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A security line of magic had finally appeared outside the residential area. Just like the warden said, people kept casting Confundus Charms at it—whether to save a few seconds walking to the main gate, or just for fun. But, as Anthony noted, not a single dragon had attempted it yet.
Hagrid seemed to have forgotten all about the Chimaera. He left early each morning with the researchers, returning late to their shared quarters smelling of cold night air (or sometimes a smoky, boozy warmth), loudly and excitedly telling Anthony which dragon he planned to track tomorrow, or where the poachers might be camped out.
They'd planned to stay three or four days. But Hagrid clearly had fascinating, thrilling plans for every tomorrow, and the tomorrow after that, and the tomorrow after that. Anthony couldn't help feeling that dragging him away early would be as cruel as snatching a half-unwrapped Christmas gift from someone's hands.
Besides, his other roommates—the cat, the chicken, and the rat—had developed a new hobby: hunting the dragon model. The chicken handled the anti-air duties, the cat provided teeth, claws, and most of the tumbling furniture, and the rat was the fire marshal, preventing the model from igniting too many things that shouldn't be ignited. The plush rat from Professor McGonagall had the honor (or misfortune) of joining the hunt, usually acting as a sort of appetizer to lure the dragon in.
Anthony, as always, was on tea duty, door duty, reading-on-the-sofa duty, more door duty, Scourgify duty, and Reparo duty. Thanks to another of Professor McGonagall's Christmas gifts, he'd recently learned to conjure purely imaginary winged unicorns, though not very well—he swore he hadn't meant to think of a reddish-brown one. Those French Pegasi must have influenced him somehow.
He'd resigned himself to returning to Hogwarts on the first day of term. Then, before the holiday ended, an owl unexpectedly arrived at the window of his and Hagrid's quarters.
"Hey there," Anthony said, standing up to open the window for the grumpy-looking owl. It hopped inside, settling on the kitchen counter to preen. "Merry Christmas, a bit late. And Happy New Year, though that's tomorrow."
The owl clacked its beak irritably but accepted the water he poured into a teacup, extending one leg. A letter was tied there.
Parchment, green ink, russet ribbon, a familiar crest. From Hogwarts. Only one Hogwarts owl had ever tried flying through a dragon reserve before.
"People just don't know how to address mail to a dragon reserve, do they?" Anthony asked, reaching for the letter.
The owl clamped down hard on his finger. It wasn't even an attempt compared to the cat.
Anthony wiggled his finger in its beak—which was honestly a bit amusing, watching the owl's head wobble side to side—and protested, "I thought we were past this. Didn't you get those mice?"
The owl released him, gave him one quick, sharp peck, then permitted him to take the letter.
He unfolded it with a touch of curiosity, wondering who'd write now.
Dear Henry,
I hope this finds you well.
He glanced at the owl. It had grown bored with the teacup and was now perched on the tap, surveying the shared living space with a sharp eye. Anthony wasn't sure bread and dragon cheese was suitable owl hospitality, but it was all Hagrid had left this morning.
He read on.
I apologize for disturbing you at this time. I hope you and Hagrid are enjoying your holiday. However,—the ink grew heavier here, as if the writer was squeezing the quill—according to Charity, she has heard that Dolores Umbridge, the Senior Undersecretary, will be arriving at the school around January 3rd to… settle her office and bedroom, among other things.
A loud crash came from his room. Sounded like the undead dragon hunt was proceeding normally.
We thought it might be best to prepare for her arrival before she gets here, to… tidy up. The ink was deep, deliberate. Anthony saw tiny scrapes on the parchment. We would be most grateful if you could return to Hogwarts two or three days early. If not, that is perfectly fine. We merely felt you should be notified, so you are not overly surprised upon your return.
I am writing to all staff on holiday, trying to ensure everyone is prepared. Severus has returned, Filius never left. Pomona is visiting a master Herbologist in Africa. I have written, but am uncertain if she can adjust her overall plans.
We would, of course, be delighted if Hagrid agreed to return as well, but we understand long-distance travel is difficult for him. Please assure him we fully support him spending his entire holiday at the reserve. As long as he manages to appear at the school on the first day—presentably, I mean—I do not anticipate significant trouble. Please do not bring back anything requiring a permit.
Again, my sincerest apologies for this holiday interruption. Believe me, I take no pleasure in it.
Best wishes for a Merry Christmas and a Happy New Year,
Minerva
P.S. Please also do not bring back anything entirely illegal.
Anthony set the letter down.
The owl turned its head and hooted softly at him.
Anthony sighed. "No problem, Minerva. Return early. No souvenirs with question marks." As if Hogwarts was lacking in those.
For a castle housing Acromantulas, Chimaeras, and countless Dark Arts books hidden from the Ministry—thank goodness Hagrid had already made Sirius take that illegally-modified flying motorbike away—such warnings were truly reassuring.
"Oh, right," he said, looking down at the owl. "Since I'll be heading back to Hogwarts soon, would you prefer to… Apparate with me, or take some other magical transport…" The owl stared at him with round, unblinking eyes. "…Or do you fancy the thrill of flying solo through a dragon-infested sky again?"
The owl pecked him again the moment he finished. He guessed that answered that.
…
Hagrid returned at noon, preparing for the New Year's celebration.
