“Oh, right, right—today’s your birthday! Hey, you’re already eatin’ lunch. Sure enough, I knew Professor Snape wouldn’t prepare a cake for ya, but don’t worry, I brought one along! I might’ve squished it a bit here and there, but the taste’s still the same.”
Hagrid pulled out a slightly crushed box.
Inside sat a sticky, large chocolate cake with “Happy Birthday Harry” written in green icing across the top.
It was a truly rare sight.
Harry looked at the cake with a peculiar expression; this was the very first time he had ever received a cake.
“Thank you,” he said politely.
“I really appreciate the birthday cake, Hagrid.”
“Nothin’ to it, Harry! Truth is, back when you were a baby, well… fine, let’s not talk about that,” Hagrid rambled on, his own eyes brimming with moisture, comforting himself before Harry could even react.
“Harry, Professor Dumbledore asked me to bring a present, and of course I brought one too. I heard you didn’t buy a pet? Hey, I picked out an owl for ya—hope you like her. You can use her to send mail, like deliverin’ letters to me, for instance.”
“And of course, there’s the Headmaster’s gift. Don’t know what he sent; he wrapped it up real tight. Feels like a toy of some sort. Is there any toy you’ve been wantin’, Harry? Toys in the wizardin’ world are way more interestin’ than Muggle ones!”
Winking at him, Hagrid uncovered the cage he had brought along.
Inside, an owl sat perched with its eyes closed, fast asleep.
“Thank you for the owl, Hagrid. I’ll be sure to write to you,” Harry replied, turning his gaze toward the other gift placed on the table.
He was quite curious about it.
Hagrid was rather curious as well.
“Want to open it up, Harry? Who knows, maybe it’s a jar of Cockroach Clusters.”
Harry looked at the box before him and reached out to unwrap it.
Inside rested a quiet gold coin—neither shaped like a Galleon nor like any coin minted by Muggles.
“Hey, why’d he send ya somethin’ so dull?” Hagrid looked away in disappointment.
“Come on, let’s have a taste of this cake, Harry.”
Harry’s eyes, however, remained fixed on the gold coin.
“What is this, Hagrid?” he turned to ask in confusion.
“That commemorative coin? Word is it was jointly issued by the Ministry of Magic and Gringotts over a century ago after the Goblin Rebellions to ease relations between wizards and goblins and bring about peace. Though everyone thought that rebellion was fake—nobody knows what actually happened, and it didn’t cause much of a stir anyway.”
Hagrid offered offhandedly, “Dumbledore should’ve sent ya somethin’ much more interestin’. Honestly, I reckon a jar of Cockroach Clusters would’ve been better than this. Aside from bein’ able to trade it at Gringotts for a thousand gold Galleons, it doesn’t do a thing. As a birthday present, it’s just plain boring, wouldn’t ya say, Har…”
As he sliced into the cake, he glanced toward Harry, only to find the boy staring straight at the gold coin in his hand. New chapters come out on g.com first.
“This is the best gift I have ever received. Dumbledore really is the greatest wizard of the century,” Harry marvelled sincerely, running the pad of his finger gently over the face of the coin.
“Hagrid, surely this isn’t the only commemorative coin like this, is it?”
Hagrid gave Harry a peculiar look.
“Supposedly there’s eighteen of ’em, Harry. You’re not thinkin’ of collectin’ all—”
Before he could finish his sentence, Harry had already tucked the commemorative coin safely into his small pouch.
“Why not? A complete set holds the highest collectible value.”
He found himself missing Jack Sparrow’s compass—a compass that could point its holder directly toward whatever their heart desired.
Back when Harry took that fellow in, the slick bastard had actually used that treasure to help him locate the legendary Fountain of Youth.
“Harry, I reckon I need to take back what I said earlier,” Hagrid patted his thick beard.
“You’re not like James at all, and certainly not like Lily. Perhaps—”
“James?” Harry looked at him in surprise.
“Lily… Lily Evans?”
This was the very first time he had ever heard the names of his parents.
Furthermore, his mother’s name sounded strangely familiar.
Yes—among the traces left by predecessors inside Magical Theory, that very name had appeared!
Hagrid looked stunned for a moment before roaring out in outrage:
“What?”
“D’ya mean to tell me you didn’t even know your parents’ names?”
“How could they do this! The Dursleys—those Muggles didn’t tell ya, Professor Dumbledore didn’t mention it, and Snape didn’t say a word either! How could they do such a thing!”
He began rambling on endlessly, telling stories about his parents, their pasts, and their honors.
Harry listened quietly.
Truthfully, Dumbledore and Snape had likely assumed he already knew.
They had no idea that the Dursleys never spoke of his parents by name, referring to them collectively only as “freaks.”
He didn’t possess an overwhelming desire to learn about his parents’ past.
Still, since Hagrid was willing to talk, he was more than happy to listen.
Midway through, Harry took a piece of cake over to Professor Snape.
The man accepted it without throwing out any mocking remarks, merely offering a single warning not to let Hagrid drink.
On the whole, his birthday turned out rather well, seeing a net increase in Harry’s personal assets.
Granted, typical birthday activities like eating cake, entertaining a guest, and various other troublesome matters had disrupted his daily routine, but it was nice nonetheless.
Hagrid did not stay long at Snape’s house, departing that very evening.
Before leaving, he expressed how much he looked forward to Harry starting school.
Harry himself was equally eager for the term to begin.
Although Hagrid had secretly informed him that the Ministry’s authority over young wizards before starting school was quite weak—since magical outbursts were common, the Ministry generally turned a blind eye to underage wizards without wands so long as any incident remained minor—Harry still chose to abide by his agreement with Snape.
After all, aside from spellcasting, the man was teaching him everything else with utmost seriousness.
The wizarding world was far more than just casting spells.
Much like Newt Scamander, the author of Fantastic Beasts and Where to Find Them, who could make himself extraordinary through various magical creatures and home-brewed potions even without drawing a wand or casting a spell.
“Don’t go grabbing at it with your claws, Potter! Collect only the fine, silver-gray ash from the topmost layer! The coarse black cinders underneath will do nothing but contaminate your cauldron! Can’t you even bother attempting a Levitation Charm? Fine, fine, I know—no need to remind me that you cannot use magic outside of school!”
“The most potent potions sometimes originate from the humblest of ashes! Do not presume potion ingredients consist solely of magical creatures—collecting secondary ingredients mostly involves things that couldn’t be more mundane in the Muggle world!”
“Sweat and tears can naturally form part of a potion as well, Potter. Look at the clear water infused with your sweat—what do you see? You see nothing at all! Are you blind? Your mother could cause the water to yield the colors of a rainbow, whereas your father’s turned it a murky brown. You, Potter—your sweat turns this clear water pitch-black! Tell me, what on earth are you thinking—”
On the final day of August, daily life at Snape’s home remained devoid of shouting, filled only with low, snide drawls spilling from that dark mouth.
In truth, he could be quite long-winded at times.
A simple concept could be stated in a few words, yet he insisted on peppering it with sarcastic remarks every single time.
It really wasn’t easy.
For Harry at least, constructing a sentence with such complex vocabulary would take two or three minutes of mental drafting.
Hence, he didn’t mind the insults at all, and occasionally even found himself admiring the effort.
His initial judgment of Snape when they first met had proven correct: the man was a deeply contradictory, awkward fellow.
For instance, Harry could tell later on that Professor Snape secretly wished he would pick up his wand and begin self-studying spells, rather than stubbornly clinging to that damned agreement and treating the wand purely as an instrument to sense the world!