The Quidditch League Fanfiction Competition, Season 5, Round 2 – Where Are We Going?
Montrose Magpies
CHASER 3: Ilvermorny
Optional Prompts:
(dialogue) "If you leave now, you get nothing."
(word) shadow
(word) contagious
Wordcount: 1454
Hagrid's Foreign Adventure
Twigs broke underfoot as Hagrid strode ahead determinedly. Walking soundlessly through a forest was nigh impossible. He'd been given a mission from Dumbledore to travel to Ilvermorny School of Witchcraft and Wizardry to scout out their take on the Care of Magical Creatures subject, to be used to improve the teaching of it at their own school back home.
What the Keeper of Keys and Grounds of Hogwarts didn't know, was that it was all just a front to hide the real reason behind the visit. In reality, the elderly Headmaster was beginning to feel his age, and with that came all the 'what ifs' and the ideas about everything he would still have been able to do if he were but a few decades younger. He didn't want his trusted groundskeeper and friend to end up an old man without having seen much else of the world than the grounds of Hogwarts, Hogsmeade, and Diagon Alley. Though, the half-giant seemed quite content with his way of life, if only a little wistful when it came to being forbidden to use magic. Everyone should have the chance to travel and explore the world while they still could, if only to discover that they didn't like it much. But just having had the opportunity made all the difference, and might help him avoid regrets later in life.
There was no one better suited for this mission than Rubeus Hagrid, the great Albus Dumbledore had said. Hagrid puffed out his chest just at the memory of the praise he had read in those words, as he walked deeper into the thick forest. He might have been unsure about the idea of travelling so far away, all by himself, and leaving the care of the Hogwarts grounds in the hands of others, but if Albus thought he was the right man for the job, who was he to question it?
There was the shadow of a hangover looming ominously over him that morning. Not enough to make him sick, but just enough for the big man to feel like he was running on reduced capacity.
The cause of it was that he had spent the night before playing cards with Muggles at the local bar.
Hagrid had been having bad luck all evening and had lost more than half of the money he'd brought with him. But that didn't put much of a damper on his enjoyment of the game, as the others' good mood and cheerful camaraderie was rather contagious. Just as he'd started contemplating giving in for the evening and retreating back to the castle, his luck had seemed to turn slightly. And even though he should have called it a night to make sure he was well rested for a day of tracking wild magical creatures through the woods of Massachusetts the next morning, he'd been persuaded to stay a little longer. And then just a little bit longer again.
At some point, he'd accidentally thrown a Galleon into the pot before realising his mistake and that it might not be a good idea in a Muggle bar. There was the International Statute of Secrecy, and all that. It wouldn't do to have the Ministry of Magic — or the American equivalent, in any case — searching him and perhaps taking too close of a look at the old, pink umbrella he always kept on hand, never far from his sight. It was hidden quite inconspicuously and would mostly be overlooked. As long as no one was consciously looking for it, he should be in the clear. Fortunately, when the Muggles commented on the strange coin, he managed to assuage their suspicions with an offhand comment about a bet against an Egyptian archaeologist. Luckily, the other players had already been too drunk to notice the hesitation or to press the issue further. They might have assumed he was some kind of antiques dealer, and he was not going to correct them.
A cacophony of requests for him to stay, the tone of them ranging from 'Please stay, these old guys can't play worth shit' to 'If you leave now, you get nothing'. Or, at least, some variation of that seemed to be the gist of it, if he'd understood correctly. And who could resist such imploring and heartfelt pleas? Not him!
They had a funny way of speaking, those Americans, but as long as the topic didn't stray too far from the game, he could follow the conversation well enough. He might not have ever been to the foreign country before, but it wasn't like he hadn't encountered the odd traveling American Wizard down at the Leaky Cauldron. He had won a Wampus Cat off of one a couple of years ago. Unfortunately, after a frightening meeting with one of the Thestrals in his care, it had run off into the Forbidden Forest, never to been seen again.
Giving in to temptation might not have been the most flattering example of his life choices, but, if nothing else, he had won back almost half of what he had started out with. So, all in all, not a bad night at the pub. It wasn't like it was the worst loss he'd ever made in a friendly card game. There was that one time a stranger had offered up a sphinx cub as his stake, but the cards had not been in his favour at all that particular night, and the stranger had taken the beautiful creature, as well as a month's worth of Hagrid's wages, before he'd left. That loss was still smarting whenever he thought about it, even though it had been many years since then.
Quite red-faced by then and with a mood to match, he'd gracefully accepted the cards he'd been dealt for another round and gratefully received the newly filled tankard of ale — or glass of beer, as they called it over here — from a passing barmaid.
He wasn't entirely sure how much later it had become before he'd stumbled his way back to the room he had been given upon his arrival at the school, but had managed to get up bright and early the next morning anyway. Well, maybe not so bright, but definitely a lot earlier than he would have preferred.
He'd already come across a flock of wild jackalopes on the northeastern side of the castle the day before, so that was one of the less dangerous — and less interesting — creatures crossed off his list. He'd diligently and conscientiously been taking notes on their behaviour and interactions both with nature and any other creatures in their habitat. If the Headmaster wanted comprehensive first hand research, that's what he would get.
Now, if he could only be lucky enough to catch a glimpse of the elusive Hidebehind — preferably, a lot more than a glimpse; he wanted to learn everything there was to know about the fascinating creature, after all — he would consider the assignment a huge success. So far, he'd seen neither hide nor hair of it, but there was still plenty of time to scout the area for its distinct tracks, and he was feeling quite optimistic.
One might think that Hidebehinds were something to be avoided at any costs, but on the contrary, he would be delighted to have a closer look at one. He'd heard the stories, of course, but stubbornly insisted that it was not evil, or even dangerous; it was just a poor, misunderstood and, in all honesty, beautiful creature.
He firmly believed that the way you treated a creature — any kind of creature, from unicorns to dragons to flobberworms — determined how they would treat you in return.
That was how he found himself traipsing through the forests of North America by the famous American school for magical people with a couple of fresh, bloody legs of cows — acquired from the local butcher at the nearest Muggle town, incidentally located just opposite of the bar he'd spent time at — thrown over his right shoulder, staining his dark brown overcoat and leaving a visible trail in the foliage behind him.
Even if he didn't happen to encounter all the creatures he'd hoped, the change of scenery was refreshing. It didn't stop him from feeling a tiny bit homesick, though. But the time to leave the continent behind and find his way home again would come soon enough. Maybe he could even swing by Wisconsin on his way back home to see if he could spot any Hodags as well, while he still was in these parts of the world. He might not get the chance again, at least not for the foreseeable future.