"I'm terribly sorry about all that." Hagrid's voice showed genuine distress as he maintained his position several meters away from the group, that enormous handkerchief which was more of a tablecloth by normal human standards pressed against his nose and mouth.
"I've got this awful allergy to cats, you see. Wasn't trying to use magic to drive you off or anything, I promise. It just... happens."
His eyes, visible above the cloth barrier, showed sincere guilt.
Ron, Harry, and Hermione exchanged skeptical glances at Hagrid's explanation.
They possessed enough understanding of how allergies and sneezes actually worked to recognize that what had just occurred violated several principles of biology and physics.
Sneezes, no matter how powerful, simply didn't function as launch systems capable of propelling objects—let alone people across hundreds of yards.
But Hagrid was, by nature and inclination, an honest soul who took things at face value.
If something happened in front of him, he accepted it as having happened and didn't waste energy questioning the underlying mechanisms.
So, when Tom had been blown away by his sneeze, Hagrid's conclusion was straightforward: his sneeze must possess unusual magical force, probably due to his giant heritage.
[Don't worry about it—this wasn't entirely your fault,]
Tom's whiteboard appeared with magnanimous dismissal and he waved his paw in a magnanimous sort of way.
He knew the actual truth of the situation, of course. Yes, Hagrid's sneeze had technically initiated the chain of events. But Tom's particular nature was what had transformed a normal push of air into a catastrophic launch sequence.
Under regular circumstances, Hagrid's sneeze would have been merely uncomfortable.
[Also, I should mention something important: you might be allergic to other cats, but you're definitely not allergic to me. I'm deeply different from regular cats.]
The whiteboard's text carried confident certainty.
[That sneeze just now? That only happened because you expected to have an allergic reaction. Your belief made it manifest. But I'm not actually an allergen for you.]
This was one of Tom's more unusual properties, even by his already unusual standards. As a deeply idealistic entity—a being whose existence operated according to cartoon logic and conceptual reality rather than strictly physical laws conventional biological responses like allergies simply didn't apply to him in normal ways.
More importantly, Tom possessed the kind of confidence that molded reality around him.
He was, in his own estimation and therefore in practical fact, universally appealing.
People loved Tom. Animals loved Tom. Even inanimate objects seemed to cooperate with Tom more readily than they did with others. The concept of anyone disliking him, let alone having a negative physical reaction to his presence was simply incompatible with his self-image.
And since Tom's self-image had the peculiar property of asserting itself onto reality when he believed in it strongly enough, allergies didn't stand much chance.
"Really?!" Hagrid's voice emerged muffled through the cloth but clearly carried hope mixed with uncertainty.
His eyes, visible above the makeshift mask, showed the expression of someone who desperately wanted to believe good news but feared disappointment. "Are you certain about that?"
But slowly, cautiously, he lowered the tablecloth-handkerchief. Just a few inches at first, exposing his mouth and chin while keeping it positioned for quick redeployment if his nose started itching. He waited, testing.
Nothing happened.
Emboldened by this initial success, he lowered the cloth completely and took a small, experimental breath through his nose. His large nostrils flared slightly as he drew in air that should by all his previous experience have triggered immediate uncomfortable tingling.
Nothing.
His nose didn't itch at all.
"Merlin's beard," Hagrid murmured, wonder coloring his voice as he took another breath and confirmed the absence of symptoms. "It really works? I'm not reacting at all?"
He took a tentative step closer to Tom, then another, moving with uncertainty. Still nothing—his nose remained completely calm, showing none of the warning signs that usually led a massive allergic episode.
"This is incredible! Absolutely incredible! I've never been able to get within ten feet of a cat without my nose going crazy." His face had transformed from anxious guilt to childlike delight. "But I can breathe normally! No itching, no sneezing, nothing! How is this possible? Is it because you're a magical creature rather than an ordinary cat?"
[Not exactly. It's more accurate to say I'm just a uniquely special existence,] Tom's whiteboard said with unmistakable pride. His posture shifted, head lifting high, chest puffed out, tail held at a jolly angle that screamed satisfaction with his own nature.