"Phew, what a morning," he beamed, removing his hat and struggling out of his tight reserve leather jacket. "Found a type of moss. Andrea thinks it might help with dragon bellyaches. Saw two dragons—Elini and Lucas—eating some. Funny, you'd think they only ate meat. Oh, and Henry, you'll love this. Delmar promised to show us a reserve specialty tonight—a dragon-tail cocktail. 'Draketail,' he calls it. They're also playing a game like Exploding Snap, but better, 'cause the cards have different dragon breeds on 'em…"
He finally wrestled the jacket off, hung it on the hook by the door, and bent to untie his boots. Mid-sentence, he glanced sideways and froze. "Henry? What're you doin'?"
Anthony directed the last few books into his trunk and snapped the latches shut.
"Packing," Anthony said. "See the owl? Minerva wrote. I need to leave."
"What?" Hagrid exclaimed. "But it's New Year's Eve tonight. What's happened, Henry?"
Anthony said, "You know we're getting a Senior Undersecretary, right?"
"Heard about it," Hagrid nodded, straightening up with one foot still in a boot, the other on the rug. "So?"
"She's arriving around January 3rd," Anthony said, gesturing to the letter on the table. "Minerva thinks we should prepare early. I agree."
Hagrid kicked off his other boot and stomped over, grabbing the letter. His expression grew more and more puzzled.
"What's this mean?" he muttered. "Does Professor McGonagall want us back or not?"
Before Anthony could explain, Hagrid shook his head. "Anyway, Henry, she wants us back. Right?"
"Correct," Anthony said. "But she also gave us an out. The important part is the notification about Umbridge's arrival, and the warning not to make more trouble for ourselves or for Minerva. You can stay—you know I'm not as dragon-obsessed as you, I don't mind leaving early—"
Hagrid cut him off. "I'm comin' with you, Henry." He looked down at the thin letter again, reading aloud, "'I am writing to all staff on holiday…' I'm the Keeper of Keys and Grounds. That counts. Gotta go back an' get ready…" he mumbled, "…whatever that means."
"You know Minerva is perfectly fine with you staying. Everyone is," Anthony said. "We all saw how happy and excited you were about coming here."
"Suppose so," Hagrid scratched his head. "But I'm the Keeper of Keys and Grounds of Hogwarts." He repeated it, as if that settled everything.
Anthony smiled. "Well then, go pack, Hagrid. You can't leave without saying goodbye to the researchers, can you? Since the Christmas Floo cleaning is done, I'll ask Charlie if there's a faster way back to Britain than the way we came."
…
"A faster way?" Charlie said. "Sure. Barbara's wooden dragon needs its maximum range tested. We can at least get you to the border of the Hungarian reserve. With luck, maybe all the way to Britain—the Welsh Green sanctuary, possibly." He added doubtfully, "More likely it'll fall apart halfway, like the last few distance tests. Hope you both can swim."
Anthony's breath hitched.
"I can," Hagrid announced proudly.
Anthony said, "I… think I can." Well, he reasoned, a man couldn't die the same way twice.
"Brilliant. Barbara will be thrilled. She's been itching for a test run."
…
And that's how they found themselves standing before the wooden, creaking Romanian Longhorn, listening to Barbara's briefing.
Charlie said, "You swore it wouldn't explode like last time, Barbara. Swore you were sure no one swapped the party wine with the dragon-scent perfume."
Barbara said calmly, "My oath doesn't lower the probability of someone doing that. I can only guarantee I didn't."
"Are we making you miss the party too, Charlie?" Anthony asked, eyeing the massive construct. Every part was painted to mimic a real Longhorn, the twin horns even looking like solid gold.
"S'alright, I always lose at cards anyway," Charlie said. "Honestly, glad for an excuse—ha, Delmar's done for. Without me, he'll be the first one bitten by the dragon for sure."
"Wish 'im luck," Hagrid said thickly, eyes misty. "He's a good man, a good lad. I'll miss 'im…"
Barbara gave them a blank look and continued. "Anyway, every part has been treated with dragon-scent perfume. The 'invisibility' button is here. Not sure why it's a feature. Real dragons don't turn invisible. They're not Demiguises. But people asked for it."
"It'll be useful, Barbara. Thanks," Charlie said.
Barbara hummed noncommittally. "Let's see, what else… You'll all need saddles." She sized up the three of them, seeming to notice Hagrid's massive frame only now. She blinked. "Oh. Not sure. There should be a fitting size. For my dragon…"
She turned and vanished into her workshop.
"Oh, right, the dragon. Almost forgot," Charlie said, fishing in his pocket. "Here, Henry. A little souvenir."
"For me?" Anthony asked, surprised. "What is it?"
Charlie motioned for him to hold out his hand and placed the object in his palm.
"Oh," Anthony breathed, delighted. It was a tiny Romanian Longhorn model, gold-horned, black-and-green scaled, shrugging its wings in his palm and giving a miniature sneeze. Warm sparks drifted from its nostrils.
"And this," Charlie said. "For you, Hagrid."
He produced a model of a Norwegian Ridgeback, about the size Norbert had been at birth, but shaped more like the nearing-maturity dragon he was now.
Hagrid choked up. "Oh, Charlie…"
"We wanted to show how much we enjoyed having you here, so we got a custom model made," Charlie said over Hagrid's loud sniffling. "Heard you went looking for Norbert earlier to say goodbye. Didn't find him, did you? I know. Dragons are like that. But he's here. We researchers are here. And I'm sure we'll meet again, Hagrid. Pretty certain of it."
He patted Hagrid's elbow. Hagrid let out a loud, wet sob.
Barbara emerged from the workshop door, hauling three saddles. She looked at them, perplexed.
"It's alright, big fellow," she said in an uncharacteristically gentle tone. "Even if it doesn't fit, we can adjust it with an Engorgement Charm."
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