Chapter 7, everybody! In which dragons are dealt with and the characters discuss Americans calling soccer soccer and football football—Australians do too, as I have been informed, since they also have Australian Rules Football, so that's cool. :)

Harry Potter © JK Rowling

The holidays had ended, the cold had not, and Harry was starting to have serious misgivings about being on the Quidditch team, what with Wood insisting on training in all sorts of nasty weather.

"We have to be ready for anything!" Wood had said. "They won't call a Quidditch match because of weather!"

Dean Thomas—when Harry had repeated what Wood had said in the dorm room that night—had pointed out that they would have called a football game because of weather, which had led to an entire debate between him and Ron on how Quidditch was not football, which somehow brought up how Americans were weird because they called football soccer and something else entirely football, which then morphed into an entire impromptu discussion on various Muggle sports and how did they even keep them all straight that's just nuts that lasted past midnight.

Harry was very glad he didn't have anything pressing to do the next day.

Hermione begged to differ.

"Schedules?" Ron asked, looking at what she had handed him.

Which led into a huge discourse on how they had to start studying for finals now, because if they didn't pass they wouldn't go on to second year—something that both Snips and the teachers seemed to agree with her on. Harry had found himself immensely busy, with no time at all to look for information on Snips or Flamel.

And then Neville had come in, bound by the leg-locker curse—Harry had given him his last chocolate frog, he and Ron and Hermione (who had undone the leg-locker curse) told him how much better he was than Malfoy (who had cast the curse), and Neville had nodded gratefully and given Harry the card because you collect them, right?

And Harry discovered where he had heard of Nicholas Flamel before.

The upcoming Quidditch match had everyone on edge—if Gryffindor beat Ravenclaw, then they would be in the lead for the house cup.

Harry was on edge because he was worried about what Professor Quirrell might do.

Harry had, in Defense class, taken to sitting in the back of the class and close to the door, eyeing the man worriedly the whole time through. Flamel had made the Sorcerer's Stone, they read, and it seemed the right size to have come from vault seven-hundred and thirteen and was important enough to warrant such a defense as Fluffy.

And if Quirrell was one of the ones protecting the stone…the only thing he really needed was to find out what the other teachers had left, if they hadn't told each other how to get past their obstacles.

Which had led to a lot of debate about who could have helped to guard the stone and what they had left—Ron had suggested that Filch had been one of the guards and left tons of detentions to serve before they could move on, something that had prompted Hermione to roll her eyes in exasperation. They had finally put the question to Hagrid, who was still adamant about not divulging any more information.

"Well, Hagrid, we were just wondering," Hermione said finally. "Who it was that Professor Dumbledore trusted to guard the stone. Besides you, of course."

"So we know who not to worry about," Harry put in, sensing that Hermione was buttering him up. "I mean, we trust you completely."

Hagrid had blushed red and waved them off, but finally relented.

"Well let's see, there was me—and Professor Quirrell," Hagrid said, frowning a bit at that—he might not have been completely convinced that Quirrell was out to get Harry, but he had certainly seen how much Harry had been bothered by the notion. "Professor McGonagall, Professor Flitwick, Professor Sprout—an' Dumbledore did his bit, o' course….Oh yes, and Professor Snape."

"The old Potions professor?" Harry asked, as Snips looked up.

"Yeah—added his righ' before th' accident in the Potions lab."

"So he probably didn't have the chance to tell anyone what he did," Harry guessed.

"I'm willing to bet it was something to do with potions, though," Ron said.

"Not necessarily," Hagrid said, taking a swig of tea. "Professor Snape was after the Defense job as well—'e could have done somethin' along those lines."

"So you don't know what he did either," Harry said.

"Nobody knows what all everyone put in—except Dumbledore, of course. We're not allowed to discuss it with each other—or students," Hagrid added, eyeing them.

"This is just idle speculation," Hermione said. "After all, it is very interesting—like how at Gringotts they have various spells to protect the vaults."

"And dragons," Harry said, remembering his own trip.

Which led to a whole discussion about Gringotts and dragons and did dragons really steal gold where did that whole thing about dragon hordes come from anyway which succeeded in taking his mind off of things for a while.

