Fred and George and the Toilers of Trouble (Year 1) ✔

Chapter 26:5

The swirling cloud rocked and trembled, as if they were standing at the helm of a ship that was prepared to take on a mighty storm. Hagrid was looking down at his boots again, wearing a dismal expression.

"Tha's probably enough," he grumbled, shuffling in place. "Think yeh know wha' happens next. How she got ter the school, an' tha'. Maybe we can jus'...er...skip this bit."

"No," said Dumbledore firmly. "This may be difficult for you, Hagrid, but we need to see everything."

As the fog steadied, a new room formed around them. Fred and George felt suddenly worried and moved closer to the others, because Professor Dumbledore assumed the next vision would be difficult for Hagrid to experience. On the opposite side of their headmaster, Professor Parsimonae, who had no doubt been piecing things together far quicker than the rest, seemed to feel a similar uneasiness about the coming memory. And soon, they were clustered together at the rear of a familiar space. The group had come to rest inside the very octagonal room with the tiled snake coiling beneath their feet, where Aruzula Darc had led George into a trap.

"Shall we light our wands?" asked Professor Mulligan, as they could just barely discern the boundaries of the Pensieve.

"You may, but it will not brighten the room," said Dumbledore sagely. "The memory will most certainly adjust when Hagrid arrives."

Moments later, the light of the moon shone down through the clouds, and they were able to see that the floor was covered in brown sacks and dried twigs tied together in bunches, beside strings of various leaves and berries. There was a large stone cauldron in the center of the room, resting atop a stack of logs that had been prepared for the flame. They could see a mirror leaning against the wall, next to what appeared to be a bark-encrusted walking stick. Then there was the familiar oval table, with its long-stemmed pipe. Although it was slightly different than the setting Fred and George knew from present day. There were two chairs in this version, and there was an ornamental dagger resting beside the pipe.

Before they had time to inspect the collection of what they assumed to be potions ingredients, the secret door opened and Hagrid stumbled inside, carrying a large, framed portrait. He walked the painting into the room and leaned it gently against the wall, beside the mirror.

"Don' think they seen us," he said, rushing back to the opening. He peered at the ground and stepped on a pedal hidden within the floorboards. The door sealed with a cough of dust.

"Where is it?" asked the girl eagerly, from inside the painting.

"Where's wha'?" he said aloofly. "Oh, right."

The younger Hagrid whistled and tilted his head up to the ceiling. Flying out of the passage where Fred had been just recently hiding was a young hippogriff, not much older than Witherwings. It landed on his shoulder and pecked lovingly at his bushy eyebrows. Hagrid laughed and swiped playfully at its beak.

"Finally captured her in the forest jus' las' night. No one saw. They're too 'fraid ter go out there at night, but not me. No, sir. It's like the forest back home," the massive boy said absently, smiling more in that moment than they had ever seen. "They migrate this time o' year, hippogriffs. Had ter build a trap o' sorts. Learned bout wha' attracts 'em from a book in the library. Yeh wouldn' think it, but hippogriffs love pickled gerkins. They're quite fascinatin', these creatures. Did yeh know tha' when —?"

"Are those the supplies I asked you to get?" the girl interjected.

"Er — yeah." He fumbled through the bags, listing off the items one by one. "Raided the student store-cupb'rd. Slughorn won' notice. Found tha' mirror behind a curtain in the Hufflepuff common room. Now...the used terbacco was tricky. Had ter nab the pipe from Professor Binns durin' his lecture on the Sixteen Twelve goblin rebellion, day before las'. Or was it Twelve Sixteen?" He shrugged his giant shoulders, which stirred the hippogriff to flap her broad eagle wings. Hagrid scrunched up his face in a protective grin until it settled down. "Anyhow, Binns had 'is head so stuck in the book, he didn' see me comin'. ME! Can yeh believe it?"

"Excellent," she said distractedly. "It looks like we have everything we need."

Hagrid strolled over to the table and lifted the dagger. He examined it indifferently. "I don' see why we can' jus' use sheers ter slice up the leaves, an' that...like I seen done in Potions. Why the fancy knife?"

"You're going to have to kill the hippogriff, Rubeus," she said in a cold and direct tone.

Gasps filled the room, as the group of onlookers met each other's gaze.

"Wha...?" the young Hagrid said, stumbling backwards. He dropped the dagger. It clanged loudly to the floor. He tried to speak, but his mouth hung open in horror. "No. No, I...I can' do tha'."

"You must."

"There's gotta be another way!"

"We need its blood."

"Then squeeze it from a ruddy leech or summat. I ain' killin' her!" he said defiantly, bringing the hippogriff down to his chest so he could protect it with a steady embrace.

The girl in the painting strolled back to the chair to sit, as they reconsidered her freedom.

"Is there nothin' else ter be done?"

"Afraid not. The potion requires a sacrifice."

Hagrid looked around at all he had collected. Those within the Pensieve could see that he had been imagining their success for days, weeks even, never realizing for a moment that it would come to this. After a long silence, he looked down into the beast's radiant, orange eyes.

"Do I have ter?" Hagrid asked beseechingly.

"Yes, I am sorry," she replied tenderly.

His beady black eyes traveled down to the steel dagger that was partially concealed beneath the table across the room. A horrified expression came to his face, as the jeweled handle sparkled in the glow of the moonlight.

Mr. Filch was muttering nastily to himself.

And then, ever so suddenly, the vision was muffled.