The Gryffindor common room was unusually quiet for a night after a Quidditch victory. While some upper years were still celebrating, our little group sat in a corner, voices hushed, faces grim. Rose had her knees drawn up to her chest, staring into the fireplace, while Hermione sat with her arms crossed, looking troubled.
"I'm telling you, it was Snape," Ron insisted, leaning forward. "He was muttering under his breath and staring right at Rose's broom. That's how you do a jinx, isn't it?"
Hermione nodded firmly. "Exactly! I read about it in Curses and Counter-Curses. Maintaining eye contact and whispering incantations under your breath—that's how dark wizards cast subtle curses."
Rose frowned, rubbing her temples. "But why would he want to hurt me?"
Ron scoffed. "Because he hates you. He hated your parents, and now that you're here, he wants to get rid of you."
I stayed silent, watching them argue.
I knew the truth. Snape wasn't the one cursing Rose's broom—Quirrell was. But if I tried to convince them otherwise, they wouldn't believe me. They had seen Snape acting suspicious, and that was all the proof they needed.
"Dumbledore wouldn't let someone dangerous teach at Hogwarts," Rose murmured, though her voice lacked conviction.
Hermione sighed. "I don't know… but we have to tell someone."
Ron rolled his eyes. "And say what? That we think Snape's up to something because he was staring too hard? No one's going to believe us."
Rose bit her lip. "Then what do we do?"
Ron grinned. "We ask Hagrid. He knows everything that happens at Hogwarts."
Hermione hesitated. "We have classes tomorrow."
Ron shot her a look. "Come on, Hermione. Since when do you pass up a chance to solve a mystery?"
That was all it took.
The next day dragged by at a painfully slow pace.
In Potions, Snape prowled the dungeon like a vulture, sneering at every minor mistake and deducting points from Gryffindor whenever he pleased. The only good thing was that he ignored Rose entirely—but that only made me more suspicious.
Charms was better. Professor Flitwick introduced advanced levitation techniques, and even Ron managed to make his feather float without much trouble.
By the time History of Magic rolled around, we were all half-asleep. Professor Binns droned on about goblin rebellions in a voice so monotonous it could put a dragon into hibernation.
Finally, classes ended, and we hurried to Hagrid's hut, eager for answers.
The sky had darkened to a deep twilight blue by the time we arrived. Smoke curled from the chimney, and the scent of roasting meat filled the air. Fang's loud barking echoed from inside.
Hagrid opened the door with his usual grin. "Ah, it's you lot! Come in, come in!"
We stepped inside, taking our usual seats near the fireplace. Fang immediately lunged at Ron, knocking him sideways.
"So, what's this about, then?" Hagrid asked, pouring tea into oversized mugs.
Rose hesitated. "Hagrid… we think Snape was trying to jinx my broom during the match."
Hagrid nearly spilled his teapot. "What?"
Hermione nodded. "We saw him muttering under his breath—"
"Rubbish!" Hagrid interrupted, his beetle-black eyes narrowing. "Snape wouldn't do that. He's a Hogwarts professor!"
Ron scoffed. "That doesn't mean he's not a bad guy."
Hagrid shook his head firmly. "Dumbledore trusts him, and that's enough fer me."
Rose didn't look convinced, but before she could argue, my eyes landed on something in the corner—a large, black egg resting near the fireplace.
We had seen it before, during our last visit. Hagrid had been acting suspicious about it then, and now, as I looked closer, I could tell something was different. The egg was trembling slightly, fine cracks running along its glossy surface.
Ron's eyes widened. "It's hatching."
Hagrid spun around. "What?"
As if in response, the egg gave another tremor. A faint tapping sound came from inside, followed by a sharp crack.
We scrambled closer, watching in fascination.
The cracks deepened. A small, spindly claw poked through the shell, scratching at the surface. A second later, the egg split open with a sharp snap, and a tiny dragon tumbled onto the floor.
It was jet black, its scales glistening like polished obsidian. Its wings were thin and leathery, twitching slightly as it shook itself off. Its snout was short, and its nostrils flared as it took its first breath. Its eyes, bright orange like molten gold, blinked up at us curiously. Then, with surprising speed, it let out a sharp sneeze—sending out a tiny puff of smoke.
Hagrid's face was alight with joy. "Oh, would yeh look at that?" he whispered. "A Norwegian Ridgeback! Ain't he beautiful?"
The baby dragon blinked up at him, tilting its head. Then, without warning, it lunged forward and snapped at Hagrid's beard.
"Ow! Feisty little fella, ain't he?" Hagrid chuckled, prying the dragon's tiny teeth from his whiskers.
Ron stared at the dragon in awe. "What are you going to call it?"
Hagrid's chest swelled with pride. "Norbert. Yeah, that's a good name, innit?"
I looked at the dragon carefully. Something was off. Its body was slightly bulkier than I expected, and its snout was a little shorter than the typical male Ridgeback's.
"Hagrid," I said, crossing my arms. "It's not a 'he.' That's a female."
Hagrid blinked. "Eh?"
Ron looked at me. "How can you tell?"
I pointed at the baby dragon's tail. "See that? Female Ridgebacks have thicker tail ridges, and their wings are slightly broader than the males'. Plus, male Ridgebacks are a little more aggressive when they hatch—they usually snap at everything. She's cautious."
As if to prove my point, the dragon let out another tiny puff of smoke and curled its tail protectively around its body.
Hagrid's eyes widened. "Blimey, Ethan, yeh know yer dragons! A girl, eh?" He looked down at the little creature, scratching his beard. "Guess Norbert don't fit, then…"
The dragon sneezed again, and Hagrid chuckled. "Alright then… how 'bout Norberta?"
Ron snorted. "Norberta?"
Hagrid beamed. "Aye! It's got a nice ring to it, don't it?"
Hermione, who had been staring in horror the entire time, finally found her voice. "Hagrid, you can't keep a dragon! It's illegal!"
Hagrid frowned. "Illegal? Nah, it ain't."
"Yes, it is!" Hermione insisted. "Dragon breeding was outlawed by the Warlocks' Convention of 1709! And you can't raise a dragon in a wooden house—it'll burn everything down!"
Hagrid looked offended. "What d'yeh mean, 'raise'? O' course I can raise her! She'll be no trouble at all."
Norberta let out a high-pitched squeak and stretched her wings. Her claws scraped the wooden floor, and smoke curled from her nostrils.
Rose sighed. "Hagrid… do you even know how to take care of a dragon?"
Hagrid puffed out his chest. "O' course I do! I got books, don't I?"
Ron, who had been staring at Norberta with wide eyes, suddenly spoke. "Charlie would love this."
Hermione blinked. "Charlie?"
"My brother," Ron said. "He works with dragons in Romania. If anyone can take care of it, it's him."
Hagrid's face fell. "But I can't just give her away… I only just got her…"
Ron gave him a pointed look. "Do you really think you can keep her hidden? She'll outgrow your house in a matter of weeks."
Norberta let out a tiny growl and tried to bite Hagrid's sleeve. He chuckled and pulled his arm away, but I could see it in his eyes—he knew Ron was right.
I sighed.
This was going to be a problem.
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