"Perhaps I should plant my green onions here. They never see the sun underground, and they've been wilting lately." The sight of the small, haphazard vegetable patch—a defiant splash of green against the wilderness—instantly brightened Anduin's mood. It reminded him of the self-sufficiency he prized. He quickened his pace toward the looming, squat silhouette of the hut.
"Hagrid! Hagrid! Are you there?" Anduin called out, his voice slightly muffled by the wind coming off the lake.
The heavy, dark wooden door creaked open, revealing Hagrid, who stooped low to emerge from the low threshold. The Gamekeeper looked genuinely downcast, his shaggy eyebrows furrowed. But the moment he spotted the student, his colossal face brightened.
"Anduin, it's been too long, lad! Come in, come in!" Hagrid's booming voice managed to be both loud and gentle. He ushered Anduin inside, providing the first comprehensive view of his inner sanctum.
Hagrid's hut was a single, immense room, a reflection of its owner's scale and chaotic charm. The ceiling was low but wide, and from its beams hung a glorious, chaotic tapestry of preserved meats: dark, smoky hams, lengthy coils of sausage, and the iridescent plumage of pheasants.
All the furniture was scaled up to monumental proportions. A gigantic wooden table and chairs dominated the space before a roaring fireplace, which was large enough to roast a small cow.
In one corner, a colossal bed, covered by a heavy patchwork quilt, looked like a small hill. Beside it, coats and various tools—hammers, a heavy axe, and specialized gardening shears that could lop off a tree branch—hung haphazardly.
Near the single, overstuffed sofa sat a massive hunting bow and the incongruous, bright pink umbrella, which Anduin instantly recognized as the probable casing for Hagrid's banned wand—a symbol of disguised, raw magical power.
"Hagrid, your house is small in structure, but it's magnificent in scale," Anduin remarked, smiling. He wasn't just being polite; he was cataloging. The hut was a testament to raw, unrestrained living, a safe haven at the edge of the known world.
"Haha, what's so wonderful about this humble shack? You could fit my entire house in one of the Great Hall's alcoves! Tell me, what great quest brings you all the way out here today?" Hagrid scratched his bushy beard shyly, indicating for Anduin to take a seat.
"I've been meaning to call on you for a while. Starting school has kept me preoccupied, but I had some free time, and frankly, I needed a change of scenery," Anduin said with a genuine grin. He placed a large, slightly heavy linen bag of spices onto the giant wooden table and clambered onto one of the massive chairs.
"Welcome, Anduin. I didn't even get a chance to properly welcome ye at the Sorting," Hagrid smiled warmly. It was then, seeing Anduin properly seated under the light filtering through the small window, that the Gamekeeper's eyes fixed on the emerald and silver crest on the robes. "Oh, my heavens, Anduin, how did you end up in Slytherin House? I never even noticed!"
"Yes, it was quite the curveball, wasn't it? I was rather surprised when the Hat shouted out the choice, too." Anduin maintained his practiced, slightly bewildered expression. The internal memory of the Hat's cold, calculated assessment still grated on him.
"But I distinctly recall you telling me you weren't from a wizarding lineage. It's hardly common to find Muggle-borns, or even half-bloods, in that House," Hagrid continued, his voice heavy with surprise.
"That's the exact question I've been asking, Hagrid. The choice felt... arbitrary," Anduin replied, leaning forward conspiratorially. He decided to spin the story, making it sound less like a calculated placement and more like an accident—a necessary narrative to deflect the suspicion that comes with being a Muggle-born Slytherin.
"You know, the Hat spent a good five minutes debating where to put me. It made it perfectly clear that I possessed qualities for almost every House. But after what felt like a rather intense internal argument with me, that dreadful hat simply forced me into Slytherin. I don't think it could possibly have known about my background. If you ask me, I must have rubbed the old thing the wrong way somehow!" Anduin's performance was perfect: a mixture of annoyed disbelief and youthful complaint.
