The early spring sun, which had valiantly attempted to warm the lawns of Hogwarts, had surrendered long before Chris, Susan, and Hannah reached the mossy steps of Hagrid's hut. The cottage squatted on the edge of the Forest like an overgrown hedgehog, all bristles and brown, with wisps of smoke curling from its lopsided chimney. Chris led the way, his hands shoved into his robes for warmth, while Susan and Hannah lagged behind, already shivering despite their thick scarves.
"Remind me why we're doing this again?" Susan asked, peering suspiciously at a suspiciously muddy patch near the pumpkin beds.
"Practical research," Chris replied with a grin. "If we're signing up for Care of Magical Creatures next year, it makes sense to get a feel for the curriculum. Besides, Hagrid likes us."
"He likes anyone who can listen to his stories without fainting," Hannah said, dodging what she dearly hoped was a rock and not a hibernating Flobberworm. "Also, you promised he'd have treacle tart."
"I said he might have treacle tart," Chris corrected. "I never promise what I can't deliver."
"That's a very Hufflepuff thing to say," Susan observed. "I'll believe it when I see the tart."
A sheepdog's bark, half bark, half subterranean bellow, rang out as they reached the door. Fang, Hagrid's oversized and perpetually nervous dog, launched himself at the trio with all the grace of a small hippogriff. Susan shrieked and fumbled backward into Chris, who managed to steady her only by pinning her with his elbow. Fang, delighted with this chaos, licked at any available hands until Hagrid's booming voice summoned him away.
"Down, Fang! Down! Yer gonna drown 'em before they even come in!"
The door swung wide, revealing Rubeus Hagrid, half-giant and one hundred percent delighted to see them. He beamed, filling the doorway so completely that for a moment it seemed as though the hut might tilt backward from the sheer force of his presence.
"Chris! Hannah! Susan! C'mon in, it's right brisk out today, like ter freeze yer noses off."
The hut was exactly as Chris remembered: equal parts cosy and hazardous, with every available surface piled with mismatched mugs, pewter teapots, and at least one creature in a cage whose identity shifted each time you looked at it. The smell was a mix of burning wood, wet dog, and something nutty that might have been Hagrid's aftershave or a failed biscuit experiment.
"Sit, sit!" Hagrid gestured to a patchwork of armchairs around the battered table. He began bustling about, his enormous hands oddly gentle as he poured tea, set out a jug of milk, and arranged a plate of what looked like granite biscuits in the shape of, Chris squinted, were those dragons?
Hagrid noticed his stare and puffed up with pride. "Homemade rock cakes! Got a new recipe from Madam Rosmerta. Try 'em, they'll put hair on yer chest!" He winked at Hannah, who stared at the cakes as though they might hatch at any moment.
Chris seized the opportunity, slipping easily into the role of curious student. "We were hoping to ask you about magical creatures and their habitats Mr. Hagrid. We are preparing for next years Care of Magical Creatures class, and the way you talk about it makes it sounds brilliant."
"Call me Hagrid. 'Mr' makes me feel like I should be wearing a tie," he said, tugging at his beard with embarrassment. "But yes! Creatures! There's naught better, if yeh ask me. Course, Professor Kettleburn is as good as any to talk about it, but it looks like they'll give him a full retirement after the incident with the Swooping Evil."
"Swooping Evil?" Susan echoed, nearly dropping her cup.
Hagrid laughed, the sound shaking the mugs on the table. "They're harmless if yeh know how to handle 'em. It's all about respect, see. Show a beastie you're not afraid, and most times, it'll respect you back."
"Is that why the Forest creatures don't bother you?" Chris asked, keeping his tone casual. "I heard you go in there all the time, but you've never had any trouble."
Hagrid's face shone with pride. "Well, I'm a bit hard to eat, y'see. But the Forest, now there's a world of its own! Not just unicorns and centaurs, neither. I've seen things in there would make Dumbledore's beard curl."
"Like what?" Hannah leaned forward, bravely risking a rock cake as bait for more stories.
"Oh, plenty! Thestrals, for one, but they keep to themselves mostly. Bowtruckles, bit cheeky, those. Salamanders. An' there's a pack of wolves, real clever, they are, not the run-of-the-mill kind. But it's the trees what make it magic, if you ask me. Some of 'em are older than Hogwarts itself."
"Pines, right?" Chris steered the conversation. "I read that some magical creatures prefer the oldest trees. Something about the magic pooling in the roots?"
"Very true!" Hagrid set down his mug with a thunk. "Ancient magic, it is, runs through the pines like blood. Now, the deepest parts of the Forest, nobody but me, and maybe the centaurs, ever goes there. It's… dangerous, even for grown wizards."
"What's in the deepest part?" Susan's voice was small, almost reverent.
Hagrid's expression changed. Gone was the warm cheer, replaced by a serious gravity that reminded Chris that this was a man who'd faced giants, dragons, and more than a few things he didn't care to name. He leaned in, voice dropping to a conspiratorial rumble.
