Chapter 8: Revelations

January 6, 1992 – Monday

Unused Classroom

The Christmas holidays were over, and Harry and Buffy found themselves once more in the dimly lit, abandoned classroom where they had first discovered the Mirror of Erised. The room, still cloaked in shadows and silence, seemed to hold its breath as they stood in front of the mirror, their gazes transfixed. The mirror's ornate, gold frame glittered faintly in the soft light, reflecting back the hauntingly beautiful images that captivated them.

The twins' eyes were locked on the mirror's surface, where the familiar and beloved figures of their parents stood. Their mother and father smiled at them from within the mirror's depths, their expressions filled with warmth and love. The twins were spellbound by the sight. The mirror offered a glimpse of what they longed for most—an illusion of a family reunion, a moment frozen in time where all was well.

The room seemed to exist solely for the mirror's reflection. There was nothing to deter them from remaining there all night, basking in the illusion of their parents' presence. The boundaries between reality and fantasy blurred, making it easy to lose track of time and the world outside. The only thing that could pull them away from the mirror's mesmerizing allure was—

"Harry, Buffy, I see the two of you are back here again."

The voice was calm yet commanding, and it cut through the enchantment like a knife. The twins' hearts sank as they turned, feeling an icy chill race through their veins. The room's gloom seemed to close in around them as they faced the figure seated casually on one of the desks by the wall.

Sitting there, with an air of serene authority, was none other than Albus Dumbledore. The twins, so engrossed in the mirror's vision, had failed to notice his presence. It was as though he had materialized out of the shadows, a subtle reminder of the world outside the mirror's spell.

"We—we didn't see you, sir," Harry stammered, his voice trembling slightly despite his best efforts to maintain composure.

Dumbledore's eyes twinkled with a mixture of amusement and understanding. "Strange how nearsighted being invisible can make you," he observed, his smile softening the rebuke. His presence, though unexpected, was comforting in its familiarity. The warm, glinting eyes behind the half-moon spectacles seemed to pierce through the veil of enchantment the mirror had cast.

"So," Dumbledore continued, easing himself down from the desk to sit cross-legged on the floor with Harry and Buffy, "you two, like hundreds before you, have discovered the delights of the Mirror of Erised."

Harry glanced sideways at Buffy, a hint of curiosity and confusion in his eyes. "I didn't know it was called that, sir," he said, trying to digest the information and reconcile it with what they had experienced.

Buffy, her thoughts racing, tried to recall where she had encountered the name before. Her memory sparked at a distant corner of her mind, triggered by their recent research. The mention of the mirror had surfaced during their search for information on Glorificus. "Is that what that is?" she asked, her voice a mixture of awe and realization. "I remember reading about the mirror when we were trying to find information on Glorificus."

Dumbledore simply nodded as he regarded Buffy with a look of quiet understanding. "Then you know what it does then," he said.

"Yes, Professor," Buffy replied, turning her gaze to Harry. She could see the confusion written across his face. "It shows us what we want, what's deep within our heart. Harry, for you and me, it shows us our parents as if they were still living and standing beside us because we both desperately want to know them."

Dumbledore's eyes softened as he looked at them both. "Yes, that is correct, Buffy," he confirmed in a gentle tone. "It will show you what lies deep within your heart. Now that you have found the mirror, I will need to move it. People have wasted their entire lives in front of the mirror. It would do you two no good to waste away your lives in front of it. I ask, though, that you do not go looking for it again. Now run along back to your dormitories and get some sleep."

Harry and Buffy stood up, their movements slow and hesitant. "Sir—Professor Dumbledore?" Harry spoke up, his voice a mix of curiosity and concern. "Can I ask you something?"

"Obviously, you've just done so," Dumbledore said with a twinkle in his eye. "You may ask me one more thing, however."

Harry hesitated for a moment before asking, "What do you see when you look in the mirror?"

Dumbledore's eyes twinkled with a hint of mischief as he replied, "I? I see myself holding a pair of thick, woolen socks." Harry and Buffy stared at him, puzzled. "One can never have enough socks. Another Christmas has come and gone and I didn't get a single pair. People will insist on giving me books." He paused, his smile widening. "Off you go, Harry. Buffy, a moment if you please?"

Harry nodded, casting one last, lingering look at Buffy before slipping out the door. Buffy turned back to Dumbledore, who now focused his attention solely on her.

"Yes, Professor," Buffy said, sensing the gravity of the conversation about to unfold.

"While you have loving parents and a sister," Dumbledore began, his tone gentle yet profound, "you still see your birth parents in the mirror. Your heart's wish is not the same as Harry's. He never had a loving family until he met you, Joyce, and Dawn. He had never felt love until then. For you, it is a desperate desire to know who you are. Are you the loving daughter or the loving niece? Am I correct?" he asked, his gaze penetrating yet compassionate.

Buffy's expression tightened as she absorbed Dumbledore's words. The mirror had shown her a longing to reconcile her past and present selves, and the distinction between her biological and chosen family had been a source of internal conflict. "Yes, Professor," she admitted quietly.

Dumbledore nodded once more, his eyes reflecting a deep well of wisdom and empathy. "Remember, Buffy," he said softly, "what you seek in the mirror is a reflection of your heart's deepest desires. But true understanding and identity come not from looking into the mirror but from living your life and embracing those who love you."

With that, Buffy took a deep breath, feeling the weight of Dumbledore's words. She turned and walked toward the door, her mind still processing the profound insight. As she stepped out of the classroom, the chill of the corridor felt strangely invigorating, as though she were emerging from a dream into the reality of her own life.

February 19, 1992 –Wednesday

Gryffindor Common Room

Neville toppled into the common room; his entrance as dramatic as it was unintended. The sight was almost comical if it weren't so disheartening. His legs were stuck together, visibly constrained by the Leg-Locker Curse, causing him to hop awkwardly as if his legs were bound in an invisible vice. How he had managed to climb through the portrait hole was anyone's guess, given the precarious predicament he was in. The only way he could have made it up to Gryffindor Tower was by propelling himself with frantic, jerky hops, reminiscent of a particularly clumsy bunny.

The common room erupted into laughter, a mix of mirth and sympathy, as Neville's plight unfolded. The warmth of the room contrasted starkly with the humiliation etched on Neville's face. Hermione, however, sprang into action with unwavering determination. She dashed over and performed the countercurse with practiced precision. The curse lifted, and Neville's legs sprang apart, allowing him to stand upright, though he remained visibly shaken, his hands trembling as he tried to regain his composure.

