"Hagrid, are you hiding something from us?"
Arthur's words cut across Hagrid's rambling.
Before the half-giant could retort, Arthur continued, "I've felt something off since we came in. Your hut is far too hot. Even if spring nights are chilly, you wouldn't need to keep it this warm. And you've been standing in front of the fireplace all this time… What are you trying to hide?"
At that, everyone else finally noticed Hagrid's odd behavior.
"Hagrid?" Harry asked, puzzled.
"All right, all right. Since you've figured it out, I won't hide it anymore."
Well, aren't you honest, Arthur thought wryly. He had only been bluffing.
Hagrid turned, reached into the fire, and pulled out a massive egg resting in a cauldron. He placed it on the table, and the group crowded around. It was larger than an ostrich egg, its shell a scorched dark green.
"So this is a dragon egg?" Arthur tapped on the shell—it was hot to the touch.
"Yes! Merlin's beard—it's a Norwegian Ridgeback egg!" Ron exclaimed.
After all, what boy hadn't once dreamed of becoming a dragon rider? Especially since his brother Charlie worked with dragons in Romania.
Arthur inspected it closely. It was the first time he had seen a dragon egg in person. Granted, he had spent weeks raiding Caelid's dragon barrows, and his system's pack already contained the corpses of more than eight dragons. But still—seeing this blackened, half-roasted egg firsthand was… surprising.
I thought it'd be more impressive. Then again, hatching with fire is pretty special. Guess my standards got raised after spending too long in the Lands Between.
"How did you even get this?" Hermione asked, frowning. This was contraband—if reported, Hagrid could end up in Azkaban.
"Won it off a stranger in the tavern," Hagrid admitted. "Odd fellow. Seemed eager to lose it to me."
Just then, the egg began to shake violently. Moments later, it split apart with a loud crack, a hatchling bursting free.
Arthur twitched at the sight. What kind of creature blows its shell to pieces when hatching? Definitely a bad temper.
"Look! Norbert thinks I'm his mum!" Hagrid cried with joy.
The hatchling nuzzled Hagrid's palm—then promptly spewed fire that singed off half his beard.
Hermione leaned toward Arthur and muttered, "I don't see it thinking he's its mother. Maybe dragons express love by setting you on fire?"
"Who knows? You don't like dragons?" Arthur asked, curious.
"Not really. It looks just like the pterosaurs I saw on a school trip to the natural history museum. No mystery at all."
"Oh? Then what do you like?"
"Not sure. Maybe unicorns?"
Having been in the wizarding world for only half a year, Hermione had yet to form much attachment to magical creatures. Arthur had been considering finding her a magical pet as a birthday gift—if she had named something modest. But unicorns? That was… tricky.
"Who's there?" Hagrid suddenly barked, snapping Arthur from his thoughts.
At the window, Malfoy's pale face was visible. Startled at being caught, he bolted.
Arthur's eyes narrowed. He shot Hermione a meaningful look.
"I'm tired," he announced lightly. "Does anyone else want to head back?"
"I've had enough of this dragon," Hermione said quickly, catching on. "Cousin, I'll go with you."
"All right. Hermione and I will head back first." Arthur stood and left with her. Harry and Ron, still fascinated by the dragon, stayed behind.
Once outside, Hermione gestured for the Mimic's Veil. She transformed into a small cat and hopped into Arthur's arms.
"What's going on? Why the sudden exit?" she asked.
"Malfoy was spying on us. Guess where he'll run to now?"
"You mean… tell a teacher?"
"Exactly."
Hermione blinked, baffled. How does he come up with this kind of self-destructive plan?
"But… he was sneaking out too! How dare he report us?"
"Maybe his love-hate obsession with Harry blinded him. Just like Snape and James Potter."
Hermione giggled despite herself.
"So that's why you didn't warn Harry and Ron?"
"Of course. You know me—I enjoy a good show." Arthur grinned wickedly. "Pity Gryffindor will lose a lot of points over it."
"No big deal. We're over a hundred points ahead anyway. I'll just earn them back." Hermione's tone was casual.
By now she had grown zen about house points. Gryffindor seemed constitutionally incapable of behaving, and points vanished almost weekly. She had decided: I'll just keep earning. If I bring in enough, they can't take them all away.
The next morning at breakfast, Arthur and Hermione saw the damage: Gryffindor, minus one hundred points. Slytherin, minus fifty.
Harry and Ron slumped down at their table and immediately began complaining.
"Arthur, why didn't you warn us Malfoy was going to Professor McGonagall?"
"I did," Arthur said evenly, swallowing his food. "I asked if anyone wanted to leave with me. You didn't."
"Harry, don't you have the Invisibility Cloak? How did you not get away?" Hermione asked.
Harry grimaced. "I forgot to bring it."
Classic Gryffindor—charging out at night with zero preparation, Arthur thought.
"Actually, I saved Gryffindor," Arthur said, straight-faced. "If I hadn't taken Hermione, we'd have lost two hundred points instead of one hundred."
Harry and Ron blinked, then nodded in reluctant agreement. Hermione nearly burst out laughing. Cousin, you're awful. Selling people out, then making them thank you for it.
She quickly changed the subject before her laughter slipped. "So… what punishment did you get?"
"We have to patrol the Forbidden Forest with Hagrid tonight," Ron said nervously.
"Aha. Remember my spider legs? I got those in the Forest. You know what that means?" Arthur gave him a meaningful look. "Spiders the size of calves."
Ron's face went white. Grabbing Harry's hand, he stammered, "Harry, can we beg Professor McGonagall for a different punishment? This is too terrifying."
"Relax, he's messing with you," Harry said. "The Forest is huge—we might not even run into any spiders. And Hagrid will be there."
Yeah, Arthur thought darkly, and you'll run into Voldemort instead.
Hermione whispered, "Should we follow them tonight?"
"Of course. It's bound to be entertaining."
She sighed. I thought you were worried for their safety… turns out you just want to watch the show.
That night, Filch led Harry, Ron, and Malfoy out of the castle.
"Shame we can't use the old punishments anymore," he muttered, voice low and menacing. "In the old days, you'd be chained up in the dungeons, thumbs strung from the ceiling. Those were the times—when we could use real instruments of discipline."
Arthur trailed behind at a distance, Hermione-cat tucked in his arms.
"Why is Filch always so vile toward students?" Hermione asked softly.
"Maybe cynicism. He's a Squib, stuck among wizards his whole life. That'd twist anyone." Arthur sneered. "Pathetic, really. But pathetic people usually have something hateful about them too."
A Squib forced to watch magic every day, unable to so much as lift a wand—no wonder his heart had curdled black.
Arthur couldn't fathom why Dumbledore had hired him in the first place. Cheap labor, maybe?
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