After dropping Harry off at the subway station, Hagrid hurried straight back to the Leaky Cauldron.
“Oi, Hagrid!
Haven’t seen you in a while.
Fancy a drink?” Tom the bartender was polishing glasses.
The evening rush was about to start, and the place would soon be packed.
“Sorry, mate, no time.
Got urgent business.” Hagrid’s massive frame made Tom take a nervous step back.
“Whoa, easy there!
I don’t want to repair this counter again with a Reparo.
It’s already been smashed by drunk wizards too many times.” Tom waved his hands.
“Oh—sorry.” Hagrid skidded to a halt.
“Tom, mind if I use your fireplace?” “What’s the rush?” Tom asked.
“Dumbledore’s orders.
Important stuff.
You know how it is—he trusts me with the big jobs.
Like picking up Harry Potter today.” Hagrid puffed out his chest, voice booming so loud half the pub turned to look.
“Harry Potter?” Tom’s voice shot up.
He craned his neck, peering past Hagrid.
“Where is he?
I don’t see him!” “Already home.
Bought everything he needed while you were napping.” Hagrid shrugged.
“You big oaf, you should’ve woken me!
That’s Harry bloody Potter!” Tom grumbled.
“Plenty of chances later.
He’ll be back every year.
Now quit yapping—I gotta go.” Hagrid urged.
“Fine, fine.
This way.” Tom set down the glass and led Hagrid toward the kitchen.
“Hi, Hagrid.” A weak voice drifted down from the stairs.
Hagrid looked up and spotted a familiar face.
“Oh—Professor Quirrell.
Evening.
Sorry, can’t chat.
Got to run.” Hagrid gave a quick nod.
“Please do.” Quirrell’s pale face held a thin smile.
Hagrid’s huge back disappeared through the door behind Tom.
The smile on Quirrell’s face vanished the second Hagrid was gone.
Flickering lamplight washed over his pale skin.
His thin body trembled slightly.
“Master,” Quirrell whispered.
“Do you think the Philosopher’s Stone is on him?” A low hiss answered from beneath his turban.
A snake slid out, tongue flicking, voice only Quirrell could hear.
“No.
A stupid half-giant?
Dumbledore would have to be mad to trust something that important to him.
Get ready.
We don’t have much time.
If you want the pain to stop, you’ll do whatever it takes to steal that stone.” Quirrell’s body shook.
“Yes, Master.” Blue flames roared in the fireplace.
When they died down, Hagrid’s enormous body appeared—then promptly smacked his head on the mantel with a loud thunk.
“Ow!” “Blimey, Professor Dumbledore, you oughta enlarge this fireplace,” Hagrid complained, rubbing his head as he climbed out, covered in soot.
Dumbledore sat calmly beside a sleeping phoenix, its feathers glowing gold and red.
Fawkes opened one eye at the noise, then settled again.
The old wizard turned, blue eyes sparkling with quiet wisdom.
“That’s not a bad idea.
You can come by and expand it for me sometime.” Dumbledore smiled.
“You’re back early.
I take it everything with Harry went smoothly.” “Sure did.
The Dursleys weren’t exactly polite, but they didn’t stop me.
Went off without a hitch.” Hagrid grinned.
Dumbledore raised an eyebrow.
“Really?
I expected more resistance from them.” “Didn’t talk to ’em much.
The woman took one look at me and hid.
Never even saw the man—he was at work.” Hagrid spread his massive hands.
“That’s… not the standard procedure, Hagrid.
Normally a professor explains everything to the Muggle family, gets their permission, and brings a guardian along to witness the magic.” Dumbledore’s tone stayed gentle.
“Yeah, well, they’re the Dursleys.
Even for Muggles they’re weird.
I figured they’d scream their heads off if they saw real magic.” Hagrid shrugged.
“Fair point.
I’ve dealt with them before—they hate anything magical.
Since Harry’s already confirmed his place at Hogwarts, the details don’t matter much.” Dumbledore sighed and shook his head.
“So.
The other task.
Did you get it?” “Course I did.
Right here.” Hagrid pulled a small cloth bag from his coat and handed it over.
Dumbledore opened it.
A brilliant red stone caught the light, glowing with pure, intense crimson.
Even in the Muggle world it would be priceless.
In the wizarding world, it was one of a kind.
Dumbledore’s calm gaze flickered for the briefest moment.
“Any trouble on the way back?” he asked, tucking the bag away.
“None.
Smooth as butter.” Hagrid shook his head.
“Harry didn’t ask about it?
He wasn’t curious?” “Seemed genuinely uninterested.
But he’s a good lad—almost dropped the bag once and he caught it for me.” Hagrid chuckled, carefree as ever.
Dumbledore was quiet for a few seconds, then nodded.
“That will be all.
Thank you, Hagrid.
Get some rest.
The kitchens are rehearsing the welcome feast—plenty of good food if you’re hungry.” “Now that sounds worth rushing for.” Hagrid beamed.
“Night, Professor.” Dumbledore watched him go.
Once the door closed, he pulled the red stone out again and studied it closely.
“No switch.
The weight and magic feel right.” He spoke softly to himself.
“But something still feels… off.” He held the stone toward the phoenix.
“Fawkes.
Sense anything wrong?” Fawkes opened his eyes, regarded the stone, and let out a clear, melodic trill.
“No issues.
Only my own scent remains.
Thank you.” Dumbledore stroked the phoenix’s feathers and slipped the stone back into its pouch.
He stared into the fire for a long moment.
Perhaps he was simply too on edge because of Tom.