Time: Late July, 1991
Location: A small cabin on a deserted beach outside London.
Scene: A stormy night, with heavy rain, roaring winds, and flashes of lightning.
This desolate stretch of beach rarely saw visitors. But tonight, it hosted an unlikely pair. One was a towering man, standing well over two and a half meters tall, with limbs like tree trunks and a face obscured by a wild thicket of beard. The other was a much smaller figure—a young boy cradling a black cat in one arm and holding a crooked black umbrella in the other. His long black hair hung damply around his face, and his exposed right eye gleamed with irritation as he surveyed the muddy surroundings.
With a disdainful glance at the mud clinging to his silver-toed boots, the boy's voice was cold and sharp as he spoke.
"Rubeus Hagrid, my patience has its limits. I agreed to help Dumbledore protect that foolish Philosopher's Stone, but I never consented to playing babysitter to some Muggle boy. That, as you well know, is your job."
The giant, none other than Hogwarts' Keeper of Keys and Grounds, Rubeus Hagrid, glanced awkwardly at his smaller companion, Nolan Von Draugr. Hagrid was well aware of Nolan's reputation—at Hogwarts, very few didn't know the name. Why the great Dumbledore had entrusted a first-year graduate with guarding the Philosopher's Stone was a mystery to him, but when it came to the headmaster's decisions, Hagrid didn't question.
In truth, most wizards didn't question Dumbledore. Such was his authority that even his most eccentric choices were accepted without complaint. This unquestioning trust, however, had become a growing source of pressure for Cornelius Fudge, the newly appointed Minister for Magic. But Fudge's troubles were a matter for another time.
For now, Hagrid had his own discomfort to deal with. His trip away from Hogwarts came with two tasks: the primary mission, of course, was transporting the Philosopher's Stone—the most valuable magical artifact in existence—safely to the castle. The secondary, far less glamorous task was collecting a young wizard who had been living outside the magical world for the past eleven years.
This second task, in Nolan's words, amounted to "playing nanny."
Hagrid stood in the downpour without opening the patched umbrella in his hand. Rain splashed off his bushy beard and soaked his tattered fur coat, though it seemed neither the beard nor the coat absorbed the water. It was as though his beard served as a natural rainshield.
Shifting uneasily, Hagrid finally said, "Harry's not a Muggle boy, yeh know that, Draugr. His parents were two of the finest Gryffindors of their time, and Harry's the savior of the wizarding world…"
"Stop." Nolan cut him off mercilessly. "I refuse to believe the entirety of wizarding Britain owes its salvation to an infant. As far as I'm concerned, he's nothing more than a lucky child who had the good fortune of a capable mother. Beyond that, he's just a boy with no real value. Maybe he inherited James Potter's talent for flying—who knows? Of course, Dumbledore seems to think otherwise."
"Oh… Harry'll be special, I'm sure of it. Maybe Dumbledore's hopin' you can teach him a thing or two? Everyone says you're the most gifted young wizard in decades. By the way, Draugr, have you heard from Eve over the summer?"
"Eve?" Nolan raised an eyebrow. "Eve Stock? No. I haven't seen her, nor has she sent me any owls."
"She's a hardworking, kind lass," Hagrid said thoughtfully. "Helps me keep my place tidy sometimes. Yeh know, most of the young wizards avoid my hut—they say it smells worse than a stable."
"She's hardworking, yes, but not kind," Nolan retorted coolly. "Eve only shows kindness to those who are good to her. She lacks friends, Hagrid. If you're willing to be her friend, I'll be grateful. But don't, under any circumstances, develop an appetite for her."
Having delivered this biting remark, Nolan stepped forward, clearly done with the dismal surroundings.
Hagrid stood frozen in place for a moment, before bellowing indignantly, "What? Take that back! I don't eat people!"
"Who knows?" Nolan replied, his tone indifferent as he reached a closed wooden door and pushed against it. The door refused to budge.
The storm raged on, lightning streaking across the sky as thunder boomed, drowning out Hagrid's frustrated growls.
The door was locked—naturally. Unlike the tales of idyllic utopias, no one in Britain left their doors open overnight. The country's sense of security and social trust wasn't quite so robust.
Nolan exchanged a glance with the puffing and panting Hagrid, who had finally caught up. The half-giant grinned sheepishly and reached for his crooked black umbrella. "Leave it to me! Alohomora!"
The battered umbrella wobbled as though it had a mind of its own, but the lock remained stubbornly unmoved.
Nolan watched the attempt with an almost pitying expression, his voice dripping with quiet sarcasm. "I thought they snapped the longest idiot wand of the century in two when they expelled you from Hogwarts."
Hagrid froze for a moment before breaking into an awkward laugh. "Well, they forgot to take the pieces back, didn't they?"
"So, this counts as recycling waste?" Nolan quipped, shaking his head and gesturing dismissively. "Step aside, big guy."
Before Hagrid could respond, Nolan raised his right leg and drove it forcefully into the wooden door. Crash! The door burst apart in a spectacular explosion of splinters, the metal lock twisted beyond recognition by the sheer force of his kick.
The room's occupants erupted into a chorus of screams, but Nolan and Hagrid paid no attention. They entered as casually as though they were visiting neighbors—Hagrid hunched over to squeeze through the doorway, his massive frame scraping against the ceiling. Inside, the shabby cabin housed four people: a fat man and his equally pig-like son, a horse-faced woman, and a boy wearing tattered clothes.
Nolan's sharp senses picked up an unusual trace of magic from the small boy, but he kept quiet. Instead, he nodded toward Hagrid. "Finish your job quickly. We don't have much time to waste."
Hagrid shook the raindrops from his beard and stooped further into the room to avoid banging his head against the low ceiling. "Terrible weather, ain't it? Mind gettin' us a cuppa tea? Maybe a bit o' chocolate? Kids as young as Draugr here usually like chocolate."
"I never eat that sort of thing," Nolan murmured, his voice low and cold. "But I do collect the cards from Chocolate Frogs. Miles told me that if you're lucky, you can get cards featuring famous vampires from history—like Vlad the Impaler or Bluebeard. I haven't found a single one yet, though."
"Oh, Draugr," Hagrid chuckled, "Chocolate Frog vampire cards are rare as legends. You'd need luck—or a mountain o' Galleons—to get yer hands on one."
For a long moment, the four inhabitants of the house stared in stunned silence, their faces pale and bewildered. Then the fat man's complexion turned an angry shade of crimson. Grabbing a rifle, he pointed it shakily at the intruders, his voice trembling with outrage.
"You're trespassing! I demand you leave immediately! Right now!"
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