Chronicles of Camelot

Padfoots return

Following the acceptance of his offer from the twins, Harry recalled Hagrid's invitation to an evening meeting; once again escorted by his fellow Holy Knights, Harry made his way across the grounds and down towards Hagrid's hut, their new Care Professor smiling happily as he saw them standing there.

"I was wondering if yeh had changed yer mind," Hagrid commented, inviting the three inside, Harry barely getting across the threshold before Fang bounded over to him, licking his face and making himself comfortable at Harry's feet.

"How's Buckbeak?" asked Harry calmly, stroking Fang and helping himself to tea that Hagrid had provided; as always, Harry pretended to accept one of Hagrid's infamous rock cakes.

"He's much better thanks ter yer bonding with 'im 'Arry," Hagrid answered, Neville and Hermione watching as Harry seemed to grow comfortable with something normal returning to his routine. Hagrid had been his friend for years now and, despite the lack of faith that the Holy Knight of Thunder had in Dumbledore, his friendship with Hagrid would never change.

"I'm glad," Harry answered, his eyes watching the windows as he added, "I hope you don't mind my sense of worry for him Hagrid; it's just I'm concerned that Malfoy may try something and use his Daddy's money to get Buckbeak put down."

"Never!" growled Neville, suddenly rising to his feet, his cup of tea smashing on the floor. Seeing such ferocity in the Holy Knight of Fire, Harry was about to ask the meaning when Neville beat him to the punch, "Buckbeak is your familiar Harry and, other than being the Heir of Gryffindor and the Last Pure Knight of the Elemental Order, you're…well, you: if Malfoy manages to get away with it, I'll fry his so-called perfect hair-style to a crisp."

The flames in Hagrid's fireplace flickered dangerously, but Harry couldn't help but agree with Neville: he had too many accolades to his name for anyone to have the balls to challenge him.

'Now if I could only silence the Dead Man Walking of that fact,' Harry thought, his hand now practically ironing Fang's black fur as he tried to ignore the feelings within him known to the others as the Oncoming Storm.

To distract himself, Harry decided to go for the main reason he had come down here, "Hagrid, can you be honest with me?"

"Of course I can 'Arry," Hagrid answered, "Yeh may 'ave been in the wrong place at the wrong time before, but now yer one of them 'Oly Knights, I'll tell yeh anything that yeh want to know."

"Then can you honestly tell me," Harry requested, "What your personal opinion is of Albus Dumbledore and what you think about the escaped Azkaban prisoner?"

"If yeh mean Black," Hagrid answered, "Then I can only say that 'e would never harm an 'air on yeh head 'Arry: 'e's about as loyal to yeh as Fang is ter me. As fer what yeh be askin' me bout Dumbledore: I'm gonna need yeh to keep this silent."

"Okay," Harry nodded, Hermione and Neville moving closer to their comrade as he waited for his answer.

"Personally," Hagrid answered, "I don't think he's the great man I thought 'im to be; yeh see 'Arry, he's the one that left yeh with those Muggles after Lily and James were killed. When I saw 'ow yeh were bein' treated by them, I felt strangely angry and doubted Dumbledore's orders; ever since that day, I've never really believed in 'im, and now that yeh be askin' about him, I can finally tell yeh the truth."

"I see," Harry remarked, "Thanks Hagrid: that means everything to me and I also thank you for your opinion in Black: what I don't really understand is what it is about him that makes people so protective of me?"

"Now that," Hagrid replied, "Is something that I think 'e should tell yeh himself 'Arry and…wha's that noise?"

Harry had heard it too: drawing Excalibur from his belt, Harry raced out of Hagrid's hut and down to the paddock where Buckbeak was now living, his front end reared up in rage and anger, a cowering, groaning figure at the beast's feet.