Maurise had not the faintest idea what was going on.
One thing, however, was abundantly clear: he was remarkably popular with the Thestrals.
The moment he reached out to scratch the neck of the lead creature, the entire herd decided he was the most interesting thing in the Forbidden Forest. They crowded around him with an affectionate intensity, nudging him, chuffing softly, and quite literally shouldering Hagrid out of the way to get a better look.
"That is... well, that is certainly unusual," Hagrid said. He was trying to maintain a supportive smile, but it looked painful. It was the smile of a man watching his dog leave him for the mailman. "You seem to be a hit with them, Maurise. I have never seen them act this way with anyone. Not even me."
Maurise stood in the center of the skeletal huddle, feeling a bit overwhelmed. He could feel the emotions radiating from these mysterious beasts. It was not just animalistic curiosity; it was a profound sense of joy and recognition. It felt like reuniting with long lost family.
No, actually, that was not quite right.
It did not feel like family.
It felt like a regiment greeting their commander.
But why?
What was it about him that drew these creatures in?
Maurise grabbed the withers of the nearest Thestral and swung himself onto its back. The creature did not buck or shy away; instead, it let out a high pitched shriek of delight, seemingly thrilled by his rudeness.
"Hagrid, could you give me the tour guide version of what exactly I am sitting on?" Maurise asked, guiding the beast to trot over to the half giant. "I admit, my knowledge of them is practically non existent."
"Right," Hagrid replied, his enthusiasm clearly dampened by jealousy. "Thestrals. Very special creatures, they are. Only those who have looked death in the face and understood it can see them. Because of that, loads of wizards think they are bad omens, bringing bad luck and all that rubbish. But they are gentle souls, really. I suppose you can see that for yourself."
Maurise nodded slowly, his fingers idly tracing the ridge of the Thestral's spine.
Only those who had witnessed death could see them.
That meant Thestrals were creatures intrinsically bound to the concept of mortality.
That had to be the connection.
In a sense, they were colleagues.
Maurise might only be a half baked necromancer, a dabbler in the arts of the grave, but he had certainly rubbed shoulders with Death. He had personally awakened undead constructs, after all. To a creature born of death magic, Maurise probably smelled like a walking all you can eat buffet of familiar energy.
"They have got a brilliant sense of direction," Hagrid continued, trying to reclaim his role as the teacher. "They pull the school carriages, you know. Can find their way through any weather, fog, or storm. Never get lost."
As if to prove Hagrid's point, the Thestral beneath Maurise suddenly snapped its vast, leathery wings open. It gave a powerful flap, creating a gust of wind that encouraged the surrounding herd to do the same.
For a moment, the clearing was filled with the leathery thwup thwup thwup of bat like wings.
Hagrid watched them, looking like a kicked puppy. "They never let me ride them."
Maurise slid off the creature's back and dusted off his robes. "Perhaps it is a simple matter of physics, Hagrid. Or structural integrity."
Hagrid looked down at his own massive torso, then back at the skeletal, fragile looking horses. His expression softened.
"Yeah... suppose you might have a point there. Bit too much bone and muscle for the poor things." He clapped his dustbin lid sized hands together, trying to rally his spirits. "Right then. Business. Maurise, do you remember which one of these beauties took you for a joyride yesterday?"
Maurise looked at the herd. There were dozens of them.
"Ah," Maurise rubbed his chin, looking pained. "That might be a problem. You see... they sort of all look the same to me."
"What?" Hagrid's eyes went wide with genuine shock. "How can you say that? Look at that one! That is Tenebrus! And that one there has got a completely different ear shape!"
Maurise spread his hands helplessly. To his eyes, they were all just identical, skeletal horses wrapped in black silk. Trying to identify the specific designated driver from last night among this gothic cavalry was impossible.
"What am I going to tell Professor McGonagall?" Hagrid groaned, running a hand through his wild, tangled hair.
"Just make something up," Maurise said casually, treating the Gamekeeper like a co conspirator rather than a faculty member. "Honestly, yesterday was a freak accident. The Thestral was just goofing around. No harm done."
"Suppose I will have to," Hagrid sighed.
His main worry had been the safety of the students. If a beast hurt a child, the Ministry would have his head on a platter, he had been down that road before. But looking at the way the Thestrals were practically purring at Maurise?
Look at them. Those usually shy, elusive creatures were rolling over like golden retrievers hoping for a belly rub.
It was a relief, certainly.
But it was also infuriating.
Those ungrateful little beasts usually only cuddled with him.
Hagrid was starting to feel a bit sulky again.
"Can we head back?" Maurise asked, noticing Hagrid's face turning a shade of jealous beet red. "Lunch is soon."
"Aye. Let's go." Hagrid waved a dismissive hand.
Maurise nodded and turned to the herd. He stood up straight and projected his voice. "Right. Dismissed."
The result was instantaneous and startling.
The Thestrals seemed to understand the command perfectly. They stepped back in unison, turned with military precision, and melted back into the shadows of the Forbidden Forest. Within seconds, the clearing was empty, save for a few drifting black feathers.
Hagrid stood there, his mouth slightly open.
'Hold on a minute', he thought. 'I am the one who feeds them. Why are they taking orders from a student?'
Maurise was equally surprised. He had only said it as a joke, fully expecting them to ignore him. He had not expected them to treat him like a general.
He turned to the stupefied giant. "Shall we? I am starving."
Hagrid snapped out of his trance and began leading the way back to the castle. For the entire walk, he badgered Maurise with questions about his animal handling techniques. Maurise, not wanting to explain the intricacies of necromantic affinity, merely shrugged and chalked it up to natural charisma.
They reached a fork in the forest path where the trees grew thick and the light grew dim. Suddenly, Hagrid stopped dead.
"What is it?" Maurise asked, sensing the tension.
"Something is coming," Hagrid grunted.
He moved with surprising speed, stepping in front of Maurise to shield the boy with his massive bulk. His beetle black eyes scanned the undergrowth behind them.
Before Maurise could even process the warning, a violent whoosh tore through the air.
Thwuck.
A spear whistled past Hagrid's moleskin coat, missing him by inches, and buried itself deep into the earth right next to Maurise's foot.
"Who's there?" Hagrid roared.
The half giant spread his arms wide, creating a wall of flesh and coat between the student and the threat.
Maurise looked down at the weapon. It was a long, wooden spear, the shaft polished smooth by rough hands. The tip was buried so deep in the soil that the shaft was still vibrating.
That was not thrown by a wizard. That was raw, brute strength.
Realization dawned on Hagrid. He turned toward the direction the missile had come from and bellowed, "It's me. Hagrid."
There was a rustling of leaves, the snap of a twig, and then a figure emerged from the gloom.
It was a Centaur. He was a dark, imposing figure with black hair and a body that rippled with wild, dangerous power. He looked nothing like the civilized portraits in the castle.
"Bane?" Hagrid's shoulders slumped slightly in relief, though his guard remained up. "What do you think you are doing attacking us?"
Bane, the Centaur, did not look at Hagrid. He did not acknowledge the Gamekeeper's question.
His eyes, dark and unreadable, were locked intensely on the space behind Hagrid.
"Hagrid," Bane's voice boomed like thunder rolling through a valley. He pointed a finger toward the boy. "Tell me. What is that thing standing behind you?"