A couple of days later, Henry received a small note from Hagrid during breakfast.
It contained only four words: "Almost hatching now."
The Gryffindor trio had apparently received identical notes. Since Henry shared no classes with them, after a brief exchange in the corridor, they agreed to visit Hagrid's hut separately and meet there.
Witnessing a dragon hatch was a rare privilege, the sort of thing one might experience only once in a lifetime. Henry had no intention of missing it.
He arrived after his last class of the day to find the Gryffindor trio already present. They exchanged greetings, then turned their collective attention to the egg resting on the table.
Henry pulled up a chair and sat down, immediately noticing a deep crack running along the shell's surface. Something moved within, producing a faint but distinct clicking sound with each shift.
They all drew their chairs closer without a word, holding their breath.
Then, with a sharp scraping noise, the shell split open.
The dragon that emerged onto the table was not, strictly speaking, beautiful. It resembled nothing so much as a crumpled black umbrella, spiky wings disproportionately large against its thin, dark body, a long snout with wide nostrils, small horns along its head, and bulging orange-red eyes that surveyed its surroundings with alarming alertness. It shook itself once, found its footing, and sneezed, sending a small shower of sparks across the tabletop.
"Isn't it something," Hagrid murmured with unmistakable reverence. He reached out and gently touched the top of its head.
The dragon immediately sank its teeth into his finger.
"Look at that!" Hagrid exclaimed, his face breaking into an enormous, delighted smile. "It recognizes me already!"
Ron stared at him. "It bit you, and you're pleased?"
"Of course! Only a healthy dragon bites like that!" Hagrid said proudly, entirely unbothered by the blood now visible on his hand.
The dragon released him, tilted its head back, and regarded Hagrid with its protruding orange eyes as though conducting a thorough assessment.
Then it sneezed again, sparks landing on the table and leaving small scorch marks in the wood.
"Oh, careful now." Hagrid quickly extinguished the embers with his palm, not flinching in the slightest at the heat. "Norbert, gently, we don't breathe fire indoors."
"Norbert?" Hermione raised an eyebrow.
"That's what I've named him," Hagrid said, his expression radiating happiness.
Ron's face went through a silent but eloquent struggle not to laugh. Harry, for his part, thought Norbert was actually a fine enough name for a dragon.
Henry sat somewhat apart from the others, quietly observing.
"Hagrid," Hermione asked, her tone carefully measured, "how quickly do Norwegian Ridgebacks grow?"
Hagrid scratched his beard thoughtfully, his gaze drifting back to Norbert as though he couldn't bear to look away for long. "Very fast. The books say they're about two feet when they're born, by a month they can reach four or five, and by three months they're ten feet or more."
Hermione's expression shifted noticeably. "Ten feet. In three months."
"One of the fastest-growing species there is," Hagrid confirmed with evident pride. "When he's fully grown, he'll be twenty feet, breathing fire, flying, just imagine it!"
He reached out to stroke Norbert's head again and received another decisive bite for his trouble. He smiled anyway.
Hermione and Ron exchanged a glance. Harry was the one who voiced what all three were clearly thinking.
"Hagrid," he began carefully, "if Norbert reaches ten feet in three months... where exactly do you intend to keep him?"
Hagrid's smile flickered. "Well, just here, to start."
Ron looked around the hut. "A ten-foot dragon could take this whole building apart with one swipe of its tail."
"I could keep him outside," Hagrid offered.
"Outside," Hermione repeated. "At the edge of the Forbidden Forest. Where any student walking past could see a dragon."
Hagrid had no immediate answer for that.
He looked at Norbert, his expression carrying the weight of someone who had just begun to understand a problem he had chosen not to think about until now.
"And his diet," Hermione pressed gently. "Do you know how much a Norwegian Ridgeback eats at this age?"
Hagrid shook his head.
"Three times his own body weight in meat per day at this stage. By three months, the equivalent of a full-grown cow, every single day."
Hermione glanced briefly at the rock cakes resting under the table.
"You can't feed him those," she added quietly.
Hagrid's expression went very still. "A cow. Every day."
"Yes," Hermione said. "How many cows does your monthly salary account for, Hagrid?"
He didn't answer.
He simply sat and watched Norbert thrashing energetically across the tabletop, watched him snap his teeth at the air, watched him turn those enormous orange eyes toward him with something that looked almost like recognition.
Norbert sneezed again, sparks scattering across the wood.
Hagrid extinguished them with his bare hand, moving gently and carefully.
"I'll find a way," he said finally, his voice quiet but resolute.
Hermione sighed. Ron shook his head. Harry sat in silence, clearly at a loss.
Henry remained where he was, saying nothing.
He understood the situation clearly enough. Hagrid couldn't keep the dragon, not because of any shortage of love or determination, but because reality made no accommodations for either.
A Norwegian Ridgeback at full growth would be beyond any single person's ability to manage, and the practical demands of feeding one would outstrip Hagrid's means before the creature was even three months old.
Hagrid was, in many ways, quietly invaluable to those who knew how to appreciate him. His friendships with the creatures of the Forbidden Forest ran deep, and the magical world held him in informal regard for precisely that reason.
But he would never exploit those connections for personal gain, it simply wasn't who he was.
And that was why, Henry thought, Norbert couldn't stay.
The dragon had already demonstrated its capacity for fire, its bite force, and its temperament. As it grew, all of these would intensify.
Hagrid, for all his affection, would not be able to manage a fully grown Norwegian Ridgeback, and the longer he delayed accepting that, the more difficult the eventual separation would become.
But Hagrid couldn't think any of this through right now. He was watching Norbert writhe and snap and breathe sparks, and to him, in this moment, that was everything.
After a while, the little dragon seemed to tire of the effort of existing so dramatically. It settled down on the table with a few final snorts, tucked its head beneath one wing, and began producing a low, rumbling sound that was almost a purr.
Hagrid rose quietly and retrieved a large wooden box from the corner, the interior lined with soft, dry hay.
He positioned it carefully on the table, then lifted Norbert with both hands, slowly, gently, the way someone might hold something they knew was fragile no matter how it appeared.
Norbert stirred, opened one eye, regarded him for a moment, then closed it again.
Hagrid lowered him into the box and drew an old blanket over him.
"Sleep now, Norbert," he whispered. "I'm here."
The little dragon made a small sound deep in his throat, shifted once to find a more comfortable position, and was still.
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