After the Quidditch match, Harry, Ron, Hermione, and Kevin walked with Hagrid toward his hut.
Along the way, other students stopped to tell Hagrid about how Snape had been muttering a spell at the game, insisting he had been cursing Harry's broom.
"Rubbish!" Hagrid barked. "Why would Professor Snape jinx Harry's broom?"
Harry pressed, "Then why was he trying to get past the three-headed dog on Hallowe'en?"
Hagrid froze. "How do you know about Fluffy?"
"Fluffy?!" Ron blurted. "That monster's got a name?"
"'Course he does—he's mine. Bought him off a Greek chappie I met in the pub last year," Hagrid said matter-of-factly.
"You… keep a three-headed dog as a pet?" Ron asked in disbelief.
"He's not dangerous if you know how to handle him. Anyway, Dumbledore's borrowin' him for guard duty—" Hagrid stopped suddenly, clearly realising he had said too much.
"Guarding what?" Harry asked quickly.
"Can't tell yeh. Top secret. So don't go pokin' your noses in. You're meddlin' in things that don't concern you—dangerous things!" Hagrid's voice was unusually sharp.
"Whatever it is, Snape's trying to steal it," Harry insisted.
"Codswallop!" Hagrid snapped. "Snape's a Hogwarts teacher—he'd never betray Dumbledore."
Hermione frowned, glancing at Kevin, who was silently enjoying the scene without once speaking in Snape's defence.
Finally, she asked, "But I've read that to perform a curse, you have to keep your eyes fixed on the target. And Snape didn't look away from Harry for even a second during the match."
Hagrid sighed heavily, clearly losing patience. "Listen to me—you lot are messing with things you don't understand. Snape's protectin' whatever Fluffy's guardin'. And it belongs to Professor Dumbledore… and Nicolas Flamel."
At that name, Harry perked up. "Nicolas Flamel? Who's that?"
Hagrid clapped a hand over his mouth, realising he had slipped. "I've got work to do—off with you!"
He strode off quickly toward his hut.
The three friends watched him go—only to realise someone was missing.
"Where's Kevin?" Hermione asked.
Ron pointed. "Isn't that him… following Hagrid?"
Indeed, Kevin was trailing after Hagrid, hands in his pockets, looking far too casual for someone who'd just been told off.
"What's he up to now?" Harry muttered.
"Let's follow him and see," Hermione suggested.
They trailed Hagrid from a distance until he reached his hut, where Kevin slipped inside without hesitation.
Inside, Hagrid shut the door and turned—nearly jumping out of his skin when he saw Kevin wandering about, examining his crossbow and a few large, hairy lumps that might have been something's supper.
"Kevin? How'd you get in here? Never mind—out you go! I'm not in the mood to talk."
But Kevin just smiled warmly. "Uncle Hagrid, why don't you make me a cup of hot tea first? It's getting chilly out."
Hagrid looked ready to explode, then paused. Kevin hadn't been pestering him earlier like the others—maybe there was no harm in letting him stay.
With a gruff sigh, Hagrid said, "Alright, sit yerself down."
Outside, the others crouched below the window, shivering in the cold wind. Inside, Kevin sat by the fire with a steaming mug, chatting like an old friend.
"Why is he always so good at getting adults to like him?" Hermione muttered through chattering teeth.
"Wish I knew," Ron grumbled.
Kevin sipped his tea appreciatively. "Uncle Hagrid, you're absolutely right—those three are far too nosy for their own good. Always sticking their heads where they don't belong."
"Well, glad someone understands," Hagrid said, looking pleased.
"If it were me, I'd focus on my studies, become as skilled as the professors, and then I'd naturally learn what I needed to know."
"Exactly!" Hagrid beamed. "That's the spirit."
Kevin shot a meaningful glance toward the frosty window, where three shadows stiffened in outrage.
"You're the most sensible lad I've met in a long while," Hagrid said warmly.
"Oh, no, I'm just practical," Kevin replied with a modest grin. "And your tea's delicious."
"I'll brew you another," Hagrid offered eagerly.
After some comfortable small talk, Kevin lowered his voice as if sharing a personal worry. "Uncle Hagrid, I've read nearly every book in the library, but I've never once heard of Nicolas Flamel. Why is that?"
Hagrid relaxed. "That's not your fault, Kevin. You're only in first year. Nicolas Flamel's a great alchemist—been retired to the countryside for about a hundred years. Doesn't get his name in the news much these days. Most young folk have never heard of him."
"Really? That's incredible," Kevin said quickly, steering the topic before Hagrid realised he'd given away more than intended.
They chatted on, Hagrid even growing shy when Kevin thanked him sincerely.
Outside, Harry and Ron stared in disbelief. Hermione, however, couldn't help but notice—Kevin did look rather charming when he smiled like that.
Eventually, Hagrid invited Kevin to stay for dinner.
Kevin hesitated only briefly—he'd heard rumours about Hagrid's cooking—but his curiosity (and guilt for pumping Hagrid for information) won out.
The next day, however, he was absent from lessons. His note to Professor McGonagall read simply:
"Upset stomach. Never eating rock cakes again."