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"You might want to take the time to study how Nicolas Flamel used the Philosopher's Stone to brew the Elixir of Life," said Sargeras. "It may prove useful in the future."
Nightingale inclined her head slightly. Right now, no one in the Bronze Feather needed that miraculous draught more than Thunderbird, the head of an House in Ilvermorny. He had seen more than a century pass, and the weight of age pressed down on him heavily.
"If you need my help, just say the word," Sargeras added casually, his voice calm and measured. "There are bound to be plenty of people eager to get their hands on his inheritance."
"Are we supposed to involve ourselves in that business too?" Kestrel asked as she rose to her feet. Having finished gathering what she needed, she tucked her traveling satchel carefully beneath her robes as if it were something fragile.
Sargeras shook his head. "No. All we want is knowledge of how the Philosopher's Stone can be used, nothing beyond that."
He walked on as he spoke, his stride unhurried and steady. "Besides, so long as Nicolas Flamel donates the whole of his research to his own school, Veiliss won't have much trouble gaining access to it. What we should be wary of are those with ill intent, people who might intercept and steal his work along the way."
"That's right," Nightingale added softly, turning to Kestrel. "After all, both he and his wife are still alive and well. It's much too soon to be worrying about anything beyond that."
Suddenly, the silence of the forest was broken by the sound of heavy footsteps, accompanied by the panting of some large animal.
"Who's there?"
A booming voice cut straight through the thickets.
The next moment, Hagrid's towering figure came crashing out from the underbrush. He was holding a swinging lantern that sent flickering light across his wild beard, and beside him lumbered Fang, panting noisily with every breath.
"Oh! It's you lot!" Hagrid's eyes went wide in surprise, the lantern's glow dancing across his face. "Professor Greengrass? An' the other two… uh… wait a second, what're yeh doin' wanderin' about in the Forbidden Forest at this hour?"
Sargeras inclined his head slightly, his manner relatively calm and even. "We were collecting some ingredients, Hagrid."
Fang shuffled closer, curiosity shining in his drooping eyes. He pressed his wet nose against the hem of Kestrel's robes and gave an eager sniff, then all at once sneezed with a sharp, wet explosion.
He had clearly caught the scent of the Acromantulas. Hagrid understood at once, and the surprise on his face quickly turned to alarm. His thick brows drew together until his whole forehead was deeply furrowed. "Hold on… don' tell me yeh went to—"
"To Aragog's lair? Yes." Sargeras admitted without the slightest hesitation. "We needed some fresh venom."
"Sweet Merlin! Yeh didn' get hurt, did yeh?" Hagrid's face flushed crimson with worry. "An' yeh didn'… yeh didn't harm Aragog, did yeh? He's gettin on in years now, his body ain't what it used to be, an'…"
"It's safe and sound," Sargeras said calmly. "Though its offspring did make the mistake of trying to treat us as a midnight snack."
Hagrid's expression twisted with both guilt and worry. "Aragog's actually very gentle, really he is, so long as yeh talk to him proper, use the right way with him…"
"Gentle?" Kestrel couldn't hold back and cut in sharply. "There were piles of bones in that nest, stacked high as a hill!"
Hagrid rubbed his huge hands together uneasily, clearly embarrassed. "Tha's… tha's just the way it is! The Forbidden Forest has its own rules…"
"Don't worry, it's unharmed," Nightingale reassured him gently. "All we did was ask it for a little venom."
Hagrid gave her a grateful look, then beckoned to the three of them with a sudden burst of warmth. "Come on then, how 'bout stoppin' by my place? Warm yerselves up with a cup o' hot tea, try some o' the cakes I just baked? Yeh've been wanderin' about all night, must be starvin'."
Sargeras did not refuse. He gestured for the other two to follow while he himself fell into step beside Hagrid.
"By the way," Sargeras asked as if it had just occurred to him, his tone light and conversational, "how exactly did you manage to teach Aragog to speak? That must be something of a miracle in the study of magical creatures."
At once, Hagrid's expression lit up, all trace of guilt vanishing. "Ah! Now tha' was a long, long process!"
He waved his great arms enthusiastically as he spoke, his voice brimming with pride. "I raised him inside a cupboard in the castle, yeh see. Every day I'd read him stories outta The Tales of Beedle the Bard, talk with him for hours on end… Took me near two whole years before he stumbled his way through his very first word — 'Hagrid'!"
At the memory, the half-giant's eyes gleamed with childlike delight.
Nightingale and Kestrel exchanged a look of pure disbelief.
"But later…" The sparkle in Hagrid's eyes faded as quickly as it had come, and his voice sank into a low rumble. "Later, summat happened inside the castle. There was… there was an attack. A student… died. They couldn' find who'd done it, an'… an' they all thought it were Aragog."
His massive fists clenched at his sides. "But I knew it weren'! I swore it! Aragog'd never hurt a student, never! He knew tha' were wrong!"
