It was a rainy night. Thunder rolled across the hills, followed by brief flashes of light that lit up the old castle.
The rain had been falling for hours, washing the stone walls dark and slick. Inside, the corridors were silent.
The institute known as one of the finest institutes of wizardry and magic slept.
Except for this man walking the hallways.
He was almost twice as tall as a normal man and at least five times as wide. He looked simply too big to be allowed, and so wild.
Long tangles of bushy black hair and beard hid most of his face. His hands were the size of trash can lids, and his feet, in their leather boots, looked more like baby dolphins than anything that belonged indoors.
In his vast, muscular arms he held a bundle of letters, all bound neatly in twine, their wax seals gleaming faintly under the light of the torches that lined the walls.
His footsteps echoed softly through the stone corridors, slow and heavy but careful, as though he didn't wish to disturb the quiet of the castle. Droplets of rain still clung to his coat and beard, glistening whenever he passed a torch.
He moved through the long, winding hallways with a purpose, the sound of his boots the only thing breaking the stillness.
He didn't pause to look at the portraits that watched him from the walls, nor the staircases that shifted lazily in the dark. He knew exactly where he was going.
This was none other than, Hagrid.
His destination, the only room in the castle still lit at this hour.
A warm glow spilled faintly through the narrow crack beneath the door ahead. The man adjusted the letters in his arms, brushed a strand of wet hair from his eyes, and raised one large hand to knock.
*Knock. Knock.*
The sound echoed through the stone hallway, though it was quickly swallowed by the thunder that rolled in right after.
And not long after, from beyond the door came a calm voice,
"Come in."
He gripped the handle gently, the wood creaking under the weight of his hand as he pushed the door open.
Warm light spilled out into the hallway, soft and golden against the damp chill of the castle.
Inside, the room was filled with the quiet hum of parchment rustling faintly, candles burning without flicker, and the slow, measured sound of a quill scratching against paper.
At the desk sat an old man, his silver hair and beard gleaming in the candlelight. His eyes, bright and blue behind half moon spectacles, lifted as the door opened.
He didn't seem startled because he already knew who stood there.
Hagrid stepped in carefully, mindful of his size in the small space. He carried the bundle of letters closer to the desk and stopped before it, water still dripping from his coat onto the floor.
The old man set his quill down and leaned back slightly, his gaze shifting to the letters in the visitor's arms.
The flicker of the candlelight reflected in his spectacles as he spoke,
"You have them all, then?" his tone calm, and deliberate.
The giant nodded, his tangled hair falling forward as he did. "Aye. Every last one of them." His voice rumbled low, deep enough to be felt in the floorboards.
He lifted the bundle slightly, the wax seals gleaming faintly. "Sorted, sealed, and ready to go, just as you said."
The old man gave a small, approving nod. "Good." He gestured to the table beside him. "Set them there, if you would."
Hagrid crossed the room, the floor creaking beneath his weight. He placed the letters gently on the table, taking surprising care for a man of his size. His eyes moved across the scattered papers, the open ink bottle, and the faint swirl of smoke rising from the nearest candle.
"Storm's not lettin' up anytime soon," he said after a moment, brushing a drop of rain from his beard. "Whole place feels quiet tonight."
The old man just gave a faint smile.
The giant gave a low hum, as his gaze drifted over the table on one letter set apart from the rest.
The name written on it made him pause.
He hesitated before speaking. "That one's for the boy?"
The old man followed his gaze, eyes resting on the envelope.
" Indeed. For the one they call, the boy who survived. "
The storm outside grew louder, the wind pressing against the windowpanes, and in its rhythm, memory crept in.
He could still recall that night.
The sharp chill in the air, the smell of smoke lingering from the wreckage, the distant echo of all the celebrations.
The sky had been burning in streaks of green and silver, as if the muggles didn't exist that night.
But he stood on a street too peaceful for anything like that.
A small child had rested in his arms then. A child who's existence they were all celebrating.
He remembered the look of the house, the sound of his own voice, and the cat watching from the wall.
Hagrid had been there too, weeping openly, his great shoulders trembling as the motorcycle roared into the night sky.
The old man blinked, pulling himself back to the present.
He let out a quiet breath, slow and steady. "Strange," he murmured, half to himself. "It feels like it happened only yesterday."
"Time moves fast," the watchman of the castle said quietly.
The old man drew his hand back, folded it on the desk, and straightened up once more, the calm returning to his face like a mask set back in place.
After a moment, he spoke, his tone calm but final.
"Leave them here for tonight," he said. " I will take one last look through them, make sure all the names are right. You can take them tomorrow morning."
The giant nodded, "Alright. I will head off then, Good night, Professor Dumbledore. " he said simply.
"Get some rest." Dumbledore replied.
Yes, this old man was none other than Professor Dumbledore, Headmaster of Hogwarts.
Hagrid turned toward the door, and stepped out, closing it softly behind him.
The room fell quiet again.
Dumbledore stood up, and walked.
His face towards the window, and his hands resting lightly on the edge of the frame.
The rain struck the glass in soft, uneven rhythms, and with the window slightly ajar, the cold night air brushed against his face.
He closed his eyes for a moment, listening to the quiet hum of the storm, basking in the chaotic yet peaceful moment.
And then,
CRACK!
A sudden flash lit up the sky, but something was different with this.
A streak of green was mixed in through the clouds, vanishing as quickly as it came.
For that brief instant, the light caught in the old man's eyes. A flicker of green reflected in his blue, before the night returned to gray, leaving only the sound of rain against stone.
He turned from the window, brushing a droplet from his sleeve. His eyes moved back to the desk, the letters waiting in their neat stack. He reached out to straighten them, and his hand paused.
Two more envelopes lay at the edge of the pile.
He frowned faintly, counting them under his breath. The number seemed right, though he couldn't remember finishing the set.
A brief thought crossed his mind, perhaps he had misplaced them earlier.
He gathered the letters closer, adjusting their order, and placed the new ones neatly among them.
He glanced over the two letters once more, the names were written in the same neat writting,
"Loken Vale and Andra Boda." The old man read them quietly under his breath, then gave a small nod, as if this had been the plan all along.
Then, satisfied, he sat down again.
The candles flickered once, and the storm rolled on.
But this year, a lot was going to change. Something no one was expecting.