Hermione led Neville over to where Dawn, Buffy, Willow, Harry, and Ron had gathered. The group's laughter faded into concerned murmurs as Neville took a seat, his shoulders slumped and his face flushed with embarrassment.

"What happened?" Hermione asked, her voice filled with both concern and urgency.

Neville took a deep breath, trying to steady his voice as he recounted the events. "Malfoy," he said shakily, his eyes darting nervously around the room. "I met him outside the library. He said he'd been looking for someone to practice that on."

"Go to Professor McGonagall!" Hermione urged, her eyes widening with a mix of anger and resolve. "Report him!"

Neville shook his head slowly, his face a mixture of resignation and fear. "I don't want more trouble," he mumbled, his voice barely above a whisper.

"You've got to stand up to him, Neville!" Dawn said earnestly, her voice tinged with frustration. Her eyes were full of determination, reflecting the same fierce spirit that drove her to support her friends unconditionally.

"He's used to walking all over people, but that's no reason to lie down in front of him and make it easier," Ron added, his voice firm but compassionate. His face was set in a resolute expression, showing his disdain for Malfoy's behavior.

"There's no need to tell me I'm not brave enough to be in Gryffindor," Neville choked out, his voice thick with emotion. "Malfoy's already done that."

Harry, moved by Neville's distress, reached into the pocket of his robes and pulled out a Chocolate Frog, the very last one from the box Hermione had given him for Christmas. He extended it towards Neville, who looked as though he might cry from the combined effects of humiliation and relief. "You're worth twelve of Malfoy," Harry said firmly, his tone reassuring. The gesture was a small act of kindness, but it spoke volumes about the camaraderie they shared.

"Harry's right," Buffy agreed, her voice resolute. She moved closer to Neville, placing a comforting hand on his shoulder. "The Sorting Hat chose you for Gryffindor, didn't it? And where's Malfoy? In stinking Slytherin."

Neville's lips twitched in a weak smile as he carefully unwrapped the Chocolate Frog. The rich, colorful foil crinkled softly in his fingers, revealing the brightly illustrated chocolate beneath. As he broke off a piece and popped it into his mouth, a hint of his earlier distress seemed to melt away. "Thanks…" he murmured, his voice weary but sincere. "I think I'll go to bed…"

Neville turned to Harry, his eyes flickering with a mix of gratitude and fatigue. "D'you want the card, you collect them, don't you?" he asked, extending the Famous Wizard card with a resigned but hopeful gesture.

As Neville walked away, his footsteps echoing softly against the stone floor, Harry's attention was drawn to the card in his hand. He turned it over with curiosity, and as he read the familiar name, a surge of excitement coursed through him. "Dumbledore again," he said, his voice tinged with awe. "He was the first one I ever—"

Harry's voice trailed off as he gasped, his eyes widening in astonishment. He stared at the back of the card, his heart pounding with a sudden realization. "I've found him!" he whispered urgently. "I've found Flamel! I told you I'd read the name somewhere before, I read it on the train coming here—listen to this: 'Dumbledore is particularly famous for his defeat of the Dark wizard Grindelwald in 1945, for the discovery of the twelve uses of dragon's blood, and his work on alchemy with his partner, Nicolas Flamel'!"

The revelation hung in the air like a charged spell. Hermione's eyes widened with excitement, a glimmer of triumph reflecting in her gaze. She jumped to her feet with a fervor that seemed to light up the entire room. Her usual composure was replaced with a burst of energy reminiscent of a student who had just aced an impossible exam. "Stay there!" she commanded, her voice crackling with urgency. Without waiting for a response, she sprinted up the stairs to the girls' dormitories, her robes flapping behind her like wings.

Buffy, Willow, Dawn, Harry, and Ron exchanged bewildered glances, their expressions a mix of curiosity and confusion. The common room was a whirl of anticipation, the suspense thickening as Hermione's footsteps receded. Barely had they begun to process what had just happened when Hermione reappeared, practically bursting through the door with an enormous old book clutched tightly in her arms. Her face was flushed with excitement, her eyes sparkling with a sense of impending discovery. "I never thought to look in here!" she whispered breathlessly. "I got this out of the library weeks ago for a bit of light reading."

"Light?" Ron interjected, his voice dripping with skepticism. "You call this light reading?"

Hermione shushed him with a determined wave of her hand, her focus unwavering as she flipped through the pages of the massive tome. Her fingers moved with practiced ease, the yellowed pages rustling softly with each turn. "Quiet!" she urged, her eyes scanning the text with a feverish intensity. "I need to find it…"

Time seemed to stretch as Hermione continued her frantic search. The room was filled with a hushed, expectant silence, the only sounds being the occasional rustle of pages and Hermione's muttered incantations of "Come on, come on…"

At last, Hermione's eyes alighted on the passage she had been seeking. She could barely contain her excitement as she read aloud, her voice a whisper of triumph. "I knew it! I knew it!"

"Are we allowed to speak yet?" Ron grumbled, his patience wearing thin. His irritation was barely concealed as he waited for Hermione to finish her discovery.

Hermione, however, was oblivious to Ron's impatience. Her face was aglow with the thrill of her revelation. "Nicolas Flamel," she whispered dramatically, each word dripping with significance. "Is the only known maker of the Sorcerer's Stone!"

March 28, 1992 – Saturday

Leaky Cauldron, London

Quirrell stepped into the dimly lit pub, his eyes adjusting to the muted light that barely filtered through the grimy windows. The atmosphere was oddly subdued, the usual clatter and chatter of patrons conspicuously absent. The room was sparsely populated, with only a few scattered figures nursing their drinks in silence.

His gaze quickly zeroed in on the woman he had been searching for. She was unmistakable, commanding immediate attention even amidst the shadowy gloom. Seated comfortably on a large, plush couch, her presence was nothing short of imposing. She was surrounded by a group of demons, their grotesque features and pockmarked skin creating a stark contrast to her own elegant appearance. Their eyes, glowing with an unsettling light, were fixed on her with a mixture of reverence and fear.

Quirrell approached cautiously, his footsteps muffled on the worn floorboards. As he neared the couch, one of the demons—a particularly burly creature with horns jutting from its head—stepped forward to block his path. Its voice, gruff and unyielding, cut through the silence.

"What do you want with the Magnificent Glorificus?" the demon growled, its eyes narrowing with suspicion.

Quirrell's lips curled into a practiced smile, his gaze never wavering from the woman at the center of the room. "I heard she was searching for the Key," he said smoothly. "I happen to know where it is."

