The Prisoners of Hogwarts

Chapter 252 Hagrid's Mistake

Chapter 252 Hagrid's Mistake (5.4K) (2/2)

Harry instinctively opened his mouth, more arguments about to burst forth—why? How could he not help? Hagrid is our friend, Harry.

Lynch gently but firmly extended his hand, making a clear "stop" gesture, perfectly cutting off Harry's argument before it could even be put into a coherent sentence.

He didn't offer any more words of comfort or explanation. Instead, he stood up, walked to the wooden coat rack in the corner of the office, took down the neatly pressed dark gray suit jacket, and put it on cleanly and efficiently.

"Come with me," he said, walking toward the door. As he passed Harry, he gently patted Harry's shoulder. "I'll explain it to you."

Harry was filled with confusion, resentment, and a little bit of bitterness, but faced with Lynch's unyielding expression, he swallowed the words that were already on the tip of his tongue and silently followed behind Lynch like a small boat being pulled by an invisible thread.

They left Lynch's office, went down the stairs, through the castle foyer, and out through the massive oak doors.

The warm, bright morning sunlight enveloped them instantly, creating a stark contrast with the coolness inside the castle.

They walked along a wide cobblestone path, the outline of the Quidditch pitch clearly visible in the distance in the sunlight.

After walking for about three to five minutes, when the path turned at a fork and stretched towards the greenhouse and further out to the edge of the Forbidden Forest, Harry suddenly realized that they were heading in the wrong direction—the end of this path led directly to Hagrid's hut.

He slowed his pace, turned his head, and looked at Lynch's handsome profile with a new sense of doubt: "Uncle Lynch? We're—going to Hagrid's?"

Lynch didn't stop walking. He glanced at Harry beside him and said in a clear and steady voice, "Yes, to Hagrid's hut."

He slowed his pace slightly and continued, "Harry, I understand that you believe Hagrid is completely innocent in this matter. There is no doubt that Draco Malfoy's arrogance, contempt, and deliberate provocation were the direct cause of the accident."

Lynch first affirmed Harry's most pressing concern, which eased Harry's tense expression slightly.

But then Lynch's tone shifted slightly, becoming more composed: "However, we must separate 'mistake' from 'responsibility.' As a professor at Hogwarts, Hagrid's primary responsibility is to ensure a safe and controllable classroom environment. Hippogriffs are classified as XXX by the Department of Magic. This rating means they are dangerous/require specialized knowledge/skilled wizards to handle them. They are exceptionally capable, difficult to tame, and pose a clear and deadly threat to inexperienced wizards—especially underage students."

His self-glow swept across the treetops of the Forbidden Forest swaying in the breeze in the distance, and he continued, "Hagrid's love for magical creatures and his almost innate affinity for them are his strengths, and the reason Headmaster Dumbledore hired him. But the problem is that he often mistakenly projects his own capacity for danger and his deep affection for magical creatures onto others. You are just a group of third-year students with an average age of thirteen, varying abilities, and curiosity far outweighing judgment. Misjudging your ability to handle danger is a cognitive misalignment and a dereliction of duty on his part as an educator."

Harry couldn't help but interject, his voice rising slightly with urgency: "But Hagrid emphasized and demonstrated how to do it repeatedly in class! He told us to bow and to be respectful! It was Malfoy who deliberately ignored him and spoke rudely!" He tried to emphasize that Hagrid had done what he was supposed to do.

“Yes, he emphasized it and demonstrated it. I have no doubt about that.” Lynch nodded, not denying Harry’s objection. “But a good educator, especially when it comes to high-risk practices, has a responsibility that goes far beyond simply informing.” He must anticipate that not all students will strictly follow instructions, especially those like Malfoy who are spoiled, prone to provocation, or even potentially deliberate troublemakers. Risk management is part of the lesson design.”