Hagrid's eyes widened further, his head close to the table. "Good heavens, a grudge against the Hat? But they say the Sorting Hat is never wrong. Did you... did you perhaps threaten to tear it apart in your head?" he asked with genuine, wide-eyed concern, handing Anduin a massive, crude mug of water.
Does mentally planning the dissection of an antique magical object count as tearing apart? Anduin mused silently. "Something like that, Hagrid. I was rather impatient."
"Have those pure-blood bullies in Slytherin given you any trouble since you arrived? They are the most tedious people; so many Dark wizards and Death Eaters come from that House. You need to be extra careful in the future," Hagrid warned, his eyes searching Anduin's face with paternal anxiety.
Anduin recognized this was Hagrid's simple way of warning him against falling to the Dark Arts. He offered a practiced reassurance.
"I've mostly kept to myself and the libraries, Hagrid. I only leave the dungeons for classes. Don't worry; I'm steering clear of any trouble." Anduin paused, executing a perfect conversational pivot. "By the way, enough of my dull school life. Look what I brought for you." He changed the subject to the one area where he held absolute, unmatched expertise: Muggle cuisine.
"Inside this bag, I have an arsenal of spices: smoked paprika, five-spice powder, whole cumin seeds, black sesame paste, and real, imported soy sauce. I am already utterly bored of the repeated menus in the Great Hall. I saw all the amazing produce you're growing outside—how about I repay you for that wonderful dragon liver by cooking up a few dishes for us to sample?" Anduin spoke with the focused intensity of a master chef, and Hagrid's eyes lit up like the Fourth of July.
Hagrid remembered the dragon liver. He remembered the incredible richness, the unexpected tenderness, and the complex, smoky heat—a flavor profile that dwarfed the simple roasted meats he usually consumed. That memory was a powerful hook.
"Brilliant! You've got perfect timing! I've got some wonderful stuff in here lately," Hagrid exclaimed, rising excitedly and moving toward a huge, dark wooden cupboard wedged in the corner. He threw open the door, revealing the chilling interior, which was clearly kept cold by a powerful, persistent Ice Charm.
"Look at this, Professor Kettleburn gave me these cuts a few days ago: a massive rack of Tepo Wild Boar chops and a colossal haunch of the leg meat," Hagrid said, gesturing proudly at the meat.
Anduin was genuinely stunned. Not only was the portion massive—the pork chop slab and the leg combined easily exceeded the size of an average Muggle pig—but the very nature of the meat was intimidating.
The flesh was a deep, almost purple-red, laced with thick, silvered streaks of fat. It looked dense, fibrous, and powerfully muscled. It was clearly from a magical creature that lived a very violent, active life.
"Magic beast meat again? Is this even safe to eat?" Anduin asked, his mind already calculating the internal structure of the cells.
"Aye, perfectly fine! It's tougher than your regular pork, mind you, but perfectly safe. I was planning on salting the leg to make a ham, and the chops were for feeding my new dogs. Professor Kettleburn's Swallowtail Dog had a litter of pups, and he's promised me one. I'll collect it once it's properly weaned, and then I'll have a new member of the family."
He's planning to feed this magnificent, monstrous cut of magical creature flesh to a dog? Anduin thought, a faint flicker of annoyance crossing his face. This was not just a case of simple ignorance; it was culinary heresy.
This was not Versailles; this was a complete, blissful disregard for the quality of the ingredients at hand. The meat of a Tepo Wild Boar—a creature known for its powerful, magically resistant hide and aggressive nature—was likely dense with unique properties.
"Hagrid, we are absolutely not feeding this to the dogs, not yet. This is an unparalleled opportunity. That meat needs specific preparation, but it will be magnificent," Anduin declared, climbing off the chair and approaching the monstrous cuts. "The Tepo Boar has powerful muscles, which is why it's so tough. Simple roasting would make it rubbery. But we can turn its strength into tenderness."
He began to outline his plan, gesturing wildly with a chopping action. "We will take the shoulder and leg meat, the most fibrous parts, and grind it down. Not thinly, but coarsely. We will use a special Muggle technique to break down the muscle fibers and bind them with the fat. We're making Tepo Wild Boar Meatballs."
