The Hagrid's son

A new school year had begun at Hogwarts, and the announcement that the school would host an event as legendary as the Triwizard Tournament caused a great stir among almost all the students.

The first-year Muggle-born students could only look around in confusion…

They only understood that the prize of a thousand Galleons for the champion was a lot of money.

Fortunately, Dumbledore provided a simple explanation out of consideration for those unfamiliar with such an event, and everything became clear.

And while the Great Hall was being prepared to welcome the students from the other two schools, Hagrid, Barnaby, and Filch were busy receiving the guests.

"Did you hear what Headmistress Maxime said, Dad?" Barnaby complained, his face flushed with indignation. "Saying that the Abraxans pulling her carriage only drink single malt whisky… Just look at the state of their feathers! This woman has no idea how to properly care for these wonderful creatures!"

The more Barnaby looked at them, the more indignant he felt.

The Abraxan is a type of giant winged horse, about the size of an elephant and extremely powerful, with a white coat, often used in the making of various potions.

While offering them single malt whisky occasionally is good for their health as a supplement to their diet and enhances the effect of their feathers used in potions, it doesn't mean it's healthy to give it to them as if it were plain water!

"If they could really only drink that, the wild Abraxans would have died out long ago…" Barnaby continued to protest as he tended to the winged horses. "They should only drink two buckets a week per head at most! Look at them, they're so drunk they can't even walk straight."

In Barnaby's opinion, it was a complete miracle that they managed to arrive without crashing!

He would need to feed them a mixture of grains and clean water—no, it would be best to write to Newt explaining the situation and asking for advice; he had his own feed recipe for Abraxans, and these poor creatures needed it urgently.

Even if Maxime had no idea how to care for them, Barnaby couldn't ignore their health—not only out of principle but also because who knows if the return journey would be safe if he didn't act.

"I thought the reception would be straightforward, but I didn't think only Beauxbatons would have such a problem. Durmstrang didn't take care either—they're completely unreasonable!"

Igor Karkaroff had the audacity to demand an explanation for the crack in the ship when they were the ones who didn't watch where they were going on the water and crashed into the baby lion-turtle that was in the river!

Barnaby had to spend several minutes comforting the poor frightened creature, which had been hit while it was peacefully sleeping, bothering no one.

If it hadn't been for Viktor Krum—the same guy from the World Cup—pulling Karkaroff away to avoid delays in the schools' presentations, Barnaby would have been the one demanding an explanation from that goat-bearded headmaster!

Both schools were lucky that the tournament contract obligated Barnaby to act with absolute neutrality during the tasks; otherwise…

"And what's with that girl with Veela blood?" Barnaby suddenly remembered one of the students who followed Maxime into the castle. "She's not even bothering to contain her magical charm; she's actually amplifying it. How arrogant."

Barnaby didn't need to worry—the Veela blood was vastly inferior compared to the blood running through his veins, making him naturally immune to that cheap trick—but he could already imagine some problems that girl might cause to half the student population in the castle…

The excuse that she couldn't control her charm would only be believable if she were a few years younger, but Barnaby had once extensively researched bloodlines to learn more about himself, and he knew that any human girl with Veela blood could instinctively restrain her charm by the age of eleven or twelve.

"I should talk to Aunt Minerva. I could place a charm on the castle to block her influence by force, but I'm missing some materials," Barnaby considered after making sure the schools hadn't brought any additional problems.

Naturally, he would first suggest warning that girl once through Maxime, but if she had no intention of being considerate in someone else's house, there was no reason to be polite with her.

And what if she used her ability to cause trouble for the champions of the other schools?

That would go against the principle of neutrality, right?

The rumble in the sky pulled Barnaby out of his thoughts. He looked up to see dark clouds gathering, preparing to release their burden onto the earth.

"Looks like there's going to be a storm; luckily, we've already sheltered everyone," he commented. "Hmm? Odd, I could have sworn I saw someone among the rocks on the hillside… Sanshi?"

"I didn't notice anything," his familiar responded. "All the students from the schools left in the same group, so I don't think it's anything."

"Hmm, you're right. Let's just head back," Barnaby agreed, hearing the response.

Not wanting to waste more time and risk getting caught outside when it started to rain, he hurried back to the Great Hall to get something warm to eat.

And while he curiously watched the Durmstrang students sit with the Slytherins and the Beauxbatons students with the Ravenclaws, reflecting on how to bring up the subject of the girl with Veela blood to Minerva, the arrival of the new Defense Against the Dark Arts professor caught him off guard.

"Alastor Moody?" Barnaby blinked in surprise like everyone else, but for different reasons. "Why, out of all the possible people, did it have to be Tonks' former mentor?!"

This was going to be a year full of awkward encounters for him…

Besides, Moody already had a job at the Ministry—what was he doing here?

No, wait, he was one of Dumbledore's supporters, so it wasn't that strange that he would simply do him a favor or something like that.

Though it was still unexpected that, after what happened at the Quidditch World Cup, the Ministry of Magic would be willing to give up his skills for an entire year.

Maybe he requested a sabbatical?

Clearly, there was more to the matter, but it wasn't his problem.

At least there was one piece of good news.

"At least this year, the subject will be taught by someone truly capable," Barnaby thought as he returned to his plate of gratin macaroni.

The training in that area had been quite poor in recent years, and maybe Moody could whip them into shape, making up for lost time with his well-known teaching method.

Constant vigilance!