… Several more days passed before Hagrid's owl finally returned. The smuggler had spent a fair number of Galleons dodging the Ministry's searches and was now quite eager to reclaim his valuable Chimaeras. He informed Hagrid he would be in Hogsmeade at midnight this Thursday. They could meet outside the Hog's Head Inn.
"Outside the Hog's Head?" Anthony asked, incredulous. He turned to look at the stack of crates. "You do realise how conspicuous that is, right?"
The sound of tearing and chewing came from within the crates. Dark red blood seeped constantly through the slats. A large, dark brown puddle had dried on the floor nearby.
Hagrid scratched his head. "But… that's where he gave 'em to me. Outside the Hog's Head. Maybe I could just put 'em in a sack and carry 'em out to him."
"Then you'd get arrested for attempted murder. Or smuggling," Anthony said, reading the letter again. "Wait. What exactly did you write in your last letter?"
"I asked if he still wanted the Chimaeras," Hagrid said. "Y'know, if he didn't, maybe I could give 'em to Professor Kettleburn as a Christmas present."
Anthony looked up. "Did you sign it, Hagrid?"
Hagrid thought hard for a moment. "No. Why?"
Anthony breathed a sigh of relief.
"This doesn't look right, Hagrid," Anthony said, tapping the letter. "Whatever's going on, it doesn't seem like he actually wants the Chimaeras back. Otherwise, he wouldn't suggest such a terrible plan. He's probably waiting for you to refuse."
"Why would I refuse?" Hagrid asked, confused. "I just give him the Chimaeras, and I get the Graphorn hide."
"Because it makes no sense," Anthony said. "Merlin, Hagrid, this man's a smuggler. He has to know better. For all we know—for all we know, the Ministry's already caught him. This reply could be from them, trying to find out who you are. Or maybe he wants to set you up. Pin the whole smuggling charge on you."
"But… but…" Hagrid stammered, scratching his large, hairy head as if trying to dig a good idea out from the tangled mess. "What should we do, Henry?"
Anthony thought for a moment, then flipped the smuggler's letter over and patted it. "We write back. Tell him to wait. Then we go see Professor Dumbledore."
…
Dumbledore was, surprisingly, actually in his office. Fawkes stood on his perch, eyes closed, his beautiful gold-and-red feathers fully regrown. The silver instruments still whirred and puffed white smoke. Post-snowfall sunlight streamed through the windows, casting a honeyed glow over the Headmaster's brown wooden desk.
"Henry?" Dumbledore looked up from several pieces of parchment as the two entered. "Ah, Hagrid. Find a seat, please." He pointed his wand at a nearby chair. It groaned and creaked, swelling to at least twice its previous size.
"Thank you, Professor," Hagrid rumbled, settling into the enlarged chair. The chair groaned sharply in protest, but held together even as Hagrid pulled a cushion from behind his back.
Anthony pulled another chair over and sat. Fawkes alighted on top of a cabinet.
"To what do I owe the pleasure?" Dumbledore smiled. "Or have you simply come to join me for afternoon tea?"
Hagrid cleared his throat. Guilt flashed across his face. He cleared his throat again. His hands rubbed back and forth on his trousers, repeatedly bunching and smoothing the same patch of fabric. Dumbledore leaned forward slightly, peering over his half-moon spectacles. He seemed to already understand everything, waiting only for Hagrid to speak.
"Professor Dumbledore—" Hagrid began, voice thick with anxiety. "I— I—"
"What is it, Hagrid?" Dumbledore asked calmly, inclining his head.
"I've been stupid! I'm a fool!" Hagrid boomed. "I keep causin' trouble!"
His voice startled the portraits pretending to be asleep on the walls. The faint snoring stopped. Every painted former Headmaster and Headmistress was now staring at Hagrid with wide eyes.
Dumbledore said serenely, "I might beg to differ on that assessment, but do proceed."
Hagrid ploughed on. "I've been keepin' Acromantulas, and a dragon, and Chimaeras in the school!"
A former Headmaster on the wall gasped. "Have the Muggles started witch-hunts again? Are we preparing for war?"
"Hmm, not yet," Dumbledore said. "Though, yes, I would not say war is far from us… Now, Hagrid. You were already punished for the Acromantulas. And to my knowledge, you sent the dragon away without anyone being hurt."
"Sent it away?" another white-haired former Headmaster cried from his high frame. "Good heavens, Albus! You should have kept it to guard the vaults!"
"The vaults are long gone!" shouted another portrait. "You numbskull! Ever since the Hogwarts vault was plundered on your watch, I vowed to keep everything in Gringotts!"
"You call me a numbskull?" the first sputtered. "Trusting goblins is the greatest foolishness of all!"
Dumbledore cut them off. "Hogwarts has no vaults. We moved all the armour out to decorate the castle, used the gold and silver for student cutlery, and put the gemstones into the House hourglasses in the Great Hall. In fact, I believe we have had this discussion."
"The gold coins?" the portrait asked, voice trembling. "All those gold coins?"
"Spent on books for the Hogwarts library and research funds for various professors. Also, I must repeat, we did not have that many. A significant portion of our daily expenditure comes from the Board of Governors," Dumbledore said. "We have been operating this way since at least Armando's time."
