Snape's first thought upon waking from being knocked unconscious was that Lord Voldemort had truly appeared—because who else could pull off something like this at Hogwarts? Naturally, the most likely candidate would be Dumbledore, but he had no reason to do such a thing.
Ruling out the supreme master, that left only Voldemort.
Why, though? Snape suspected Voldemort might be too perverse, using twisted methods to discipline him. Or perhaps, because of past events, Voldemort had realized Snape remained steadfastly loyal and wanted to assist in stealing the Philosopher's Stone, offering this as compensation—or a reward.
Having killed one Lily, he'd rewarded Snape with a brand-new "Lily."
In Snape's mind, Voldemort was a lunatic, growing increasingly deranged. Early on, he'd been manageable, but later, he was clearly unhinged. A decade later, it was only reasonable he'd become even more insane.
Perhaps during this time, he'd gone to the East to study, blending Eastern and Western techniques, making his methods even more sinister.
As for Harry, Snape acknowledged the boy's power. A sneak attack might indeed take him down without being noticed, but he doubted Harry could wield dark magic of this caliber. This potion—if it could even be called a potion—was imbued with an overwhelming darkness, a cursed, feminine energy, all blended seamlessly, as if transformation itself was the natural order.
Harry's potion-making skills were taught by Snape himself, and his dark magic could only be self-learned. Normally, he shouldn't have been capable of such mastery.
Snape considered studying the potion to undo its effects but glanced in the mirror… No, there was no need to change it.
With his greatest worry resolved, Harry's school life returned to normal.
As Easter approached, the teachers piled on a mountain of homework, triggering a touch of PTSD in Harry. But it wasn't that bad—he still had plenty of time for himself.
For instance, he trained his physical strength and honed his skills.
One day, while visiting Hagrid's hut, Harry discovered Hagrid was hiding a dragon egg. Hagrid admitted it and hoped Hermione could help him find books on raising dragons.
Everyone knew Hagrid had always wanted a fire-breathing dragon. Harry had noticed this the first time he went with Hagrid to Gringotts.
"But it's illegal," Ron said. "In 1709, the Warlocks' Convention officially banned dragon breeding. Everyone knows that. If we keep a dragon in the backyard, it's hard to stop Muggles from noticing us—and Hagrid would struggle to tame them. They're dangerous. You should see the burns on Charlie from when he was wrangling wild dragons in Romania."
Ron's brother Charlie, who Wood said could've played Quidditch for England, was now studying dragons in Romania.
"No big deal, it's just breaking the law a bit," Harry said. "As long as you don't get caught, it's not really breaking the law."
Harry pointed out he'd executed wizards in Knockturn Alley, and no one had come to arrest him. If his private justice was discovered, he'd surely be sent to that place—what was it called? Az-something, maybe Azheimer's, he couldn't recall—anyway, the wizard prison.
"Harry's right. As long as you don't get caught, it's fine," Hermione agreed, surprising everyone since she used to be the stickler for school rules. Quite the contrast.
"But aren't there wild dragons in Britain?" Harry asked. "The dragons in the wizarding world don't seem that rare."
Compared to the dragons in the world of A Song of Ice and Fire, the dragons here were common and lacked the profound mystical symbolism of a magical resurgence. In some fantasy settings, dragons were near-divine beings.
"Of course there are," Ron said. "There's the Common Welsh Green and the Hebridean Black. My dad says the Ministry has a whole job dedicated to hiding wild dragons. Our wizards constantly have to cast spells on Muggles who spot them, making them forget everything."
"They can cover that up? The Ministry's censorship game is strong."
"Yeah, NewBee," Ron said, already tossing out some Chinese slang. Yeah.
Some time later, the trio, joined by Draco Malfoy—who was secretly as obsessed with dragons as they were—went to witness the baby dragon's birth.
The Draco Malfoy from the start of the school year, who mocked Muggle-born wizards and Hagrid, was long gone.
Now, in the Slytherin dorms, Draco still played along with the pure-blood rhetoric to avoid trouble—because if he got into hot water and shouted "Harry, save me!" Harry couldn't exactly Apparate to rescue him. But when no other Slytherins were around, Draco let loose, revealing his true self.
Deep down, I've always been a Gryffindor, mate! Onion! Orange!
This process could be summed up as Hogwarts: Taming Draco Malfoy.
"It's coming!" Hagrid ushered them into the hut.
The dragon egg lay on the table, a deep crack already splitting its surface. Something inside was wriggling, making a delightful click-clack sound.
They pulled their chairs closer to the table, holding their breath, watching intently.
Harry had seen dragons hatch in another world.
As a teenager, guided by fate, he'd traveled to Essos in the East—not to fetch sacred texts, but to find the destined one, Daenerys Targaryen, the Stormborn. Along the way, he'd killed her bothersome brother, Viserys Targaryen, who'd tried to sell his sister.
He'd witnessed the hatching of dragon eggs and gained attribute points for it. From then on, Daenerys earned the title Mother of Dragons. By that logic, Harry figured he deserved the title Father of Dragons.
After all, he was a dragon tamer, the sternest father to those unruly three dragons. Whenever they grew too big and forgot his authority, Harry would respond with an even fiercer smack to remind them.
Look, my ice!
Suddenly, with a harsh scraping sound, the egg split open.
The baby dragon wobbled on the table, flapping unsteadily, letting out faint cooing noises. It wasn't exactly pretty; Harry thought it looked like a crumpled black umbrella. Its spiky wings seemed disproportionately large compared to its scrawny, jet-black body.
No attribute points gained.
Harry had sensed it before arriving: the birth of dragons in this world carried a completely different symbolic weight than in the other.
It sneezed, sparks shooting from its nostrils.
"Isn't it beautiful?" Hagrid murmured. He reached out a hand to stroke the dragon's head. The dragon promptly bit his finger, showing off its sharp, pointy teeth.
"Bless it, look! It knows its mum!" Hagrid exclaimed.
"No male mums allowed," Harry said, rolling his eyes.
"Hagrid," Hermione said, "how fast do Norwegian Ridgebacks grow, exactly?"
Hagrid only said, "Very fast."