The Scamander ✧ Harry Potter Year 1

Chapter 13

The cobbled path down to Hagrid's hut was one we frequented often with our burly groundskeeper friend, but today the topic of discussion had diverted from the pleasant conversations of the past. The events of the Quidditch match had all four of us in a stir. 

"I swear Hagrid, it was just like a curse," I argued to the half-giant, who was quite adamant to reduce our claims to the non-sensical imagination of children. 

"Nonsense! Why would Snape put a curse on Harry's broom?" Hagrid bellowed.

"Who knows?" Harry retorts, "Why was he trying to get past that three-headed dog on Halloween?" 

My eyes winced at the frightfully energetic mouth of Harry. 

Hagrid's eye raised, looking at us suspiciously, "Who told you 'bout Fluffy?"

"So you're the owner? That's perfect, I do have some questions about his car-" I paused as Ron spoke over me, obviously perturbed by my care for the beast. I let him, much less worried about Fluffy's health, appreciating that Hagrid is a great carer for beasts.

"Fluffy?" Ron proclaimed. 

"That thing has a name?" Hermione's tone seemed disgusted, my scoff matched Hagrid's at the lack of sensitivity over a wonderful beast. 

"Well, of course, he's got a name. He's mine. I bought him off an Irish feller I met down at the pub last year. Then I lent him to Dumbledore to guard the.." Hagrid's voice trailed the information we hung our breaths on. 

"Yes?" Harry encouraged.

"Shouldn't have said that. No more questions! Don't ask any more questions. That's top secret, that is."

"But, Hagrid, whatever Fluffy's guarding, Snape's trying to...." An uncomfortable, reoccurring itch in my jumper paused my speech, becoming preoccupied with rearranging the slight-bodied animals in my jumper. I was just getting more comfortable taking them with me around the castle, hidden in the comfort of my overgrown jumpers and ropes. But Banjo's tickling was a hard adjustment, I awkwardly tried to itch my back without him falling out, lest he be seen by any wandering eye or Hagrid. The rest of the group looked on in awkward confusion. I, not known for my slyness, realised the eyes of my friends and Hagrid and continued my speech flushed. "He's trying to steal it."

"...Codswallop. Professor Snape is a Hogwarts teacher." Hagrid's conviction would perhaps convince others, but the onslaught of recent events had all of us metaphorically checking under our beds for monsters. 

"Hogwarts teacher or not, I know a spell when I see one. I've read all about them. You've got to keep eye contact and Snape wasn't blinking." Hermione stated to which  I made a noise of agreement.

"Now, you listen to me," Hagrid sighs, " all four of you. You're meddling in things that ought not to be meddled in. It's dangerous. What that dog is guarding is strictly between Dumbledore and Nicholas Flamel."

"Nicholas Flamel?" Harry questioned. The name rang a small chime in the back of my memory, I ought to think that the name had been mentioned in one of Grandpa's stories. If only I did not have such an awful reconciliation of names. 

"I shouldn't have said, I should not have said that." Hagrid only further emphasised the importance of the name, his head shaking as he left us on the path to his hut. 

"Nicolas Flamel, who's Nicolas Flamel?" Harry looked at us for answers we couldn't give. 

"I don't know." Hermione voice sang with disappointment. It wasn't hard to impress that Hermione sorely valued her knowledge, as her social currency. It would only be with time that she would realise how much we would appreciate her even if she failed her classes, and we had to rely on Ron to be the brains. But that is childhood insecurity, and even the bravest and smartest amongst us face that horrible battle in the efforts to grow up. 

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