"Although," Harry said to Ron that night, petting Snips, dozing on his chest as he lay in bed. "If Professor Snape never told anyone what his part in protecting the stone is…there's at least one protection that Quirrell doesn't know about, and can't find out about."

"So as long as that's a problem, we're fine," Ron agreed.

Ron may have been fine, but Harry wasn't—not when he found out that Quirrell had been picked to referee the next game.

The rest of the team assured him that they'd make sure nothing happened to him—Fred and George had told them Harry and Hermione's suspicions, and they had been quick to close ranks around their Seeker. If anything happened, Fred and George were to send the nearest bludgers Quirrell's way—worst-case scenarios involved bodily ramming into him.

All that worrying was for naught, as it turned out, since Dumbledore was watching the game—and as everyone was quick to point out, Quirrell wasn't about to try anything with Dumbledore right there. Harry was able to find the snitch in peace.

It didn't stop Fred and George from sending a few bludgers Quirrell's way, though.

The next interesting thing to happen involved Hagrid getting a new pet.

Well, maybe pet was too strong a word.

"A dragon, Hagrid?" Hermione squawked. "You live in a wood house! Are you sure this is a good idea?"

"Sure!" Hagrid said, beaming at the newly-hatched Norwegian Ridgeback. "I've always wanted a dragon—been readin' up on the little guy so I ken take care o' 'im. Isn't 'e just a beauty?"

A few weeks of helping Hagrid with the dragon later, and Harry was inclined to disagree. Hagrid was able to handle Norbert—what he had named the dragon—well enough, but Harry, Ron and Hermione weren't much able to help without getting seriously injured. Ron in particular had had to go to the hospital wing after a decidedly nasty bite.

Snips refused to have anything to do with Norbert at all. Harry suspected it was because he made a tidy mouthful.

Hermione, meanwhile, was adamant on one thing, and brought it up again when they visited Ron in the hospital wing—Norbert had to go.

"I've been reading everything I could on owning dragons, and according to what I've read, you can't," she said. "Owning one has been illegal for years—"

"Since the eighteen-sixties, when a Ukrainian Ironbelly got loose from its handler," Ron said. When the rest of them stared blankly at him: "What? My brother Charlie studies dragons."

That set off a spark in Harry's mind, one that he didn't need Snips' squeaks and points to fan.

"Ron," he said, patting Snips to get him to quiet down. "What if we asked Charlie to help? With Norbert."

Ron thought about it; nodded. "Yeah. Yeah I bet Charlie'd be happy to help—I just can't write to him right now," he added, indicating his bandaged hand.

"I can copy it down for you if you tell me what to write," Hermione told him, before looking at Harry. "We're going to have to convince Hagrid, though."

"We'd better start now then," Harry said grimly.

Strangely enough, Malfoy was key here—if only because he had jeered at Harry that he knew about the dragon. Telling Hagrid this, at least, convinced him of the importance of getting rid of Norbert—that, and the assurance that it was Ron's brother Charlie that would be taking care of Norbert. That had been the selling point, honestly, since Hagrid remembered Charlie from when he was going to Hogwarts and trusted him to take care of Norbert.

Even better: Charlie had written back and agreed.

Even worse: he wanted them to have Norbert on the top of the Astronomy Tower at midnight the following Saturday.

It fell to Harry and Hermione to do so, since Ron was still in hospital, and after Hagrid's teary goodbye, he and she carted the crate containing Norbert up the numerous dark steps, carefully encased under the invisibility cloak, with Snips providing direction. Aside from spotting Malfoy getting into trouble with Professor McGonagall, the trip up passed without incident, and Charlie's friends picked up Norbert and flew him away at midnight.

It was on the trip down that they nearly had bad trouble.

Harry's yelp at Snips biting him hard enough to draw blood should have woken the castle—as it were, Harry managed to strangle the scream on the way out, glared at Snips, bouncing up and down on his shoulder. "What?"

"What? What is it?" Hermione asked, clutching her chest from where his cry had nearly stopped her heart.

In response, Snips dove for the ground—

Disappeared—

Reappeared, holding up the corner of something silvery.

"Oh man," Harry breathed, nearly losing his footing. "We almost forgot the invisibility cloak."

"That would have ended badly," Hermione squeaked, now progressing to thumping on her chest as Harry scooped up the cloak and Snips. Snips scrambled up to Harry's shoulder as he draped the cloak back over them, and directed them once again as they made their way down the stairs and to Gryffindor Tower.