Hagrid's eyes gleamed at the concept. "Meatballs? With that?"
"Precisely. Meatballs that are moist, flavor-packed, and perfectly tender. But I need your largest pestle and mortar—or rather, a proper grinding surface." Anduin looked at the immense, crude iron tools hanging near the fireplace.
Hagrid produced a chopping block that looked like a slice of ancient redwood and a cleaver the size of a shovel.
For the next two hours, the hut was filled with the rhythmic sound of heavy chopping. Anduin, standing on a sturdy footstool to get enough height, worked the cleaver like a mad surgeon, slowly breaking down the boar's tough flesh into manageable chunks, using Hagrid's incredible strength occasionally to deal with stubborn bone-in pieces.
"We need the grind to be coarse, Hagrid. No dainty minced meat here. Coarse texture is key to capturing the gamey flavor of the Tepo Boar," Anduin directed, his brow furrowed with concentration.
Once the meat was coarsely chopped, Anduin began the preparation. He mixed the ground boar with finely chopped onions from Hagrid's garden, a generous amount of the smoky Tepo fat, and the secret ingredient: a potent, concentrated sesame paste he had brought, mixed with the soy sauce and a hint of the pungent five-spice powder.
"The sesame paste binds the moisture, and the soy sauce provides the salt and umami. The five-spice is complex enough to challenge the powerful, wild flavor of the boar," Anduin explained, kneading the mixture with professional care. He had to use half of Hagrid's massive wooden wash basin to mix the colossal volume of meat.
He then began to roll the mixture into spheres the size of snitches, dropping them into a massive, bubbling iron cauldron of hot water that Hagrid kept suspended over the fire.
"We boil them briefly to set the shape, then we will finish them in a rich broth with those bay leaves and a touch of chili," Anduin instructed. The aroma that began to waft through the hut was magnificent: wild and smoky from the Tepo meat, yet mellowed and deepened by the exotic Muggle spices.
Finally, after hours of work, the Tepo Wild Boar Meatballs—a feast fit for a king, let alone a dog—were complete. They were dark, firm, and glistening with a thick, savory gravy.
Hagrid sat expectantly at the table, his eyes shining. "I've never smelled anything like it, Anduin. It's got a... a sophistication I don't usually get out here."
Anduin plated a generous portion for Hagrid, along with some freshly steamed pumpkin that Hagrid had grown. "Try this, Hagrid. This is what skill and unique ingredients can achieve when magic meets Muggle technique."
Hagrid took a single, enormous meatball and bit into it. The silence in the hut was absolute, broken only by the crackle of the fire. The dense, fibrous Tepo meat, which should have been like leather, had been transformed. It was perfectly tender, dissolving on the tongue, its intense game flavor amplified and balanced by the earthy richness of the sesame and the mysterious, warming depth of the five-spice.
Hagrid slowly chewed, his massive hand clutched around his mug. A tear, large as a walnut, rolled down his cheek and into his beard.
"That's… that's the best thing I've ever put in my mouth, Anduin," he whispered, his voice thick with emotion. "Even better than the dragon liver, if I'm honest. It feels like a hug for the soul."
Anduin smiled, feeling the satisfying warmth of a complex transaction completed. He had just exchanged a few common Muggle spices for an enormous amount of goodwill, confirming his value to the Gamekeeper not through magic, but through unique expertise. Hagrid was now officially indebted, and Anduin knew exactly how he would cash in that favour later.
The raw power of the boar, refined by Muggle technique. It was a perfect metaphor for his own life.
"I have plenty of spices left, Hagrid. I'll visit again soon, and maybe next time we can explore what that giant leg of ham could become," Anduin offered, reaching for a meatball of his own. The connection was now cemented, built on a foundation of shared secrets and spectacular food.
With a trusted, yet simple, ally secured on the outskirts of the castle, what is the first piece of information Anduin will seek from Hagrid, and what will he discover in Lily's hidden Charm Club book?