Chapter 12: Hagrid's Slip
The November air was crisp, carrying the sharp tang of woodsmoke and damp earth as Alex, Harry, Ron, and Hermione trudged down the sloping lawn to Hagrid's hut. The castle loomed behind them, its towers piercing a sky heavy with grey clouds. The troll incident, two days past, had forged a fragile unity among them, the memory of dust and danger still clinging to their robes. Alex's boots crunched on frost-kissed grass, his Slytherin scarf tucked tight against the chill. "Hagrid's a goldmine of info—if I can steer him right without tipping my hand."
Hagrid's hut was a warm haven, its chimney puffing thick, grey smoke that curled like a dragon's breath. Inside, the air was heavy with the scent of burnt molasses, gunpowder, and a faint, sulphurous whiff Alex couldn't place. Hagrid, his massive frame filling the doorway, ushered them in with a grin that split his bushy beard. "C'mon, yeh lot! Good ta see yeh after that troll nonsense!" His voice was a rumbling earthquake, his hands gesturing to mismatched wooden chairs around a crackling hearth. The fire's warmth chased away the cold, but the cluttered hut—piles of furs, dangling herbs, a teapot the size of a cauldron—felt like a cave of secrets.
Hagrid poured tea, the mugs clunking onto the table, the liquid inside tasting like boiled moss and stale ginger. Alex sipped cautiously, the bitter tang grounding him as he watched Hagrid's every move. Harry, his glasses steaming from the hut's heat, spoke first. "That troll was mad, Hagrid. Alex saved us—knew exactly what to do."
Ron nodded, his freckles stark in the firelight. "Yeah, he was yelling orders like he'd fought trolls his whole life. Mental, but brilliant." His grin was wide, a mix of awe and loyalty.
Alex ran his fingers along the table's rough edge, a nervous habit, and forced a casual shrug. "Just read it in a book. Defensive Charms, page 47. Trolls hate nose hits." The lie was smooth, his meta-knowledge hidden behind a practiced smile. "Can't let them know I've got a cheat sheet."
Hagrid beamed, slamming a hand on the table, rattling the mugs. "Brilliant, Alex! Quick thinkin' like that's why Dumbledore trusts yeh lot!" His voice dropped, his eyes darting to the dark windows. "Funny, though, that troll. Right when the Stone's under tighter guard. Dumbledore's got it locked up proper now."
The word Stone hung like a spell, the air shifting to casual curiosity. Hermione's eyes sharpened, her quill already twitching in her pocket. "What Stone, Hagrid?" Her voice was precise, a scalpel cutting through the warmth.
Hagrid's face froze, his massive hands clapping over his mouth with a thwump. "Nothin'! Didn't say nothin'! Just… Nicolas Flamel, an old mate of Dumbledore's! Forget I said it!" His panic was comical, his beard quivering as he stirred the tea with a poker, the molasses scent thickening.
Alex's heart skipped, but he kept his face blank, feigning confusion. "Nicolas Flamel? Who's that, some ancient professor?" His voice was light, but his mind raced. "Jackpot. The Stone's confirmed, and Flamel's the key." He leaned forward, his tone innocent. "Sounds important if he's tied to this… Stone thing. Is he a big deal?"
Hagrid shook his head, spluttering. "No, no! Just an old codger with a beard! Nothin' to it!" He busied himself with the fire, his hands trembling.
"He's spooked. Good. I've got what I need." Alex exchanged glances with Harry and Ron, their confusion genuine, while Hermione's frown deepened, her mind already churning. The walk back to the castle was brisk, the cold wind biting at their robes, the atmosphere charged with intrigued mystery. Hermione muttered, "Nicolas Flamel. Not in any standard texts. He's obscure—ancient, maybe."
Ron kicked a stone, his breath fogging. "Old bloke, long beard? Bet he's some dusty wizard who's been alive forever. Like, two hundred years."
Alex lagged slightly, his thoughts racing. "Six hundred years, actually. Flamel's the Stone's maker. Quirrell's target is clear." He spoke up, his tone speculative. "Maybe he's an inventor. Something powerful, like… an artifact that makes stuff. Gold, maybe?" He kept it vague, planting the seed without exposing his knowledge.
Ron snapped his fingers, his eyes lighting up. "Alchemy! Bill mentioned it once—turning junk into gold. That's proper old magic."
Hermione's face lit up, her voice rising. "Alchemy! That's it! I'll check the restricted section—old tomes, high shelves." Her excitement was a spark, igniting their plan.
[System Hint: Alchemy Link – Success. Plot Advancement: 5%]
The system's nudge was a quiet thrill, confirming Alex's strategy. "I'm steering them without breaking cover. Perfect." As they reached the castle's doors, Hermione already plotting a library siege, Alex's mind shifted to defense. "The Stone's here. Quirrell's desperate. I need traps—Concussive Runes, maybe Stasis. Something to slow him down."
Hagrid's bellow stopped them. "Oi! Yeh lot! Back here! Got somethin' to show ya!" His voice was thick with pride, pulling them back to the hut. The air inside was hotter now, the sulphurous scent stronger. Hagrid, grinning like a child, pulled a cast-iron pot from the hearth, its metal glowing faintly. He lifted the lid with thick gloves, revealing a mottled green egg, the size of a melon, its surface shimmering with a metallic sheen. A faint thump-thump pulsed from within, the air warming with primal heat.
"Ain't she a beauty?" Hagrid whispered, his eyes gleaming. "Won it off a mate in the mountains. Rare, this one."
Alex's stomach dropped, his meta-knowledge screaming. "Norwegian Ridgeback. Norbert. This is trouble." He triggered the system, his vision sharpening.
[Analysis: Norwegian Ridgeback Egg – Rare. AE Consumed: 10. AE: 30/50]
[Blueprint Fragment: Fire Resistance (Simple) Acquired. Magical Signature: Primal Fire-Based Magic]
The egg glowed orange in his mind, its potential as a crafting base thrilling but overshadowed by danger. "This gets Draco's attention, then detention, then the Forest. We're on a collision course." He stepped forward, his voice firm. "Hagrid, that's a dragon egg. Norwegian Ridgeback. Class XXXXX. Illegal to own, breed, or transport. The Ministry will lock you in Azkaban for this."
Hagrid's smile faltered, his hands fumbling the lid. "Illegal? It's just… a big lizard egg!" His laugh was nervous, the clang of the lid silencing the egg's pulse.
Alex pinched his nose, the sulphurous air stinging. "It's not a lizard, Hagrid. It's a dragon. You need to get rid of it—now—or we're all in trouble." His tone was sharp, his caution born of meta-knowledge and care for his friend.
Hagrid's face crumpled, his eyes wide with panic. "Didn't think… he said it was a special chicken!"
Ron snorted, then clapped a hand over his mouth. Hermione's eyes widened, her voice sharp. "Hagrid, this is serious!"
Harry nodded, his voice soft but firm. "We'll help you, Hagrid. But Alex is right—it's dangerous."
The hut's warmth felt oppressive now, the egg's presence a ticking bomb. Alex's warning hung heavy, the atmosphere one of amazed caution. "Draco will find out. The Forest is coming. I need a cloaking rune, fast."
[EXP Gained: Plot Advancement – Flamel Identified. EXP Toward LVL 2: 45%]
Mechanics Recap: AE at 30/50; CS at 43%; Blueprint Fragment Gained.
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