For those who came in late:
Originally, I had different ideas for a "quiet" episode, but then I remembered Hagrid's wager. So... excitements.
Everybody duck:
Winter had turned to spring, and Hermione Granger was a witch on a mission.
Anyone could tell that by the way she was storming down the path from Hogwarts castle to Hagrid's hut. It was even possible that what emerged from her mouth was not fogged breath, but smoke. (If it were the latter, Fred and George Weasley would most likely be involved, rather than ire.)
One of the reasons for this mission was Harry Potter, who was following on behind, accompanied by the rest of the Potter Pals – a term proving popular among Hogwarts ' students. An exception existed, of course, among the Slytherins, who referred to them as Potter's Puppets. Harry, currently, was navigating the slippery ground physically while kicking himself mentally.
It was all to do with something he said at dinner on Saturday in response to an enquiry about his tea time with Hagrid. Dumbledore was still insisting that sitting around with the half-giant, successfully drinking mugs of tea and abortively eating his baking, listening to the same repetitive tales about how wonderful his father (and, on occasion, his mother) were, all somehow would help him 'connect' to his wizarding roots.
What Harry had said was, "We sat outside today."
"In this weather?" Hermione looked scandalised. "This is one of the colder days we've had!"
"It's not as bad as a Skyrim winter," Harry shrugged, "or so I'm told."
Her first opportunity came on Sunday, when she spotted the bulk of Hagrid in the library, apparently engrossed in a book, almost lost in his hand. It has to be noted that, in her defense, the end of year examinations were just under ten weeks away, and she was attempting to corral four boys into a passable (for her) study regime. So she was a little tense.
"Hagrid," she asked a little more sharply than needful, "what are you doing?"
The huge man started, shoving the book back quickly. "Jus' looking," he said shiftily, "Jus' looking."
"You know it's still freezing outside," Hermione pressed on, "Why on earth are you and Harry meeting outside?"
"Well he can't go in," came the defensive response, "I've a dr– a creature in there, right banged up, don't want 'im to get bur– bit or nothin'."
Ron just shrugged at that before eyeing his study material again and preferring the window. The sky was a forget-me-not blue that promised summer and begged for a quidditch game.
"Sounds reasonable to me," Draco added, and Harry also nodded, his face buried in One Hundred Magical Plants and Fungi. There was an entry on Dittany somewhere inside and, despite no table of contents or index, he was going to find it.
"Well, now that's settled," Hagrid declared, "I'll see yeh later then." And he shuffled off.
Hermione had just looked at his retreating back, before standing up and heading to the shelves. He'd jammed the book back upside down, making his field of interest obvious.
"Dragons," Hermione reported, "Hagrid was reading about dragons."
"So?" Harry asked, "He's always doing that. Hagrid's told me plenty of times he'd love one of his own." And he sighed. "There haven't been dragons in Tamriel for Ages."
"Haven't there?" Draco blinked.
"Nah, I think they were all killed in the First Age, or was it before... anyway the only dragons around are those on the standards and coins. Oh, and in the old Nordic lays."
"Any idea what sort of beast it is?" Hermione asked.
"Nah," Harry shrugged, "but Hagrid's got the windows shuttered tight, and the fire's going like Mehrunes Dagon's arsehole."
"Harry!"
"What?"
Anyway, now it was the following Wednesday, and Hermione couldn't take it any more. Three days was more than enough time for her to put two and two together.
There was a table outside, even though there were still clumps of snow on the ground here and there, with a plateful of the groundskeeper's legendary rock cakes and a massive teapot. As Harry had observed, the windows were tightly shuttered, and the chimney was smoking from what must have been a roaring fire. Hagrid was setting out two chairs when he saw the knot of children approaching.
"'Ello 'Arry! Brought yer friends? Weren't expectin' yeh... I'll get some more seatin' anyway," and he was about to turn when Hermione went for the throat.
"Hagrid," she asked, "do you have a dragon in there? Is that why you were looking guilty in the library last weekend?"
The huge man flinched. "Er... no," he failed to declare convincingly.
"Its egg, then," Hermione deduced.
Hagrid opened his mouth to deny that as well, then closed it, opened it again, and finally gave up. "Yeh might as well see," he muttered, "but don't tell nobody, eh?"
The interior of the hut was stifling, going on singed, and the reason sat directly beneath the almost red-hot kettle. It was black, large, and ovoid. It also rocked occasionally.
"Wow," Harry gasped, staring at his first ever dragon's egg.
"Where'd you get it?" Ron asked, also peering intently at it.