Hagrid blinked at this display of confidence, then his massive face split into the widest, most delighted smile any of them had seen yet.
"Oh, really? Well, you certainly are special! I've never met a cat quite like you—or any creature quite like you, come to think of it. You're a remarkable little fellow, you really are!"
His eyes had developed a particular gleam that Harry, Ron, and Hermione all recognized with varying degrees of alarm. It was the expression Hagrid got when encountering animals, he found fascinating which, given his taste in creatures, usually meant something dangerous, unusual, or both.
"You know," he continued, his voice taking on that dreamy tone that showed he was indulging pleasant fantasies, "I've always loved magical creatures. All kinds, but especially the rare and interesting ones!"
He sniffed slightly, his expression was shifting to regret.
"It's just this blasted nose of mine means I've never been able to get close to the Kneazles. I'd love to study them up close, maybe even care for one, but..." He trailed off.
[Hey, wait just a moment! Don't go lumping me in with them!] Tom's whiteboard appeared with almost aggressive speed. [I am ME. Other feline creatures are OTHER feline creatures. We are not interchangeable categories!]
The last thing Tom needed was Hagrid getting ideas about acquiring dangerous magical cats because interacting with Tom had given him false confidence about his allergy situation.
Kneazles sounded harmless by name, but with Hagrid's demonstrated taste in animals, they were probably carnivorous, territorial, and possessed some kind of toxic secretion or explosive temperament. Tom had no desire to be indirectly responsible for Hagrid filling his hut with hazardous kittens.
"Oh! Of course, you're absolutely right!" Hagrid hastily assured him, his hands raised in a pacifying gesture. "I would never confuse you with them. You're completely unique, one of a kind. Honestly, just being able to interact with you is wonderful enough. I'm perfectly satisfied with that—no need for anything else!"
Though Hagrid's phrasing carried unintended implications that made it sound vaguely like he was discussing a romantic relationship rather than animal appreciation, Tom chose to accept the sentiment graciously.
The important point was that Hagrid understood the distinction and wouldn't be importing dangerous creatures based on false assumptions.
Hagrid rubbed his hands together, a little bashfully. "Speaking of which—your name is Tom, right? Dumbledore mentioned you to me. A cat enrolled as a proper student this year. I was fascinated from the moment I heard about it, really wanted to meet you."
His smile widened, becoming more welcoming. "Anyway, what I'm trying to say is: if you ever need help with anything while you're at Hogwarts, or if you want to visit and maybe try some rock cakes—though Harry says they're like actual rocks, not sure why he'd say that—my door is always open. Anytime, day or night."
He hesitated slightly, then added with careful delicacy: "And if anyone ever... I mean, if any of the other students give you trouble or make you feel unwelcome because you're, well, different... you just come tell me, alright? I'll sort them out."
Though Hagrid's phrasing was vague and cautious, his meaning came through clearly enough. Tom understood immediately what he was really offering.
Tom suspected Hagrid himself had probably spent his own school days experiencing discrimination and exclusion because of his nature, and was now quietly offering a fellow outsider his protection.
[Don't worry about that—I'm a Hufflepuff!]
Tom's tail swished with confident satisfaction.
Besides, Tom thought with lack of modesty, even outside Hufflepuff, very few students would actually dislike him. Who could resist a cute, friendly, remarkably talented cat? He was adorable and charming. The combination was essentially foolproof.
Well, except Slytherin, perhaps, being the obvious exception.
[Though if you really want to help, you could invite us inside properly! Standing out here in the cold isn't the most comfortable arrangement.]
"Oh! Yes, of course, where are my manners!" Hagrid fumbled with the door, pushing it open. "Come in, come in, all of you! Get inside and warm up!"
The interior of the hut was humble but full of life.
The furnishings were sparse and practical rather than decorative. Various smoked meats hung from the ceiling rafters.
The floor bore a worn carpet that had clearly seen years of heavy use, its original pattern was long since obscured by accumulated dirt and wear. Against one wall stood an enormous bed that seemed funnily oversized until you remembered Hagrid's height—for him, it was probably perfectly sized.
The bedding showed multiple patches and repairs, suggesting it had been maintained and reused for many years.
