While the Ministry was processing Albert's request for a Time-Turner, the man currently tasked with guarding the school's boundaries was having a miserable week.
Rubeus Hagrid had been spending an unusual amount of time in the Forbidden Forest lately. It wasn't just for his usual duties as Gamekeeper. Hidden in a moss-covered cave deep within the shadows of the ancient trees was Fluffy—the three-headed Cerberus that Dumbledore had "borrowed" for a very specific purpose. Hagrid was the only one who could handle the beast, and bringing him buckets of steak and taking the massive dog for a midnight "walk" was the highlight of his day.
Fluffy was growing at a terrifying rate. He was already brushing against Hagrid's elbow, and by the time the summer heat hit the highlands, he'd be a fully-grown engine of destruction. Dumbledore had already made arrangements to ship him back to Greece once his "duty" at the school was over, and Hagrid was feeling the premature sting of a goodbye. He wanted these last few months to be peaceful.
The forest, however, refused to be peaceful.
On a Tuesday afternoon, Hagrid was trudging back from the cave with an empty iron bucket when he spotted a series of fresh, jagged scars on a cluster of rowan trees near the edge of the grounds. He ran a massive, calloused hand over the wood and sighed. The sap was still weeping.
"Blimey," he muttered. "Those rascals again."
He didn't need a detective to tell him what had happened. Fred and George Weasley had clearly been back, treating the Forbidden Forest like their personal firing range. The spell marks were haphazard—signs of a chaotic duel where trees were being used as tactical cover.
"I'm gonna trap 'em," Hagrid grumbled, hitting the trunk with a frustrated fist. "One week of scrubbin' the trophies. No, two weeks. Make 'em really feel it."
Hagrid's annoyance wasn't just about the rules. He knew that the more students treated the forest like a playground, the higher the chance someone would stumble upon the "monsters" Dumbledore wanted kept secret. If a rumor started spreading that there was a giant three-headed dog living five minutes from the Quidditch pitch, his quiet walks with Fluffy would be over.
For three days, Hagrid turned into a one-man surveillance team. He roamed the treeline with his binoculars, his boarhound Fang trailing behind with a confused expression. He even tried to set up a "stakeout" behind a large boulder, but every time he thought he saw a shimmer of a Disillusionment Charm or heard a muffled laugh, the forest would go silent. By the time he reached the spot, there was nothing but the scent of ozone and muddy footprints that vanished into thin air.
It was infuriating. He was certain Albert was the one providing the "getaway" tactics. The twins were clever, but they weren't "invisible-to-a-gamekeeper-in-his-own-woods" clever.
When Albert eventually strolled down to the hunting lodge on Friday afternoon, he found Hagrid sitting on his front step, staring at him with a look of deep, wounded resentment.
Even Albert, who usually had a skin thicker than a dragon's hide, felt a prickle of discomfort.
"Hagrid? You alright?" Albert asked, stopping a safe distance away. "You're looking at me like I just suggested we turn Fang into a hat. It's making the atmosphere a bit... heavy."
"Awkward, is it?" Hagrid snorted, leaning back against the rough timber of his hut. "Think about how awkward it is fer me, chasin' shadows all day. I know what you've been up to, Anderson. Don't think I don't see the 'planning' behind those two rascals."
"I have no idea what you're implying," Albert said, his face a mask of scholarly innocence. "We've been buried in the library. Easter is coming, Hagrid. The professors have decided that if we aren't crying over our parchment, we aren't learning. My mountain of homework is currently taller than Professor Flitwick."
"Really? Nothin' to do with the forest then?"
"Not a thing," Albert assured him, though his eyes twinkled just enough to be suspicious.
"Hmph. Well, you tell 'em," Hagrid grumbled, waving a rock cake in the air before taking a massive, bone-crunching bite. "I catch anyone—anyone—practicin' their aim in my woods, I'm goin' straight to McGonagall. No warnin's. I'm spent, Albert. I've got enough on my plate without playin' hide-and-seek with Gryffindors."
