Chapter 14

Hagrid, the groundskeeper, had been mentioned often enough by the Gryffindor trio that Felicia began to pay closer attention to him.

He wasn't just the gentle oaf he appeared to be, lumbering around the grounds—he was trusted. Trusted by Dumbledore, clearly, given how much he seemed to know... and trusted by Harry, too. She'd noticed it even on their first day at Hogwarts.

Over time, she pieced together more of the story regarding the Gringotts visit—how Hagrid had accompanied Harry not just to retrieve some Galleons from his inheritance, but for another, more secretive purpose.

Felicia, of course, was aware of the Potter name. It carried actual weight in the wizarding world—though, in her mind, Gryffindor lineage leaned more toward reckless heroics than refined prestige. Still, the Potters were an old and wealthy family. It would have been unusual if Harry had been left penniless, though she had initially suspected it based on the state of his clothes on that first day, hidden beneath his new school robes.

Now that Hagrid was on her radar, she began noticing more.

Redscale, who almost never hissed, became visibly restless whenever they passed close to Hagrid—as if picking up a scent Felicia herself couldn't quite place at first.

But then, during one of the weekend breaks, when she happened to pass near him outside, it clicked.

There was a scent—oily, burnt, and unmistakable.

Not from home.

From Romania.

From dragon eggs.

She raised an eyebrow as she watched him walk, students parting quickly to avoid getting accidentally stepped on—though Felicia doubted Hagrid would ever be so careless.

At least, not normally.

Today, he looked unusually distracted.

"Good morning, Hagrid," Felicia said smoothly, a knowing smile curling at her lips.

Hagrid startled slightly. It wasn't the use of his name—he often told students to call him just Hagrid—but rather who was addressing him.

He knew exactly whose daughter she was.

Hagrid had little fondness for Slytherins, especially ones like Lucius Malfoy. But Galdur Forester—Felicia's father—was different. A man Hagrid respected. Still, he'd heard the professors singing Felicia's praises at meals. Sharp as a knife, that one.

He would have to tread carefully.

"Ah—er—hullo there, Miss Forester," he said, his voice gruffer and faster than usual.

His massive hands twitched at his sides, as if fighting the urge to hide something. The faint scent of charred wood and sulfur clung to his coat.

Redscale, perched discreetly near Felicia's shoulder, chirped curiously. His tiny nostrils flared, sniffing the air toward Hagrid.

Hagrid, who usually found Redscale fascinating, shifted abruptly—blocking whatever he was carrying beneath his coat.

"Bit nippy out, ain't it?" he said hastily. "Shouldn't be loiterin' about—cold's bad fer yer skin, yeh know."

His eyes flicked from the castle entrance to the path leading to his hut—clearly itching to escape.

"I'd best be gettin' on then—erm—things ter tend to!" he blurted out.

With that, he took a massive step backward—causing Felicia's brow to arch even higher—then hurried off toward his hut before she could get another word in.

There was no doubt about it.

Hagrid was definitely hiding something.

That night, Felicia couldn't sleep.

Something about Hagrid continued to gnaw at her—and the fact that even Redscale had reacted to the strange scent made her more certain: whatever Hagrid was hiding, it was dragon-related.

That alone stirred her into action.

She rose quietly from bed and dressed quickly, careful not to wake anyone. As she moved through the empty common room toward the entrance, she thought she was alone.

But Draco, lounging casually near the entrance in a shadowed corner, caught sight of her. From his vantage point, she hadn't seen him—but he definitely saw her.

Felicia sneaking out? That caught his attention immediately.

His eyes narrowed, a slow smirk forming.

"And where exactly do you think you're going?" he drawled, his voice cutting through the quiet.

Felicia stiffened slightly, startled. She wasn't someone who startled easily—but even she froze for a brief moment at being caught.

Draco, catching the subtle reaction, leaned back in his seat, savoring it.

"Well, well. Don't tell me," he said, voice dripping with smug amusement. "Forester—top of the class, perfectly responsible Forester—sneaking around after hours."

There was a curious glint in Draco's eyes—but the upper hand he had over her was far more tantalizing.

Outside of the broom race they'd had earlier in the year, Felicia had never broken the rules like this. Certainly never without a direct challenge to push her into it.

He tilted his head, studying her carefully.

"What could possibly have you motivated to step out this late?" he mused, amusement threading through his voice.

But his posture said something different—he wasn't going to let her pass without an answer.

Felicia fought the urge to scoff. Of course it had to be Draco who caught her—stubborn enough to block her path all night if he had to.

She glanced briefly at the common room entrance, her mind racing.

She was almost certain Hagrid had a dragon egg. The scent on his coat, the way Redscale reacted... it all lined up. She needed to confirm it for herself.

