Chapter 33
Another stretch of days passed, and Gray's life became increasingly polarised: either in class or else at Hagrid's hut.
Any homework that needed doing he finished during Defence Against the Dark Arts lessons. Quirrell never minded.
Hermione kept giving him worried looks, as though she feared he was heading down some irreversible path. Gray couldn't quite follow the little girl's train of thought, so he simply let her be.
Children's minds were hard to read; girls' minds were harder; little girls' minds were hardest of all. That was probably the only real lesson Gray had carried over from his previous life.
The observation of the dragon egg continued without pause. The magical circuits inside it grew steadily more complete; towards the end, even a single full circuit required three whole pages in his notebook to sketch properly.
Thanks to that meticulous work, he could now predict the exact moment of hatching with precision.
On this particular day, when Harry and the others received Hagrid's scribbled note and hurried down to the hut, Gray had already been waiting inside for quite some time.
"Gray, you weren't in class just now," Hermione said the moment they arrived. She ignored the dragon egg entirely and fixed him with an accusing stare.
She felt he was spending far too much energy on this egg. When there were no lessons he was nowhere to be seen around the castle; if mornings were free he went straight to Hagrid's hut, and he only returned to Gryffindor Tower each night when it was nearly time for bed.
He had vanished from the library. He no longer appeared in the common room either. For weeks now Gray had existed in only two places: classrooms and Hagrid's hut.
And today, when the note arrived, she had discovered that he hadn't even attended the very last lesson.
Moreover, the contents of his notebook kept growing. She had glimpsed it once—page after page of symbols she couldn't understand. She had no idea what he was researching.
It worried her. He seemed utterly obsessed, just like Ron's stories about Charlie.
"It was History of Magic," Gray replied calmly. "I spoke to Professor Binns beforehand."
Even as he answered, his eyes never left the egg on the table. He held his notebook in one hand and quill in the other, ready to record the newborn dragon's condition the instant it emerged.
Hermione opened her mouth to say more, but Harry and Ron had already pushed forward in excitement, crowding round the table beside Hagrid and Gray, staring intently at the egg.
Hermione sighed helplessly and joined them.
She, too, was intensely curious about the hatching process—and about Norwegian Ridgebacks in general. This was a creature she had read about but never seen.
The egg sat on the table. A deep crack already ran across its surface. Something inside seemed to be turning; at the same time came a soft, rhythmic tap-tap-tap, like teeth clicking together.
Then came a harsh, scraping noise—fingernails dragged slowly across a blackboard. Everyone winced.
Fortunately the grating didn't last long. The shell split cleanly along the crack, falling open in two halves. A black, slime-covered lump tumbled out onto the table.
Hagrid's breathing stuttered. He reached out instinctively, wanting to scoop up the tiny, pitiful thing, give it a warm bath, wipe it clean and dry.
But Gray's wand barred his hand.
"Wait," Gray said quietly. "Just watch a little longer."
Tiny motes of light appeared before Hagrid's eyes. He hesitated. Still, he reminded himself that Gray loved the little creature just as much as he did; Gray wouldn't do anything to harm it. So he drew his hand back.
The wet lump wriggled. Very gradually its body began to unfold, like a compressed inflatable toy slowly filling with air.
Only then could Harry and the others see the dragon properly.
It really was a dragon.
The overall shape resembled a crumpled black umbrella that had been battered by a gale. Its wings—already longer than its body—drooped limply over its thin frame like a threadbare blanket studded with uncomfortable-looking spines sharp enough to skewer anyone who tried to sleep beside it.
It had an enormous, horse-like snout; the nostrils were pale. Small bony knobs protruded from its head—presumably the beginnings of the fierce horns that would grow later.
Its eyes were orange-red, but at the moment they were very dim, like the last embers of a dying fire giving off one final glow.
The newborn was still coated in thick, sticky mucus. It lay heavily on the table, trying—and failing—to lift its head or spread its wings. Each attempt ended with a collapse and a faint, plaintive whimper.
"Ohhh…" Hagrid reached out again, desperate to help.
Gray stopped him once more.
Through his magical senses Gray could see how feeble the infant dragon's magical circuits were. Even the firelight blocked by the mantelpiece shone brighter than the creature's own life-force.
Exactly as the books described: dragons not incubated by dragon-fire always suffered certain congenital weaknesses.
He recalled the passages he had read. Mother dragons did not breathe fire onto their eggs merely to maintain the right temperature. The flames also carried traces of the mother's own power and certain rare substances.
Those substances would slowly seep into the egg, supplying the developing dragon with essential trace elements it could not otherwise obtain.
The egg Hagrid had won clearly lacked all of that. The hatchling had been born with developmental deficits and was pitifully frail.
If it could not absorb the nutrient-rich mucus still clinging to its body—the residue left from inside the shell—it would not survive long.
Like a newborn fawn on the savannah: if it failed to stand within a certain short window, predators would take it.
Of course, in nature the mother could offer some assistance.
Gray raised his wand. A faint silver gleam appeared in his eyes.
**Wingardium Leviosa!**
The Levitation Charm flowed out, settling gently over the dragon. Gray took exquisite care with the spell's magical structure, ensuring it interfered as little as possible with the infant's own fragile life circuits.
He calibrated the lifting force so precisely that the upward buoyancy matched the dragon's weight almost exactly—or perhaps was even a fraction lighter.
Suddenly the little dragon felt gravity loosen its grip. It tried raising its head again. This time, without the crushing weight holding it down, it succeeded.
The orange-red eyes met Gray's silver-flecked black ones. Some dim understanding seemed to pass between them: the magic helping it now came from this person.
It gave a soft, questioning chirrup, then twisted its head and began to lick the mucus from its own body.
As the sticky coating was cleaned away, the dragon visibly perked up. Light returned to its eyes; the crystalline pupils kindled with tiny orange-red flames.
After a moment it chirped once more in Gray's direction, then turned and began crawling laboriously towards the broken halves of its shell.
That, clearly, was the real feast. What coated its body had only been an appetiser.
Gray exhaled softly and lowered his wand. The Levitation Charm dissolved.
The dragon faltered for just a heartbeat, its movements slowing slightly, but it was still able to continue.
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