Sunday, September 12th.
It's been two weeks since term started. The full moon we saw during the Sorting Ceremony is now just a sliver, and autumn has definitely hit the Scottish Highlands. The sun rises late, and there's still a faint hint of the moon hanging in the sky when breakfast starts in the Great Hall.
The students are slowly getting used to the new term, but some kids haven't adjusted their internal clocks yet. Plus, with the weather getting cooler, they're taking full advantage of sleeping in on a weekend without early classes. Because of that, the Great Hall is a bit sparse.
Harry practically dragged Ron over to the Gryffindor table, mainly because he wanted to eat with Hermione. Now that they're third-years, they've got some heavy new electives, and they haven't quite managed the massive jump in homework. They still had a few essays that needed to be handed in tomorrow.
They desperately needed to "reference" Hermione's work.
Ron was slowly chewing on a piece of toast, letting it stick to the roof of his mouth. His eyelids blinked at a glacial pace until they finally glued shut, revealing two dark circles under his eyes. He looked completely out of it—still half asleep, basically.
Hermione looked just as tired, with noticeable shadows under her pale eyes. She seemed to have zero appetite; the sandwich and bacon on her plate were barely touched, and she'd only had half a glass of hot milk. Every time she opened her mouth, a yawn came out.
"Ohh-ah..."
"Ugh-ah..."
Listening to the endless yawning around him, Harry started to feel sleepy himself. He couldn't help but ask, "Did you not sleep well last night, Hermione?"
"Don't even mention it. Professor Vector assigned way too much Arithmancy practice, and the problems just get more complicated. I spent three hours last night calculating Ulick Gamp's true lifespan. I stayed up until the lights-out charm, and every single time I worked it out, the answer was only 11 years." Hermione nibbled a tiny piece of bacon, forcing herself to swallow it.
"Gamp's true lifespan."
That sounded terribly complicated.
Harry felt like the name was familiar, but he couldn't remember if this Gamp was the first Minister for Magic or the one who created Gamp's Law of Elemental Transfiguration. He only knew they were two different wizards from different times.
All the stuff Professor Binns droned on about in History of Magic always got wiped from his brain the second the end-of-year exams were over. And now, they had to re-learn it all for Arithmancy?
He was extremely glad he hadn't chosen that class.
Hermione looked at the sleeping slug who was about to dunk his face into his breakfast plate. "What's his deal? Did you two stay up late solving tough problems, too?"
"Pretty much," Harry chuckled, explaining that Ron had been so curious about why Neville left that he was determined to figure it out. He'd stayed up on watch until three in the morning before finally passing out on the armchair.
Thunk.
Ron's head hit the table. He jolted awake and tried to yell, but the toast was stuck in his mouth. He ended up letting out a long, drawn-out yawn, gave Harry a resentful glare, and went back to munching the bread stuck to his palate.
Hermione pressed her lips together to stifle a laugh, feeling much more awake now. "So, did Neville come back?"
"Nope. I checked when I got up this morning—Neville's bed was still empty. The blankets and pillows hadn't been moved. He must have been out all night," Harry shook his head. "I really want to know what he and the professor were doing last night."
Hermione glanced over at the High Table. The professors' seats were pretty empty, too—lots of gaps.
On a cold weekend morning, most of the staff didn't bother with breakfast. Of the professors who'd been out of the castle last night, only Professor McGonagall and Professor Lupin were seated, occasionally talking in low voices about something.
She looked at the empty seat for Professor Levent, then at the Care of Magical Creatures professor, and suggested quietly, "Let's go find Hagrid in a bit."
Harry immediately got her meaning. "You think Hagrid might know what happened last night? Should I sneak a bottle of firewhiskey from Dobby in the kitchen?"
"No need. I brought my dad's red wine."
The two of them exchanged knowing smiles, quickly finished their plates, and dragged Ron with them toward the cabin by the Forbidden Forest.
"Huh?!"
Ron was woken up by the cold outdoor air and looked around, completely bewildered, as they pulled him along.
"What's going on?"
"What's happening?!"
...Outside Hagrid's hut by the edge of the Forbidden Forest.
Hagrid was standing by the pumpkin patch, wearing a patched-up wool sweater. His moleskin overcoat was draped over the fence, and he was holding a watering can, his hard leather boots leaving prints in the mud.
The sweater was a cozy mix of rabbit, fox, and beaver fur. It fit the half-giant's frame perfectly—warm, light, and not too bulky, ideal for working outside in the fall and winter.
When Melvin arrived at the edge of the Forbidden Forest, Hagrid was bent over, using a clumsy shovel to turn the soil, carefully picking off the leaf-eating slugs on the vegetable leaves. He hadn't sprayed any pesticide because he wanted to keep the helpful ladybugs around.
Fang was right behind Hagrid, "helping." His method of pest control was much more straightforward: he'd just grab a bug with his mouth. If it tasted good, he'd swallow it; if not, he'd spit it out, sometimes wiping his mouth on a pumpkin leaf.
A few minutes later, the emerald snake, Yulm, slid out of his rock nest, slipped through a gap in the fence, and met up with Fang. Then, the dog and the snake started their joint pest-control operation.
The young snake coiled around Fang's neck, poking its head out to observe the leaves. Its round, black eyes were surrounded by smooth scales. It would 'woof' to guide the dog, pointing out the leaf with a slug or the vine hiding a cabbage worm.
Fang's bug-catching speed suddenly shot up, and he quickly surpassed the half-giant, who was still hunched over and shuffling along.
Hagrid had been busy since early morning, and his back was starting to ache. Seeing the two little guys help out, he stopped to take a break, rubbing the dirt from between his fingers as he leaned against the fence.
"Melvin, I heard you lot went out last night to treat Alice and Frank. Those poor folks... they've been locked up in St. Mungo's for thirteen years, haven't they? I used to go visit 'em a few times. They were such lively people back when we were fighting the Death Eaters, and then they just went simple... turned into mindless shells. It hurt my heart to see 'em like that, so I stopped goin' in the end..."
He mumbled on for a while, and after rubbing the mud off his hands, he asked cautiously, "How are they doin' now?"
The half-giant was worried about the poor couple, but he was also afraid of hearing bad news.
Melvin smiled lightly. "They're recovering really well at St. Mungo's. And their memories were restored last night. It won't be long before you can see the old Alice and Frank again."
"That's absolutely wonderful!"
Hagrid beamed, reaching up to scratch the back of his neck before lowering his hand. "Did you come over this early just to tell me about the Longbottoms?"
"I also wanted to ask about stray animals around the school and the Forbidden Forest. I've suddenly gotten interested in that kind of research."
"That's a weird thing to study..."
Hagrid paused, but as the Hogwarts Professor of Care of Magical Creatures and gamekeeper, the question fell squarely in his area of expertise. "There usually aren't stray cats or dogs on the grounds. Any strange animals are probably students' pets. The only exceptions are very rare cases, like a centaur pack's hunting dog getting lost, or a wolf cub from the forest wandering off."
"If a stray cat or dog, like a big black dog or something, suddenly showed up, would you notice it right away?"
"I reckon I would..." Hagrid's tone wasn't very confident. He didn't understand why Melvin was asking.
Melvin nodded thoughtfully. It looked like the gamekeeper couldn't be relied upon. He'd have to talk business with George and Fred—the Marauder's Map was definitely the more reliable option.