The hut possessed no proper fireplace despite the cold, which seemed like a significant oversight until you noticed the large, ancient-looking fire pit in the center of the room.
It served as the sole source of heat. The primitive heating method suited Hagrid's rustic lifestyle but probably made the space rather chilly on winter nights.
In one corner sat Fang, Hagrid's enormous black boarhound. He had been watching the door with a formidable scowl, all bristled fur and bared teeth until he spotted Harry, at which point he transformed instantly into a shaggy cannonball and launched himself across the room to thoroughly wash Harry's face with his tongue.
"Fang! Down! Let me breathe!" Harry's protest emerged muffled and laughing, his hands were pushing ineffectively at the enormous dog's chest.
Then Fang noticed Tom.
The boarhound froze mid-enthusiasm, his entire body went still. His ears pinned back against his skull—not aggressively, but with the body language of confusion and uncertainty. A low, rumbling whine emerged from his throat, carrying none of the warning or territorial challenge typical of dogs encountering cats.
Tom, who'd been half-expecting Fang to charge at him the way Spike the bulldog used to charge was surprised by this hesitation. The dog wasn't angry or aggressive. He seemed confused.
The whine seemed to be communicating a question: 'Why is this cat walking on two legs?'
As Fang stared, processing this, something seemed to click in his brain. If the cat could do it, maybe he could too! The logic was simple and direct.
He reared up on his hind legs, front paws scrabbling against Harry for balance, his entire body was trembling with effort as he tried to maintain the unnatural posture. His expression showed intense concentration.
Unfortunately for Fang's ambitions, his body architecture simply wasn't designed for bipedal locomotion. Dogs possessed spines and hip structures optimized for four-legged movement. Standing upright required fighting against his entire evolutionary heritage.
He lasted approximately three seconds before toppling back onto the floor with a dignified thump.
But rather than showing frustration or giving up, Fang's tail immediately began wagging with enthusiasm. He dropped to the floor beside Tom's feet, rolled onto his side, and looked up at the blue cat with eyes that radiated hopeful admiration, releasing soft, friendly barks that carried obvious meaning even without translation: That was amazing! Will you teach me? Can I learn to be like you?
"Fang, I told you not to—oh, well look at that!" Hagrid had been the last to enter, closing the door behind him.
Hearing Fang's excited barking, he'd expected to find his dog causing trouble or making threatening displays toward the cat visitor. Instead, he witnessed this scene of peculiar interspecies admiration.
His face split into a delighted grin as he approached to ruffle Fang's ears affectionately. "Usually, you raise such a fuss when cats are around—all that barking and carrying on. Why are you being so well-behaved today? I think he really likes you, Tom. Don't you, Fang?"
[Actually, I think he mostly wants to know how I manage to walk on two legs like a human,] Tom's whiteboard appeared with somewhat bewildered expression.
His ears could pick up Fang's continued pleading—the dog was quite literally begging Tom to share the secret of bipedal locomotion, apparently convinced this was a learnable skill rather than a difference in their natures.
"Ha! Fang wants to walk on two legs? Silly dog!" Hagrid moved to prepare tea, his massive hands were handling the kettle with surprising delicacy despite their size.
He glanced at Tom while measuring out tea leaves. "Don't pay him too much attention—he'll lose interest in five minutes. That's just how he is, gets excited about things but never follows through."
He began pouring tea into cups that, while appropriately sized for Hagrid's hands, looked more like serving bowls to the students. The rock cakes came out next—hard, lumpy objects that lived up to their name in ways Hagrid apparently didn't fully appreciate.
[Maybe. Though I think his interest in walking upright has more to do with wanting to be closer to you emotionally than any actual fascination with the mechanics.]
Tom accepted his oversized teacup and a rock cake, nodding thoughtfully.
As soon as Hagrid had spoken, Fang had immediately whined with wounded dignity that learning to walk on two legs was absolutely not a passing fancy. He simply wanted to be nearer to Hagrid. That was all.
Whether this declaration was his genuine feeling or desperate face-saving after being called out, Tom couldn't determine. He could understand animal speech, but he couldn't read minds or hearts.