Glory turned her head slightly, her eyes narrowing with interest. She gestured imperiously for the demon to step aside. "Let him approach, Jink," she ordered, her voice a melodious blend of authority and curiosity. "So, you know where my Key is?"

Quirrell inclined his head respectfully, his eyes lingering on Glory's striking features. "Yes, it is being kept at the school where I teach."

Glory's eyes widened in surprise; her perfect features momentarily marred by a frown. "She? My Key was pressed into a human?" Her voice carried a note of incredulity, tinged with irritation. "Jink, why are we just learning about this now?"

Jink, visibly anxious, stammered in response, "I am sorry, your most Magnificent Glorificus."

Glory's gaze turned sharp as she glared at the demon, her displeasure palpable. With a dismissive wave of her hand, she motioned Jink aside. "So, Mr.… Quirrell, how do we retrieve my Key?" she inquired, her tone now marked by an impatient edge.

"The issue is not merely locating the Key," Quirrell explained, his voice steady. "The problem is gaining access to the castle. It is protected by powerful wards. No one can enter or leave without an invitation. Teachers, students, and parents are permitted. However, you would not be, as they are aware of your existence. It appears one of the students possesses cognitive abilities and has foreseen your arrival. She has already warned others."

Jink, seizing the opportunity to interject, offered a suggestion with a hint of desperation in his voice. "If I may suggest, your Magnificent Glorificus, Ben could assist us in gaining entry. If they believe him to be someone who escaped after being imprisoned, they might grant him sanctuary."

A smile of approval curved Glorificus's lips as she considered the idea. "That sounds like a magnificent idea," she said, her voice imbued with satisfaction. "You will arrange it."

Quirrell frowned slightly, his curiosity piqued. "And how would this Ben help us gain entry?" he asked.

Glorificus's laughter rang out, a rich and melodious sound that seemed to fill the room. "Come," she said, rising gracefully from the couch. "We have much to discuss in preparation." Her eyes sparkled with anticipation as she gestured for them to follow.

April 24, 1992 – Friday

Library

It was the end of the Easter holidays, and while the rest of the students were catching their breath from the whirlwind of festivities, Hermione was immersed in a whirlwind of her own. Her focus was entirely consumed by the looming exams, which she approached with a single-minded determination that left her classmates both impressed and exasperated.

Hermione had taken to her study regimen with a fervor that bordered on obsessive. Her room was a chaotic symphony of colored highlighters, neatly arranged notes, and meticulously drawn-up study schedules. She had organized every detail with an almost surgical precision, her notes meticulously color-coded and her study plans divided into hourly increments. The once cheerful and carefree atmosphere of the Easter break had turned into a relentless barrage of academic preparation, much to the dismay of her friends.

Buffy, Dawn, Willow, Harry, and Ron had initially accepted Hermione's enthusiasm with a mix of curiosity and amusement. However, as the pressure mounted and Hermione's demands for their academic cooperation grew more insistent, their patience began to wear thin. Hermione's determination had turned into an incessant drone of reminders and corrections.

"Hermione, the exams are ages away," Willow remarked one evening, her voice tinged with exhaustion.

"Five weeks," Hermione snapped back, her eyes widening in disbelief. "That's not ages."

Ron, who was sprawled out with a mountain of books, couldn't help but express his frustration. "What are you studying for, you already know it all."

Hermione's reaction was a mixture of disbelief and irritation. "What am I studying for?" she demanded. "Are you crazy? You realize we need to pass these exams to get into the second year? They're very important, I should have started studying a month ago. I don't know what's gotten into me."

Unfortunately, the teachers seemed to share Hermione's anxiety about the approaching exams. The workload had increased dramatically, with assignments and essays piling up at an alarming rate. The Easter holidays, which were supposed to be a time of relaxation and enjoyment, had been swallowed up by an avalanche of homework. The atmosphere was markedly different from the festive cheer of Christmas, leaving everyone feeling drained.

In the midst of this academic grind, the library had become a second home for Buffy, Dawn, Willow, Harry, and Ron. They spent hours hunched over textbooks, trying to keep up with Hermione's relentless pace. Hermione's presence was a constant reminder of the looming exams, and her voice, reciting facts and formulas, became a background hum that accompanied their every study session.

One sunny afternoon, as the first truly warm day of the year beckoned with its promise of summer, Ron's frustration boiled over. "I'll never remember this," he exclaimed, throwing his quill down with a dramatic flourish. His gaze was fixed on the library window, where the clear, forget-me-not blue sky contrasted sharply with the stuffy confines of their study session.

Harry, engrossed in a book on magical herbs, only looked up when he heard Buffy's surprised exclamation. "Hagrid! What are you doing in the library?"

Hagrid, always a figure of contrasting oddity and familiarity, shuffled into view. He was unmistakably out of place in his heavy moleskin overcoat, which seemed absurdly out of season in the warm weather. He carried himself with a furtive air, as if concealing something of great importance. "Jus' lookin'," he mumbled, his voice dropping to a shifty whisper that immediately piqued their interest. "An' what're you lot up ter?" His expression shifted to one of sudden suspicion. "Yer not still lookin' fer Nicolas Flamel, are yeh?"

"Oh, we found out who he is ages ago," Willow responded with a trace of smugness. "And we know what that dog's guarding, it's a Sorcerer's St—"

"Shh!" Hagrid hissed, casting a furtive glance around the library as if afraid someone might overhear. "Don' go shoutin' about it, what's the matter with yeh?" His eyes darted nervously, clearly anxious about the potential for their conversation to attract unwanted attention.

"There are a few things we wanted to ask you, as a matter of fact," said Harry, his tone hinting at a mix of curiosity and concern, "about what's guarding the Stone apart from Fluffy—"

"SHH!" Hagrid's hissed interruption cut through the air with a sharp urgency. His eyes darted around the library as if to ward off eavesdroppers. "Listen—come an' see me later, I'm not promisin' I'll tell yeh anythin', mind, but don' go rabbitin' about it in here, students aren' s'pposed ter know. They'll think I've told yeh—"

"See you later, then," said Harry, his gaze following Hagrid as he shuffled away, his heavy steps echoing softly in the vast library. "What was he hiding behind his back?" he wondered aloud, his curiosity piqued. "Do you think it had anything to do with the Stone?"

"I'm going to see what section he was in," said Dawn, her voice a determined whisper as she sprang into action. She navigated the maze of towering bookshelves with a sense of purpose, and a minute later, she returned, arms laden with a hefty pile of books. She set them down on the table with a decisive thud. "Dragons!" she breathed in astonishment. "Hagrid was looking up stuff about dragons! Look at these: Dragon Species of Great Britain and Ireland; From Egg to Inferno: A Dragon Keeper's Guide."