"Won it," Hagrid smiled on the unhatched dragon, "Went down ter Hogsmeade on Friday night, had a few drinks, got inter a game of cards with a stranger. Looked right happy to be rid of it to be honest."
Hermione looked around the hut, which unapologetically admitted its flammability. "So... what happens when it hatches?"
"I'm readin' up on that." Hagrid proudly brandished a rather old copy of Dragon Breeding for Pleasure and Profit. "Keep the fire on until it hatches, 'cos their mothers breath on 'em, see, then after hatching, feed it a bucket of brandy and chicken blood every half hour, an' here," he flipped the book open, "how to recognise dif'rent types. What I've got 'ere is a Norwegian Ridgeback. Right rare they are."
He put the book down and gazed fatuously at the egg, which ignored him.
"Um," Hermione's head was spinning, partly from the heat, and mostly from realising just how much trouble Hagrid was going to be in shortly, "Dragons breath fire."
"Oh yeh, yeh," Hagrid wasn't listening.
"And you live in a wooden house."
Hagrid just shrugged, smiling with paternal delight at his very own unhatched dragon, and stoking the fire.
A week passed: a week of classes, Slytherins being gits, Snape doubly so; exceptional amounts of homework; and on top of that, Hermione's ideas of what were 'reasonable' study plans. "If this is a scholar's life I'm joining the Legion," Harry groaned on more than one occasion.
Then a rumpled little owl dropped a short note by Harry's breakfast. It's hatching!
"Herbology first," Hermione wasn't having a bar of it.
"Oh come on!" Harry was excited. "I've never seen a dragon, let alone one hatching! I – Oh! Sallissa!"
"You called?" the little serpent poked her head out of Harry's sleeve. Despite being spring, the weather was still too chilly for the little reptile's tastes.
"Take this to the Mage's Guild," Harry pulled out a slip of paper and a rather blunt pencil, scribbling in Aldmeris, "We'll be in the greenhouses when you return."
"All right," the snake declared, biting the paper and spreading her wings, before hurtling down the hallway in a flash of red and gold.
"What are you looking at?" Ron was scowling at Zabini.
"Nothing," the olive-skinned boy drawled, then sauntered away.
"Harry, do you think he overheard us?" Hermione started worrying her lower lip. "You know he's always trying to get us into trouble!"
It was a bit of an exaggeration, since Zabini was also competing against Pansy Parkinson, but he didn't mind tossing the odd unwanted item into a Gryffindor cauldron. Some days Professor Snape had his work cut out making sure that the potions laboratory didn't become a war zone or worse.
"If he overheard about Hagrid having a dragon, he could owl his mother and then they could start a scandal and have Hagrid sent to Azkaban!" Hermione was starting to hyperventilate, "It's illegal to keep dragons in Britain!"
"Calm down," Draco replied, "My father's one of the governors, he can keep that quiet."
"Yeah," Harry grunted, "But all Hagrid can see is a dream come true. A dragon in a wooden house. We need to do something about it."
"W-why?"
They all stopped to look at Neville.
"Well," the boy looked at his feet in embarrassment, "It's a staff matter isn't it? Tell Dumbledore about it. He's responsible for w-what the staff do."
A short while later:
After receiving a note from a rather disgruntled looking winged snake, Dumbledore found himself converging on Hagrid's hut, along with a small knot of excited Tamrielic mages.
"Extraordinary! – Never dreamed I'd see – Wasn't expecting that many legs – Remarkable!" were some of the more frequent ejaculations as he pushed through the mages to Hagrid's door.
"Hagrid," he called, "It's Albus. Can I come in?"
There was a short pause, in which something growled angrily, before Hagrid opened the door suspiciously and relaxed. "Oh, Headmaster," he slapped on a grin, "I'd let yeh in, but I've got... ah..."
"A hatchling dragon who's had too many visitors?" the old man twinkled at him.
Sure enough, Hagrid's hut was more or less occupied by a small, black, bad-tempered hexapod. One set of limbs were adapted for flight, and the body looked like a cross between a crocodile and a snake, with extra crenellations. It growled again and spat a few sparks at the old man.
"Norbert! Be nice to the Headmaster," admonished Hagrid in what he thought was a maternal tone.
"A Norwegian Ridgeback," Albus smiled at the dragonet, who snarled back, "How wonderful! He looks in good fettle too."
"Jus' like the book says," Hagrid nodded, "A bucket o' chicken blood an' brandy every half hour."
