Harry Potter: Magic and Guns

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On his way to Hagrid's hut, Harry made a detour to the Black Lake to catch some fish. He was feeling a bit tired of roasted meat for breakfast and decided to prepare a bowl of freshly made fish porridge. Holding a pair of hefty Black Lake catfish, each weighing around 20 pounds, Harry carried them effortlessly in each hand as he walked.

Hagrid was usually an early riser, and by the time Harry emerged from the lake, he could already see smoke curling from the chimney of Hagrid's hut in the distance.

"Hagrid! I'm here to freeload on breakfast!"

Harry called out as he approached the door. Without waiting for a response, he pushed open the wooden door with practiced familiarity. However, the hut wasn't occupied by Hagrid alone.

"Professor Dumbledore? Good morning."

Harry raised the catfish in his hand, clearly surprised to see Dumbledore there. "I'm planning to make some fish porridge. Care to try some?"

"If it's no trouble, thank you," Dumbledore replied with his usual warm smile. Despite his age, Dumbledore enjoyed exploring new experiences, and culinary experiments were no exception.

"Adding one more spoon to the pot? That's no trouble at all." Harry carried himself like he owned the place, which Hagrid didn't mind in the least. In fact, Hagrid seemed to enjoy this sense of camaraderie.

"It looks like you're heading out today, Hagrid. You seem a bit... tense."

Since Harry entered, Hagrid hadn't greeted him as usual. Instead, he had been mumbling rapidly to himself, his lips moving as though rehearsing something.

"Huh? What?" Hagrid suddenly snapped out of his daze. "Oh, Harry, you're here." He let out a sheepish laugh and ruffled his already messy hair. "Didn't I tell you before? I'm going to take the dragon handler certification exam. Today's the day. I need to head over to Wilson. Professor Dumbledore was kind enough to accompany me. To be honest..."

Hagrid gulped nervously, his anxiety practically radiating from him. "I don't feel too confident about it." He lowered his head slightly, his voice laced with self-doubt. "If it weren't for Professor Dumbledore offering to come along, I'd probably freeze up when I got there and forget everything."

Although Hagrid's nerves might seem exaggerated, Harry knew better. Hagrid's strength was undeniable. Even the most aggressive dragons would think twice before approaching him. If a dragon ever flew low enough, Hagrid could hurl a boulder weighing several tons with ease, bringing the creature down to the ground, where he'd give it a thorough "lesson." Unless the dragon was a fully grown Soviet Ironbelly, known for its massive size and thick hide, most others wouldn't stand a chance against Hagrid's raw physical power.

For magical creatures, Hagrid's unique brand of physical "discipline" was nothing short of an art form—a pure, unrelenting display of brute force.

Hagrid's unmatched ability to tame dragons would put a hundred certified handlers to shame. However, when he wasn't in "battle mode," Hagrid's personality was shy and prone to nervousness—a trait likely rooted in his difficult upbringing.

"Just stay calm and be yourself," Harry said as he placed the fish on the counter. He grabbed a cleaver and swiftly chopped off one of the fish heads. While working, he chatted casually with Hagrid to ease his nerves.

"If you find yourself panicking and unsure what to do, just close your eyes and think about how you used to play with Norbert."

"Will that really work?" Hagrid asked, his wide eyes filled with surprise. "You're not tricking me, are you, Harry? I'm so nervous I could burst. If I fail the exam, who knows when Norbert will ever get the chance to meet you all properly."

Owning a dragon but being unable to show it off was a source of frustration for Hagrid. He genuinely adored dragons and wished more people could see the charm of these "adorable little fire-breathing darlings."

"You're overthinking this, Hagrid. Handling dragons isn't as hard as you make it out to be. You're already a hundred times better than most certified handlers. Have you ever seen anyone else tame a juvenile, hyperactive Soviet Ironbelly to the point where it obediently lays still in the backyard?"

"Back when you took Norbert for walks in the Forbidden Forest, I remember it clearly. That was the first time I'd ever seen someone walk a dragon like a dog. Norbert was panting, tongue out, sprawled on the ground with its claws digging into the dirt, refusing to move another inch."

Harry glanced at Dumbledore, who looked genuinely astonished upon hearing this. Apparently, even Dumbledore hadn't been aware of how Hagrid had managed to train Norbert so thoroughly.

"You see, even Professor Dumbledore is astonished by you. Isn't that impressive, Professor?"

Dumbledore nodded while watching Harry skillfully slice paper-thin pieces of fish with a small knife. He said with a smile, "Indeed, it is truly impressive, Hagrid. This is the first time I've heard of anyone taming a dragon to this extent."

Hearing Dumbledore's affirmation, Hagrid visibly relaxed. Of all the people in the world, Hagrid trusted Dumbledore the most. With his approval, a heavy weight was lifted from Hagrid's heart.

"Right! I'll go prepare the porridge!" Hagrid exclaimed, his face lighting up with joy as he busied himself. This wasn't the first time Harry had made breakfast in Hagrid's hut, nor was it the first time Hagrid had joined him for porridge. "Are we frying those long, baguette-like pastries today? I quite like those."

"No fried dough today," Harry replied, shaking his head. "The salted duck eggs I prepared a while back are ready to eat now, and they're perfect with porridge."

Two large plates were soon piled high with thin, translucent slices of fish. Meanwhile, about a dozen salted duck eggs were sliced open, their golden yolks oozing rich, glistening oil. All that remained was for Hagrid's massive pot of white porridge to finish cooking. Once it was ready, the fish slices would be lightly scalded in the boiling porridge, completing their meal.

Of course, since both Harry and Hagrid had enormous appetites, it was no exaggeration to say they could finish off an entire cow in one sitting. The pot for the porridge was so large that a person could easily fit inside it. Despite the roaring flames beneath it, some things simply couldn't be rushed.

Humming a cheerful tune, Hagrid stirred the massive pot with a ladle almost as large as himself. Meanwhile, Harry and Dumbledore sat across from each other, idle as they waited.

To be honest, there wasn't much common ground between the two. Harry felt a stronger connection to Grindelwald, which, while not exactly making Dumbledore jealous, did leave him feeling slightly sour.

"After all, I was the one who met him first…" 

Such thoughts reflected a subtle undercurrent of emotion that Dumbledore couldn't quite shake off. Still, he had no one to blame but himself. After the events of the previous year, and with Grindelwald's pointed reminders and personal example, Dumbledore had begun reassessing the way he had treated the members of the Order of the Phoenix, who had once been loyal to him.

Now that the metaphorical "window" had been opened, Dumbledore finally understood the gravity of his past mistakes. He had caused those loyal to him to feel neglected. Even though many of them never complained or held grudges, and some even continued to respect and serve him, he knew he couldn't take their loyalty for granted any longer. A second failure would be irreparable.

Dumbledore was gradually working to make amends for his mistakes. His influence in the wizarding world was vast, and although he had rarely exercised the power entrusted to him in the past, that didn't mean he lacked it—or the ability to wield it when necessary.

The two sat in silence for a moment, exchanging glances without speaking. Eventually, it was Dumbledore who broke the awkward quiet.

"Porridge might take a while longer to cook. Would you care to join me for a walk?"

"Of course, Professor. The mornings at Hogwarts are beautiful."

(End of Chapter)