry!”

Hagrid pulled out a squashed cake from nowhere, with lopsided scribbles reading “Happy Birthday.” Harry frowned, barely making out the meaning, found it absurd, almost overwhelming—but still nodded politely, said “Thank you,” and gave Hagrid a wide smile.

“You don’t know him?” Ivy peeked out from behind a cabinet. She’d been thoroughly frightened by the burly man.

“Of course not! This is my first time encountering anything like this.” Harry said.

“Huh? Is this your cousin? Hey, little girl, did you get a letter too?” Hagrid pulled out a crumpled pink umbrella.

“No, sir. I’m only ten this year. You have an umbrella, but why aren’t you using it? Oh, it looks broken.”

“This umbrella? It’s my wand. Oh ho ho, didn’t see that coming?” Hagrid laughed loudly.

“Cool! Can you show us a spell?” Ivy beamed, no longer afraid.

“Watch this—Lumos!”

“Oh my!”

Though the guest room’s chandelier was on, Harry clearly saw a faint glow emerge from the tip of the umbrella.

“So magic is real? And you’re so tall—ten feet, right? Are you a giant?” Ivy accepted magic’s existence quickly and began peppering Hagrid with questions.

“My mother was a giant, my father a human wizard. But my mother left when I was four. Actually, I’m eleven and a half feet tall!” Hagrid wiped water from his beard, glancing around. “Merlin’s beard, what a grand place!”

Somehow, Harry felt this intruder wasn’t evil. Though rough and uncouth, he felt no dislike. If magic were real… and he truly was a wizard? He recalled the third-year incident when he’d spoken to a snake. He sensed he might not be ordinary after all.

“What’s going on? Oh my goodness, who are you? Leave immediately—unauthorized entry onto the estate is illegal!” Carson rushed in with several footmen, pushing open the door to find a massive man dripping rainwater. “Children, do you know him?”

“Yes.” “No.”

Hearing Harry say he knew Hagrid, Ivy realized: “Oh, he’s Harry’s friend—I mean, I don’t know him. He’s never been here before. This is our first meeting. His name is Hagrid.”

“I see. Welcome, Mr. Hagrid. Why is your motorcycle parked on the third-floor windowsill? Had you come through the front door, we would have welcomed you properly.” Carson stared at the motorcycle on the windowsill, pondering a serious question: how had it gotten there?

“Mr. Hagrid, please follow me—I’ll show you to change clothes… Oh my, you’re so tall.” Thomas, the footman, smiled politely and moved to lead Hagrid out.

“Next time, please notify us in advance. No offense, but sudden visits aren’t welcome here. Still, since you came for Harry’s birthday, we understand. I’ll prepare another guest room for you.” Carson added.

“Hey, Carson, tidy up the parlor too. I’d like to chat with Mr. Hagrid.” Harry said as the door closed.

“Of course—but not too late. I don’t want you dragging through your own birthday party exhausted.” Carson smiled.

“By the way, I need to call Grandfather first. I need to tell him about the school.”

“Hi? This is Harry. Please connect me to Mr. George.”

“Harry? I’m sorry I can’t make it back—I still have materials to review. I may have to stay here until October. I’ve already mailed your gift—you’ll love it. By the way, why are you calling so late?”

“I’ve been accepted to Hogwarts. Today someone came to tell me. They said I’m a wizard, and that Hogwarts is the best magic school in the world.” Harry paused. “Grandfather, do you know about Hogwarts? What should I do?”

A brief silence followed.

“I do know wizards exist—they’re very secretive. I never expected you to be one…” Sir Crowley sounded unsurprised. “If you can make wizard friends, that’s fine. Whether you go to Eton or Hogwarts, I have no objection. In fact, the latter might even be more helpful. Becoming a wizard won’t interfere with your inheritance of Duntong, will it?”

“Sir, please be careful! Oh my heavens!”

On the other side, Thomas, temporarily assigned to serve Hagrid, was even more troubled. Hagrid had just shattered the guest bathroom’s bathtub—whether from weight or size.

“Sir, you’ll have to use the shower—or perhaps the pool downstairs is large enough… Oh my, you’re using body lotion—you won’t get foam no matter how hard you scrub… Shall I shave your beard later?” Thomas’s voice trembled. “Now I’ll have to dry your leather jacket… I simply can’t find a robe that fits you.”

“Watch the ceiling light!” William, rushing to help, called out. “Please come to the parlor—we’ve prepared tea and biscuits.”

“Oh, that’s wonderful! Do you have mead and roasted sausages? A little charred is fine.”

“Mead and roasted sausages…” William hesitated. “We can make sausages fresh. Your tastes are… unexpected.”

“Is that a compliment? I’m not one for refinement, ha.” Hagrid chuckled awkwardly.

“I suppose so?” Thomas tilted his head.

“Hey, Harry, thank goodness you’re not asleep!” Hagrid, freshly dressed, sat on the rug eating sausages when Harry barged in (he’d completely ignored the knock). “Want some?”

“Uh, I’ve brushed my teeth, and minors can’t… drink alcohol, Mr. Hagrid.”

“Oh, sorry, I forgot. Just call me Hagrid.” He took two more bites of sausage. “Honestly, Hogwarts sausages taste way better. Like that Hark said: ‘The Ministry of Magic won’t compromise with the EU—sausage is sausage. Let Muggles chew their high-fat emulsified sludge tubes if they want.’”

“You mentioned Muggles—what’s a Muggle?” Harry ignored the slightly offensive phrasing.

“People who can’t do magic and don’t believe in it—like everyone else here.” Hagrid finally studied Harry properly. “You know, when I brought you to your aunt and uncle’s house, you were only as big as my palm. Now you’re taller than the table! Merlin’s beard—how have you been here?”

Harry nodded. “Fine. By the way, do you know where Hogwarts is? How do we get there?”

“Don’t worry—wait until after your birthday. First, we’ll go to Diagon Alley to buy your school supplies. Then, in September, you’ll go to Hogwarts. Hogwarts is hidden—too many Muggles knowing about it wouldn’t be good. You should sleep now, Harry. You’re too young to stay up late. When you get to Hogwarts, I’ll make you try my rock cakes.”

“Alright, I’ll head to my room. Goodnight, Hagrid.”

“Goodnight. You sleep first. I’m hungry again—I need more—can you bring me whole sausages? These little slices aren’t enough.”

After eating his fill, Hagrid lay down on the rug to sleep. Thomas had to wake him again to lead him to the guest room with the big bed.

The maids working late in the kitchen whispered among themselves about this strange guest—he’d finished two bottles of mead and two entire strings of sausages, and broken a carved glass cup and four bone china plates. If Harry’s future meant living with such a person, they’d be deeply worried.