Hagrid never thought he'd see the day when he'd be laughing over tea with a Malfoy.
The very name had always made him bristle—Lucius Malfoy, pale and sharp as a snake, all sneers and disdain. Hagrid still remembered the man's arrogance from his Hogwarts era years ago. If someone had told him that he'd one day be friends with Lucius's son, he would've laughed until he choked on his rock cakes.
But somehow, that's exactly what had happened.
It had started by accident.
Hagrid had been trimming the edges of the pumpkin patch one breezy afternoon when he heard a voice shouting, followed by the unmistakable crack of the Whomping Willow's branches.
"Merlin's beard!" Hagrid gasped, grabbing his crossbow and lumbering toward the sound. "If it's another Weasley, I'll tan their hides—"
But it wasn't a Weasley.
Instead, he found a slim blond boy—robes askew, dirt on his cheek—ducking and weaving between the Willow's furious limbs. The tree lashed wildly, smashing at the ground where the boy had been standing a heartbeat earlier.
"Oi! You there!" Hagrid bellowed. "Get away from that tree!"
The boy—Draco Malfoy—looked over his shoulder, startled. Then, instead of running, he grinned. "I almost touched one of the branches this time!"
Hagrid's jaw dropped. "Touched it? You'll be touchin' St. Mungo's bed sheets if you're not careful!" He marched over, grabbed Draco by the arm, and yanked him out of the Willow's reach.
Once they were safely away, Hagrid set him down with a huff. "What were you thinkin', boy?"
Draco rubbed the back of his neck sheepishly. "I just wanted to see how it reacts to proximity. The tree's not mindless—it has a pattern. I was testing a theory."
Hagrid blinked. "A theory? Blimey, yer sound like Professor Kettleburn."
At that, Draco's face brightened. "Do you know Professor Kettleburn? My mum says he once raised a Chimaera in his classroom."
Hagrid chuckled despite himself. "Aye, that he did—and nearly lost both eyebrows for it. You like magical creatures, then?"
"Love them," Draco said earnestly. "Especially the dangerous ones. My father didn't approve, but… I think they're fascinating. They just need to be understood, not feared."
That one sentence was enough to change everything.
From that day on, Draco Malfoy became a regular visitor to Hagrid's hut. And soon after, Hermione Granger started joining him, always carrying notebooks and inkpots, taking down every word Hagrid said about the beasts he cared for.
At first, Hagrid couldn't believe it—Malfoy and a Muggleborn girl, working side by side, chatting over tea and feeding Fang scraps of treacle tart. But the sight never failed to warm his heart.
One afternoon, as the three of them sat outside his hut watching the Thestrals grazing at the forest's edge, Hagrid leaned back with a sigh.
"Yeh know, Draco," he said, pouring himself another cup of tea, "I never thought I'd be sittin' here, talkin' about Hippogriff diets with a Malfoy."
Draco smiled faintly. "You and everyone else. But I'm not my father, Hagrid."
"Aye," Hagrid said kindly. "That's the truth, that is. Yer nothin' like him."
Hermione grinned. "He's better at remembering assignments, though."
Draco smirked. "Because some of us don't rely on you to write half of them."
Hagrid laughed so loud that Fang barked in surprise. "Merlin help me, yeh two are like an old married couple already."
Hermione turned bright red. "Hagrid!"
Draco choked on his tea, sputtering. "Don't even say that!"
Hagrid chuckled, wiping his eyes. "Alright, alright. But it's good ter see friends like yeh two. Makes this old place feel a bit more alive."
He glanced toward the forest, his expression softening. "Most o' the time, students only come down here when Dumbledore sends 'em. Or when they need somethin' from the forest. But you two… you come just ter talk."
Hermione smiled warmly. "We like being here. It feels… real."
Draco nodded in agreement. "Besides, it's quieter than the castle. And Hagrid's stories are far more interesting than History of Magic."
Hagrid snorted. "Aye, that's not sayin' much. Binns could make a dragon fall asleep."
The three of them laughed together, the sound drifting out over the hills and the pumpkin patch. For the first time in a long while, Hagrid felt content—not just the Keeper of Keys, but a part of something again.
And as Hermione scribbled down notes and Draco reached down to scratch Fang behind the ears, Hagrid thought, Maybe not all Malfoys are bad after all.
Hagrid sat outside his hut, whittling a piece of wood with his enormous knife, Fang snoring lazily at his feet. The afternoon sun slanted through the trees, glinting off the pumpkin patch, but his eyes kept drifting upward—to the roof of his hut.
Because, unbelievably, Draco Malfoy was on it.
The young Ravenclaw balanced on the slanted tiles, wand clenched between his teeth, a long metal pole in his hands. Hermione stood below, hands on her hips, calling instructions as if she were directing a professional builder.
"Not like that, Draco! You've got to angle it toward the castle, not the forest!"
Draco called back, "It has to catch the signal, not the sunrise, Granger!"
"Do you even know what signal means?" she shot back.
Draco grinned down at her. "No—but I'm about to find out!"
Hagrid shook his head in disbelief. "Merlin's beard… what in the blazes are yeh two up ter now?"
Hermione turned, brushing a lock of hair from her face, her expression bright with that mysterious confidence that always worried him. "You'll find out soon, Hagrid. It's a surprise."
"A surprise, huh?" Hagrid muttered, glancing up at the blond boy hammering something metallic into his roof. "Last time someone said that, I ended up with a baby thestral in me living room."
Draco called down, "Relax, Hagrid! This one won't hurt you—probably."