Felicia turned her gaze back to Draco, who was still waiting expectantly, arms crossed.

Crossing her own arms, she gave a casual scoff. "I simply needed fresh air to think. We're underground—hardly the best place to clear one's mind."

The words came out smoothly, but not entirely convincingly.

She didn't like lying—especially to him—but she wasn't about to admit the real reason. Not yet.

Draco, who had known Felicia nearly his entire life, raised a single, incredulous brow.

A slow, triumphant smirk curled his lips.

"Oh, please," he drawled, mirroring her stance. "You must think I'm thick if you expect me to believe that."

Felicia said nothing in reply—but the small, amused smile tugging at the corner of her lips only made Draco's brow furrow slightly in irritation.

Draco took a step closer, eyes gleaming with suspicion—and interest.

"You're up to something," he mused. "And you never let yourself get caught doing anything unless it's important."

Felicia's lips twitched—barely—but he noticed. He always noticed. They'd known each other too long for her to hide it.

His gaze flicked toward the common room entrance.

"Let me guess... this has something to do with Potter, doesn't it?" he said, his tone turning smug—though there was an unmistakable glint of envy in his eyes.

"I've noticed you've been talking with him more. And his little... friends. Suddenly you care about whatever silly mystery they're trying to solve?"

Draco might not have known exactly what had the Gryffindors so determined, but he wasn't blind. He saw the way they moved, how they whispered together.

And it grated on him.

All this attention on Potter—the rich Gryffindor boy who knew nothing of his own legacy, yet everyone treated him like a hero simply because he could fly around a Quidditch pitch properly.

Felicia sighed, meeting Draco's gaze.

She understood. He was feeling left out—whether he realized it or not. He'd once been the one she dragged around, back before Hogwarts, before expectations had started twisting him into something more polished and brittle. His father's influence, of course. Always lurking behind him like a shadow.

Still, she couldn't help but see through him. His sharp little jabs were just another way of asking to be included.

"If you want to come, just say so," Felicia said dryly.

Draco's eyes widened slightly at the bluntness.

"I'm going to see if my suspicions about our groundskeeper are correct," she added, leveling him with a look.

Draco scoffed—but his brow arched, interest piqued.

"Our groundskeeper?" he repeated, as if the idea hadn't occurred to him before. Then he remembered—the impossibly large man he usually ignored.

"What, that big oaf? What in Merlin's beard could he possibly be hiding that's worth sneaking out for?"

"Do you want to find out," Felicia said, arms crossed, "or would you rather stand here asking pointless questions?"

Draco hesitated—only for a moment—before stepping up beside her.

"Alright, fine," he muttered, as if reluctantly agreeing... though the eagerness in his eyes betrayed him. "But if we get caught, I'm blaming you."

He motioned for her to lead the way, curiosity now outweighing any concern.

"Let's see if your suspicions are truly worth all this," he said with a smirk.

Moving swiftly and quietly, they snuck through the castle corridors. Felicia wasn't worried so much about Filch himself—but that blasted cat, Mrs. Norris, was another matter entirely. She was convinced the creature had to be an Animagus with how unnervingly good it was at catching students.

Eventually, they made it outside, the cold air nipping at them as they crossed the grounds toward Hagrid's hut.

Felicia crept toward the window, peering inside—and froze.

Harry, Ron, and Hermione were already there.

Of course they were.

She sighed internally, already regretting dragging Draco along.

Still, if nothing else, it confirmed what she had suspected: Hagrid was involved with whatever was happening around the Philosopher's Stone.

Her gaze sharpened as she spotted something else.

Her breath caught slightly.

An egg.

Sitting in a pot over the hearth, its surface gleaming under the firelight, already beginning to crack.

Her brow arched. She was right.

The heat of the fire was perfect—it looked ready to hatch at any moment.

But—how in Merlin's name had Hagrid even gotten one?

Dragon eggs weren't sold in magical beast shops. They were strictly regulated, heavily protected, and illegal to possess without Ministry clearance.

Felicia stared, trying to calculate just how reckless Hagrid must have been to end up with one.

Beside her, Draco was also peering into the window—but his focus was less on the egg, and far more immediate.

He caught sight of Hagrid first—unimpressed.

But then his eyes landed on Harry—and something flickered.

A familiar flash of irritation. Of resentment.

His silver eyes narrowed, the sight of Harry reigniting all the irritation Draco usually tried to pretend he didn't care about.

Felicia continued to watch as Hagrid carefully lifted the egg from the fire, gruffly muttering something about it being ready.

Her eyes widened in fascination.

She'd never seen a dragon hatch in person.

She rose up on her toes, gripping the edge of the windowsill tightly.

Moments later, the egg cracked—and a small, scaly creature emerged.

