Saturday, July 5th, 2014. 2:00 PM.

  Hogwarts Castle, Scottish Highlands, Great Britain

  After Hagrid dug Harry out from under almost half a ton of Boarhound and Boarhound-Dire Wolf Cross, they started around the castle to Hagrid’s place. Rain, (and the mud the hounds had shared with Harry), slid off the cloak’s enchanted material. Direfang in particular had no desire to leave Harry’s side, planning, no doubt, to be first in line for scritches and belly rubs.

  After Harry was settled in one of the over-sized over-stuffed chairs crammed into Hagrid’s living area, he accepted a very watered-down Firewhiskey. He declined, with thanks, an offer of something to eat. This was why he had wisely broken his fast while in Appleby, in anticipation of just such an offer.

  “Hagrid, it’s great to see you again. Everyone sends their love, especially Ginny.” Harry took a sip of his drink and winced inwardly. The bottle label said, ‘Ogden’s,’ but this was Hagrid’s home-made version or he was a Kneazle. “I’m here on Official Business, though.”

  He peered suspiciously up into the rafters. He had a sudden, irrational suspicion that the M.O.M. Owl Office might have sent a spy-owl, to make sure he wasn’t misusing his Auror’s privileges. He shook that off.

  “Well, talk about going right to th’ top! First they send some useless wet-behind-the-ears Assistant to th’ Junior Assistant newbie who’s afraid t’ step foot into th’ Forest, then they jump roight up to Th’ Highly Esteemed and Omnip’tent Head of th’ Auror Office himself.” Hagrid grinned widely in his thick black beard. “It’s honored I am, sor, t’make yer acquaintance.”

  “Stuff it, you old windbag,” Harry replied equably. “Priority went up when we started getting more calls. They pretty closely matched your incident.”

  “Y’sure y’don’t mean ‘calls from more reliable sources?’”

  “There is no one more reliable than you, Hagrid.” Harry said firmly. “I’ve put my life in your hands more than once, and I would not hesitate to do it again.”

  Hagrid’s blush showed through his beard.

  “All right, talk to me.” Harry said, pulling out his notebook. “What exactly happened, how often has it happened, and what made it so strange it was worth filing a report?”

  Hagrid took a draught from his over-sized tankard, (in his great hand, it looked the size of a highball glass), smacking his lips over the uncut, rotgut, home-made whiskey.

  “It’s th’ Forest, Harry. It bein’ summer an’ all, I spends a lot more time in there. Takin’ care o’ things that slides durin’ th’ school year. Helpin’ the unicorns an’ all with foalin’ an’ checkin’ ter make sure there ain’ no territory fights. Th’ centaurs are a lot more help than they us’ ter be, not as stand-offish, like.”

  A case of literary theft: this tale is not rightfully on Amazon; if you see it, report the violation.

  He sighed heavily, then smiled. “Lotta things changed after the War. Mos’ for the better. As fer what it is now, well, it started wi’...” Hagrid hesitated. “Harry, I know y’ don’t care for Aragog’s kin.., an’ I can’t blame yeh!” he added hurriedly. “I was su’prised m’self after Aragog died.”

  Harry schooled his expression to neutrality. “But...?” he prompted.

  “But they didn’t attack the school because they were evil, or nuthin’. They was run out of their territory by He.., Vol...”

  Harry shook his head, “Just call him Riddle, Hagrid. That was the name he was born with, and the only name he deserved.”

  “Yeh, yer right. Tom Riddle he was, and evil he was, even back then. But it was him and his Death Eaters tha’ chased them into the school grounds, an’ everthin’ tha’ followed was jus’ them following their nature.”

  Hagrid looked downcast. “And they paid for it. Paid hard. They was near wiped out,?b’tween the Battle an’ th’ scourging of th' Forest after. Hunters was looking for Death Eaters, sure enough, but they wouldn’t pass up a werewolf or a’ Inferi or a spider. As fer th’ Dementors, what with all th’ hope an’ joy afterwards, I guess they starved down t' about nuthin’.”

  “There weren’t any big spiders left, none much bigger than a Pekingese. And they scattered, high up in the trees, and deep in caves, and burrows. And they stayed away from their old territory, it havin’ been marked with Dark Magic an’ Death.”

  “I started findin’ them about ten years ago, in one’s and two’s, still small, and none of them thriving. An’ they remembered me, most of them, from when they were tiny, an’ how Aragog respected me, an’ how I had never hurt them. So I found them a place, a place tha' no one else wanted, a big cavern in a steep mountainside. An’ I gathered 'em.”

  “But I’d learned, too,” Hagrid said proudly. “I di’n’t let them run wild, like I did with Aragog an’ Morag. I raised ‘em to respect and fear people. What they could and couldn’t hunt. When they reached a size to breed, I'd leave 'em only an egg or two each. And I taught them to protect the eggs, and cherish the little ones, and raise them proper.”

  Harry shook his head. “I’m impressed. I would have thought it would be impossible to change behavior that deeply ingrained.”

  Hagrid shook his head as well. “Nah, that’s quitter's talk. With enough magic, and way too much stubbornness, I’ve learnt tha' 'bout anyone an' anythin' can be changed.” Hagrid looked over at Harry. “And yeh don’t have t’ guess who I learned that from.”

  “But the spiders? I’m that proud of ‘em, I am. They might as well be people, fer all they got eight legs. An’ the little ‘uns are as friendly as puppies. I reckon even Ron could get along with ‘em.”

  They looked at each other, simultaneously went, “Nah,” and broke out laughing.

  Hagrid continued, "Here’s the thing. The first batch’s little ‘uns, they’re comin’ up on being old enough to breed themselves. A'fore that, though, they have a kind of wanderin’ time, spend a year or so away from the cluster. They don’t go far, but they have t’ be alone. They spend a lot o’ time making webs, tryin’ to make a design for a personal nest that suits 'em. Before th’ war, tha' was when their numbers got thinned out.” Hagrid grimaced. “Believe it or not, Harry, but they use’ t’ be cannibals!” (Oh, Harry could believe it). "They’d hunt each other, or the big ‘uns ‘ud hunt them. I knowed they wanted t' eat Aragog's body, but I thought that was jus', like, a funeral.”

  Harry tried to fake horror and sympathy. Luckily, Hagrid was not that observant. He reached over and patted Harry’s hand, gently, thank goodness.

  “But the way it is now, th’ parents worry,” Hagrid said. “The little ‘uns are special to ‘em, now. On th’ other hand, it’s an important, rite o’ passage, I guess y’ might say. Seems like I don’t count as company, though, so I check on each of the young ‘uns, once a month or so, and mention to their folks that they look fine, an’ such. An’ it was going fine. Until, sudden-like, it warn't.”