"Hagrid's always wanted a dragon," Harry remarked, a distant smile touching his lips as he remembered their first meeting. "He told me so the first time I ever met him."

"But it's against our laws," Ron interjected with a tone of disbelief. "Dragon breeding was outlawed by the Warlocks' Convention of 1709, everyone knows that. It's hard enough to keep Muggles from noticing us as it is—imagine if we had dragons in the back garden. Besides, you can't tame dragons; it's dangerous. You should see the burns Charlie's got off wild ones in Romania."

"But there aren't wild dragons in Britain?" Dawn asked, her brow furrowed in confusion.

"Of course, there are," Ron said with a matter-of-fact air. "Common Welsh Green and Hebridean Blacks. The Ministry of Magic has a tough job keeping them under wraps. Our kind has to keep putting spells on Muggles who've spotted them, to make them forget."

"So, what on earth's Hagrid up to?" Hermione's voice cut through the discussion as she glanced up from her notes. Wesley, looking harried and out of breath, hurried into the library, his face a picture of urgency.

"I received word from the Council on Glorificus," Wesley said, his voice heavy with the weight of the news he carried. He spread out a collection of papers and documents across the table, the rustle of parchment filling the room with a sense of urgency. "And, there's a lot to go through."

"Let's start with what she is," Dawn said, her tone both resolute and apprehensive as she scanned the gathered papers.

"She's a god," Wesley said, his eyes dark with the gravity of his words. "From a dimension of unspeakable torment. She ruled alongside two other hell gods. Together, they formed a triumvirate of suffering and despair, wielding their power with ruthless precision. But Glorificus' power grew beyond even what they could conceive. As did her insatiable lust for pain and misery. Her fellow rulers looked upon her with growing fear and apprehension, witnessing what she had become, and trembled."

"A god afraid?" Buffy queried, her voice tinged with disbelief as she struggled to reconcile the concept of fear with a being of such immense power.

Wesley nodded solemnly. "Such was her power. They feared she would attempt to seize their dimension for herself, and decided to strike first. A great battle erupted between them. In the end, they emerged victorious over her, but it was a pyrrhic victory. She was cast out and banished to this lower plane of existence. She was forced to live and, ultimately, to die trapped within the body of a mortal. A newborn male, to be exact, created as her prison. According to the Council, this is her only weakness."

"Kill the man and the god dies," Willow realized, the implications of Wesley's revelation dawning on her. Her eyes widened as the enormity of their task began to sink in.

Wesley inclined his head in agreement. "Unfortunately, the Council doesn't know the identity of the human vessel," he said, his gaze shifting from Ron to Hermione, and then to Harry, Willow, Dawn, and Buffy. The room fell silent as the weight of their mission settled over them. The search for Glorificus' host had become a race against time, one that would require all their courage and determination to find and stop her before it was too late.

The Grounds

Outside, the chilly evening air was sharp and biting as Faith made her way across the grounds, her eyes scanning the shadows for any signs of trouble. The landscape was cloaked in twilight, the last vestiges of daylight fading rapidly. Her boots crunched on the gravel path as she moved with purpose, the tension in her shoulders betraying her heightened sense of alertness.

Suddenly, a figure staggered into view, his clothes disheveled and his face etched with panic. He stumbled toward Faith, his breath coming in ragged gasps. "You have to help me. I just got away from Glorificus. She's coming."

Faith's sharp eyes narrowed as she assessed the man before her. His disheveled appearance and frantic demeanor spoke of a recent and harrowing escape. "And you are?" she asked, her voice steady despite the urgency of the situation.

The man, clearly struggling to maintain his composure, swallowed hard. "Ben," he managed to choke out. "I had to warn the school that she is coming. She's after the Key."

Faith's instincts kicked in. Without a word, she placed a steadying hand on Ben's arm and guided him toward the Hospital Wing. Her heart pounded with the realization that the threat was not just looming but imminent. As they moved swiftly through the corridors, the once-familiar surroundings seemed to close in, each shadow holding the potential for danger.

Upon reaching the Hospital Wing, Faith helped Ben inside, where Madam Pomfrey's gaze immediately shifted from curiosity to concern. The bustling activity within the wing quieted as she took in the sight of the distraught man and the gravity of the situation.

Faith quickly explained the urgency of the situation, leaving Ben in Madam Pomfrey's capable hands. The nurse nodded and immediately began assessing Ben's condition, her practiced movements calm and efficient. Faith, however, knew that time was of the essence and that she needed to act fast.

She left the Hospital Wing and set off in search of Wesley and Dumbledore. Her footsteps echoed down the empty halls as she made her way to the offices, her mind racing with the implications of Ben's warning. The shadows seemed to lengthen with each step, mirroring her mounting anxiety.

Finally, she reached Dumbledore's office and knocked sharply on the door. The sound was brisk and urgent, in keeping with the gravity of the news she carried. As she waited for a response, she couldn't help but feel the weight of the impending danger pressing down on her.

Hagrid's Hut

When they knocked on the door of the gamekeeper's hut, Harry, Ron, Hermione, Dawn, Willow, and Buffy were taken aback by the sight of all the curtains drawn tightly closed. The dim, murky interior of the hut seemed oddly isolated from the brilliant sunshine outside. Hagrid's voice boomed through the door, asking who it was before he swung it open and ushered them inside with a hurried glance over his shoulder. Once they were all through, he quickly shut the door behind them with a click that seemed to seal off the outside world.

The heat inside the hut was immediate and oppressive. Despite the warm, sunny day, the room was stifling, dominated by the roaring blaze in the large stone fireplace. The flames crackled and popped, filling the space with a dense, smoky aroma that mingled with the earthy scent of the hut. Hagrid bustled around, setting a kettle on the stove and arranging mismatched cups on the table. He offered stoat sandwiches with a hearty grin, but they were declined with polite but firm refusals.

"So—yeh wanted to ask me somethin'?" Hagrid finally asked, settling into a large, worn armchair with a groan of relief.

"Yes," Harry began, his tone resolute. He had decided there was no use in delaying the matter. "We were wondering if you could tell us what's guarding the Sorcerer's Stone apart from Fluffy."

