After Dumbledore left the school, everything at Hogwarts seemed to continue as usual. Students still attended classes each day, diligently preparing for their upcoming exams.
Harold initially felt something was off—the timing of that letter had been just a little too convenient. But soon he realized that even the way Dumbledore left had seemed peculiar.
So, after finishing breakfast, he pushed the thought aside and treated it as though nothing had happened.
That evening, Harold went to the Forbidden Forest to find Hagrid and tell him that Professor Kettleburn was retiring.
When he arrived, Hagrid was brushing off his mole-skin coat. The weather had gotten warmer, and he no longer needed to wear it.
"Of course I know Professor Kettleburn. We often go for drinks at the Three Broomsticks. He even gave me a really interesting book last Christmas," Hagrid said as he flicked dirt and pebbles from the coat. "Come to think of it, I actually took his class once."
He paused, seemingly lost in memory.
"It was my first time in Care of Magical Creatures. Professor Kettleburn told us that Hungarian Horntails have the strongest bite among dragons, but Peruvian Vipertooths are the most dangerous.
"I loved his classes. But not long after… I got expelled."
He stopped again and continued brushing the coat, pulling items from his pockets and laying them beside him.
"You took his class…?" Harold blinked. "Wait, Professor Kettleburn's been teaching that long?"
Given that Hagrid had been expelled fifty years ago, it meant Kettleburn must've been at Hogwarts at least that long—possibly longer than Professor McGonagall.
"Must be over sixty years now," Hagrid mused. "I remember once, during drinks, someone mentioned that before Dumbledore was headmaster, Kettleburn had been given sixty-two warnings for keeping dangerous magical creatures—an average of two every year."
Harold didn't bother counting. He was too stunned by the number—sixty-two.
Usually, three warnings would get a professor fired. How good did Kettleburn have to be to keep his job after that many?
And that wasn't even his limit. It was the limit of Headmaster Armando Dippet, who had served for thirty-one years.
"Honestly, I think it's about time Kettleburn retired," Hagrid said, hanging the coat on a hook. "Lately, every time I see him, he's missing something. Even his prosthetics keep getting replaced.
"These days he's really struggling with the creatures in the forest."
"I don't think you can call what's in the Forbidden Forest 'little creatures,'" Harold muttered. Then he asked, "Who do you think will replace him as the Care of Magical Creatures professor?"
"No idea," Hagrid said. "But Dumbledore's sure to have someone in mind."
"He hasn't spoken to you about it?"
"Why would he talk to me?" Hagrid looked puzzled. "Wait… something happen in the castle?"
"No," Harold said. "I just thought you'd be great for the job."
CLANG! A loud crash echoed as Hagrid dropped a heavy kettle. Water splashed across the floor.
Several seconds passed before he bent down to pick it up.
"Don't be daft, Harold," he chuckled. "Dumbledore wouldn't ask me to do that."
"So he really hasn't come to see you?"
"Course not," Hagrid replied. "What's with you today?"
"Nothing." Harold smiled faintly. "I just think you'd be perfect for it."
"Thanks, Harold. That's the nicest thing anyone's ever said to me." Hagrid beamed, then offered him a rock cake. "But should you even be out here now? Aren't your exams coming up?"
"It's just second-year stuff. Not important."
"That's where you're wrong," Hagrid said firmly. "Every exam matters. They shape your future."
Harold nodded, even though he knew his future career wasn't exactly dependent on grades. Still, seeing how earnest Hagrid was, he didn't argue.
"Alright. I'll take them seriously."
Hagrid, one of the few students ever expelled from Hogwarts, took exams very seriously—perhaps too seriously.
After chatting a while longer, Hagrid offered to walk Harold back.
"It's almost curfew," he said. "You don't want Filch catching you out."
"I can manage on my own," Harold replied. "It's not far. What could happen?"
"You won't get lost, I know that," Hagrid said as they reached the castle steps. "But I need to head to the castle anyway."
"What for? Meeting the headmaster?"
"Yeah," Hagrid replied. "One of my roosters went missing at lunch—probably stolen by a bloodsucking bugbear. I need permission to place a ward around the coop."
"What did you just say?" Harold froze at the Great Hall entrance. "One of your roosters was killed?"
"Not killed. Just taken," Hagrid corrected. "Happens all the time near the forest. No big deal. One simple ward should solve it."
He misread Harold's expression, thinking he was just afraid of bloodsucking bugbears. "Relax. They're not vampires—just pest-class creatures. Won't go near the castle." Follow current novels on 𝕟𝕠𝕧𝕖𝕝✶𝕗𝕚𝕣𝕖✶𝕟𝕖𝕥
A thunderous crash cut him off.
It came from within the castle walls, followed by distant, panicked screams.
Harold instinctively pulled out his wand. With a flick of his wrist, a spellbook materialized on his shoulder.
Beside him, Hagrid drew a hefty club from his coat pocket.
"What's going on?" Hagrid asked, eyes darting as the walls around them rumbled and dust filled the air.
"I don't know," Harold replied, though a chilling suspicion crept into his mind.
Just as the thought formed, two figures came sprinting toward them—one with black hair, the other long-haired.
It was Harry and Hermione.
What were they doing in the Entrance Hall at this hour?
Before Harold could ask, Harry shouted, "Run! Get the Headmaster! Get McGonagall!"
Another deafening crash drowned out his voice. This one was far more powerful than the last. The side wall of the Entrance Hall collapsed in an explosion of stone.
A massive serpent burst through the rubble—its body as thick as an oak tree trunk.
Hagrid immediately shoved the three students behind him. But as he looked up, his eyes locked with a pair of glowing, icy yellow ones.
A chill ran down his spine, as if doused with a bucket of freezing water.
Then warmth spread from his right palm, like putting on a heavy cloak. The cold vanished.
"What in Merlin's name is that thing?!" Hagrid gasped, staring at the fifty-foot-long serpent.
Some kind of magical snake? No… maybe a Runespoor?
Then the snake spoke—with Tom Riddle's voice.
"You're… still alive?" the basilisk hissed.
Recognition flashed in Hagrid's eyes.
"Rubeus Hagrid…" the serpent sneered. "Filthy half-blood giant. No wonder the basilisk's gaze didn't kill you."
"Wait… No, it can't be. It's been fifty years. You can't be—"
"He's Tom Riddle!" Harry shouted, snapping everyone out of their daze. "He opened the Chamber. That thing is the monster inside!"
"No, no…" the basilisk said, coiling high. "It was you who opened the Chamber. I should be thanking you… You actually helped me—"
It stopped mid-sentence.
Its eyes fell on someone standing behind Hagrid.
The voice turned venomous, every syllable dripping with hatred.
"Kill you! KILL YOU!"
Without hesitation, the basilisk lunged—fangs bared like jagged blades.
"RUN!" Hagrid roared, turning and swinging his club with all his might.
The basilisk focused only on Harold, ignoring Hagrid completely—until it was too late.
It had underestimated him.
Just like the three-headed dog before it, the basilisk now learned what it meant to face a half-giant's strength.
With a bone-cracking SMASH, Hagrid's club slammed into its skull, snapping its head sideways and slamming it into the wall.
Blood and shattered fangs sprayed across the hall. One lodged in a painting with a sickening thud.