On the tenth day of Christmas my true love gave to me,
Ten Porlocks grazing,
Nine Fairies dancing,
Eight Knarls for milking,
Seven Plimpies swimming,
Six Skrewts a-blasting,
Three French Parps,
And a Fwooper in a Star Tree.
During the holidays the large winged palomino horses that pulled the powder blue Beauxbatons carriage were housed in the large stables at Olympe’s estate. Hagrid took it upon himself to take care of them. Everyday he would give them a single malt whisky and a nice bundle of hay to eat. He would brush their coats and groom their long tails. Then he would take them out into the large paddock out back so that they could have a run around in the winter sunshine and stretch their wings a bit.
As Hagrid stood leaning on a fence post, watching the horses, Olympe walked over to join him. They stood together silently admiring the large beasts as they trotted around and flapped their wings every now and then.
“I mus’ say these ‘orses ‘ave bin trained well,” Hagrid commented in an impressed tone.
“I trained zem myself,” Olympe said, “My muzzer trained horses when I was young.”
“Well yeh’ve done a fine job,” Hagrid said, complimenting her.
They stood in silence for a moment longer, both patting the nose of a horse that came over to greet them.
“I don’ ‘ear yeh talkin’ about yeh mother very often,” Hagrid commented.
“She was a lovely lady ‘oo was taken from me too soon,” Olympe said, a tear welling up in her eye.
“I know ‘ow yeh feel,” said Hagrid, “It’s jus’ like me Dad. What about yeh dad, I never ‘ear yeh speak about ‘im.”
“My fazzer was never part of my life,” Olympe said, in a tone that made it clear she did not wish to talk about the topic any further.
After standing in silence again for several moments, this time an awkward silence, Hagrid tried to bring the conversation back to a lighter topic.
“Yeh know yeh ‘ave so much room ‘ere, yeh should let the ‘orses out more often,” Hagrid said.
“I totally agree wis you, ‘Agrid,” Olympe sighed, “But I fear zat zey will be ‘armed by ze wild animals zat inhabit ze forest. We ‘ave ‘ad problems wis zem in ze past.”
“Well tha’s easy fixed, isn’t it,” Hagrid said smiling, “I know jus’ the thing to ‘elp yeh.”
Hagird returned later that day with a large crate. He brought it over to the paddock and opened it. Olympe peered inside to see what it held. Curled up sleeping in the hay were ten big piles of dirty white wool.
“Get up yeh lazy overgrown powder puffs,” Hagrid said, patting each pile of wool roughly.
Gradually each pile of wool uncurled itself and stood up. Each one was two feet tall and stood on two cloven-hoofed feet. Protruding from their shaggy mass of wool were two small arms, each with four fingers. They had long necks and elongated snouts. They shook their shaggy heads, causing their floppy ears to flap around, and then they looked around curiously with their large eyes. Hagrid encouraged them out of the crate, and they began grazing amongst the horses.
“I got yeh a ‘erd o’ Porlocks,” Hagrid grinned, “They’re brilliant at guardin’ ‘orses. Usually for a ‘erd o’ this many ‘orses yeh’d only need one or two Porlocks, but ‘cause o’ the size o’ them I thought yeh’d be better with ten Porlocks. They mightn’t be very big, bu’ they do a good job.”
“Oh ‘Agrid, you are so soughtful,” Olympe gushed, “Eef only you could be ‘ere all ze time.”
Hagrid just smiled back at her with a goofy grin.
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