Ted, Harley, and Hermione all exchanged glances before turning their suspicious eyes toward Ron, who was absolutely terrible at lying.
"Ron, why is your teeth shivering?" Ted asked, narrowing his eyes.
Ron hesitated for a second before blurting out, "Uh…it's because of the cold weather! Ye—Yeah!"
Ted raised an eyebrow. "And why exactly are you smiling?"
Ron gave a weak chuckle. "It's because the bread is so delicious… You should totally try it out, Neville!"
Neville, as gullible as ever, actually believed him. He picked up one of Hagrid's infamous rock cakes, which weighed like a small brick in his hands, and took a confident bite.
CRUNCH!
"AAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAA!"
The entire hut echoed with Neville's wail. Ted, unfazed, glanced at the cake in his hand and took an experimental bite himself. His eyes immediately widened in horror.
"Is this supposed to be food?! This thing could double as a chew toy for Fluffy!"
Hagrid's rock cakes were supposed to be small biscuits with raisins, with a cracked but still edible texture.
However, somewhere along the way, Hagrid had completely misunderstood the "rock-like" description and took it far too literally.
If Hagrid himself ate them, his half-giant strength probably made them seem just right. But for normal wizards?
These were borderline weapons.
Ted quickly stuffed his into Fang's mouth, watching as the boarhound chomped down with an unsettling crunch.
The sound was like someone chewing on brittle bones.
Ron watched, awestruck. "Wow, if I had teeth like that, I could eat anything! Voldemort wouldn't stand a chance!"
Despite the disaster that was the pre-dinner snack, everyone's stomachs growled, longing for the main course.
Even Anzu, Ted's raven companion, was impatient.
Normally, Anzu would have gone to the kitchen to steal some fries, but tonight, he was stuck waiting with the rest of them.
Perched on a hanger, he flapped his wings and squawked, "Dinner! Dinner! Caw!"
Ted sighed and waved him down to the table, handing him a strip of beef jerky to appease him.
Ron and Jerry both stared at the jerky with longing eyes, so Ted reluctantly handed them some as well.
"That's all you get," he warned. "Not much left."
Hagrid, hearing Anzu's chatter, looked over with interest. "Is that a talking raven? Well raised, Ted!"
"He's a handful," Ted admitted.
Hagrid chuckled, then turned back to his cooking pot. "Dinner's almost ready!" he said cheerfully, tossing more ingredients into the bubbling cauldron.
The dish of the night? Some sort of "Beef Chowder." Though, in true Hagrid fashion, it was less of a stew and more of a chaotic blend of anything and everything he could find.
Ted watched in horror as Hagrid tossed what looked suspiciously like a peeled bear paw into the pot.
Everyone exchanged uneasy glances.
With Hagrid enthusiastically stirring the mixture, he looked like the textbook image of a wicked witch brewing a potion in a Muggle fairy tale.
"Are we supposed to actually eat that?" Hermione whispered.
Ted gulped. "Well, Hagrid has giant blood, so he's probably got a built-in resistance to whatever toxins are in there. Us? Not so much."
Hagrid, completely unaware of their concerns, ladled himself a hearty portion and took a sip. His eyes lit up in delight. "Brilliant!"
Ted sighed and took matters into his own hands. He quickly whipped up roasted pumpkin, baked potatoes, and a simple stew with dried meat and vegetables.
In the end, Hagrid happily slurped down most of his own soup but also gave Ted's cooking high praise. "That stew was delicious, Ted! What's your secret?"
Ted grinned. "MSG. MSG is all you'll ever need."
...
After dinner, while everyone sat chatting, Ted's gaze fell upon a magazine lying beside Hagrid's bed: Fantastic Beasts and Magic.
"Can I take a look at this?" he asked.
"Oh, of course!" Hagrid said excitedly. "It's a fantastic magazine about magical creatures. They've published loads of newly discovered species over the past decade. Always at the forefront of the field! I subscribe to every issue!"
Ted nodded, flipping through the pages, fascinated. He wanted to see if any of the creatures looked familiar.
Seeing Ted's interest, Hagrid beamed. "Ted, if you like it, I can lend it to you! Just make sure to return it—I like keeping my collection intact!"
Hagrid gestured to a rough wooden shelf nailed to the wall, filled with books and periodicals about magical beasts.
Ted quickly shook his head. "Thanks, Hagrid, but no need. I've already memorized everything I read!"