Hagrid's expression darkened as he frowned deeply, the lines on his face deepening with concern. "O' course I can't," he said firmly. "Number one, I don' know meself. Number two, yeh know too much already, so I wouldn' tell yeh if I could. That Stone's here fer a good reason. It was almost stolen outta Gringotts—I s'ppose yeh've worked that out an' all? Beats me how yeh even know abou' Fluffy."

"Not a soul knows except me an' Dumbledore," Hagrid added proudly, a touch of defensiveness in his tone.

"Well, that's something," Harry muttered under his breath, sharing a look with the others that conveyed their shared frustration and concern.

"Hagrid, can we have a window open? I'm boiling," Dawn finally said, her face flushed and her discomfort evident. The room's oppressive heat was making her feel faint, and she longed for a breath of fresh air.

"Can't, Dawn, sorry," said Hagrid, his tone apologetic yet firm.

Buffy noticed Hagrid's gaze flicker nervously toward the fire, and her eyes followed his. The roaring blaze, which had initially seemed to be a mere source of warmth, now revealed a curious sight. Nestled right in the heart of the flames, underneath the kettle, was a massive, black egg. Its glossy shell gleamed ominously, absorbing the fiery glow around it. "Hagrid—what's that?" she asked, though she already had an inkling about the nature of the object in question.

"Ah," Hagrid said, shifting uncomfortably and fussing with his beard. "That's—er…"

Willow, her eyes wide with fascination, crouched closer to the fire to get a better look at the egg. "Where did you get it, Hagrid?" she asked, her voice tinged with disbelief.

"Won it," Hagrid admitted with a sheepish grin. "Las' night. I was down in the village havin' a few drinks an' got into a game o' cards with a stranger. Think he was quite glad ter get rid of it, ter be honest."

Hermione's eyes widened with a mix of worry and curiosity. "But what are you going to do with it when it's hatched?" she inquired, her concern evident.

"Well, I've bin doin' some readin'," Hagrid said, pulling out a hefty, well-worn book from beneath his pillow with a flourish. The book's cover was frayed and the title, Dragon Breeding for Pleasure and Profit, was embossed in faded gold lettering. "Got this outta the library—Dragon Breeding for Pleasure and Profit—it's a bit outta date, o' course, but it's all in here. Keep the egg in the fire, 'cause their mothers breathe on 'em, see, an' when it hatches, feed it on a bucket o' brandy mixed with chicken blood every half hour. An' see here—how ter recognize diff'rent eggs—what I got there's a Norwegian Ridge-back. They're rare, them."

Hagrid's face beamed with pride as he explained his plan, clearly pleased with his newfound knowledge and the rare dragon egg he had acquired.

Willow, however, looked increasingly concerned. "Hagrid, you live in a wooden house," she pointed out, her voice laced with worry.

But Hagrid, lost in his excitement and humming merrily, seemed oblivious to her concern. He cheerfully stoked the fire, the flames casting dancing shadows across his rugged face. The warmth of the fire seemed to mirror the warmth in his heart as he envisioned the majestic creature soon to be hatching from the egg.

Dumbledore's Office

"She was cast out and banished to this lower plane of existence," Wesley explained with a grave tone, his voice resonating with the weight of the information. "She was forced to live and, ultimately, to die trapped within the body of a mortal. A newborn male, to be exact, created as her prison. According to the Council, this is her only weakness." His eyes met Dumbledore's, searching for a flicker of understanding or recognition.

A pause followed, filled with the tension of unspoken fears and the gravity of their task. Wesley's gaze shifted, his expression a mixture of frustration and resignation. "Unfortunately, the Council doesn't know the identity of the human vessel," he added, his voice trailing off with a hint of helplessness.

At that moment, Faith entered the office, her presence a stark contrast to the somber mood. She carried a sense of urgency and determination that seemed to electrify the room. "Ms. Lehane," Dumbledore greeted her, his eyes reflecting a keen interest. "Wesley was just informing me on the information the Watcher's Council found out about Glorificus."

Faith, her brow furrowed with concern, stepped further into the room. "Well, I have someone that might be able to corroborate." Her voice was steady but edged with a hint of apprehension. "I found a man out around the perimeter of the grounds. He said his name is Ben." She paused, her gaze meeting Wesley's with a silent plea for validation. "He said he had escaped from Glorificus and warned that she's coming."

The room seemed to hold its breath as the implications of her words settled in. The mention of Ben, combined with the ominous news of Glorificus's approach, cast a new layer of urgency over their already perilous situation. Dumbledore's eyes narrowed slightly, processing the new piece of the puzzle that Faith had brought to the table. The weight of their task felt heavier, each moment fraught with the potential for imminent danger.

April 29, 1992 – Wednesday

Hagrid's Hut

At breakfast, five days after their visit to Hagrid's hut, the morning buzz was punctuated by the arrival of Hedwig, Harry's snowy owl. With a graceful flutter, she landed on the table, her eyes sharp and intelligent as always. Harry took the small note from her beak, unfolding it with a mixture of curiosity and excitement. The message was succinct but charged with meaning: It's hatching.

The news spread like wildfire among Harry and his friends. Ron's eyes sparkled with eager anticipation, and he immediately proposed skipping Herbology to rush straight to Hagrid's hut. The thought of witnessing a dragon's hatching firsthand was too thrilling to pass up.

Hermione, ever the voice of reason, was adamant that they attend their classes. "We've got lessons," she insisted, her tone firm yet tinged with frustration. "We'll get into trouble, and that's nothing compared to what Hagrid's going to be in when someone finds out what he's doing—"

"Shut up!" Harry hissed urgently, casting a nervous glance toward Draco Malfoy, who was only a few feet away. Malfoy had stopped in his tracks, his ears perked up as he eavesdropped on their conversation. The tension was palpable; they could only hope that Malfoy hadn't overheard enough to cause trouble.

As Ron and Hermione continued to bicker on their way to Herbology, Harry, Willow, Dawn, Buffy, and Ron exchanged looks of determination. In the end, Hermione relented, agreeing to accompany them to Hagrid's hut during their morning break. The bell from the castle, signaling the end of their lesson, rang with a finality that propelled them into action.

The six friends dashed across the grounds, their footsteps quick and light on the grass as they approached the edge of the Forbidden Forest. Hagrid's hut came into view, smoke curling from the chimney in lazy spirals. When they reached the door, Hagrid greeted them with an expression of uncontainable excitement, his face flushed and his eyes alight with anticipation. "It's nearly out," he said breathlessly, ushering them inside with a wave of his massive hand.

Inside, the warmth of the hut was a sharp contrast to the chill of the morning air. The egg was nestled on a sturdy wooden table, its surface covered in a fine layer of ash and soot. Deep cracks had formed across the egg's shell, and something inside was shifting and making an odd, rhythmic clicking noise.

