Chapter 182. Hagrid Taken Away
After offering Hagrid a few words of comfort, Wesson and Dumbledore stepped out of Hagrid's hut.
Night had fallen; dusk had claimed the entire sky over Hogwarts.
Dumbledore's face stayed taut; clearly, he was in a foul mood.
Wesson hesitated to speak.
He knew that a man like Dumbledore—if he wished—could get Hagrid out of trouble with effortless ease.
But he wouldn't do that.
After all, he was Dumbledore, the most powerful wizard in Britain; every move he made would affect an awful lot of things.
Just then, Dumbledore asked, "What do you think of Fudge as a person?"
"Fudge?"
Wesson was a little puzzled as to why Dumbledore would ask, but he still replied, "A very ordinary fellow.
Yes, ordinary. That's all I think of when it comes to Fudge."
"A textbook politician," he said. "He doesn't care about what's happening at Hogwarts, he doesn't care whether Hagrid is truly the culprit. He only cares about his own interests. Sending Hagrid to Azkaban helps no one—except himself."
Dumbledore nodded. "Very sound."
After a moment, he asked again, "Wesson, if you were Fudge, what would you do?"
Wesson shook his head lightly. "I don't know, Professor Dumbledore, because I could never be someone like Fudge."
"I'm glad you think so." Dumbledore inclined his head, a flicker of relief in his eyes.
Two days later, when Wesson visited the hut again, he found Hagrid sitting listlessly on his bed.
His tangled hair and beard seemed not to have been tended for days.
And his hut, too, looked like it hadn't been cleaned for a while.
A few muddy footprints on the floor hadn't been wiped up; dried Flobberworm feed and a few empty goblets were scattered across the table.
It looked as messy as he was.
The fire in the hearth had long since gone out; Fang lay dispirited by the door and, upon seeing Wesson, only wagged his tail slightly.
When Wesson arrived, Hagrid forced himself to his feet and brewed a pot of tea.
"The Ministry's already told Professor Dumbledore—they're about to take me away—I still can't believe it," Hagrid said to Wesson, his face a tangle of emotions. "They're actually takin' me for the Heir of Slytherin—do I look like that to you? And Aragog—that was don' know how many years ago."
Hagrid still seemed to think he was being taken away because of that old business.
In fact, Fudge knew perfectly well there was a ninety-nine per cent chance Hagrid wasn't the culprit.
He just needed a scapegoat to answer the pressure coming at him from all sides. And Hagrid happened to be the unlucky one who became that scapegoat.
Wesson didn't explain any of this to Hagrid.
He simply placed a small, black plaque on Hagrid's table.
A long, thin cord was tied to the top of the plaque.
"What's this?" Hagrid delicately pinched up the little black plaque with his thick fingers and brought it close to examine.
The plaque was etched all over with mysterious symbols he couldn't understand.
"This is what you said could help me hold off Dementors?" he asked, incredulous.
"That's right," Wesson nodded. "It's an amulet."
"How'm I supposed to use it?"
"Keep it in your pocket, or hang it round your neck."
At that, Hagrid immediately slipped it over his neck.
"Don't feel anythin'," he asked doubtfully. "Does it really work?"
"Of course," Wesson said, still cautioning him. "So long as you don't go out of your way to provoke those Dementors, they won't take the initiative to come near you. As for the effect—you don't need to worry."
Seeing the confidence on Wesson's face, Hagrid found a little of his own.
In truth, the amulet was certainly effective; Wesson had personally tested it before.
He had made a similar plaque a long time ago.
It was precisely because of that that he'd been able to slip past the omnipresent Dementors in Azkaban.
And this time, he had upgraded the amulet's materials.
The material came from the wood-core of lightning-struck timber from his own plantation.
In Eastern legend, lightning-struck wood wards off evil.
From a certain point of view, Dementors should count as something evil too.
Mm, probably...
In short, this amulet ought to help Hagrid.
"Thanks for yer help, Wesson," Hagrid said dully, though his face was still full of worry.
In early May, while Wesson was having tea with Hagrid, several uninvited guests arrived at the hut and took Hagrid away. After some mental preparation, Hagrid was very calm when he was led off.
He even temporarily entrusted Wesson with the work of gamekeeper and Keeper of Keys and Grounds at Hogwarts.
"Remember to feed Fang—once a day's enough," Hagrid, as he stepped out of the hut, did not forget to remind Wesson. "There's a unicorn in the Forbidden Forest what's hurt—its right foreleg's been bitten by somethin'. In a couple o' days you'll have to go check on it."
"And, Professor Dumbledore, don't you worry about me—I'll be fine. What matters most now is catchin' that monster in the castle... I believe everyone'll manage it soon enough... It's just stayin' a few days in a far-off place, that's all—nothin' much..."
After Hagrid left, Wesson turned his gaze to Dumbledore in the hut.
Dumbledore had come along with those uninvited guests.
At this moment Dumbledore stood in the hut's shadow; his expression didn't look good, and there was a hint of weariness in his brow.
Perhaps he had already negotiated with the Ministry several times, but to no avail.
"Tell me—" Dumbledore sighed. "Have I been a bit too soft?"
Wesson paused for a beat and spoke bluntly. "In fact, we both know that if you were willing, you could keep Hagrid here at any time."
A trifling Ministry could not dictate to Dumbledore.
After all, wizards speak with power.
As the most powerful wizard of the age, Dumbledore naturally had no fear of a mere Ministry. If he let the Ministry take Hagrid away, he must have been weighing more considerations.
On hearing Wesson's reply, Dumbledore's brows knit together.
After a moment, he slowly shook his head. "That I cannot do."
"Of course you can," Wesson said with certainty. "You simply don't wish to."
"Then do you think I should do so?" Dumbledore followed up.
"Don't ask me," Wesson spread his hands. "But if it were me, I certainly wouldn't let Hagrid leave Hogwarts."
"Nor do I wish it," Dumbledore sighed again. "Perhaps you're better suited than I am to be Headmaster of Hogwarts."
"Cough—cough—"
Wesson nearly choked.
"What did you say, Professor Dumbledore?"
Wesson looked up at Dumbledore and found the Headmaster eyeing him with a half-smile.
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