He paused briefly, allowing Harry a moment to think it through, before continuing, "Looking back at yesterday's class: Hagrid didn't set up any physical barriers to maintain a safe distance, didn't prepare any emergency contingency spells like 'Petrify All' or the Binding Charm, and didn't even arrange for Professor Snape—though he might not have wanted to—or any other professor to be present to assist in order to quickly control the situation in case of an emergency. He placed all the students' safety entirely on the overly idealistic assumption that each individual would perfectly follow instructions—Harry, you have to admit, at Hogwarts, especially in a class with both Slytherins and Gryffindors involved, such an assumption is almost a pipe dream."

They could already see the distinctive outline of Hagrid's cabin, and a corner of the newly built, rough wooden enclosure behind it.

Lynch stopped and turned to face Harry, his gaze deep and serious. "I can help Hagrid through this crisis, Harry, very easily, actually. A letter to the Board of Governors would be enough to get Lucius Malfoy to drop his son's complaint and let the public pressure dissipate. But then what?"

Lynch's voice deepened, carrying a clarity that seemed to see into the future: "If Hagrid doesn't learn a real lesson from this, and doesn't deeply realize that the safety responsibilities he bears as a professor are far greater and more inviolable than when he was a gamekeeper, if he continues to teach in this way—lacking systematic risk management and acting solely on enthusiasm and trust—then the next classroom accident might not be as simple as a scratch that Mrs. Pomfrey could heal instantly."

"A real, irreversible tragedy could occur. A more dangerous creature, a more serious attack—at that point, being fired would be the least of his worries. My current lack of support" is intended to sting him, prompting him to truly reflect and grow, thereby preventing a worse future outcome that none of us want to see.

Harry's heart sank.

He understood Uncle Lynch's logic, and rationally even felt that it made some sense, but emotionally he still found it hard to accept.

He wanted to argue that Hagrid was just too kind and trusting, and that Malfoy was the real culprit, and that the existence of a bad student shouldn't tie the hands of a good professor—he opened his mouth, trying to organize his thoughts.

But Lynch had already turned and moved on.

They walked forward in silence for a few minutes and then stood in front of Hagrid's hut.

The room was quiet, unlike the usual barking or Hagrid's humming; a depressing silence enveloped the place.

"I still want to—" Harry tried to make a final argument.

Lynch gently raised his hand, stopping him again, and calmly cast a beam of light onto the wooden door. "No need to say more, Harry. Sometimes, seeing and hearing for yourself is worth a thousand explanations and arguments."

He stepped forward steadily and knocked three times clearly and forcefully on Hagrid's heavy, weathered wooden door with his knuckles.

"I'll prove it to you."

There was a moment of silence inside the door before Hagrid's heavy, dragging footsteps echoed, followed by his reply, which was thick with nasal congestion and even hoarser and lower than yesterday: "—The door isn't locked."

Lynch pushed open the door, and Harry followed him inside. The scene inside the hut was even more desolate than the night before.

The curtains were only half-drawn, the light was dim, and the air was filled with the smell of cold tea and damp fur.

Hagrid's massive body sank into his specially made huge armchair by the fireplace, as if it had shrunk even more overnight.

His eyes were swollen and red like two walnuts, and he clutched a dirty, wet handkerchief in his huge palm.

On the table, the tear-soaked, crumpled letters I saw last night were still there, and next to them were a few empty bottles of flaming whiskey.

The plate of rock-skin cakes was full, clearly untouched.

"Hagrid?" Harry called out worriedly.

Hagrid lifted his heavy eyelids and, upon seeing Lynch, a flicker of surprise crossed his cloudy eyes, followed by deep embarrassment. He struggled to stand up: "Professor Lynch—what are you doing here—and Harry—"

"Please sit down, Hagrid, don't be shy," Lynch said gently. He glanced around, his gaze lingering briefly on the empty bottles and the letters, before reaching out to pull over the only normal-sized wooden stool in the room and sitting down, his demeanor as composed as ever.

Harry could only stand to one side—because the other wooden stools in Hagrid's room were too big for him to pull up.

Lynch said, "We just came to see you. I heard things didn't go well in class yesterday?"

These words seemed to shatter the calm that Hagrid was barely maintaining.