They returned to their dorms without incident, Snips rooting in Harry's potion stores as he put his cloak away, putting a leaf against the bite mark on Harry's face when he got into bed.

"Thanks," Harry sighed, relief making him sink deep into the bed. Norbert was gone. Nothing left to worry about on that front.

Almost nothing.

"What?" Harry asked, staring at Neville, absolutely certain he had misheard.

Neville wouldn't look at him.

"I—I overheard Malfoy talking about getting you into trouble," Neville told him. "And then you weren't in bed last night when I came up—and you never showed up—and I thought it was like when Malfoy challenged you to that duel—I was just trying to find Professor McGonagall to tell her Malfoy was trying to get you into trouble, but I used the wrong door in the dark and then the Fat Lady was gone and then Filch caught me—"

Harry stared in shock, hating that his friend had ended up with detention because of him. It wasn't fair to Neville—he had just been trying to help.

It was why he was seeking Professor McGonagall out immediately after breakfast—asking Snips had him taking increasingly smaller steps towards her office, until finally he knocked on the door and was permitted to enter.

She looked up from the paper she was grading. "Yes, Mr. Potter?"

Harry was wringing his shirttail, hating this but knowing he had to. "P-Professor? About—about Neville's detention—"

"Yes, he was caught out of bed after curfew," she told him. "I'm sure you realized that's against school rules."

"Yes I know but—it was my fault, Professor, don't punish Neville."

She looked up at him. "Explain."

Harry decided to go with a variation of what Neville thought, and told her about Malfoy challenging him to a duel.

"It was stupid," he said. "I—Malfoy had challenged me to a duel in the trophy room at midnight—I knew it was against school rules but I went anyway—realized I was being stupid and headed back to the tower—but Neville saw me, had heard me and Malfoy—he was trying to stop me, Professor, it wasn't his fault!"

Harry knew his voice had broke and he had gotten a bit too loud, and that his shirttails were a mess now, but he had committed and was now standing in front of her with shaking knees and sweaty palms. He swallowed hard, forcing himself to stay there looking at her looking at him.

She sighed finally, closing her eyes and shaking her head.

"I want you to know I am very disappointed," she said, looking at him. "Sneaking out after curfew—and for a duel, no less! If you were dead-set on such a thing, you could have contacted Professor Flitwick."

"I'm sorry, Professor," Harry said quietly, lowering his head.

"I'm sure. Be that as it may, it does not absolve Mr. Longbottom of being out in the halls after curfew, so his detention still stands. You will be pleased to know that you will be joining him in detention, and thirty points from Gryffindor for such idiotic behavior."

Harry ducked his head further and gingerly made his way to the door.

"Mr. Potter," she said, stopping him; he looked back at her furtively, saw her taking her glasses off and folding them carefully. "I also want you to know that coming here and telling me this, with the intent to help your friend, is both a brave and noble thing to do. Five points to Gryffindor."

Harry hesitated…nodded finally, smiling. "Thank you, Professor."

"You're welcome. I will be sending you the information on your detention sometime tomorrow."

Harry nodded again, left for the great hall, feeling light enough to be running on air. True, he had lost a total of twenty-five points and had a detention, but it was all for the right reason, he felt.

Neville seemed entirely baffled by Harry happily informing him he'd be serving detention too.

"But why?" Neville asked as Harry sat down, Snips crawling down his arm.

"I told Professor McGonagall that it wasn't your fault—told her about the duel, made it sound like it was last night instead of last semester—I actually tried to get her to take your detention away, but she gave me one too."

Neville still seemed thoroughly confused. "But why?"

"Because you're my friend, Neville," Harry told him. "And you shouldn't be getting into trouble because of me."

Neville spent the next few minutes being very overwhelmed, and Harry was distracted by a tugging on the sleeve of his robe; he looked down to see Snips, who turned and tugged a pastry that he normally didn't approve of onto Harry's plate.

"Are you sure?" Harry asked him; Snips nodded, turned up his beak when Harry offered him a bite, climbed back up his sleeve as Harry broke the pastry in two and gave half to Neville.

They still had detention, but Harry was certain the two of them together could make it.