Felicia's breath caught.

A Norwegian Ridgeback.

She recognized the breed instantly.

What struck her most wasn't just the sight—it was how unnervingly alien baby dragons looked. They weren't exactly cute; much like newly hatched birds, they lacked the sleek majesty of their adult forms.

But Felicia's fascination far outweighed any discomfort. She was practically beaming with excitement just witnessing it.

Beside her, Draco's expression twisted from smugness to open shock.

His gaze jerked from Harry to the tiny dragon, his mouth gaping slightly.

"Hagrid's keeping a dragon?" he hissed, incredulous.

Felicia, satisfied with what she had seen, lowered herself from the window and glanced at Draco.

He, however, remained frozen, still staring through the glass, too fixated to move.

Felicia was about to tug him down when she noticed the look in his eyes—sharp, calculating.

He wasn't just shocked.

He was thinking.

Thinking about how illegal this was. How dangerous. How much trouble Potter and his friends could get into.

Slowly, Draco's signature smirk crept across his face—wider, more gleeful than usual.

"Oh, Potter," he murmured, silver eyes gleaming. "You're finished."

Before Felicia could stop him, Hagrid glanced toward the window.

Draco's eyes widened—and then he bolted.

Felicia immediately dashed after him, heart pounding.

But she quickly realized he wasn't heading back toward the common room.

"Where are you going?" she called, rushing to keep up.

Draco barely seemed to register her voice.

"Draco—" she hissed, sharper now.

But she already knew.

He wasn't going back.

He was heading toward Professor McGonagall's office—the one professor known for being awake at this hour to handle after-hours disturbances.

He wasn't going to let this go.

Felicia now stood alongside Harry, Ron, Hermione—and Draco—in front of Professor McGonagall.

If looks could kill, Felicia's glare would have reduced Draco to ash a thousand times over.

He, of course, wore a smug expression, practically radiating triumph.

When the Gryffindors glanced at Felicia, they immediately picked up on it—she wasn't just displeased with Draco. She was seething.

Professor McGonagall's sharp eyes swept over the group, her lips pressed into a thin, disapproving line.

"Out of bed after hours," she said sternly. "And all of you sneaking around Hagrid's hut?"

Harry opened his mouth to explain, but McGonagall cut him off with a glare sharp enough to snap it shut.

"I don't want to hear excuses," she continued, arms crossing tightly over her robes. "This is absolutely unacceptable."

Draco, standing beside Felicia, barely contained his satisfaction. He cast her a sidelong glance, his smirk deepening as he caught the barely constrained fury in her posture.

For the first time this year, he had the upper hand—not just against Harry, but against both Harry and Felicia.

Ron muttered under his breath, "Oh, you are loving this, aren't you?"

Draco shifted his smirk toward Ron without missing a beat. "Oh, immensely."

McGonagall exhaled sharply through her nose.

"Twenty points from Gryffindor," she announced.

Ron's mouth dropped open in shock. "What?"

She fixed him with a pointed look. "Each."

The collective horror from the Gryffindors was palpable.

Then McGonagall turned her gaze to Felicia.

"And twenty from Slytherin as well. I expected better from you, Miss Forester."

Felicia didn't flinch.

But her cheeks burned—not with embarrassment, but with the sheer effort it took to keep her temper in check.

Her fingers itched toward her wand. She very nearly convinced herself that turning Draco into a slug would be entirely justified.

McGonagall exhaled sharply.

"All five of you will receive detention," she declared.

Harry, Ron, and Hermione groaned audibly, but Felicia felt like she'd been punched in the gut.

Detention?

She had never even imagined the word being directed at her—and yet here she was.

Across from her, Draco's smug smirk vanished instantly.

"Wait, me as well?" he sputtered. "But I was—"

McGonagall's eyes narrowed, cutting him off coldly.

"Yes, you, Mr. Malfoy. You were also out of bed after curfew."

Felicia's expression shifted slightly, her lips twitching—not with anger, but with the barest hint of satisfaction.

Finally, she thought.

Draco paled, realizing what had just happened.

"That's not—I—" He clenched his jaw, biting back whatever excuse he had been about to offer, and turned away in frustration.

McGonagall paid him no mind, adjusting her robes crisply.

"Now. I expect you all to go straight to your respective common rooms. You will be given instructions regarding your detentions tomorrow.

Am I clear?"

They all mumbled acknowledgments.

Every single one of them glared daggers at Draco.

None more fiercely than Felicia.

On the way back to the Slytherin common room, Felicia did not let him forget it.

She tore into him with a controlled, icy fury—relentless enough that Draco couldn't even get a word in edgewise.

And somewhere along the way, he very, very deeply regretted his poor decision.