His massive shoulders slumped, and he blew his nose forcefully with a handkerchief, making a loud, trumpet-like sound. His voice trembled with sobs as he cried, "It's all over—it's all over, Professor Lynch—I've messed up—Headmaster Dumbledore trusted me so much—and I—I only taught one class and—I let a student get hurt—and it's a Malfoy boy—" His voice choked with emotion. "They'll never let me get away with this—I'm definitely going to be fired—I'm such a terrible professor—"

"This isn't your fault, Hagrid!" Harry interjected urgently, repeating his words of comfort from the previous night. "It's Malfoy's fault for not following orders!"

Hagrid shook his head violently, tears welling up again: "No, Harry—I'm a professor—it's my responsibility when a student is injured—even if he's a—a—" He seemed unable to think of the right words to describe Malfoy, and finally let out another painful sob.

Lynch listened quietly, not commenting immediately. He waited until Hagrid's emotions had calmed down a bit before speaking in a calm and confident tone. His voice wasn't loud, but it was very firm and carried a convincing power: "Hagrid, you won't be fired."

The crying stopped abruptly.

Hagrid jerked his head up, his tear-streaked face filled with disbelief. His massive hands gripped the armrests of the chair tightly, and his voice trembled: "You—what did you say? Professor Lynch? You mean—"

Harry turned his head instantly, his emerald eyes gleaming with surprise as he stared intently at Lynch.

Uncle Lynch changed his mind!

He finally decided to help Hagrid!

He knows it!

Lynch met their intense gazes calmly and nodded, a faint smile on his face. "Yes, I promise... in the end... I will help you. You won't be expelled from Hogwarts because of this incident. If Lucius Malfoy makes any moves, I will handle it properly. You can rest assured about that."

"Oh! Merlin's beard!" Hagrid let out a huge howl, a mixture of sobs and ecstasy. He jumped up from his chair, his massive body swaying with excitement. He tried to shake Lynch's hand, then decided it wasn't appropriate, and instead grabbed Harry, who was equally overjoyed, and slapped him hard on the back, almost making him gasp for breath. "Did you hear that, Harry? Did you hear that? Professor Lynch said—he said I won't be expelled! That's wonderful! That's really—that's really—"

The oppressive and sorrowful atmosphere in the cabin vanished, replaced by a euphoric joy of surviving a catastrophe.

Hagrid wiped his face haphazardly with his sleeve, grinning widely, and busied himself getting the teapot—though it contained cold tea—while muttering incoherently, "Thank you Merlin, thank you Dumbledore, thank you Professor Lynch."

Harry beamed from ear to ear, a huge weight lifted from his shoulders. He was genuinely happy for Hagrid and also filled with gratitude for Uncle Lynch.

Just as the small celebratory atmosphere reached its peak, and Hagrid and Harry were both immersed in the joy of the problem being "solved," Lynch, who had been sitting quietly on the stool as if he were an observer, spoke up again.

His voice remained calm, yet it was like a pebble thrown into a still lake, shattering the cheerful atmosphere.

"Hagrid," Lynch said, his gaze falling on the bucket of nearly untouched rock cakes on the table, "could you please get Harry one?"

This abrupt request stunned Hagrid and Harry, their smiles turning into identical bewilderment.

Hagrid blinked his still red and swollen eyes, which were now full of question marks. He looked at Lynch, then at Yanpibing, seemingly not understanding why this was suddenly brought up.

"Rock--Rockbread?" Hagrid repeated blankly, but did as he was told, picking up a rockbread that looked particularly hard and had rough edges from the bucket and handing it to Harry.

Harry took the heavy, seemingly "aggressive" cookie, and a look of bewilderment involuntarily appeared on his face.

He vividly remembered his first attempt at Hagrid's craft when he was a first-grader; it was like gnawing on a stone that had been weathered for a thousand years. He almost had to ask Madam Pomfrey to help him grow a new tooth.

Lynch looked at Harry with a gentle expression and said in an unyielding tone, "Take a bite, Harry."

Harry looked at the "weapon" in his hand, then at Lynch's calm and expressionless face, and finally at Hagrid, who was looking on with anticipation—though he didn't know why he was looking on with anticipation.

