Harry Potter : Cael Vale’s journey to Hogwarts

It was a typical Friday night in Hogsmeade—the only wizarding village in Britain—and the pub known as The Hog's Head was as noisy and shady as ever.

The dim little building, tucked off the main street, smelled of smoke, wet cloaks, and stale ale. A few regulars hunched over their drinks, keeping their heads down, while Aberforth Dumbledore, the barman and brother of the famous Albus, wiped down the counter with a rag that didn't look particularly clean.

At a corner table sat Hagrid, already two pints deep into his evening. His massive form took up nearly the whole space, his shaggy hair and beard blending into his fur-lined coat. His cheeks were flushed, and he held a heavy mug of ale in one hand, grinning as he chatted with a group of passing villagers about Thestrals and the proper care of Blast-Ended Skrewts.

Hagrid often came here to unwind. Unlike the Three Broomsticks, the Hog's Head was quiet, dark, and full of folks who didn't ask too many questions—just the way he liked it.

"Yer sure ya don' wanna hear 'bout Manticores?" Hagrid asked cheerily as the last of the villagers made their excuses and left him to his ale. "Fascinatin' creatures—bit dangerous though…"

His words trailed off as someone approached his table—a tall figure, wrapped in a dark cloak, the hood casting their face in shadow.

"Mind if I sit?" the stranger asked, voice low and smooth.

Hagrid shrugged good-naturedly. "'Course not, always happy fer some company."

The stranger slid into the chair opposite him, ordering a drink with a quiet gesture toward Aberforth. For a moment, they sat in silence, the stranger nursing a glass of something dark while Hagrid downed the last of his ale.

"You like creatures, I hear?" the stranger asked casually.

"Like 'em? I love 'em," Hagrid replied with a big grin. "Best thing in the world, magical creatures. Well, except cats. Never been fond of cats."

The stranger chuckled lightly. "Cats can be… tricky. But tell me, Hagrid, what's your favorite creature?"

Hagrid's eyes lit up instantly. "Dragons," he said proudly. "Always wanted one, yeh know? Big, powerful, majestic beasts. I'd raise one meself if I could."

"Dangerous business, that," the stranger remarked, though there was amusement in their voice.

"Pfft, danger's part of the fun," Hagrid waved him off, already a bit rosy from the drink. "I've dealt with all sorts—manticores, hippogriffs, even a kelpie once that nearly took me leg off."

The stranger leaned in, voice lowering just a fraction. "And what about… A Three headed dog?"

Hagrid blinked. "Fluffy?"

"Rumor is, you've got yourself a very special creature hidden away. A… three-headed dog?"

Hagrid's face flushed darker, but the ale loosened his tongue far too much.

"Aye, tha's true," Hagrid admitted, puffing out his chest. "Fluffy's mine. Rare beast, tha' one. Loyal as anythin', but yeh don't want ter cross 'im."

The stranger smiled beneath their hood. "I've heard those creatures are nearly impossible to handle."

"Not fer me," Hagrid said proudly, thumping his chest. "But Fluffy's got a secret, see. He may look terrifyin', an' he is, but play a bit o' music an' he's out like a light. Snores louder'n a troll after a feast."

The stranger's eyes gleamed with quiet interest. "Music… that's his weakness?"

Hagrid chuckled, not noticing the sharp curiosity in the man's tone. "Yeh, quick as yeh like. Little harp tune an' boom, sleepin' beauty."

"Fascinating," the stranger murmured, leaning back. "Well, Hagrid, it's been a pleasure. You've been most helpful."

The stranger reached beneath their cloak and produced a small, round object—gleaming, black, and faintly shimmering with magical energy.

Hagrid's eyes widened like saucers.

"Norwegian Ridgeback Black dragon Egg," the stranger offered smoothly, rolling it gently across the table. "A rare prize… for a man who loves creatures."

Hagrid's hands shook as he caught the egg, staring at its glistening surface. "Merlin's beard… a dragon egg…"

When he looked up to thank the stranger, they were gone.

Vanished into the pub's shadows like smoke.

But Hagrid hardly noticed. His heart raced with excitement as he cradled the precious egg, already picturing the little dragon hatching, the scales, the tiny teeth, the fire-breathing glory of it all.

Grinning like a child, he stumbled out of the Hog's Head, clutching the egg to his chest, making his way through the dark streets of Hogsmeade and back toward Hogwarts.

He never once wondered why the stranger had known exactly how to loosen his lips—or what they truly wanted in return.