"A surprisingly placid creature for something so large," Albert observed, finishing the last, bread-heavy bite of his sandwich. He ignored the greasy remnants on his fingers and reached out, gently scratching the massive hound behind its ears. "What's the big fella's actual name?"
"That'd be Fang," Hagrid answered automatically, his enormous hands pausing their work on the mink pelt. He looked stunned by the sudden, immediate bond between the slight first-year and his dog. Fang, usually suspicious and given to deep, rumbling warnings, was now leaning into Albert's touch with surprising affection.
"Fang? Seems a bit on the nose for a name," Albert mused aloud, giving the dog a playful rub beneath the jowls. "He seems more like a 'Spike' or even a 'Ya Ya'—all that imposing menace just vanished when food was involved."
Hagrid let out a hearty, rumbling chuckle. "Fang suits him just fine. Simple, straight to the point." He eyed Albert critically. "You've got a way with animals, young'un. Didn't expect that from a lad who looks like he's never been outside the castle gates."
"My name's Albert Anderson, sir, and I appreciate the compliment," Albert replied, rising. "I'm assuming you're not a professor, given your… unique role here?"
"I'm the Gamekeeper," Hagrid confirmed, puffing out his considerable chest. "I look after the grounds, the castle perimeter, and what goes on in the woods."
"And that 'woods' would be the Forbidden Forest, wouldn't it?" Albert pointed toward the oppressive, dark treeline, the conversation shifting into the specific areas of interest he'd come to explore. "I heard you warn us about werewolves in there. Is that simply a cautionary tale, or is it true?"
"Are you Ravenclaw?" Hagrid asked, frowning in thought. Albert's focused, intellectual questioning, combined with his strangely neat appearance, suggested the studious house.
Albert glanced back at the twins and Lee Jordan, who were now cautiously approaching Fang, their previous fear mitigated by the dog's calm demeanor. They snickered at the Ravenclaw suggestion. "No, sir. We're all Gryffindor."
"Ah, Gryffindor," Hagrid said, his face clouding with a sudden, severe seriousness that was almost comical given his gentle tone with Albert. "All the more reason to listen: I mean it when I say stay out of the woods. I don't care how brave you think you are."
George, desperate to keep the peace and knowing Albert's habit of pushing conversational boundaries, quickly intervened. "Albert, how did you know to go for the head rub? He looked ready to take my arm off just two minutes ago!"
The three boys crowded around the now-docile Fang, trying to emulate Albert's calming touch.
"Intuition, probably," Albert replied, offering a quick, fabricated explanation. "I have a cat at home, and the principle is similar: assert dominance, then offer tribute. Though Fang required a larger tribute than my cat." He quickly added, "By the way, Mr. Gamekeeper, do you mind if I come back another day and take a picture of Fang? He's quite striking."
"Just call me Hagrid," the Gamekeeper insisted, shaking his massive head. He smiled faintly at the request, though a shadow of memory crossed his eyes. "A picture, eh? You're the one who was asking Professor Snape for a photograph, aren't you? You got guts, Albert."
"It's just for my family," Albert explained earnestly. "They're Muggles, and they're quite worried about me being here at a school they can't even imagine. I want to show them a bit of my life—maybe a fierce but friendly guard dog will reassure them that I'm safe."
Hagrid's large brow furrowed with concern. "You ought to be careful, lad. You shouldn't be showin' too much of the wizardin' world to Muggles. That's how folks get into trouble."
"Ah, the Statute of Secrecy," Albert said, nodding with a knowing expression. "I understand. Is that why Truman was expelled? I heard he used a simple light spell in front of a Muggle."
Hagrid looked genuinely startled that a Muggle-born first-year was familiar with the Statute, let alone the highly specific, recent expulsion case. "You know about that? Yes, that's what it was. But Truman's case was… well, he was unlucky. Most underage wizards only get a warning if they slip up in front of their Muggle family. The law says if you knowingly, intentionally use magic in a Muggle-inhabited area, that's a criminal offence. Expulsion is the ultimate penalty."
Albert absorbed the correction, realizing he had perhaps misjudged the severity of Truman's fate. "So, there hasn't been a case of expulsion from Hogwarts since Truman's, as far as you know?"
Hagrid scratched his beard thoughtfully. "Not that I can recall for using magic in the Muggle world, no. They mostly scare folks straight with the warning letter. You wouldn't risk being booted out of a place like this over a cheap trick."
Fred cleared his throat loudly. "Albert, your unfortunate acquaintance Truman just happened to run into you, didn't he? You were the accidental witness who sealed his fate."
"A very unlucky coincidence for poor Truman, indeed," Albert conceded, nodding slowly. The realization that he had inadvertently played a part in an expulsion, however deserved the original offense, sat heavily for a moment. He quickly pivoted the conversation back to their shared interest—the Forest.
"Hagrid, back to the Forbidden Forest," Albert urged, his eyes sparkling with curiosity. "You mentioned werewolves. What other creatures are out there that make Dumbledore forbid first-years from entering? I've read about centaur tribes, Acromantulas, and even Thestrals in the deepest parts. Is the danger truly that pervasive?"
"It is," Hagrid nodded, leaning closer as Albert's knowledgeable mention of various creatures clearly piqued his interest. "It's wild, untamed magic. Werewolves are kept well away from the school boundaries, mind you. Dumbledore has… arrangements." He paused, his gaze becoming slightly evasive, confirming Albert's suspicion that the Professor had a hand in controlling the movement of the creatures—a subtle, calculated move to prevent any further inquiry into the nature of those arrangements.