"That's what the Professor said too," Hagrid grumbled, but there was no heat in his voice. Truth be told, he was smiling.
He hadn't realized how quiet his days had grown until those two started showing up. For years, students had mostly avoided him—except when they needed help sneaking into the Forbidden Forest or borrowing a crossbow for a dare.
He'd thought maybe Neville Longbottom would visit more, or young Ron Weasley, or some of the Gryffindors who knew he'd fought with their parents in the war. But they rarely came. They were polite, sure—but distant.
And now it was a Malfoy, of all people, who brought noise and laughter back to his hut.
Draco Malfoy—Lucius's son, no less—was everything his father wasn't. He could talk for hours about Hippogriffs or Nifflers, and the way his eyes lit up when Hagrid told stories about dragons… it reminded Hagrid of a much younger version of himself.
And Hermione—always scribbling notes, always scolding Draco, but her heart was as big as her mind. Together, the two of them turned his little hut into something alive again.
By evening, Draco climbed down, brushing dust from his robes, while Hermione bent over a large box she had installed in Hagrid's living room. The box was humming faintly, strange cords snaking across the floor and vanishing through the window, up to the antenna on the roof.
Fang sniffed one of the wires curiously, then yelped when it gave a small spark.
"Careful!" Hermione said quickly. "That's connected to the converter."
Hagrid frowned. "The what now?"
"You'll find out," Draco said cheerfully, eyes gleaming. "Soon."
Hermione gave him a playful glare. "You sound like a mysterious shopkeeper in a fairy tale."
Draco smirked. "Then you're the over-curious heroine who breaks everything trying to figure it out."
Hermione sniffed. "At least I fix it afterward."
Hagrid looked between them, bewildered but secretly amused. "Well, whatever it is, it better not explode in me hut. Don't think the Headmaster'll like explainin' that one."
Draco winked. "Oh, it won't explode, Hagrid. Not this time."
"Not this time?" Hagrid repeated, horrified.
But they just laughed, brushing past him as they packed their tools.
As night fell, the two Ravenclaws waved goodbye, promising that "next day" everything would be ready.
When the door closed, Hagrid sat down in his armchair, staring at the mysterious humming box. Fang lay beside it, ears twitching at the occasional buzz of static.
Hagrid scratched his beard. "Never thought I'd see the day Lucius Malfoy's son'd be puttin' strange Muggle contraptions on me roof," he muttered. "Blimey… what's the world comin' to?"
But even as he spoke, a small smile tugged at his lips.
Because for the first time in years, Hagrid felt like part of Hogwarts again.
It was two days past when Hermione and Draco returned to Hagrid's hut, both grinning from ear to ear and carrying a small parcel wrapped in brown paper.
"All right, Hagrid," Hermione said, eyes twinkling. "It's time."
"Time fer what?" Hagrid asked, scratching his beard suspiciously. "Last time yeh two said that, I ended up with a strange thing on me roof."
Draco laughed. "And now you're going to see why."
Hermione and Draco unwrapped the parcel, revealing a small silver box with engraved few glowing runes. They placed it beside the large wooden box that had been placed in Hagrid's sitting room.
"Now, this," Draco said proudly, "is called a television."
Hagrid blinked. "A tele-what now?"
Hermione grinned. "A Muggle device that shows moving pictures—like portraits, but they tell whole stories. We enchanted it so it works at Hogwarts. And since you're always out here alone… we thought you'd like a bit of company."
Hagrid's broad face softened. "Yeh did this… fer me?"
Draco smirked. "Don't get all sentimental yet. You still have to learn how to use it."
They showed him patiently: how to press the large power switch until the screen flickered to life, how to turn the volume up and down, and how to change the "channels."
"All of it's built into the front," Hermione explained, tapping the inbuilt switches in the front. "You don't need a wand to operate it—just your fingers."
Hagrid tried, but his massive finger covered three buttons at once. The screen jumped from black to static to a woman reading the news to a cartoon of a cat chasing a mouse.
"Blimey!" he exclaimed. "It moves! And talks!"
Draco chuckled. "That's BBC One. Try this next button—Channel Four's got something about animals tonight."
But Hagrid's finger was too big for the smaller button. After several fumbles, Hermione giggled and handed him a carved stick. "Here, use this."
With the stick, he managed to press the channel button delicately. The screen changed again, this time to a show about wild creatures of the world.
"Now this is more like it," Hagrid said happily, settling his bulk into the chair. "Look at those elephants! Great tusks on 'em, they have."
Hermione smiled. "You'll get used to it. You've got four channels—BBC One, BBC Two, ITV, and Channel Four."
Hagrid blinked, trying to remember. "Right, BBC One fer news, Two fer somethin' fancy, ITV fer the funny stuff, and Four fer beasts."
"Exactly," Draco said, grinning. "You'll be an expert in no time."
That night, after the two Ravenclaws had gone back to the castle, Hagrid sat before the glowing box with Fang at his feet. The strange humming sound filled the hut, and the voices of distant storytellers echoed softly through the night.
The warmth from the hearth mixed with the soft glow of the television screen, and for the first time in years, Hagrid didn't feel so alone.
As a herd of lions prowled across the screen, he chuckled and reached for the carved stick to change the channel. "Ain't so strange after all," he murmured. "Reckon Muggles know a bit o' magic themselves."
And outside, beneath the moonlight, the antenna on his roof gleamed faintly—connecting one lonely half-giant to a world of stories he'd never known before.
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