Another portrait's eyes snapped open—Dumbledore's predecessor, Professor Armando Dippet. "Quite right. And I believe my predecessor did the same."
The portrait who had asked about the gold moaned. "Merlin's beard! Then you should have kept that dragon all the more! Dragons are worth a fortune—are the Acromantulas and Chimaeras still here? You haven't sent them away, have you?"
Dippet said gloomily, "With Albus's guarantee and your tremendous fuss, we allowed those Acromantulas to live in the Forbidden Forest. That conversation happened decades ago."
The portrait huffed. "Did it? I forgot. I'm good at forgetting things that anger me. It's why I've outlived you."
Several other portraits hissed in disapproval.
Hagrid looked utterly bewildered. "Professor… you knew about Norbert?"
"Oh, Hagrid," Dumbledore chuckled. "I had thought you might trust me a little more."
"I do trust you—" Hagrid said urgently. "But, Professor—"
Dumbledore raised a hand, silencing him.
"I am very glad you came to confess, Hagrid," Dumbledore said gravely. "So I shall be honest with you in return. Yes, I knew about the Norwegian Ridgeback—"
The portrait muttered, "A Norwegian Ridgeback! Exceedingly rare! Exceedingly valuable!"
Dumbledore continued as if he hadn't heard. "—and I know you accepted several Chimaeras. I noted you have, admirably, restrained them from harming staff or students—thank you for that, Henry—but I must still ask you to be more mindful of safety in the future."
Hagrid seemed completely lost. "Professor Dumbledore…"
Anthony frowned. "You mean the Chimaeras are staying?"
"Why not? Though, I believe we shall have to ask Silvanus to mind the little ones for now," Dumbledore said cheerfully, pushing the parchment on his desk toward them. "Silvanus is retiring next year. His retirement request was to build a Magical Menagerie near Hogwarts. And…" His gaze stopped Hagrid's attempt to interject. "He hopes you might help tend his creatures when he is occupied—including his Chimaeras. Since you intend to obtain a Chimaera-handling licence regardless, Hagrid, I see no reason you cannot keep them."
Hagrid shot to his feet, so agitated he didn't seem to know what to do with his hands.
"Professor, that's brilliant," Hagrid said, voice thick with emotion. "Oh, that's just brilliant. You're not… expellin' me?"
Dumbledore said, "So long as you give me your word that no creature under your care will harm a student."
"Of course, Professor. Of course," Hagrid said. "Never. Not a chance!"
Dumbledore's tone was serious. "I need your promise, Hagrid."
Hagrid looked down at Dumbledore. His expression sobered.
"I promise, Professor Dumbledore," Hagrid rumbled. "I promise no magical creature I look after will hurt a student, or else I'll—"
"No need for oaths, Hagrid," Dumbledore said, smiling. "Your word is enough."
To Anthony's surprise, tears of relief welled in Hagrid's eyes.
Hagrid drew himself up tall. "You can trust me, Professor. I really, really, really promise."
"That is sufficient," Dumbledore said. "I shall write a note to Silvanus explaining matters. And you, Hagrid, must prepare for the rather strenuous examinations required for a Chimaera-handling licence. Given your lack of formal qualifications, I suspect yours will be particularly challenging."
…
Hagrid left with the grim determination of a man marching to face Voldemort. Anthony remained in the Headmaster's office to discuss the next steps with Dumbledore.
"Are we really building a menagerie, sir?" Anthony asked.
Dumbledore smiled. "I can think of no compelling reason not. The Centaurs have complained about our yearly expansion of the Magical Creatures sheds, and they are not best pleased. Pomona is always eager to cultivate new, experimental herbs, some requiring certain… fertilisers from magical creatures. Furthermore, many students express career interests in Magizoology or fields requiring extensive fieldwork, and Silvanus believes showing them how these animals live in the wild is crucial…"
"Minerva won't be pleased," Anthony said. "And, sir, it is a security concern."
Dumbledore said softly, "Henry, I sometimes wonder… have you noticed that magic itself is not a particularly safe proposition?"
Anthony paused, then conceded. "Yes, sir. I have."
Young witches and wizards faced potential magical outbursts before Hogwarts, or worse consequences from suppressing their magic.
At school, they handled high flames and sharp knives in Potions, dealt with near-lethal plants in Herbology, practised mispronounced charms and transfigurations with unpredictable results, and learned about Dark creatures—or even dealt directly with Voldemort—in Defence.
In their free time, the beloved sport of Quidditch carried injury risks, not to mention the (theoretically non-magical) inter-house scuffles in the corridors.
After graduation, unless they worked somewhere like the Ministry, they'd contend with all sorts of magical dangers—though one could argue working at the Ministry meant dealing with a different kind of troll, which some might agree was equally hazardous.
Dumbledore said, "Then I suppose we can agree a menagerie is hardly the most dangerous element. Giving students a sanctioned outlet for their curiosity might well be safer than having them constantly eyeing the Forbidden Forest."
Anthony had to admit he was somewhat convinced. He also had no doubt Dumbledore could convince Professor McGonagall if he chose to.
"Alright, sir," Anthony smiled. "We need to write that smuggler. Tell him we're reneging."
Dumbledore corrected gently, "We are lawfully providing sanctuary to dangerous magical creatures that have wandered into the Scottish Highlands."
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