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"Henry Wales, Mr. Hagrid," Henry said, with an easy smile, and held out the small package. "A small gift, I hope you'll enjoy it."
"Oh! That's far too kind!" Hagrid took it carefully in his enormous hands and worked at the ribbon with fingers not ideally suited to the task.
When the paper fell away and he saw the ceramic jar inside, he brought it close and inhaled. "Honey? And jam? Merlin, that smells wonderful! Thank you, Henry! Come now, don't stand around, sit down! I've just brewed a fresh pot, and there are rock cakes, I used rather fewer stones this time, I can promise you that!"
He laughed at his own joke with a volume that did indeed seem to disturb the dust on the rafters.
Everyone settled around the large table. The chairs were somewhat oversized for Henry, though not uncomfortably so, they were built for Hagrid, after all.
Hagrid moved around the small space with the practiced bustle of a man entirely at home in it, setting down several large, thick teacups, filling them with dark, steaming tea, and producing a wide plate of what were technically rock cakes, broad, heavy, greyish-brown objects that, held in Hagrid's hand, were roughly the size of an ordinary biscuit, but which, sitting on the table in front of the four children, were closer to the diameter of a large pizza.
Harry picked one up with the air of someone who had been here before and had learned something from the experience. He held it for a moment, then held it a little longer.
Hermione occupied herself with her tea. Ron stared at his rock cake with the expression of a person conducting serious psychological preparation.
Henry picked one up and felt the weight of it immediately. The texture, when he pressed his thumb experimentally against the surface, was precisely as advertised.
He attempted a small, careful bite, and reconsidered at the last moment. He was very glad he had.
After a brief pause for thought, he placed the rock cake in his tea to soak.
The teacup was, technically speaking, closer to a bowl, a large, thick-walled bowl, which turned out to be exactly the right vessel for the purpose.
After a few minutes submerged in hot tea, the rock cake yielded. Henry took a bite and found, to his genuine surprise, that the flavour was rather good, something between a dense waffle and a mild milk biscuit.
"The flavour is really quite interesting, Mr. Hagrid," he said, and meant it without any embellishment.
Hagrid's face broke into a wide, pleased beam. "Glad you think so! Most people give up on the first try! Here, try a bit of that honey you brought, go on, spread some on top!"
He had already opened the jar, and the honey was thick and golden, the floral scent of it filling the immediate vicinity.
Henry followed the suggestion, and the improvement was immediate and considerable. Hagrid helped himself to an enormous spoonful directly from the jar, closed his eyes for a moment of genuine appreciation, and announced that it was better than anything they sold in Hogsmeade.
The atmosphere warmed rapidly. Hagrid was constitutionally incapable of holding back on the subject of animals, and with a willing audience, he had no reason to try.
"So, Henry, which magical creatures interest you most?" he asked, cupping his enormous teacup in both hands.
"I have a great deal of curiosity and respect for all of them," Henry said, "but if I had to be more specific, I'm drawn to creatures with a high level of intelligence, or those with a deep connection to the history of the magical world. Centaurs, unicorns. Dragons as well, though I'll admit they inspire as much awe as interest."
Dragons were, as it turned out, a subject Hagrid could never be brief about.
His eyes lit up entirely. "Dragons! Oh, they're extraordinary—powerful, magnificent, fire-breathing—when I was young I always wanted one of my own, I did. Centaurs, now, there's a tribe in the Forest, but they keep very much to themselves, bit proud, don't like having wizards about unless it's something important, mostly stick to their astronomy. And unicorns—they live deep in the Forest, pure and beautiful, but very wary. You'd have to earn that."
He launched from there into an enthusiastic tour of the room's contents. The great white curve above the fireplace was the horn of a unicorn that had died naturally of old age in the Forest.
The string of iridescent beads had been woven from feathers shed by a Diricawl in various moods. The glowing fungi in the glass jar were treats kept for the Bowtruckles.
The glossy pelt on the far wall had come from a Demiguise cub he had helped deliver during a difficult birth, which had not survived.
Henry listened to all of it with close attention, asking the kind of questions that made clear he had actually read what he claimed to have read—and then pushed further, discussing with Hagrid the differences in magical creature protection legislation across different regions, drawing comparisons to Muggle conservation efforts he had encountered in Sir Arnold's reading materials.
"It strikes me sometimes," Henry said thoughtfully, "that even though Muggles have no knowledge of magical creatures, the conservation approaches they've developed for their own wildlife might offer something worth learning from. Designated protected areas, systematic study of species' behaviour, active measures against poaching—all of it, of course, within the constraints of the Statute of Secrecy."
Hagrid leaned forward, nodding with increasing vigour. "That's exactly right! Some wizards only think about what they can take from an animal, materials, ingredients, without a thought for the creature itself! They should be looked after properly! Just as you say!"
He looked at Henry with the open warmth of someone who has found an unexpected ally.
Hermione had joined the discussion by this point, supplying additional detail on the classification and protection status of various species with her characteristic thoroughness.
Harry and Ron gravitated toward the adventure stories, how Hagrid had helped a Hippogriff through a difficult labour during a storm, how he had outwitted a group of mischievous Nifflers to recover a stolen egg.
Ron had been quiet at first, but the stories drew him in by degrees, and before long he was contributing his own accounts of various incidents at the hut over the previous times—how Fang had once got hold of Ron's Transfiguration homework and eaten a corner of it, how Ron had ended up covered in Flobberworm slime during an ill-fated attempt to help with feeding time.
Henry laughed at these with unforced pleasure, and Ron noticed this.
He also noticed the way Henry handled the Bowtruckle perch that Hagrid passed around for inspection, careful, curious, entirely without the theatrical distaste that Malfoy would have performed for the same object.
Time moved quickly. As noon approached, Henry rose to go.
"Mr. Hagrid, thank you very much for your hospitality. I learned a great deal this morning and enjoyed every minute of it."
"You're welcome, you're welcome—come back any time!" Hagrid stood, narrowly avoiding the rafters. "My door is always open to anyone who cares about animals! Next visit, perhaps I can take you to the edge of the Forest, the safe parts, of course, and show you a few things you won't find in any book!"
"I'd like that very much," Henry said. "Thank you again, Harry, Hermione, Ron. This was your invitation, and I'm genuinely grateful for it."
The walk back to the castle was quieter than the walk down had been, but the quality of the silence was different, it was the comfortable kind, the kind that doesn't require filling.
"That's just Hagrid," Harry said, after a while. "He can be a bit careless about certain things, but he's one of the best people I know."
"You can see that immediately," Henry said. "His knowledge doesn't come from books, it comes from years of genuine care and practice. There's a kind of understanding that reading alone can never quite give you. To really know something, you have to live alongside it."