tradition

08

Harry Potter didn't want to go to Hagrid's hut that night. His heart felt heavy, weighed down by the distress and heartbreak following his confrontation with Briar. The anguish gnawed at him, making each step feel like an arduous task. Yet, with a resigned sigh, he forced himself to rise and walk down to Hagrid's hut, his feet dragging as though bound by invisible chains. The entire Gryffindor house could sense that something was amiss with him, their concerned glances following him as he departed.

"Did you bring your father's cloak?" Hagrid asked, his tone gentle but expectant.

"Yeah, I brought the cloak. Where are we going?" Harry asked, his impatience barely masking his sorrow.

"You'll see soon enough," Hagrid replied, a bright orange flower pinned to his jacket and his hair noticeably combed and brushed, adding an unusual neatness to his appearance.

Harry, despite his melancholy, couldn't help but notice. "What's with the flower? Hagrid, have you combed your hair?" he asked, surprised by the giant's transformation.

Hagrid nodded, a slight blush creeping into his cheeks. "As a matter of fact, I have. You might like to try the same thing now and again. Or, not ruining the life of the girl you fancy." Hagrid's voice held a gentle reprimand.

Harry sighed deeply and looked up at Hagrid, his eyes reflecting the turmoil within. "That wasn't a good thing that you did, Harry. You should know that no journalist is looking for the truth, especially not Rita Skeeter. Briar is a lovely girl and an even nicer friend to have; it's not fair to her," Hagrid admonished softly.

"Well, I didn't know that. I mean, I know that she's a lovely girl, but I didn't know that journalists are like that..." Harry protested, his voice tinged with regret.

Hagrid nodded sympathetically. "Then you ought to tell her that."

Their conversation was soon interrupted by distant roaring, capturing their attention.

"Hagrid?" a feminine voice rang out, echoing through the night air. Hagrid's face lit up with a soft smile as he walked towards the voice. "Oh! The cloak... put the cloak on," Hagrid instructed. Harry quickly placed the cloak over his body, causing him to disappear from sight. Silently, he followed Hagrid, his curiosity piqued.

"Bonsoir Olympe!" Hagrid greeted Madame Maxime with a wide smile, his eyes twinkling with warmth.

"Oh Hagrid, I thought perhaps you weren't coming. I thought perhaps... you had forgotten me," the woman spoke softly, her voice carrying a hint of worry.

Hagrid took her hand and kissed it gently, reassuring her with a kind smile. "I couldn't forget you, Olympe." Harry watched the exchange of affection with a mix of disgust and bemusement.

"When we spoke... you sounded so... exhilarated," Madame Maxime said, her worry evident.

"You'll be glad that you came. Trust me," Hagrid assured her, pushing aside a couple of bushes. Madame Maxime stared at the scene in awe.

"La, c'est magnifique!" she exclaimed. Several dragons roared and spewed fire within large cages, their majestic forms both terrifying and awe-inspiring. Harry's mouth fell open in shock as he looked at Hagrid in fear.

Madame Maxime walked forward, enchanted by the marvelous creatures. Harry lifted the cloak off his body and stared at Hagrid in disbelief. "Dragons? That's the first task?" he whispered urgently.

Hagrid brushed off Harry's concern and tried to reassure him. "Don't worry, Harry. They're deeply misunderstood creatures... but uh, that Horntail is a right piece of work. Poor Ron fainted just seeing him, you know?"