Chapter 66

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Chapter 66: Wand

Hagrid awoke with a start.

The flickering candle on his bedside table barely illuminated his hut, casting long shadows against the wooden walls. The night was quiet, yet the uneasy feeling in his gut told him he was not alone.

Slowly, he reached out for his pink umbrella, his only means of performing magic since his expulsion from Hogwarts decades ago. But as his fingers brushed against it, he froze.

The umbrella was in pieces.

Hagrid's heart dropped into his stomach. He sat up fully, his large hands trembling as he picked up the shattered remnants. The umbrella had hidden the pieces of his broken wand, allowing him to use magic—though it had always been erratic, unpredictable. Without it, he was nothing more than a Squib.

But before despair could consume him, something caught his eye.

There, sitting on his table in plain sight, was a wand. Not just any wand—his wand.

Unbroken. Whole.

Hagrid slowly stood, his steps hesitant as he moved toward the table. His massive fingers reached out, barely daring to touch it, as if it would vanish like a dream. But the moment his fingertips made contact with the polished oak, a warmth spread through him.

It was real.

Hagrid let out a shuddering breath. His wand, the one that had been snapped in half when he was expelled, was somehow restored to its former glory.

His wide eyes darted around the hut, searching for the person responsible. "Who's there?" he called, voice deep and rough with emotion. He grabbed his crossbow from the corner, stepping cautiously outside.

The moonlit grounds of Hogwarts stretched before him, silent and still. No footprints, no signs of another soul. The night was empty.

Hagrid turned back toward his hut, his grip tightening around his wand. Whoever had done this was long gone.

But why?

The next morning, Hagrid stood in the Headmaster's office, his massive frame nearly filling the space as he clutched his wand tightly in one hand. Across from him, Albus Dumbledore sat at his desk, his blue eyes twinkling with curiosity.

"I got reports of some rather… unusual magical disturbances from your hut this morning," Dumbledore said, the corners of his mouth twitching upward.

Hagrid let out a nervous chuckle, shifting his weight. "Aye, Professor… 'bout that…" He hesitated before carefully setting his wand on the desk in front of Dumbledore. "I dunno how it happened, but—me wand's been fixed."

Dumbledore's gaze flickered to the wand, and his eyes sparkled with intrigue. He picked it up, running his fingers along the polished wood. "Fascinating," he murmured.

Hagrid took a deep breath before continuing. "That's not all, Professor." He rubbed the back of his neck. "When I went to light my fireplace this mornin', instead of a tiny spark, I got a whole bloody inferno! Nearly burned me hut down!"

Dumbledore chuckled. "Ah."

"An' then—then when I tried to put it out, I almost drowned meself in water!" Hagrid threw his arms up in exasperation. "Professor, I dunno what's goin' on, but me magic's all over the place!"

Dumbledore smiled. "Interesting, indeed."

With a small gesture, he conjured a sphere of water in the air with his bare hand. The orb floated gracefully between them, shimmering in the morning light.

"Hagrid, try turning this into a snow globe."

Hagrid hesitated. The idea of using a wand without his umbrella felt unnatural. Still, he grasped his wand and gave it a careful wave.

The water instantly solidified, transforming into a beautiful snow globe. Inside, a perfect miniature of Hagrid's hut sat surrounded by swirling snowflakes—and, amusingly, a tiny version of himself tending to a tiny Fang.

Hagrid blinked. "Blimey."

Dumbledore beamed. "Excellent. Now, levitate it."

Feeling a bit more confident, Hagrid waved his wand again.

The snow globe shot into the air with alarming speed.

"Ah—" Hagrid barely had time to react before the enchanted object hurtled toward the ceiling. But just as it was about to shatter against the stone, it suddenly froze midair and gently floated back into Dumbledore's waiting hand.

Dumbledore chuckled as the snow globe disappeared from his palm. "As I suspected," he mused. "Using a broken wand for so many years has done wonders for your magical abilities, Hagrid. You have adapted in ways most wizards never need to."

Hagrid frowned. "But it ain't controllable—"

"It's not your magic that is out of control," Dumbledore corrected kindly. "It is your perception of it. You've spent decades compensating for a fractured wand, adjusting your power to make the best of a damaged tool. Now that your wand is whole, your instincts are too cautious, too accustomed to overcompensating."

Hagrid blinked. "So… yer sayin' I just need time to get used to it?"

Dumbledore nodded. "Precisely. With practice, you will find that your magic is far more powerful than you ever realized." He smiled. "It is quite rare for a wizard of your caliber to experience something like this, Hagrid. Consider it a second chance."

Hagrid looked down at his wand, a slow grin spreading across his face.

A second chance.

For the first time in decades, he felt truly whole.