The hatching dragon screeched, and quite well for a newly hatched one too, and sent sparks towards Hagrid. The half-giant just chuckled and absently snuffed the small fire that was lit in his rapidly tattering beard.
"How ever did you get an egg?" Dumbledore asked casually.
"Won 'im in a card game in Hogsmeade," Hagrid admitted, "Nice feller too. Seemed happy to be rid o' it, but who'd want to let go of a little darlin' like you, eh?"
Norbert's response was to snap at the finger which was about to caress him.
"Norwegian Ridgebacks grow quite large, of course," Dumbledore remarked, again casually.
"Yeh," Hagrid nodded absently.
"He'll soon be too large for this hut, you know."
"True, but I'll find a nice cave or somethin'. Plenty o' things to eat in the forest, you know."
"When there's a castle full of defenceless, tasty treats?" Hagrid's brow furrowed. "And what about the centaurs?" Dumbledore pressed gently, "Or the unicorns?"
Norbert growled, possibly recognising multiple synonyms for food.
"And what if the Ministry found out? You know that private dragon-keeping is illegal."
That did it. Hagrid's face paled, remembering his previous experience of the Ministry of Magic's justice. "But..." he began, and his eyes were wet. "'E's just a baby..."
"We don't have to do anything now," Dumbledore reassured him, "we have plenty of time –"
Hagrid wasn't listening, since he'd jumped up to the door. "Someone was lookin' through the doorway - it's a kid – runnin' back to the school."
"Don't worry about them," Albus smiled reassuringly, "We have plenty of time to work out what to do with little Norbert here."
Roughly a week later:
Draco leaned in at the dinner table, something that people never did for obvious reasons. "Ron," he asked quietly, "Are you related to a Charles Weasley?"
"Huglmph?" Draco suffered the sight with patience until the bulb flashed on over Weasley's head. "Oh yeah! Charlie! He's studying dragons in Romania!"
Draco sat back with a satisfied smile. It didn't last, as his eyes landed on a suspiciously smug looking Zabini. He glanced at the Parkinson girl. She was also casting suspicious glances at the olive-skinned boy.
"How'd you hear of him?" Ron was looking enquiringly at Draco.
"It was in The Quibbler," Draco admitted, "Basically stating he was one of the best dragon keepers of modern times. Admittedly the article was actually about some nonsense creature that's supposed to live off dragon breath or something, but it did mention him by name and reputation."
Ron just snorted. "The Lovegoods are bonkers," he declared, "They'd be all right if it wasn't for all that rot about crumple-horned snorcacks or blimpering humdingers or jackalopes they keep putting out."
"I know. I read it for laughs myself. You forgot the Rotfang Conspiracy by the way."
"The what?" was Harry's intelligent interjection.
"The Lovegoods are convinced that Minister Fudge eats goblins in pies."
Harry, enlightened, looked down at his plate. For some reason he'd lost his appetite.
A Week After That:
Norbert was shovelling down dead rats by the crate. Harry and his friends knew this because they'd seen the increasingly large and increasingly spoiled hatchling Norwegian Ridgeback being fed, and in the following manner. Hagrid, aided by some of the braver members of the Mage's Guild, would crack a crate, agitate the contents to make them look alive, and stand well back – a distance that sometimes wasn't far enough. By all reports, interest in healing and curative spells and potions was on the rise.
Hagrid, it seemed, was unaware of this. Hardly surprising, since he'd tearfully informed them about the Headmaster's dictate.
In any case, late at night, there was a tapping at one of the common room windows, something to do with a rather tired owl outside it.
"Better let it in," remarked Draco from the depths of a textbook.
Ron went to do so, whereupon it hopped onto his sleeve and hooted in a mixture of tiredness and imperiousness.
"Okay, I'll find some – what, for me? Hey, it's Charlie!"
Ron hastened to remove the letter. He and his friends bent over to see what it said.
Dear Ron,
How are you? Thanks for the letter – I'd be glad to take the Norwegian Ridgeback, but it won't be easy getting him here. I think the best thing would be to send him over with some friends of mine who are coming to visit next week. Trouble is, they can't be seen carrying an illegal dragon.
Could you get the Ridgeback up the tallest tower at midnight on Saturday? They can meet you there and take him away while it's still dark.
Send me an answer as soon as possible.
Love,
Charlie
There was the patter of daedroth steps on the stairs, and Harry came down with a bag of owl treats. "I found something for the owl," he said, "what's up?"
The owl hooted gratefully.
The next day:
"Well, this is very helpful," Dumbledore smiled over the letter at the boy in front of him, "I might have to award, oh, fifty points to Gryffindor."