He steeled himself, determined to push his teeth to their limits once again, closed his eyes, and carefully bit down on the edge of the rock-skin cake with all the strength in his jaw.

The expected, teeth-grinding, hard sensation returned.

Although it's not as indestructible as I remember, the texture when you bite into it is definitely not "easy".

Harry felt like he was gnawing on a particularly dense, rough piece of hardwood. He had to use all his strength to wedge his teeth into it with difficulty, making a painful grinding sound.

Finally, with a few crumbs flying everywhere, he managed to bite off a small piece.

"How is it?" Hagrid asked eagerly, his furry face showing a hint of anticipation for the improvement. "Isn't it much crispier than before? And much tastier?"

Harry struggled to swallow the biscuit that required repeated chewing, his jaw starting to ache. Looking into Hagrid's sincere and expectant eyes, he couldn't bear to discourage him, and could only nod vaguely and somewhat reluctantly: "Uh—yes, it's a little easier to chew than before—"

That was indeed the truth; the biscuit's internal structure seemed a little loose, with a slight crispness, but overall, chewing it was still a difficult task, making his gums ache.

However, the extent of this "slight" difference is likely vastly different in Hagrid's and Harry's perceptions.

Lynch deliberately ignored Harry's slightly troubled expression and instead turned his gaze to Hagrid, asking, "Hagrid, did you add more water and reduce the baking time for this batch of rock cakes, as I suggested two years ago?"

Hagrid paused for a moment, then nodded vigorously, his face lighting up as if he had found a kindred spirit: "Ah! Yes, yes! I did exactly as you said, Professor Lynch! You're an expert! Just a little bit of water and a slightly shorter baking time, and the difference is immediately apparent! Look, even Harry says it's easier to chew, much crispier than before!"

He was clearly very satisfied with his "improvements" and considered them a huge leap forward in taste.

Lin Qi nodded and offered no further comment on the rock-skin cake.

His gaze then fell on Harry, who was standing in the middle of the room: "Harry, why are you standing there?"

Harry was taken aback by the question and instinctively looked around.

The furniture in Hagrid's hut was all custom-made for his enormous size. Apart from the wooden stool that Lynch was sitting on, which looked to be of normal size, all the other chairs and benches were ridiculously tall and incredibly heavy. With Harry's height and strength, it would be very difficult to move them.

Before he could explain, Lin Qi had already answered his own question, his tone as calm as if stating an obvious fact: "Because the other stools here are too high and too heavy for you to move, right?"

Harry nodded; it was indeed obvious.

Lin Qi then gently tapped the only wooden stool of suitable height beneath him with his fingertip.

"This stool was treated with a shrinking charm when I first visited here about two years ago. Only in this way can I sit comfortably."

His words startled Hagrid and Harry, their gazes shifting between the enormous furniture and the only normal stool in the room, as if they had vaguely grasped something, but it was not quite clear.

Lynch didn't wait for them to figure it out. He calmly stood up, his light sweeping across Hagrid's massive body before returning to Harry's young and confused face.

"Hagrid, Harry," he began, "have you ever wondered why this chair needs to be shrunk by a spell so that I can use it comfortably?"

Hagrid opened his mouth, then answered blankly, "Because—because you're not as tall as me?"

“That’s right, because our body types are different, our standards for ‘comfort’ and ‘suitability’ are also different.” Lynch nodded slightly, then his gaze shifted to the piece of rock cake in Harry’s hand, which had only a small bite taken out of it. “So, why does Harry need to expend so much effort to barely bite into this piece of rock cake that you think is already ‘much crispier’?”

Hagrid's joy and confusion froze. He looked at Harry, then at Rockbread, his thick eyebrows furrowing as if he were truly pondering the question for the first time.

"I—I thought I added water—"

"You did make improvements," Lynch affirmed, but didn't stop there. "You took the advice, added water, and reduced the baking time. For you, the cookies are definitely less firm and have a crispier texture. That's a positive change, proving you're willing to listen to feedback and try adjustments."