The group gathered around the table; their breaths held in collective anticipation. The room was filled with the soft rustle of shifting bodies and the barely audible murmurs of excitement. Then, with a sudden, almost theatrical scraping sound, the egg began to split open. A sliver of light revealed a small, scaly creature struggling to free itself.

The baby dragon emerged, its tiny body flopping onto the table with a comical thud. It sneezed, and a few sparks sputtered from its snout, adding a touch of magic to the already awe-inspiring scene. The dragon's scales shimmered in the light, hues of deep green and bronze catching the eye.

"Isn't he beautiful?" Hagrid murmured, his voice filled with a mixture of pride and affection. He reached out a massive hand to stroke the dragon's head, but the newborn creature, with its sharp little fangs, snapped at his fingers. Hagrid chuckled warmly, his eyes twinkling with delight. "Bless him, look, he knows his mommy!" he said, his tone one of endearing adoration.

"Hagrid," said Buffy, her curiosity piqued by the sight of the tiny dragon. "How fast do Norwegian Ridgebacks grow, exactly?"

Hagrid was about to provide an answer, his face alight with enthusiasm as he prepared to share his knowledge. However, his expression abruptly shifted from eager to alarmed. The color drained from his cheeks, and with an urgent swiftness, he leapt to his feet. His large, rough hands clenched at the edge of the table as he hurried toward the window, pushing aside the heavy curtains with an almost frantic motion.

"What's the matter?" Dawn asked, her voice laced with concern as she followed Hagrid's sudden change in demeanor.

Hagrid's eyes were wide with panic as he peered out through the gap in the curtains. "Someone was lookin' through the gap in the curtains—it's a kid—he's runnin' back up ter the school," he said, his voice a mixture of disbelief and distress. His large frame shook slightly, the realization of the breach weighing heavily on him.

Harry, who had been observing the commotion with growing unease, bolted to the door with a sense of urgency. He flung it open and darted outside, his eyes scanning the grounds with fierce determination. Even at a considerable distance, the figure of Draco Malfoy was unmistakable. Malfoy had been lingering at the edge of the forest, his pale face a stark contrast against the greenery. Now, he was sprinting back toward the castle with a speed that betrayed his urgency.

Harry's heart raced. Malfoy had seen the dragon.

May 5, 1992 – Tuesday

Hagrid's Hut

Something about the sly, almost smug smile that seemed to linger on Malfoy's face throughout the week set an edge of anxiety among Dawn, Buffy, Willow, Harry, Ron, and Hermione. The smile was a constant reminder of the potential trouble that might be brewing. The group's unease was compounded by their frequent visits to Hagrid's dimly lit hut, where they spent much of their free time trying to persuade the gamekeeper to make a difficult decision.

"Just let him go," Harry urged, his voice laced with concern. "Set him free. It's the only way."

"I can't," said Hagrid, his face etched with worry. "He's too little. He'd die out there alone."

Their gaze fell upon the dragon, now named Norbert, who had visibly outgrown its humble beginnings. In just a week, it had expanded to nearly three times its original length. Smoke curled from its nostrils, a sign of the dragon's increasingly fiery breath. The hut had become a chaotic mess, with empty brandy bottles and discarded chicken feathers littering the floor—a testament to the extensive care Norbert required. Hagrid, usually so diligent in his gamekeeping duties, had been completely absorbed by the dragon's needs, leaving his responsibilities neglected.

"I've decided to call him Norbert," said Hagrid with a misty, affectionate look in his eyes. "He really knows me now, watch. Norbert! Norbert! Where's Mommy?"

"He's lost his marbles," Ron muttered under his breath to Buffy, Willow, and their friends, his tone tinged with frustration.

"Hagrid," Willow said, her voice carrying a note of urgency, "give it two weeks and Norbert's going to be as long as your house."

Dawn added, "Malfoy could go to Dumbledore at any moment. We need to act fast."

Hagrid bit his lip anxiously, the weight of their words clearly affecting him. "I—I know I can't keep him forever," he admitted, his voice faltering, "but I can't jus' dump him, can't."

Buffy, her mind racing with possible solutions, suddenly turned to Ron and Willow. "Charlie," she said, her eyes lighting up with realization.

"You're losing it, too," Ron said with a puzzled look. "I'm Ron and my sister is Willow, remember?"

"No—Charlie—your brother, Charlie," Buffy clarified, her excitement growing. "In Romania. Studying dragons. We could send Norbert to him. Charlie can take care of him and then put him back in the wild!"

Willow's face brightened with understanding. "Brilliant!" she exclaimed. "How about it, Hagrid?"

Seeing the determination in their eyes and the practicality of the suggestion, Hagrid reluctantly agreed. They could send an owl to Charlie to ask him for assistance. The idea of entrusting Norbert to an expert who could ensure the dragon's well-being and ultimately return him to his natural habitat seemed to be the best solution for everyone involved.

May 6, 1992 – Wednesday

Gryffindor Common Room

The following night, Hermione and Buffy sat together in the common room; their faces illuminated by the flickering light of the fireplace. The warmth of the fire was a stark contrast to the chill that lingered in the air outside. The clock on the wall ticked steadily, its soft chimes echoing through the otherwise quiet room as it struck midnight.

Just as the clock's last chime faded, the portrait hole burst open with a sudden rush of cold air. Ron appeared in the doorway, his hair tousled and his face flushed from the late hour. He hurriedly pulled off Harry's Invisibility Cloak, revealing his anxious expression. He had been at Hagrid's hut, assisting in the demanding task of feeding Norbert. The dragon, now growing rapidly, had developed a voracious appetite, consuming dead rats by the crate.

"It bit me!" Ron exclaimed, his voice filled with both frustration and pain. He unwrapped his hand from a bloody handkerchief, revealing a series of angry red puncture marks. "I'm not going to be able to hold a quill for a week. I tell you, that dragon's the most horrible animal I've ever met. But the way Hagrid goes on about it, you'd think it was a fluffy little bunny rabbit. When it bit me, he told me off for frightening it. And when I left, he was singing it a lullaby."

Before Hermione or Buffy could respond, a sharp tap echoed against the dark window. Buffy sprang up with sudden excitement. "It's Cin!" she said, hurrying over to open the window and let her owl in. Cin fluttered in gracefully, her feathers rustling softly as she landed on the nearby perch. Buffy carefully untied the small, tightly rolled note from Cin's leg.

