Chapter 110: The First Vassals
Hagrid stared, the raw meat forgotten in his massive hand. The cozy, firelit hut suddenly felt like the stage for a mad proposition. Harry, Ron, and Hermione gaped at Elian as if he'd just announced he was going to juggle Blast-Ended Skrewts.
"Elian, have you gone spare?" Ron blurted out. "Giants! They'll use you for a toothpick!"
Harry's face was pale with concern. "Hagrid's half-giant and look what they did to him! You're not… you can't be serious."
Only Hermione was silent, her eyes fixed on Elian's face, searching for the logic behind the madness. She knew him. He didn't make idle boasts.
Hagrid placed the meat on the table with a definitive thump. He leaned forward, his small, dark eyes boring into Elian's with an intensity that made the younger students fall quiet. This wasn't the jovial gamekeeper anymore; this was a member of the Order of the Phoenix weighing a tactical proposal.
"Elian," Hagrid said, his voice a low rumble of bedrock. "I can't decide that. Not on my own. I'd have ter speak with Dumbledore. And it's not just a stroll down ter the village—it's weeks of travel, dodgin' Ministry spies an' Merlin knows what else." He paused, his gaze unwavering. "But… I'll put it ter him."
Ron's jaw dropped. "You're actually considering it?"
Harry looked between them, a dawning realization in his green eyes. Hagrid wasn't humouring Elian. He was treating him like a fellow soldier, an asset whose value he couldn't fully measure but dared not dismiss.
Elian gave a single, calm nod. "I understand. I'll await word."
He had his reason. The moment Hagrid spoke of the giants' hesitation, a new mission had crystallized in the interface of the Supreme Mage System, its text glowing with ancient, imperative weight:
> Foundational Mission Updated: 'The Mage's Dominion'.
> Directive: A Supreme Mage does not walk alone. His authority is built upon the loyalty of powerful vassals. The strong must be made to serve, or be broken.
> Objective: Secure the allegiance of the Northern Giant Colony. Make them the first sworn vassals of your growing order.
> Reward: Scales with the number and strength of giants subjugated. Potential unlocks: Mystic Fortification Arts, Geomantic Resonance.
> Warning: This is a test of true supremacy. Failure may result in death. Success will change the board.
The mission was audacious, terrifying. It spoke not of cooperation or persuasion, but of dominion. It fit a cold, logical part of him. Giants were force incarnate. Unsubtle, brutal, but undeniable. To have such creatures bound to his will… it was a foundation of raw power upon which a legacy could be built.
Hagrid, wisely, changed the subject away from such dangerous talk in front of Harry and Ron. He gruffly asked about their classes, deflecting their bewildered questions. But the atmosphere had shifted. Harry and Ron kept shooting Elian looks of bewildered awe, trying to reconcile the quiet transfer student with the person who could make Hagrid consider a suicide mission to a giant camp.
Ron couldn't contain himself. "Blimey, Elian. What've you been up to? You're like a secret weapon or something."
Elian offered a faint smile. "Just trying to help."
Hermione, sitting close to him on the lumpy sofa, nudged his side with her elbow. Her voice was a bare whisper only he could hear. "Dumbledore knows? About… everything?"
He knew she meant the mystic arts. He gave a slight, confirming nod.
Her eyes widened, but she swallowed her follow-up questions. There would be time later.
It was then that Fang, who had been snoring by the fire, suddenly lifted his head and let out a low, warning growl. His jowls trembled, and he stared at the thick, curtained window beside the door.
All five of them froze, following the dog's gaze. Silhouetted against the frosted glass was a short, squat, and unmistakable figure.
"Umbridge," Hermione hissed, her face twisting in disgust.
A shared look of panic passed between Harry and Ron. Without a word, Harry scrambled for his bag, pulling out the silvery, fluid fabric of his father's Invisibility Cloak. "Under here, quick!"
"Hagrid, the cups!" Hermione whispered urgently, already vanishing under the cloak with Elian and Ron.
Hagrid acted with a speed belying his size. He swept the four used teacups off the table and shoved them deep under the sagging cushion of Fang's basket just as a firm, polite knock rattled the door.
Fang barked again. Hagrid gently pushed the boarhound aside with his foot, cast one last look at the apparently empty space where his guests had been, adjusted his expression to one of mild annoyance, and pulled the door open.
The chill night air swept in, carrying with it the cloying scent of perfume and the simpering, high-pitched voice of Dolores Umbridge.
"Good evening, Hagrid. I do hope I'm not interrupting. I was conducting my evening rounds and noticed your light on rather late. We must all be mindful of conserving school resources, mustn't we?"
Under the cloak, pressed tightly together in the corner, Elian, Harry, Ron, and Hermione held their breath. The hunt was no longer just Malfoy's clumsy pursuit. The High Inquisitor herself was at the door.
(End of Chapter)
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