"Not many know this, but there's a colony o' Acromantulas, giant spiders, if yeh don't know the proper term. They're clever, talk in human speech sometimes, but they're as dangerous as any beast alive. The oldest pine tree in the Forest, the biggest by far, that's their home. Right in the center of their nest."
Hannah's face went white. Susan made a strangled noise.
"Aragog lives there," Hagrid continued, almost reverent. "Biggest of the lot. Smart as a person, mean as a Hungarian Horntail. The rest of the colony's just as bad, if not worse. I tell yeh, no student should ever go near that place. Not ever."
He pointed a huge, warning finger at Chris, then at each girl in turn. "Promise me, all three of yeh, you'll never, ever step foot in the spider woods. If you do, I won't be able to help yeh. Even Dumbledore himself keeps away."
"On my honor," Chris said solemnly. "We're not that stupid."
"Speak for yourself," Hannah muttered, voice trembling. "I'm not stepping anywhere near a spider bigger than my thumb."
Hagrid relaxed, satisfied. He poured another round of tea, and the conversation drifted to less threatening topics—mandrakes, the price of gillyweed, the time Hagrid accidentally turned his pumpkin patch into a breeding ground for puffskeins.
Eventually, Susan rose, dusting crumbs from her skirt. "We should go before the bell, or we'll never hear the end of it from Sprout."
"Come by any time!" Hagrid called after them as they left, Fang baying mournfully as if he'd just lost three favorite chew toys. "Next week, I'll show you my new flobberworm compost!"
Chris waited until the hut was out of sight before speaking. "Well. That was educational."
Susan, still pale, shuddered. "If my mum knew about those spiders, she'd call the Ministry to torch the lot."
"Your mum would call the Ministry to torch the entire Forest if you got a nettle rash," Hannah pointed out. "I'd pay good money to see her face if she ever met Aragog."
Chris smiled to himself, his mind already leaping ahead. The oldest pine. The center of the acromantula nest. If the Hufflepuff Chamber existed, that was the only place it could be.
Of course, he'd have to get past a colony of giant, man-eating spiders to reach it.
But that was a problem for another day. For now, he filed the information away, nodded to his friends, and joined them in the trudge back up to the castle, the warmth of Hagrid's tea still buzzing pleasantly in his veins.
By the time the castle's weathered stones came into view, Susan's righteous fury had reached its fourth or fifth wind.
"I mean, honestly," she said, all but vibrating with indignation as her boots squelched in the muddy lawn, "what sort of headmaster thinks 'oh, yes, let's keep a colony of murder spiders right next to the student dormitories'? I'd bet Gamp's Law that Dumbledore's never set foot in that nest. He'd have the whole thing fumigated by tea time if he ever got a whiff of the smell."
"If my mum knew," Susan continued, warming to her favorite subject, "she'd write a letter to the Prophet and the Ministry, and the only thing left of Aragog would be a pile of Ministry-issue spider legs. The Department of Magical Law Enforcement has clear rules about endangering minors! There are probably at least seventeen by-laws about acromantulas alone!"
Hannah, who had gone increasingly pale during this tirade, shuddered. "Does the Ministry have rules about what happens if you accidentally faint and the spiders drag you away while your friends run for their lives?"
Susan snorted. "If you fainted, I'd carry you on my back, no matter how many legs the enemy had. Hufflepuff loyalty, remember?"
"Thanks," Hannah said faintly, "but I'd prefer not to test the theory."
Chris let them talk. He was used to their rhythm, Susan's indignant logic pinballing off Hannah's quieter, more immediate panic. He didn't blame them; even he felt a tingle of unease at the memory of Hagrid's dire warning. But fear, for Chris, was a prompt to act, not a barrier.
The details replayed themselves in his mind, catalogued and ordered:
Acromantula nest, deep center of the Forest.
Oldest pine, leader of the colony.
Aragog: sentient, massive, rumored to speak.
"Even Dumbledore keeps away," Hagrid had said.
He ticked off the facts one by one, fitting them to Cassie's riddle like a lock clicking into place. It was almost too obvious. Helga's Chamber would be at the base of that ancient pine, and it was likely that some aspect of the acromantula colony was living on the hearth.
The question was, how to get there alive? Even armed with an Invisibility Cloak, the odds of sneaking past an entire nest of man-eating spiders seemed… poor. He'd read everything the Hogwarts library offered about acromantulas, and the consensus was clear: direct confrontation was suicidal.
"Are you even listening?" Susan snapped, breaking into his reverie with a light punch to his arm. "You're supposed to be the voice of reason here, but you're staring off like you'd rather have a cuppa with Aragog than revise for exams."
Chris shrugged, the corners of his mouth twitching in the faintest of smiles. "I was thinking about what Hagrid said. About the oldest pine. It has to be massive, bigger than any on the grounds. If we could find a way to get close without being seen…"
"Stop right there," Susan said, hands on her hips. "You promised Hagrid."
"I said I wouldn't go near it," Chris replied, "but someone will have to, eventually. Maybe not a student. Maybe… a centaur, or one of the professors. There's always a way around things."
Hannah looked at him like he'd grown a second head. "You want to go into the spider nest, don't you?"