"What about something less terrifying," Albert continued, changing the tone to a more appreciative, less threatening subject. "Have you ever encountered a Unicorn?"
Hagrid's massive, rough face softened instantly. "Oh, aye. Beautiful creatures. Skittish, but beautiful. There's a whole herd of 'em deep in the sheltered glades."
The conversation continued, a rapid-fire exchange of questions from Albert that led Hagrid through various points of creature lore: the temperaments of the centaurs, the terrifying size of the spider colony, and, most notably, Hagrid's profound, unmistakable enthusiasm for dragons. When Albert mentioned them, the Gamekeeper's eyes lit up, and he launched into a passionate, detailed explanation of the differences between breeds, even sketching a crude drawing of a Ground Dragon in the dirt with his finger.
"How many questions has that been?" Lee Jordan whispered to the twins, utterly impressed.
"At least a dozen," Fred murmured back. "He's got Hagrid completely charmed and has figured out the entire map of danger in the forest just by flattering him."
Seeing the genuine connection Albert felt for the magical creatures, Hagrid reached into a large leather pouch on his belt. "Here, lad. For your curiosity," he rumbled, holding out a small, incredibly delicate bundle of thick, silvery-white hairs. "Unicorn tail hair. Fell out naturally, mind. Powerful magic in 'em."
Albert received the tail hair with a respectful gravity that pleased Hagrid. He felt a wave of gratitude—this was a rare, genuine gift of trust.
He then paused, turning back to the Gamekeeper with a slightly embarrassed expression. "Hagrid, there is one other thing. Something small. I noticed several Rowan trees—or Yamanashi as some call them—on the edge of the forest. Is it true they're a guardian tree? I mean, are they really effective at warding off dark magic and evil creatures?"
"They help, aye," Hagrid confirmed, nodding seriously. "Good solid magic in 'em. Folks used to hang the branches over their doors."
"Well, my sister, Nia, is a Muggle, and I won't be able to bring her back anything truly magical," Albert explained, choosing his words carefully to emphasize the protective, non-Magical nature of the gift. "I was hoping to carve a small, simple token for her Christmas gift. A small piece of a dead branch from a Rowan tree. Something that offers protection, even if she doesn't know how it works. I can pay you some Galleons for your time and trouble."
Hagrid waved the offer of money away dismissively. "No need for gold, lad. It's a fine thought to look after your sister. A family protection charm, even if it's just a bit of wood, is a worthy cause." He scratched his beard again. "But don't expect it right away. I'll have a look when I go in next week, but the real trouble is the Bowtruckles—they guard the Rowan trees fierce. They won't let you near a healthy branch."
"I understand. A dead branch, if one is available and no Bowtruckle gets upset," Albert confirmed, profoundly grateful. "Thank you, Hagrid. Truly." He already began to reconsider his Christmas gift plans. If the Rowan wood wasn't viable, the Unicorn tail hair would make an exquisite, unique bracelet for Nia.
"You're welcome, Albert. Now, off you go. And stay out of the dark parts of the trees!" Hagrid commanded, returning to his work.
"You're a maniac," George declared on the walk back, giving Albert an admiring clap on the shoulder. "You walk right up to the Giant of Hogwarts, feed his hound your lunch, and somehow manage to get a rare magical artifact and a promise of a protective charm out of him. You're amazing."
"You're going to use the Unicorn tail hair for your sister's birthday present, right?" Lee Jordan asked.
"It will make an excellent bracelet," Albert confirmed, tucking the shimmering strand safely into his pocket. "It's sentimental, unique, and powerful. A perfect gift."
This declaration brought the Weasley twins to an abrupt, screeching halt. They stared at each other, their expressions suddenly thoughtful and slightly guilty.
"Wait a minute," Fred whispered to George. "We completely forgot to settle on Ginny's birthday present this year, didn't we?"
"No, no, we had it settled," George argued, rubbing his chin. "We were going to upgrade from last year's broken feather quill to... wait, no. That was Ron's."
"What did we get Ron, then?" Fred pressed.
George paused, counting on his fingers. "Ah, yes. A bag of Fudge Flies that all melted together, and a box of Cockroach Clusters that we'd accidentally sat on. Standard fare, really."
"Standard fare!" Albert exclaimed, shaking his head. "Your idea of a birthday gift for your own brother is something you've intentionally damaged or made disgusting?"
"It's not damaged, it's seasoned!" Fred insisted with righteous indignation. "And you miss the point, Albert. A Licorice Wand is a perfectly acceptable gift, because you can eat it, and then you can use the stick to poke Ron when he's sleeping. It's multi-purpose!"
"We don't do 'sentimental,' Albert," George explained patiently, as if talking to an infant. "We do efficiency and humor. Unicorn hair? It's pretty, but it doesn't cause a single moment of genuine sibling distress. That's a low return on investment."
Albert looked from the twins, who were clearly proud of their practical, prank-focused approach to family affection, to the unicorn hair carefully stowed in his pocket, a thoughtful piece of protection for his Muggle sister.
"I think," Albert said slowly, "that perhaps Ron has a significantly harder life than I initially imagined, having such incredibly generous brothers."
The three of them dissolved into laughter again, but Albert knew he was onto something. His life at Hogwarts—even the mundane acts like gift-giving and doing homework—was shaping up to be a fascinating study in the cultural divergence between Muggle sentimentality and wizarding pragmatism, all while avoiding the 'special care' of a certain Potions Master.