"And what happened after that?"
Hagrid drew in a long breath, his chest rising with the weight of memory, and when he spoke again his tone was filled with deep sorrow. "After tha', he ran off inter the Forbidden Forest an' hid hisself away. Headmaster Dippet… aye, he… well, he couldn' stand the pressure from the Ministry o' Magic an' the school governors. In the end, he expelled me…"
The helplessness in Hagrid's voice was plain as daylight.
Fang seemed to sense his owner's gloom, pressing his heavy head gently against Hagrid's leg in comfort.
After a moment, Hagrid steadied himself. His eyes softened with a touch of longing as he spoke again. "Later on, I couldn' bear the thought of him bein' all alone. So I spent months searchin' the forests in Albania, diggin' here, rummagin' there, till I finally found a female Acromantula. Mosag, her name was… an' I brought her back into the Forbidden Forest, to keep Aragog company."
Sargeras gave a faint shake of his head. "In a way, that does count as a rare kind of talent."
There was a peculiar note in his voice, something caught between amusement and disbelief. "You managed to take an XXXXX-class dangerous creature… and turn it into an XXXXX-class dangerous creature that also talks."
Hagrid blurted out at once, his voice thick with urgency. "But he'd never hurt a Hogwarts student on purpose, never once in his life!"
"Who can say for certain?" Sargeras answered with calm finality. "In his nest, there are at least a few human skeletons scattered about, each in a different state of decay."
The words struck Hagrid like a spear through the chest. His head dropped low, his gaze fixed on his worn leather boots. "I… I'll go talk to Aragog again…"
Fang whimpered uneasily, sensing the tension in the air. His tail drooped flat against the floor.
"I don't think that will be necessary," Sargeras said in the same even tone. "We have already reached an agreement with him."
As his words fell, the crooked outline of Hagrid's hut appeared up ahead.
Beside it were tethered the proud Abraxan horses of Beauxbatons, their glossy coats gleaming faintly in the light. A few stout barrels of single-malt whiskey sat on the ground nearby.
The four of them, with Fang padding along at their side, went straight inside the little cabin. Warmth from the hearth and the familiar mix of odd smells came rushing to greet them the moment the door swung open.
Hagrid lumbered over to the fire and clumsily lifted a huge copper kettle that hissed and steamed, pouring out a cup of scalding strong tea for each of them. In his enormous hands, the rough clay mugs looked almost like toys, far too small for such thick fingers.
"Professor," Hagrid murmured carefully, cradling his own cup as though it might break, "about that Umbridge business…"
"Don't worry," Sargeras said, calm and assured. "If the Ministry of Magic has even a shred of sense, they'll keep their mouths shut."
The moment those words reached Hagrid's ears, his whole face broke into a broad, beaming grin.
"I knew it! I knew you'd have no trouble dealin' with her. Hermione was just fussin' at me about it yesterday."
He reached for a tray and pulled out several freshly baked rock cakes, offering them around with obvious pride.
As they ate and drank, their talk drifted naturally onto the subject of the dueling tournament.
"…A dueling arena a brilliant idea," Hagrid said, his voice brimming with approval. "The students'll learn loads from it, much more than just sittin' around readin' books."
"It's much like Quidditch in that way," Sargeras said, sipping at his tea. "Even if they don't learn much actual skill, at least it gives the restless young wizards a safe and legitimate place to burn off all that excess energy."
"You're right, dead right!" Hagrid nodded vigorously, then, for once, a bashful look crept onto his face. His broad, fan-like hands fidgeted together in awkward silence. "Er… Professor… I… I was wonderin', d'you reckon I could… maybe apply fer a duelin' badge meself?"
He asked it shyly, like a child mustering the courage to ask for a sweet.
"No problem at all," Sargeras answered without hesitation, nodding with his usual composure. "Headmaster Dumbledore has applied for one, and quite a few of the professors as well. We may, however, need a few small trinkets later on, something suitable as prizes for the winners."
"Leave that to me!" Hagrid said at once, thumping his broad chest with delight. "If I've got it, you can have it, no questions asked!"
Nightingale's eyes wandered idly about the cabin, catching on the clutter that filled the corners. Her gaze paused when she noticed a heap of rare magical ingredients piled carelessly together.
"Is that… dried Luminous Dream-cap Mushrooms?" she asked, pointing to a small mound of purplish-black fungi.
"What? Oh, you mean those?"
Hagrid cast a glance at the mushrooms and shrugged. "They do glow a bit at night, right pretty they are. Hallucinatory, though? Nah, not at all. Eat a few an' they'll just make you drowsy. You'll sleep like a log, better than any potion could manage."
The others exchanged subtle looks, their expressions turning ever so slightly complicated. It was clear enough that Hagrid's powerful half-giant blood made him nearly immune to things that, for ordinary witches and wizards, would be dangerously toxic, if not outright lethal.
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[Chapter End's]
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