Chapter 27
Raising dragons was illegal—common knowledge in the wizarding world. Yet judging by Hagrid's current excitement, Albert suspected it would take far more than reason to convince him to abandon his dream of raising one.
Even when Hermione pointed out the obvious—that a wooden hut was hardly the safest place to house a fire-breathing creature—Hagrid remained unfazed, practically glowing with enthusiasm as he spoke.
"I've been reading Dragon Breeding for Pleasure and Profit," he told them, eyes gleaming. "Says here you've got to keep the egg in a fire, 'cause that's what the mother does. Look—says once it hatches, you've got to feed it a bucket of brandy and chicken blood every half hour! And here, this bit shows how to identify the eggs—mine's a Norwegian Ridgeback, dead rare, that is!"
Albert watched Hagrid poke at the flames, humming a cheerful tune, and realized Hermione's efforts were likely in vain. Hagrid wouldn't be swayed by logic alone.
Perhaps only after suffering the consequences of raising a dragon would Hagrid come to his senses.
Albert, however, had other things on his mind. He had grown particularly fond of Herbology and was considering cultivating a rare plant of his own—one that could benefit from the byproducts of dragon care. If he timed things right, he might even collect some dragon-related materials once the creature hatched.
In the meantime, Harry and Ron had reluctantly accepted the revision schedule Hermione had drawn up for their exams. But now, with a baby dragon added to their list of concerns—alongside the mystery of the Sorcerer's Stone—their stress levels reached new heights. It felt like madness was just around the corner.
Then, one morning during breakfast, Hedwig delivered a short note addressed to Hagrid. It contained only four words.
Ron, clearly agitated, wanted to skip Herbology and head straight to Hagrid's hut. Albert, however, strongly disagreed.
"We're not discussing this here," Albert cut in sharply, noticing a group of Slytherins entering the Great Hall. "Lunchtime."
As soon as the lunch bell rang, Harry and the others dropped their tools and sprinted across the grounds, heading for the edge of the Forbidden Forest. Hagrid greeted them, his face flushed with anticipation.
"He's about to hatch!" he beamed, ushering them inside. "Where's Albert?"
"He's with Professor Sprout," Hermione replied. "They're discussing something about greenhouse plants. He'll be here soon."
By the time Albert arrived, the dragon had already hatched. It was small, about the size of a chicken, with crumpled wings and sparks occasionally escaping its tiny mouth.
Hagrid, who had just been bitten trying to pet the creature, was undeterred. "Look at 'im—he knows his dad already!"
Hermione bit back the lecture she was about to give. It was pointless. Hagrid, basking in his joy, wouldn't hear a word of it.
Better to wait. Let the baby dragon grow, let the problems begin to pile up. Then, perhaps, reality would speak louder than advice.
As they left the hut and made their way back to the castle, Albert paused. Something felt off.
In the original timeline, Malfoy had seen Hagrid's dragon. But this time, he hadn't.
Albert glanced back at the hut and smiled slightly. Still, when he remembered that Hagrid was attempting to raise a dragon inside, the smile faded. A man with Hagrid's fierce love for magical beasts wasn't likely to give up so easily.
And Albert's suspicions were soon confirmed.
Dragons, it turned out, were not suitable house pets—especially not for Hagrid. But he refused to give up. Within a week, the dragon had tripled in size. Smoke curled constantly from its nostrils. Hagrid had all but abandoned his duties as gamekeeper. His hut was now littered with empty brandy bottles and stray chicken feathers.
When Albert and the others visited, they found Hagrid cooing over the creature with a look of maternal affection.
"I've decided to call him Norbert," he said proudly, wiping tears from his eyes. "He really knows me now—look, Norbert! Norbert!"
Albert stepped forward.
"Hagrid," he said gently, "if Norbert keeps growing at this rate, he'll outgrow your home in two weeks. You can't hide him from the school forever. And you know the law—keeping a dragon privately is a serious offense. You could end up in Azkaban."
He hesitated, then added, "Dragons were born to rule the skies. You can't keep a creature like that cooped up in a wooden cabin. For Norbert's sake, you have to let him go."
Hagrid's face crumpled. He bit his lip.
"I—I know I can't keep him forever. And Dumbledore's done so much for me—I shouldn't trouble him any more. But I can't just throw Norbert away. He's too young to survive on his own…"
He loved that dragon. That much was clear. Unlike the careless people who discarded pets on a whim, Hagrid's love was real and deep.
But something had to be done.
After a moment's thought, Ron spoke up. "My brother Charlie works with dragons in Romania. We could send Norbert to him. I'm sure he'd know how to take care of him properly."
Hagrid sniffled loudly. "That'd be good—for Norbert." He blew his nose on a large handkerchief as Ron sat down to write a letter.
The following week felt endless. Then, just before midnight on Wednesday, Albert and Hermione sat in the common room going over their notes. Harry and Ron suddenly appeared, slipping through the portrait hole, invisible under the Invisibility Cloak. They had just come from Hagrid's hut, where they'd helped feed Norbert.
"Albert," Harry said urgently, "Can you take a look at Ron's hand?"
He remembered how Albert had healed himself after the battle with the mountain troll and trusted he could help again.
Ron held out his hand, wrapped in a bloodstained cloth. Albert unwrapped it to reveal a nasty bite—Norbert's doing. The puncture marks were tinged green, and the skin around them was red and swollen.
"Damn," Albert muttered. "Are his teeth venomous now? Hang on—I'll go get something."
He dashed upstairs, leaving the others staring nervously at each other in the common room.
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