The three of them gathered around the table, their breath misting slightly in the chilly air as they unrolled the note and began to read.

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 will be to send him over with some friends of mine who are coming to visit me next week. Trouble is, they mustn'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

As they finished reading, the three of them exchanged determined glances.

"I have my necklace," Buffy said, a note of confidence in her voice. "I can carry Norbert. That leaves three, maybe four others to go under Harry's cloak and keep watch till Charlie's friends come."

The plan began to take shape as they considered the logistics. Buffy's necklace, with its magical properties, would allow her to transport Norbert without being detected. The rest of the group, concealed under Harry's Invisibility Cloak, would provide the necessary cover and ensure that the dragon was safely delivered to Charlie's friends.

May 7, 1992 – Thursday

Hospital Wing

There was an unexpected hitch in their plans. By the next morning, Ron's bitten hand had swollen to nearly twice its normal size, throbbing painfully with each pulse of blood. The flesh around the bite had turned a sickly shade of green, and an ominous burning sensation crept up his arm. He stared at it in dismay, trying to convince himself that it was nothing serious, yet deep down, he knew he couldn't ignore it any longer. The prospect of going to Madam Pomfrey filled him with dread—would she recognize a dragon bite? The thought of her asking questions he couldn't answer sent a chill down his spine. But by the afternoon, when the pain became unbearable and the green hue deepened, he realized he had no choice. Norbert's fangs appeared to be venomous, and the infection was spreading fast.

Later that day, as the last class ended and the golden light of sunset began to dim, Dawn, Willow, Buffy, Harry, and Hermione hurried up to the hospital wing, their faces etched with worry. They found Ron in bed, his face pale and drawn, his eyes half-lidded with exhaustion.

"It's not just my hand," Ron whispered hoarsely, his voice barely above a croak. His hand lay heavily on the bedcovers, swathed in thick bandages, but the pain was evident in the way he cradled it close to his chest. "It feels like it's about to fall off."

The others gathered around his bed, exchanging anxious glances. Dawn reached out to touch Ron's uninjured arm in a comforting gesture, while Willow bit her lip, her eyes darting between Ron's pale face and the bandaged hand.

"But that's not the worst of it," Ron continued, his voice trembling with a mixture of fear and anger. "Malfoy told Madam Pomfrey he wanted to borrow one of my books—just so he could come and have a good laugh at me." His voice cracked with frustration. "He kept threatening to tell her what really bit me. I've told her it was a dog, but I don't think she believes me. And I know why he's doing it—I shouldn't have hit him at the Quidditch match. He's been waiting for a chance to get back at me."

Willow, Buffy, Dawn, Harry, and Hermione exchanged worried glances, each of them searching for words that could soothe Ron's panic. They could see how much this was affecting him—not just the pain, but the fear of what Malfoy might do next.

"It'll all be over at midnight on Saturday," Hermione said, trying to sound reassuring, though her own nerves were beginning to fray. But instead of calming Ron, her words had the opposite effect.

Ron suddenly sat bolt upright in bed, his face flushed with a fresh wave of panic. Beads of sweat appeared on his forehead as the realization hit him. "Midnight on Saturday!" he repeated, his voice rough with dread. "Oh no—oh no—I've just remembered—Charlie's letter was in that book Malfoy took; he's going to know we're getting rid of Norbert."

The room fell into a tense silence as the gravity of Ron's words sank in. Harry and Hermione exchanged a quick, anxious look, their minds racing for a solution. But before they could say anything, Madam Pomfrey bustled over, her sharp eyes narrowing at the sight of them huddled around Ron's bed.

"That's enough," she said briskly, shooing them away with a stern look. "Mr. Weasley needs his rest. Off you go, now."

Reluctantly, they retreated, their concern for Ron mingling with the new fear that their carefully laid plans were in jeopardy.

May 9, 1992 – Saturday

Hagrid's Hut

When Saturday finally arrived, the anticipation and anxiety weighed heavily on the group. The time had come to take Norbert to Charlie's friends, and their plan had to be adjusted given Ron's condition. Since Ron was still confined to the hospital wing, pale and feverish from the dragon bite, Willow volunteered to stay behind to keep an eye on him. Meanwhile, Dawn and Hermione would join Harry under the Invisibility Cloak, their hearts pounding with the secret they were about to carry out. Buffy, her form rendered invisible thanks to her mystical necklace, would bear the weight of Norbert, the restless dragon.

The night was oppressively dark, the sky thick with heavy clouds that blotted out the moon and stars, casting the grounds of Hogwarts into deep shadow. Their journey was delayed slightly—they had to bide their time in the entrance hall as Peeves floated about, cackling maniacally while playing a bizarre game of tennis against the wall. His high-pitched laughter echoed through the corridors, and every so often, the tennis ball would ricochet in their direction, nearly giving away their position. It was only when Peeves finally lost interest and drifted away that they could continue, slipping out of the castle with a sense of urgency.

When they reached Hagrid's hut, the door creaked open, revealing the dim, flickering light inside. Hagrid was waiting, his massive form hunched over a large wooden crate that had been nailed shut, a sorrowful expression etched deeply into his features. Norbert was packed and ready, the once-small dragon now thrashing slightly within the confines of the crate, his powerful tail thudding against the sides. The sound of claws scraping and tearing reverberated through the room, underscoring the dragon's displeasure.

"He's got lots o' rats an' some brandy fer the journey," Hagrid mumbled, his voice thick with emotion as he gingerly patted the top of the crate. His eyes, usually so full of warmth, were misty and red-rimmed. "An' I've packed his teddy bear in case he gets lonely."

From inside the crate came a fierce ripping noise, and they could all hear the unmistakable sound of fabric tearing—no doubt the teddy bear was meeting a violent end at Norbert's claws. The image of the dragon shredding the soft toy to pieces only heightened the bittersweetness of the moment.

"Bye-bye, Norbert!" Hagrid sobbed, his shoulders shaking with the effort of holding back tears. His enormous hands trembled as he reluctantly handed the crate over to Buffy, who braced herself under its weight. The dragon inside was still young, but already formidable, and the crate was heavy with both its physical burden and the emotional weight of what they were about to do.

"Harry," Buffy said softly, her voice a little strained from the effort. With her arms full, she couldn't activate her necklace on her own.

Understanding immediately, Harry stepped forward, his hand reaching out to touch the necklace around Buffy's neck. As soon as his fingers brushed against it, there was a faint shimmer, and then both Buffy and Norbert vanished from sight, leaving nothing but the sound of the dragon's muffled growls to indicate their presence.