Though he hadn't read through every word, he had a near-photographic memory and could analyze it all later at his own pace.
What surprised Ted most was an article written by Professor Quirrell.
It was an in-depth discussion on the crossbreeding of magical creatures.
The man actually had incredible insight on the subject.
Of course, not everyone agreed with him. Many voices in the magazine outright called him a madman.
After all, breeding magical creatures in secret was highly unethical—and in many cases, illegal.
But laws in the wizarding world were often full of loopholes.
For instance, Ron's father worked in the Misuse of Muggle Artifacts Office, yet conveniently left loopholes in regulations to avoid getting himself in trouble.
And that was just a small case. The more powerful pure-blood families? They manipulated the law all the time.
For those without power, the law was an iron cage. For the powerful, it was little more than a set of guidelines.
Hagrid, for one, barely cared about the Ministry's rules. He had his own way of doing things.
"If I wanna raise somethin', I will!" he said proudly.
Ted sighed. Typical Hagrid.
...
On Sunday morning, Ted found Neville and Jerry deep in conversation with a very frustrated Ron.
"What's going on?" Ted asked, sensing the tension.
Jerry sighed. "It's because of Dean..."
Dean Thomas, one of their Gryffindor roommates, was a huge football fan—something quite common among British Muggle-borns.
Apparently, Dean had been passionately explaining football rules to his dormmates, but the discussion took a sharp turn into an argument with Ron.
Ron, who grew up in the wizarding world, simply couldn't wrap his head around the concept. "So, a bunch of people run around chasing a single ball... on the ground?
And they can't even fly? What's the point?! Can't they just add more balls? Or use sticks? Why not let them hit each other with the sticks?!"
Ron had scoffed in disbelief. "That's it? That's the whole game?!"
Predictably, the two had started bickering.
Ted nodded at the explanation but chose not to comment.
Ron, however, turned to him expectantly. "Ted, be honest. Is this Muggle football thing actually fun?"
Setting down his fork, Ted thought for a moment before answering. "Ron, you have to understand—Muggles have an enormous variety of entertainment and sports.
Just ball games alone, there are over a dozen different types. You shouldn't judge or dismiss someone's hobby just because it's different from yours."
He continued, "This isn't about Muggles or wizards. You love wizard chess, and someone else prefers Gobstones.
That doesn't mean you can't be friends. You and Dean are going to be living in the same house for seven years. Maybe try understanding his passion instead of arguing about it."
That night, after some thought, Ron awkwardly apologized to Dean and, in an attempt to make peace, gifted him a Dumbledore chocolate frog card.
Dean, who had grown up in the Muggle world, was thrilled to see the moving Dumbledore on the card.
When Ted heard about it, he couldn't help but chuckle. "Classic Ron."
Considering they had already eaten half a dozen of those chocolate frogs on the train ride to Hogwarts, Ted found it amusing that something so common to them could completely win Dean over.
Fast forward to the last week of October—Potions class was as dreadful as ever.
Under the ever-watchful, disdainful gaze of Professor Snape, poor Neville, who was already clumsy and nervous, became an easy target once again.
Snape's sharp words cut through the classroom like a knife.
Snape was, without a doubt, an elitist. He had no patience for what he considered "idiocy." If he spotted incompetence, he attacked.
While he wasn't particularly fond of Hermione, who had an answer for everything, or Ted, who remained unnervingly calm, at least they were intelligent. But Neville? Snape had absolutely no tolerance for him.
Yet, something was different this time.
Despite Snape's relentless insults, Neville refused to cry. His eyes were glassy, on the verge of tears, but he didn't let them fall.
Ted noticed it immediately—Neville was actually taking his words to heart. He was trying. He was fighting to be braver.
Snape, however, was taken aback. Had his verbal jabs lost their edge?
Was he losing his touch? Determined to push further, he sharpened his words even more.
Harley and Ted, watching from their seats, had had enough.
"You're doing great, Neville," Harley whispered under her breath.
Ted, however, didn't whisper. "You've got this, Neville. Don't let him get to you."
Snape turned his cold gaze to Ted. "Five points from Ravenclaw for contradicting a professor."
Ted met Snape's glare with an impassive stare of his own. Inside, he was unimpressed.
'Only five points? That's all you've got? Did you not have breakfast today, Professor? Try harder.'
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Word count: 1550