Exceeding Expectations

In retrospect, they should never have let Hagrid be in charge of planning Professor Kettleburn's retirement party.

Sure, it had seemed like a brilliant idea—poetic, even—when they had discussed it in their monthly staff meeting back in July. Who better to give the old Care of Magical Creatures professor a proper send-off than the new Care of Magical Creatures professor?

"I don't like it," said Professor Snape immediately.

The rest of the staff groaned. "Severus Snape doesn't like something?" said Professor Sprout with a roll of her eyes. "Shocking. If I had a Knut for every time you said that…."

Snape contorted his face into a deep sneer.

"Who would you suggest instead, Severus?" Dumbledore steepled his fingers and inclined his head toward Snape.

"Frankly, Headmaster, I'm not sure why Silvanus needs a retirement party at all."

A few staff members muttered darkly under their breaths.

"Oh, don't listen to him." Professor McGonagall, who was seated to Snape's right, elbowed him sharply in the side. "Just because you'd rather skulk around the dungeons than go out and have fun doesn't mean the rest of us need to suffer. I, for one, think Hagrid will exceed your expectations and plan a wonderful party."

Snape snorted. "Really."

"Yes, really."

"Tell me, Minerva, what exactly are your expectations for this party?" Snape shifted in his seat to avoid another elbow to the gut. "Inedible rock cakes? His mutt drooling all over our robes? The whole shack going up in flames because the oaf has smuggled another illegally-obtained dragon into—"

"Enough." Dumbledore held up a hand. "I will not hear anything against Hagrid, or any member of my staff."

Snape raised his eyebrows. "Forgive me, Albus, but do you really think it wise to trust Hagrid with something that involves so much…care?"

Dumbledore fixed Snape with an intense gaze. "I would trust Hagrid with my life."

In retrospect, they really shouldn't have let Hagrid be in charge of the party.

"I have prepared a list for you with our exact expectations for the party," said McGonagall the next morning, after she had given Hagrid the good news. Beaming, Hagrid took the roll of parchment from her hands. "You'll have about three weeks to put everything together. Silvanus doesn't want a lot of fuss—a simple dinner will be sufficient. You'll need to provide food and drink for a dozen people, and maybe prepare a speech."

"A speech?" Hagrid's eyes were wide. "Yeh want ter hear from me?"

"Yes, I think that as the host, it would be appropriate for you to say a few words."

"Blimey." Hagrid looked nervous. "And food—say, Professor, do yeh think my usual rock cakes would be alrigh', or should I make somethin' else?"

"That is entirely up to you."

"Blimey." Hagrid shook his head. "Maybe something else. Like a lemon cake—I heard yeh can use Flobberworm milk ter make the cream. I've been meaning ter try it out."

McGonagall fought the urge to gag. "Yes. Well." She tapped the parchment. "You'll notice that there is also a list of things we do not want."

Hagrid scanned the list. "There's an awful lot o' creatures on this list." His face fell. "No Acromantulas?"

"Absolutely not."

"But Professor Kettleburn's always gotten on with Aragog—took right good care of him after I was expelled. I thought he'd want ter say a proper goodbye."

"No, Hagrid." McGonagall waited for him to meet her eye. "We don't need to make a mountain out of a molehill. It's just a very simple retirement party with human guests only."

Hagrid's mouth tightened. "Human?"

McGonagall closed her eyes and exhaled. "I didn't mean—I misspoke. Human and half-giant guests."

"What abou' Fang?"

"And Fang. Sod it—anyone you like, as long as they're not classified as dangerous by the Ministry."

Hagrid nodded in resignation. "Alrigh', Professor. I'll use yer list of expectations."

McGonagall sighed. "Hagrid, truly, I apologize."

He gave her a half-smile. "Not ter worry."

She began to leave, and then turned on her heel and marched back up to his doorway. "By the way, Professor Snape seems convinced that you're going to fail. Do try to prove him wrong."

Hagrid's smile stretched into a genuine grin. "Will do, Professor McGonagall."

In retrospect, they probably shouldn't even have let Hagrid attend Professor Kettleburn's retirement party.

"You did tell him no dragons, didn't you?" Snape muttered to McGonagall as they exited the castle and started down the grassy path toward Hagrid's hut.

McGonagall tightened her grip on her retirement gift for Professor Kettleburn—a bottle of Ogden's Old Firewhiskey. "I told him no to any creature the Ministry might consider dangerous."

"But did you specifically mention no dragons?"

"No."

"What? Why didn't you—"

"If I had taken the time to specifically mention every magical creature he's ever befriended, Severus, I'd still be down there."

Snape sighed, and McGonagall fought the urge to snap at him. In spite of the rivalry between their Houses and Snape's general pessimism, McGonagall felt something akin to affection for Snape. He wasn't exactly easy to talk to, but there was something about his unyielding stoicism that made her feel curiously at ease. Even when the rest of the school was falling apart (as it seemed to nearly every year), she could count on Snape to remain perfectly calm, rolling his eyes and muttering sarcastically under his breath.

