"Could you give me some?" Nightingale asked. "I can exchange it for a good Potion of Insight."

"Hey! What exchange are you talking about?"

Hagrid immediately waved his hand and strode over. "You're Professor Greengrass's friend, and you saved my life in the Forbidden Forest last year."

He casually pulled over a thick cloth bag, poured the entire pile of purplish-black dried mushrooms into it, and handed it to Nightingale. "Take it all. If it's not enough, I'll go pick some more."

After the mushrooms were packed, Hagrid's voice suddenly lowered, tinged with obvious shyness, and his towering figure seemed a bit constrained.

"It's just… one thing, Professor Vellis Nixia… Madam Maxime, she…"

Nightingale's clear, cold eyes quietly watched him, a flicker of understanding passing through her gaze. She didn't respond immediately—just tilted her head slightly, as if confirming his intent.

"You want her owl post address?" Nightingale's voice was calm, directly stating what Hagrid had been too shy to say.

"No, no, no! Not at all!" Hagrid quickly waved his hands in denial, his face reddening further. "I just wanted to ask about her… Of course—"

He added quickly, voice dropping even lower, "If you could give me her owl's address… that would be even better…" He awkwardly rubbed his hands together, as if trying to summon courage from thin air.

A very faint arc seemed to touch Nightingale's lips, vanishing in an instant. She didn't mock his clumsiness, nor did she ask further. She simply nodded and said, "I understand."

Then she reached into an inner pocket of her robe and took out a small, elegant silver-gray leather notepad, along with a slender quill that looked like it was made from the feather of some black bird.

Under Kestrel's curious gaze, Nightingale deftly opened the notepad, gave the quill a gentle shake, and let its tip touch the paper.

"The Beauxbatons Headmaster's private owl post is usually handled by her most trusted secretary. The address is: Pyrenees Mountains, Beauxbatons Academy of Magic, Headmaster's Office. Remember to write 'For the personal attention of Madam Olympe Maxime.' The owl's name is Silverfrost. When sending the letter, it's best to include 'Please forward' in French."

As she spoke, the quill quickly jotted it all down in the notebook.

Then, she neatly tore out the page, folded it into a delicate triangle, and handed it to Hagrid, who was still frozen in a mix of surprise and nervousness.

"Here you go, Mr. Hagrid." Nightingale's voice remained clear and composed, but it now carried a touch of warmth. "Madam Maxime's address. I wish you pleasant correspondence."

Hagrid held his breath and carefully pinched the small slip of paper between two thick fingers. A beaming smile lit up his face, his eyes squinting into slits with joy.

"Thank you so much! Professor Nixia, you are truly... wonderful!" He was flustered, his huge frame trembling slightly with excitement.

Kestrel, standing off to the side, tried hard to suppress her laughter, her shoulders gently shaking. Sagres set down his teacup and straightened his robes.

"Hagrid, about this matter—just so you don't mess it up—I think I can give you some advice."

Hagrid carefully tucked the note away and looked at Sagres with eager surprise. "Really, Professor Greengrass?"

Sagres nodded. "First, a few core principles. Number one: Sincerity is your greatest strength, but your delivery needs polishing. You have to express your feelings in a way that Madam Maxime can accept."

Hagrid nodded vigorously, repeating in a low voice, "Sincerity... packaged expression…"

"The second point: understanding is more important than expressing," Sagres said calmly. "Don't go on about 'how much I like you' or 'how similar we are.' Instead, observe what she needs and what she cares about."

"Okay, don't say 'like,' observe more!" Hagrid repeated like a student taking notes.

"The third point," Sagres continued, his expression more serious, "you must absolutely respect her boundaries and pride. Madam Maxime values dignity and composure very highly. You must uphold her pride at all times—especially in public."

"Understood! Respect her, uphold her decorum!" Hagrid nodded even more earnestly.

"The fourth point: patience is a virtue," Sagres went on. "Madam Maxime won't be easily moved. You need to show consistent, long-term respect and attention—not a sudden, intense show of emotion."

"I understand that. I'm very patient," Hagrid assured him.

"And lastly," Sagres's gaze swept over Hagrid's distinctive furry coat, "you need to improve your appearance appropriately. It's not about pretending to be someone else, but about paying attention to cleanliness and dressing properly for the occasion. That, in itself, is a form of respect for her."

"Wear nice clothes? Are my mole-skin coat and furry suit okay?" Hagrid asked hopefully.

"Not quite," Sagres said calmly but firmly. "I suggest you go to Madam Malkin's Robes for All Occasions or Twilfitt and Tatting's Wizarding Tailors in Diagon Alley to have two well-fitting suits and formal wizard robes custom-made."

"Oh, alright!" Hagrid looked a bit disappointed, but still nodded.

"Respect is the most important thing," Nightingale added at the right moment. "Madam Maxime has spent her life overcoming prejudice and proving her worth as a Witch and Headmaster. Any behavior that could make her feel crude or inferior is absolutely taboo."

"Sagres is right," she continued. "So in any public setting—and even in private interactions before you've built deep trust—you must never use terms like 'Giant' or 'half-blood.' That's a red line. Remember: any time, any place!"

The smile froze on Hagrid's face. He opened his mouth as if to say something, but ultimately just gave a heavy nod. His expression turned incredibly serious, even a bit tense. "I… I understand! Red line! Absolutely no mention! Not a single word!"

He spoke as if taking an oath, his voice firm and resolute.

But with so many key points laid out by Sagres and Nightingale, confusion gradually crept back into Hagrid's expression. He blinked hard, clearly trying to sort through everything in his mind.

Fortunately, Nightingale had anticipated this. She stopped her swiftly moving quill, tore off a page filled with neat handwriting, and handed it to Hagrid.

"In the end, just remember this," Nightingale said calmly, "approach her like you would the most delicate Unicorn—with gentleness, respect, and the right amount of distance."

"Like taking care of a Unicorn..." Hagrid murmured, repeating the vivid metaphor. The confusion on his face faded, replaced by a look of deep understanding.

"I understand!" Hagrid said solemnly, taking the paper with a grateful smile.

"Alright, we've had tea and everything's settled. It's time to head back to the Castle—I still have class this morning," Sagres said, his gaze passing over Hagrid, who was still lost in his excitement. Then he stood up and prepared to leave.

He pushed open the wooden door and stepped out of the warm little cabin. The cool morning air greeted him, carrying the fresh scent of earth and grass.

Fuua~~ He took a deep breath.

The morning sun had already risen fully above the horizon, casting golden light across the ancient towers of Hogwarts, gilding their edges in brilliance.

From the cabin behind them, Hagrid's excited voice and Fang's joyful barks could still be faintly heard.

~~~~~~~

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