Chris met her gaze, and with his most serious voice said. "Of course not, I'm not an idiot."
Hannah shuddered again, but at least her breathing was slowing down. "Can you promise you won't go?"
Chris hesitated, and then nodded. "I promise."
Susan grumbled, "If you do, I'll probably march to the staff room and rat you out myself."
"Good," Chris said, and this time his smile was genuine. "That means you care."
A comfortable silence settled between them for a few moments as they crossed the courtyard. The sun had slipped behind the clouds, and the first hints of evening chill crept into the air. Susan pulled her scarf tighter, her ranting spent, and even Hannah's colour began to return.
"Maybe it's not so bad," Susan said at last, her tone softening. "I mean, if Aragog's been there for years and nobody's died, maybe they really do keep to themselves."
Chris doubted it, but he let her have the thought.
As they reached the castle steps, Hannah paused and looked up at the towers, the windows already lit against the twilight. "I think I'll be happy if I never see a spider again. Ever."
Chris laughed, a low, genuine sound. "Agreed."
But even as he said it, his mind was already moving ahead, envisioning routes through the Forest, contingency plans, ways to neutralize acromantulas without wands ever being drawn.
By the time they entered the Entrance Hall, the plan was already taking shape.
The Hufflepuff dormitory, after curfew, was a world apart from the rest of Hogwarts. Even the fires in the hearths seemed to burn more softly here, and the beds, set in a low, circular room lined with honey-colored wood, glowed with the warm magic of centuries of contented sleep. Tonight, though, Chris Emrys did not sleep. He sat propped on his pillows, quill in hand, scribbling lists on a roll of parchment that coiled like a snake across the blanket.
He'd already ruled out every "normal" strategy for dealing with the acromantula nest. Each time he imagined himself sneaking through the spider woods, Cloak or no Cloak, his mind conjured not thrilling tales of derring-do, but images of being dragged, cocooned and helpless, into the darkness. Even his new magical knowledge, the spells from Gryffindor's Grimoire, felt paltry in the face of a hundred hungry spiders.
He crossed out Plan A: "Stealth, Invisibility Cloak." The spiders' hairs were rumoured to sense vibrations in the air, and more than a few Hogwarts tales involved Cloaked students being sniffed out by things that ought not be able to see them.
Plan B: "Direct Combat, Stunning/Burning Hexes." Hagrid's story about the doomed team of sixth-years was proof enough that even trained wizards stood little chance. He'd be lunch before he got three spells off.
Plan C: "Distraction, Lure with Food." The best he could think of was a shipment of dead Flobberworms from Professor Sprout's compost heap. Even then, he doubted it would keep the spiders occupied for long, and it would likely just draw more of them to the Chamber's entrance.
He stared at the words for a long time, drumming his fingers on the parchment. The problem wasn't magical, he had the riddle, the knowledge, and the drive. The problem was political. The acromantulas were a blight on the castle's security, tolerated only because nobody wanted to risk the fallout of a full-on extermination. He was a Hufflepuff; if anyone was supposed to negotiate with monsters, it was him.
He closed his eyes, thinking of what he has at his disposal." He'd made inroads with the goblins, Chief Ragnok himself had addressed him as Lord Emrys at Gringotts, and the goblins took pride in their discreet, efficient problem-solving. The centaurs, too, while not yet contacted, had an alliance with the Ambrosia line.
A new plan began to crystallize, dangerous but infinitely more appealing than hand-to-hand spider wrestling.
He'd have someone else handle the acromantulas. Someone better equipped, with centuries of experience and an utter lack of sentimental attachment to "Aragog."
He set a fresh page on the notepad, dipping his quill in ink with deliberate precision.
PLAN D: Leverage House Ambrosia alliances.
Step 1: Contact Ragnok, request aid in destroying the colony.
Step 2: Negotiate with centaur elders to launch a "purge" of the nest, using bait or whatever tools they preferred.
Step 3: Wait until the colony was in disarray or ideally destroyed, before moving in to access the Chamber.
He would, of course, have to keep the operation quiet. Hagrid might be devastated by the loss, and Dumbledore would ask awkward questions if he heard about a spontaneous mass spider extinction in the Forbidden Forest.
He finished the list with a flourish and sat back, feeling the pleasant, humming satisfaction of a plan well made. This was what he was good at, not just magic, but strategy. The world, he realised, was made for people who could see two moves ahead, and tonight he was five or six moves deep.
He stashed the parchment in his trunk, right next to his journal and his other personal effects. He lay back, staring at the ceiling, imagining the letter he'd draft to the Goblin Nation in the morning, formal but not grovelling, with just the right amount of flattery.
Tomorrow, he'd put his network into motion. If the Goblins and centaurs cooperated as he expected, the acromantula nest would be a ruin by month's end.
For the first time in days, he slept soundly, his dreams not of spiders or the darkness beneath the trees, but of ancient books, glowing stones, and the thrilling, inevitable click of a plan settling into place.
In the heart of the night, Cassie's voice echoed faintly through his dreams, warm and approving: "You're doing it, big brother. The castle is watching, and so am I."
He smiled, and turned over, the future bright before him.