Still, sometimes he was an irritating prick, and tonight was no exception. "Why do you care so much that I didn't mention dragons?" she asked.

Snape looked pointedly down toward Hagrid's hut.

A Chinese Fireball the size of a horse was tethered to the lawn with a thick rope. A sign reading DRAGEN RIDES hung around its neck; a banner with the same handwriting hung from the roof of Hagrid's hut, which announced HAPPEE RETIREMENT, PROFFESORE! in a font that grew smaller and more cramped as the writer approached the edge of the canvas.

"Oh, Hagrid…." McGonagall trailed off as she took in the rest of the party scene.

A large herd of hippogriffs was gathered on one side of the lawn—two of them had begun to fight, and Hagrid had squeezed himself between them in an effort to break things up. A long table in front of the hut held a lopsided four-tiered cake—McGonagall could only assume it was the Flobberworm lemon cake—that was already being swarmed by pixies, who were giggling madly as they threw handfuls of cream-colored icing at each other.

Snape swore loudly. "Thestrals," he said bitterly, nodding toward the Black Lake. McGonagall followed his gaze even though she knew she wouldn't be able to see the beasts. She did, however, catch sight of the Giant Squid, who had surfaced to reveal that it wore a party hat on the tip of every tentacle.

"I told him we didn't want all this fuss." McGonagall heaved a sigh as the Chinese Fireball tipped back its head and exhaled a jet of fire. "I told him Silvanus' expectations were simple. 'Don't make a mountain out of a molehill,' I said…."

"Speaking of moles, the nifflers have arrived." Snape gestured toward Hagrid's front door, which had broken in half—apparently due to the force of several dozen nifflers beating on it from the inside. They poured out of the hut and made a beeline for the silverware on the table, screeching and chirping giddily as they hoarded away utensil after shiny utensil.

"NO!" roared Hagrid as he galloped toward the table. "Shoo! All of yeh! Git back inside! Yeh'll ruin the surprise!"

"There's Silvanus." Snape tilted his head toward the greenhouse, where an unsuspecting Professor Kettleburn was walking toward Hagrid's hut, a look of contentment on his face. "Poor bloke. Has no idea what he's about to walk into."

McGonagall pursed her lips.

"All he wanted was a nice, relaxing get-together with his colleagues."

"I don't want to hear it, Severus."

"I warned you that letting Hagrid planning a retirement party was a mistake, and now—"

"I said I don't want to hear it!"

"No, but you're going to!"

Down below, Kettleburn had raised one arm in a stretch over his head. Like most of his limbs, the arm had been ripped off during an altercation with a dangerous magical creature, and it had been replaced with a metal prosthetic. The titanium glinted in the light of the late-afternoon sun, catching the eye of one of Hagrid's nifflers.

McGonagall grabbed Snape's arm, interrupting his speech. "Oh, no."

He shook her off. "What?"

The niffler scrambled out of the herd and ran full-tilt toward Kettleburn.

McGonagall cursed. "Why doesn't he run?"

"He doesn't see it yet."

"Silvanus!" McGonagall cupped her hands around her mouth to amplify her shout. "SILVANUS!"

"He can't hear you." Snape heaved a sigh. "Any moment now…."

The niffler was moving so fast it nearly reared back up on its hind legs. With a shriek of glee, it launched itself toward Kettleburn's glittering prosthetic arm.

Kettleburn's eyes widened.

Time seemed to slow.

There was a loud clang as the niffler collided with Kettleburn's arm, knocking it clean out of the socket and onto the ground.

Snuffling excitedly, the niffler tried to stuff the metal tubes into its pouch. A few yards away, the rest of the nifflers finally overpowered Hagrid and rushed toward the action. Kettleburn tried to shove his way through the wriggling herd to retrieve his arm, but the nifflers had quickly disassembled the metal components and were squirreling the pieces away in their pouches, chattering excitedly as they did so.

"No!" Hagrid charged after the nifflers, colliding with the table as he did so and knocking the Flobberworm cake to the ground. The pixies descended upon the cream-colored mess.

"In retrospect," Snape said casually as the Chinese Fireball broke free from its rope and flew out over the Forbidden Forest, "we should never have put Hagrid in charge of planning a party."

McGonagall sighed and opened the bottle of Ogden's. "Perhaps not." She offered him the first swig.

He accepted. "I'll admit, I didn't think he would fail quite so spectacularly."

McGonagall gave him a tired smile and swallowed her own gulp of whiskey. "You see, Severus? He exceeded your expectations."

Quidditch League, Round 1: Snake Humour

Holyhead Harpies, Beater 1

Prompt: Write about making a mountain out of a molehill.

Word count: 1,721 (MacBook Pages)

Optional Prompts:

2. (colour) cream

9. (word) expectations

12. (creature) Niffler

13. (character) Hagrid

14. (dialogue) "If I had a Knut for every time (...) said that." (fill in the blank with any pronoun or name)