"Whoa, that's one huge freaking dog!"
Door swings open—bam, Neapolitan Mastiff the size of a damn calf. Roman war machine, coliseum legend. Shoulder height pushing 30 inches, 200 pounds of rippling muscle under short black fur. Square head like a cinder block, drooly jowls hiding jaws that'll snap femurs like twigs. Top 10% bite force in dogdom.
But get this: domesticated, they're total softies. Kid-magnets. Let toddlers climb 'em like jungle gyms.
Hagrid's version? Juiced. Nearly yard-tall at the shoulder, 300+ pounds easy. Muscles flexing like steel cables under that coat.
"WOOF WOOF WOOF—"
Two barks in, Hagrid smacks the dog upside the head. Fang blinks, stunned.
"That's Harriet," Hagrid growls. "Memorize it. You see her or her friends? No barking. No scaring. Got it?"
Fang squats, tail thumping, wrinkled mug twisting into the goofiest grin. Lynn legit double-takes.
"Don't sweat it, Harriet." Hagrid steps out, sheepish. "Fang's a total wimp. Hits the forest and pisses himself. Waste of a tank."
Fang pants, tongue lolling, getting noogies.
"It won't bite?" Autumn eyes the beast like it's a land shark.
"Swear on my beard. One nip and it's stew."
Fang's tail clamps. Whimpers, paws over eyes—I can't watch.
Harriet and Autumn crack up. Dog's a drama queen.
"Ease up, Hagrid." Harriet marches over, squats, pets the massive dome. "Fang, right?"
"Ruff!"
"Spin."
"Ruff-ruff!"
"Sit."
"Ruuuff~"
"Backflip!"
"Ruu—whiiine…"
Face-plants. Looks at Harriet like c'mon, really?
"Good boy, up."
"RUFF!"
Instant shadow. Thing outweighs two Harriets.
"So obedient!" Autumn braves a pat.
"Told ya." Hagrid beams.
"Inside, kids. Morning chill."
Hagrid's "cozy" cabin? Mansion for normies. 16-foot ceilings, beams dripping weird junk from the Forest. Lynn clocks six burlap sacks stuffed with unicorn hair—compressed, 700 pounds easy. Sold by the strand in Diagon. Fang's bed? Immaculate white weave. Unicorn wool.
Hogwarts' secret billionaire, ladies and gents. Only a half-giant can stroll the Forbidden Forest like a grocery run.
"Tea? Fresh. Rock cakes too—baked 'em this morning."
Hagrid pours, hefts a basket of what sounds like bowling balls clacking.
Harriet pokes one. "These… edible?"
"Try the smallest, Lynn. You skipped breakfast." She hands him a pebble.
"You've changed."
Lynn deadpan, chomps. CRUNCH. Sounds like grinding gravel. Goosebumps city.
"You ate that?!" Harriet gawks.
"Crunchy." Telekinesis coats his mouth—human food processor. Premium wheat, pinch of salt, mystery spice. Flavor's fire—if you've got diamond teeth.
"Real?"
"Test it."
She nibbles. CRACK.
"Gwood! Gweally gwood!" Nodding furiously, mouth full.
Autumn snorts. "Can't even talk."
Harriet spits the shard. "Fang food."
Fang tilts head: I can act human, but you're the real dog. Woof.
Harriet scratches his ears. "Fine, Lynn and Hagrid only."
"Dunk 'em in soup," Hagrid offers. "Got leftovers. Lynn?"
"Three-sandwich breakfast ain't cutting it."
Bowl arrives—meaty, fragrant chaos.
"What is this, Hagrid? Smells like heaven."
"Graphorn and Re'em stew. Been scrapping in the woods. Still going at it last night. Didn't want 'em spooking Harriet, so—bonk. Tastes alright."
Casual as swatting flies. Opens a cabinet—walk-in freezer. Two mountain-range carcasses. 10 tons, easy.
"Like the color?" Hauls out a golden pelt, shakes off frost. "Re'em hide. Warm as hell. Snow's coming—want cloaks?"
Hide's pure spun gold. Cow was 16 feet long. Skull beside it? Pulverized. One punch.
"Re'em are North American, rare," Lynn says. "Book says their blood boosts strength."
"Loads in the Forest. Had four when I started—near a hundred now. Ministry dumps smuggled beasts they can't handle. Can't feed 'em, can't kill 'em. Useless pricks."
Hagrid snorts. "Least send a dragon. Been begging."
There's the grudge. Dragons? Cash cows. No way.
"Got blood if you want. Mix with firewhisky—smooth."
Barrel thuds on table. Crimson, gold flecks.
"Blood tofu. Or straight shots. Potion base."
"Thanks, man. I'll cook—invite you."
"Deal!" Shoulder pat nearly launches Lynn.
"Alright!" Hagrid claps. "Time to roll. Promised you a good one, Harriet."
"Let's go!" She hops down, yanks Fang's collar.
Fang plants like a boulder. Nope.
"Fang?"
"Drag him in the woods, he'll piss himself," Hagrid sighs. "Coward."
Fang whines: I know what's in there. I'd be an appetizer.