Ron's face and hair became indistinguishable.
Later that evening, Dumbledore found himself outside Hagrid's hut along with a rather unhappy Fang, whose tail was bandaged.
"Sorry 'Eadmaster, but I can't let yeh in – Norbert's bein' tricky – nothin' I can't 'andle." Hagrid delivered this information via the window.
The tears that filled the poor chap's eyes might have been from Dumbledore's instructions, but it's hard to tell, since the dragonet had bitten him on the leg at the time.
"Argh! - Nah, 's alright, he jus' got my boot – only playin' – jus' a baby after all."
Said baby made the windows rattle when its tail slapped the wall. Dumbledore walked back to the castle. It was clear that he was doing the right thing.
That Saturday night:
Norbert was upset. He made it quite clear – actually, at this late point, we must question Norbert's gender, as Norbert could well be a Norbertina – as he (oh, let's stick with the masculine for convenience) shook about in a large crate.
"He's got lots o' rats an' brandy for the journey," Hagrid's voice, thick with sadness, was muffled by a handkerchief the size of a towel, "an' I packed 'is teddy bear in case he gets lonely."
There was the sound of tearing cloth from the crate. Norbert was more likely taking out his frustrations on the now late bear.
"I'd see yeh off, Norbert," Hagrid informed the crate, "But wi' my foot playin' up, I couldn't make all them stairs..."
The extremity in question was decidedly swollen, not to mention inflamed. Either Norwegian Ridgebacks had appalling oral hygiene, or poisonous saliva.
"Bye bye Norbert!" Hagrid sobbed some more, as Dumbledore supervised the concealment of the dragonet's crate beneath Harry's invisibility cloak, "Mummy won't forget you!"
The growl implied that Norbert wouldn't forget 'Mummy' either, and that scores would be settled.
"Right then," Charlie Weasley said, "You ready there Fred?"
"Right," said the dragon handler's companion.
"On three," started Charlie.
"Right," affirmed Fred.
"One, two, three," and the two men cast the levitation charm simultaneously. Crate and contents rose in a wobbly fashion, mainly because dragons don't like spells cast on them, nor being crated up, so it took both men some effort to keep the crate under control.
There were a lot of stairs to reach the top of the tallest tower of Hogwarts, but even Dumbledore couldn't side-along two grown men and a baby dragon simultaneously. "It's a bit easier going down," Dumbledore puffed, but privately he was pleased. It reminded him of his own school days, and adventures he'd had, sneaking out after curfew...
Idly, he considered giving more points to Gryffindor. The youngest Weasley boy had done an admirable service to the school by suggesting his older brother, and of course Harry had loaned him that cloak, just like his father had. Had he? a small voice niggled in the back of his head, Are you sure?
Dumbledore shook his head. That voice of doubt seemed to be getting louder every day, these days. He didn't like it, and especially not now. Who knew what Tom was planning...
"Detention!"
The shout came from a McGonnagal, who despite the nightgown and hairnet, still cut an imposing figure, with Pansy Parkinson's ear in her grasp. "And twenty points from Slytherin for breaking curfew!"
"You don't understand," the girl cried, "Zabini's up to something!"
"You Slytherins are always up to something," McGonnagal snapped, "There's nothing new about that! I shall speak to Professor Snape about you!"
Once the two had left, the three men somehow found even the steep spiral up the tower a doddle, although Dumbledore did wonder what Zabini was planning. In any case, Charlie was talking in white puffs of breath to his compatriots. Despite himself, Dumbledore was fascinated by the harness the men used to secure the crate to all four broomsticks, and again by a superlative display of formation flying as Charlie and his crew, along with Norbert, became an uncertain blot against the night sky.
As he descended the staircase, he began to wonder who on earth would have been walking around with a viable dragon egg. In Britain, no less! Where would he have obtained it? Evidently one of Tom's people – it wasn't a coincidence that the chap had wagered it when playing cards with Hagrid – and Hagrid's dragon obsession wasn't a secret. Maybe if he talked with the people in charge of International Portkeys...
"Well well, what have we here?"
The Headmaster was jerked out of his thoughts. Looking up, he saw Filch, leering down at a rather contrite looking Harry and Ronald Weasley.
A/N: It's actually interesting trying to stay closer to canon. Sure, larger forces are also at work, but it's not as if they're going to affect Hogwarts' educational practice immediately.
You'll find out why Harry and Ron were running around after curfew next episode, or maybe the one after that. Yeah, the one after that. Because I've created a rather draining problem for Fudge that needs addressing.