Hagrid swore loudly as his wand backfired within its pink umbrella disguise. He was too slow to dodge the spell, and he felt nausea as his surroundings blurred.

The fall was very slow, as far as he could tell, but he found himself unable to open them, at least for a while. He'd only meant to re boil the kettle. And now he was in a great place, no?

A storm gathered over the forest, and the man walking through frowned. It looked like the sky was turning purple as the clouds grew thicker, and the air was virtually crackling with the feeling of the oncoming bad weather. He began to run, his thoughts upon warning the others as he realised how bad the storm might become. He saw one of his comrades as he hared out of the woods, calling them with a shout. Turning, the other man recognised him, but before he could greet him the first man grabbed him.

"You have to warn the others!" He gestured frantically at the sky as the purple clouds grew darker still. "There is a bad storm on today's horizon!"

The other man swore under his breath and they both began to race back to the pens, trying to be as quick about this as possible. A bad storm could wreck a pen and their charges would then be temperamental for days, which they could hardly afford at a time like this.


Hagrid eventually landed with a thump, not recognising where he was and looking around in confusion. What had happened? Where was he? He slowly stood up, swearing a little as his brand new headache hit home, and coughed a little.

Looking up, he saw the stormy clouds and hung his head in defeat. He gave up! How was he meant to compete against a storm after all that had happened, especially seeing as his pink umbrella did not appear to have travelled with him.

He couldn't even see any shelter, but kneeling down, he spotted some tracks. They looked human enough...