With Buffy and the crate safely invisible, Harry, Dawn, and Hermione quickly huddled together under the Invisibility Cloak, the fabric barely managing to cover all three of them. The air around them buzzed with nervous energy as they prepared to make their way to the tallest tower, where Charlie's friends would be waiting to whisk Norbert away.

Astronomy Tower

How they managed to get the crate back up to the castle, none of them would ever truly understand. Every step was a struggle, each breath ragged and labored as Buffy heaved Norbert's weight up the grand marble staircase in the entrance hall. The echoes of their hurried footsteps bounced off the stone walls, amplifying the tension in the air. Midnight loomed closer with each passing second, pressing down on them like a heavy cloak as they made their way through the darkened corridors. The castle seemed endless, each staircase steeper than the last, each shadow hiding potential danger.

"Nearly there!" Buffy panted, her voice strained as they reached the corridor beneath the tallest tower. The crate dug into her arms, the sharp edges biting into her skin, but she pushed on, determined to see their mission through. The weight of the dragon inside seemed to grow heavier with each step, as if Norbert himself could feel the impending separation and was resisting it.

Then, out of nowhere, a sudden movement ahead of them made Buffy's heart leap into her throat. She nearly dropped the crate, her grip faltering for just a second as panic surged through her. They all instinctively shrank back into the shadows, their breath caught in their chests as they stared at the scene unfolding just ten feet away. In the darkness, two figures were grappling with each other, their outlines barely discernible.

A lamp flared to life, casting harsh light across the corridor and revealing the unmistakable figure of Professor McGonagall. She was clad in a tartan bathrobe, her hair pinned under a net, and her expression was one of fierce anger as she yanked Malfoy by the ear.

"Detention!" she shouted, her voice slicing through the stillness of the night like a blade. "And twenty points from Slytherin! Wandering around in the middle of the night, how dare you—"

"You don't understand, Professor," Malfoy blurted out, his voice tinged with desperation. "Harry and Isabella Potter's coming—they've got a dragon!"

"What utter rubbish!" Professor McGonagall's eyes flashed with indignation as she tightened her grip on Malfoy's ear. "How dare you tell such lies! Come on—I shall see Professor Snape about you, Malfoy!"

With that, she began to drag him away, Malfoy's protests echoing down the corridor as they disappeared from sight. The silence that followed was thick with relief, and Buffy let out a breath she hadn't realized she was holding. The steep spiral staircase leading up to the top of the tower now seemed like the easiest thing in the world compared to the near-disaster they had just avoided.

Once they finally stepped out into the cold night air at the top of the tower, the tension that had been coiled so tightly within them began to unwind. Harry, Hermione, and Dawn quickly threw off the Invisibility Cloak, their chests rising and falling rapidly as they sucked in the cool, refreshing air.

Dawn, her hands still trembling slightly, moved over to where Buffy stood, her figure still hidden from view. Feeling around, she located the familiar cool metal of Buffy's necklace and touched it. Instantly, Buffy and the crate containing Norbert flickered back into visibility.

Hermione, unable to contain her excitement, did a little jig on the spot, her face alight with triumph. "Malfoy's got detention! I could sing!"

"Don't," Harry advised her with a wry smile, but there was a glint of satisfaction in his eyes.

Chuckling about Malfoy, the tension of the past few days finally seemed to ebb away, replaced by a sense of light-hearted triumph. The group stood around the thrashing crate, Norbert's agitation evident as he squirmed and banged against the wooden sides. Despite the dragon's restless movements, there was an undeniable relief in the air, a shared understanding that their most daunting task was almost at an end.

About ten minutes later, the dark sky above them was pierced by the whoosh of air as four broomsticks came swooping down out of the night like shadows with wings. The riders were Charlie's friends, their faces lit up with warm, cheery smiles that immediately set everyone at ease. Their energy was contagious, and their friendly banter momentarily made everyone forget the anxiety that had been gnawing at them.

"We've rigged up a harness," one of them explained as they pulled out a sturdy, leather contraption designed to secure Norbert during the flight. The harness was ingenious, with thick straps and reinforced buckles that looked like they could withstand even the most spirited dragon's struggles. They quickly demonstrated how it would work, showing Dawn, Buffy, Harry, and Hermione how Norbert would be suspended safely between the broomsticks.

Working together, they carefully buckled Norbert into the harness. The dragon protested, wriggling and snorting, but the group was patient, their movements steady and sure. Dawn's fingers trembled slightly as she fastened the last buckle, the reality of their adventure finally sinking in. Buffy, usually so confident, found herself double-checking the straps, wanting to be absolutely certain that Norbert was secure. Harry and Hermione exchanged a glance, a mixture of excitement and nerves flickering in their eyes, but they knew this was the right thing to do.

Once Norbert was safely strapped in, they all took a step back, hands dropping to their sides as they realized the enormity of what they had just accomplished. One by one, they shook hands with Charlie's friends, murmuring their thanks with a sincerity that couldn't be overstated. These strangers had stepped in to help with a task that felt impossible, and now, because of them, Norbert would be on his way to a new life, one where he wouldn't be an imminent danger to everyone around him.

At last, they watched as Norbert was lifted off the ground, his crate swinging gently between the broomsticks as they rose higher and higher into the night. The dragon's indignant roars grew fainter as the riders ascended into the darkness, until finally, they were swallowed up by the sky, leaving only silence behind.

Norbert was going… going… gone.

As the last echo of wings faded, the group let out a collective breath they hadn't realized they were holding. Their hearts felt lighter, almost as if they were floating themselves. The burden of the dragon—both physical and emotional—was gone, and with it, the constant fear of discovery. They exchanged grins, the sense of accomplishment and relief tangible in the cool night air. No more dragon to worry about—Malfoy in detention—what could possibly spoil their happiness now?

But the answer to that question was waiting for them at the foot of the stairs.

As they descended the spiral staircase, their footsteps quiet but filled with newfound ease, they almost missed the ominous figure lurking in the shadows. It wasn't until they stepped into the corridor that Filch's face suddenly loomed out of the darkness, his expression twisted into a smug, sinister grin.

"Well, well, well," he whispered, his voice low and dripping with satisfaction. "We are in trouble."

In that instant, their triumph shattered. The realization hit them like a cold wave—panic flared in their eyes as they remembered. The Invisibility Cloak was still lying on top of the tower, forgotten in the rush of their victory. And Buffy, distracted by the task of carrying Norbert, had forgotten to activate her necklace, leaving her and the others exposed.