Albert leaned against the fence, his expression turning thoughtful. "You seem extra stressed, Hagrid. Is it just the twins, or is something else bothering you? Is Fluffy doing okay?"
Hagrid choked slightly on his rock cake, coughing up a shower of crumbs. "I... I don't know who you're talkin' about! Fluffy? Who's Fluffy? Sounds like a... a rabbit name."
"Hagrid, please. I'm not the Daily Prophet," Albert said softly. "I know the dog is still in the woods. I won't say a word to anyone who doesn't already know."
Hagrid slumped, his massive shoulders dropping. "Dumbledore's movin' him in the summer. Back to the sun in Greece. I'm gonna miss the big fella."
"I'm sure he'll miss your steak buckets too," Albert said. "But that's not why you're patrolling the edge of the forest with a crossbow, is it? You're worried about the Acromantulas."
Hagrid looked up, his eyes widening. "How'd you... you're like a bleedin' owl, Anderson. Nothin' gets past ya." He sighed, his voice dropping to a low, troubled rumble. "It's bad. Aragog's colony is in an uproar. Someone's been in there, Albert. Someone who isn't a student lookin' for a place to practice."
Albert's posture sharpened. "Poachers?"
"Aye," Hagrid said, his face dark with anger. "Aragog tells me a wizard's been huntin' his kin. Killin' the smaller ones, harvestin' their venom, and even stealin' the eggs. You know as well as I do that Acromantula eggs are Class A Non-Tradeable Goods. A single egg on the black market could fund a man's lifestyle for a year. And the venom... it's liquid gold."
Albert wasn't surprised. He knew the value of the materials, but he also knew the danger. Hunting Acromantulas in their own territory was like trying to steal honey from a hive of giant, sentient, carnivorous bees.
"Is that why you're keeping us out?" Albert asked. "Because the spiders are agitated?"
"They're more than agitated," Hagrid said, his voice trembling slightly. "They're lookin' for payback. They can't tell the difference between a poacher and a curious student. If Fred or George wandered into the wrong clearing right now... they wouldn't even have time to scream. Aragog can't control 'em all when they're this hungry for blood."
"Galleons make people do stupid things," Albert remarked. He looked toward the dark treeline, thinking about the wizard bold enough to take on a colony of giant spiders. "But Hagrid, you shouldn't be worried about the spiders. You should be worried about the wizard."
Hagrid blinked, confused. "Whadda ya mean? He's the one killin' 'em!"
"For now," Albert said calmly. "But Acromantulas are exceptionally vengeful. They have a collective memory. If this 'poacher' keeps pushing them, they'll set a trap. And honestly? If someone is willing to risk their life to harvest spider eggs, they've already accepted the possibility of being eaten. It's a high-risk, high-reward profession."
"But it's wrong!" Hagrid protested, slamming his fist into his palm. "Stealin' lives for gold... it's just wrong."
"I agree," Albert said, though his mind was already calculating. "But you can't protect a monster from a man, or a man from a monster, if they're both determined to kill each other. Just keep the students on the paths, Hagrid. If the poacher gets caught by the colony, that's his end. If the colony gets thinned out... well, it might actually make the forest safer for everyone else."
Hagrid scratched his bushy beard, looking deeply conflicted. He loved those spiders, even if everyone else saw them as a nightmare. "I s'pose you're right. Just... tell your friends. Tell 'em the forest is 'angry' right now. Maybe they'll listen to you."
"I'll pass it along," Albert said, turning to walk back toward the castle.
As he crossed the grounds, Albert's mind wasn't on the twins' safety. He was thinking about the poacher. A wizard capable of harvesting Acromantula venom alone was a wizard with significant skill—or a wizard with a very powerful master. He wondered if Professor Quirrell was finding the Albanian diet a bit lacking and needed some extra funds for his "travel expenses."
The game was definitely getting bigger. 🏰🌲🕷️