The path to Hagrid's hut was damp with dew and heavy silence. The twilight had settled low across the grounds like a blanket of ash, muffling the sounds of the castle. A few distant windows still glowed with warm candlelight, but here, near the edge of the Forbidden Forest, there was only the faint hoot of an owl and the occasional rustle of wind through the trees.
Cael approached the familiar crooked hut slowly. Smoke was curling weakly from the chimney, and Fang's heavy barking echoed once before falling into a long, whimpering silence.
He knocked once.
No answer.
He knocked again, softer this time.
Finally, after a long pause, the door creaked open just a few inches. Hagrid stood there, his massive frame hunched over more than usual, eyes red and rimmed with exhaustion. A handkerchief the size of a tablecloth was clutched in one hand, limp and soaked.
"Oh," he mumbled, his voice hoarse. "It's you, Cael…"
"Can I come in?" Cael asked gently.
Hagrid didn't answer—just stepped aside and let him through.
Inside, the hut was dim, lit only by a flickering oil lamp on the table. Buckets of raw meat sat untouched in the corner. A teapot steamed softly, forgotten. Fang was curled up by the fire, his eyes following Cael with mild curiosity.
Cael sat down across the table, hands folded in front of him. "I heard what happened."
Hagrid sniffled into his sleeve. "It's all my fault. I should've never brought 'em out first day of lessons. Should've known better than ter trust Malfoy not to stir trouble…"
"You don't need to blame yourself for his arrogance," Cael said calmly. "You gave them clear instructions. Everyone saw it."
"Aye," Hagrid muttered, rubbing his temple. "But tha' doesn't matter, does it? He's a Malfoy. His father's got the ear o' the Board. Now they're talkin' inquiry, disciplinary hearing… Might even take Buckbeak away. And I—I barely just started!"
There was a long pause. Cael looked at the fireplace, watching the amber embers crackle gently. Then, he said, "Do you know how many accidents happened under the last professors before you?"
Hagrid looked up slowly.
"The Defense Against the Dark Arts teachers," Cael went on. "Quirrell brought a cursed turban with a face growing out the back of his skull and let a troll into the castle. Lockhart almost erased Harry's and Ron's memories permanently—not to mention he obliviated half the people who ever asked for help."
Hagrid stared at him, surprised.
"And those are just the big ones," Cael added with a small smile. "One professor nearly turned a student's lungs into gills for two days. Another brought in cages of hinkypunks that set fire to the drapes. You brought a hippogriff. You taught them respect. And the only injury happened because someone refused to listen."
Hagrid blinked hard, his massive hands fidgeting with the edge of the table. "But… I ain't a real professor. Not like the others."
Cael leaned in a little. "You know what makes a real professor, Hagrid? It's not how clean your robes are. Or how many books you've published. It's when students walk away from your class knowing something they didn't know before—and wanting to know more. You gave them that today."
Hagrid was silent for a long time.
Then, in a low voice, he said, "Buckbeak didn't mean no harm. Jus' felt insulted. Poor beast's proud. Like me dad used to say—creatures feel what we do. They know when they're bein' mocked."
"I know," Cael said softly. "He was just defending his pride."
Hagrid wiped at his eyes with his sleeve. "You're a good lad, Cael. A proper one. Not many would come out here this late to talk sense into a broken man."
"You're not broken, Hagrid," Cael replied. "You're just bruised. And bruises heal."
There was a thick moment of quiet between them, filled only by the crackle of firewood and the snore of Fang.
Then Hagrid poured Cael a mug of lukewarm tea, his hands trembling only slightly. "Thanks," he mumbled. "I'll try to keep my chin up."
"Do more than try," Cael said with a faint smile. "Prove Malfoy wrong. Hold the next class. Teach them something brilliant. Show them you're not afraid."
Hagrid gave a slow, deep nod. "Aye. I'll do that."
Cael stood, giving the half-giant a respectful nod before turning for the door.
Outside, the moon had risen over the treetops, pale and watchful. The grass shimmered with early frost. Cael slipped his hands into his pockets and walked slowly back toward the castle, knowing full well what lay ahead—for Buckbeak, for Hagrid, and for Harry.
But maybe, just maybe… he had tilted the scales. Just enough.