After the February Quidditch match, life passed quietly for a while.
Since then, I'd combed through the papers for anything that might connect to the Philosopher's Stone, but nothing pointed back to Hogwarts. If I had to name one suspicious event, it would be the Gringotts robbery at the end of last July—the day Harry and I ran into each other in Diagon Alley. The timing and the way people talked about it were both questionable. Still, even if the item transferred that day was the Stone, I couldn't see why Harry and the others would be concerned about it now. I could have asked them outright, but with Professor Snape's constant surveillance, there was no easy way to approach Harry.
If I stuck my nose in without understanding the situation and ended up pulled deep into the case, the story could spin out of control. First identify the most likely suspect; only then make a move. With that in mind, I kept my distance, observed them from afar, and happily enjoyed my uneventful days.
…Which is why what happened between their trio and me was pure coincidence.
One morning, after breakfast, I spotted the three of them in the corridor outside the Great Hall, the one that leads to the grand staircase. They were tucked into a corner, whispering. It would have been strange to swivel on my heel just to avoid them, so I kept walking, pretending nothing was amiss—until a few stray words made me stop.
"Because…the dragon egg is going to hatch…if it gets seen too often…"
"…this is going to cause trouble again…but what Hagrid's doing is…"
What? The sheer outrageousness of it stunned me. Harry snapped his head up and saw me. He hurried to keep talking while shushing Granger and Weasley. The way their faces drained of color made it painfully obvious I had overheard something I wasn't meant to.
Silence fell over the corridor. I said nothing, dipped my head in a small nod, and walked past, down the stairs.
…A dragon?
No way… Hagrid might love magical creatures, but would he really dabble with something that dangerous? If Harry Potter weren't involved, I would have laughed it off and forgotten it. But with the protagonist—the greatest trouble magnet in the story—caught up in it, the chance of this episode being real shot through the roof.
Give me a break. Even by wizarding standards, unleashing one of the most dangerous creatures in existence at a school for children was beyond absurd.
Even so, I held back for a while. Maybe I resisted admitting any of this was real. But when I noticed them slipping to the small hut at the edge of the grounds and hunting through the library for dragon books, doing nothing became impossible. If I left it alone and the hero got blown to bits by a dragon, everything would be over. At breakfast I saw Weasley's hand swollen to twice its size; by lunch he looked ready to keel over. That was it—I needed to get a handle on the situation.
That afternoon, during a free period for Slytherin, I headed to the hospital wing where Weasley had been taken. By telling Madam Pomfrey I wanted to borrow the library book he had, I managed to get close to his bed. He frowned at the sight of me, openly displeased, but the usual energy wasn't in his face. He really did look unwell. Dragon trouble, then?
Before I could speak, he fired the first shot.
"What do you want, Malfoy?"
"You three have been sneaking around. You show up with injuries like this—don't tell me you've stuck your noses into something dangerous."
"That's none of your business!"
He raised his voice and then, dizzy, slumped back onto the pillow. He was stubborn and clearly not going to talk. So I still hated it. I'd hoped time would have softened his memory of my earlier misdeeds, but no such luck.
While I was wondering how to coax anything out of him, Madam Pomfrey must have heard the noise. She flew out of her office at the back of the ward.
"I didn't give you permission to chat! Is this the book you wanted? If you're done, out!"
She shoved the book from his bedside into my hands and had me out of the infirmary in seconds.
Perhaps trying Weasley had been a mistake. But getting to Harry was even harder with Professor Snape glued to him. Even with Dumbledore behind him, I wasn't convinced Harry was someone I could truly rely on. It wasn't the right time to make anyone suspect I was sniffing around.
Still, the infirmary visit paid off. The book was, as expected, a guide to dragon care. Better yet, there was a letter tucked inside—from Charlie Weasley, if I remembered right, Arthur Weasley's second son. It laid out a plan to send someone to Hogwarts at midnight on Saturday to pick up the dragon.
At this point, it was as good as confirmed. Rubeus Hagrid had hatched and was keeping a dragon—an infamous wizard-killer—at Hogwarts, a place meant to protect children. On top of that, he intended to bring in an outsider—family or not—onto school grounds. When I first heard the rumors about Hagrid after arriving, I thought the wizarding world would be finished if they were true. It turns out my worries were right on the mark.
How could someone so close to the protagonist be such a danger? Thinking of all the people trying to keep Harry Potter safe made me want to cry. Hoping Hagrid wasn't destined to be an important figure in the story—the sort who would one day save Harry's life—I resolved to report the dragon. The letter meant the dragon would be gone from the school soon enough, but the real problem was that someone who could do such a thing held a position that allowed it. Cruel as it might be, what he'd done was wildly unfit for someone entrusted with the safety of a school, and that had to be corrected.
If he masked the evidence with concealment and expansion charms, cleaning up after him would be impossible. I decided to inform Professor McGonagall right before Hagrid moved the dragon to the tower, at the moment he would want a final look at it. Until Saturday, I checked at every meal to make sure Harry and Granger hadn't ended up as dragon food.
On the day itself, a little past eleven-thirty at night, I headed alone for Professor McGonagall's office on the second floor. Unluckily, I ran into her before I got there. It would have gone more smoothly if I'd arrived and presented my case; as it was, it looked like I'd been caught roaming after hours. Her face tightened the moment she saw me.
"Malfoy, what are you doing wandering the castle at this hour!"
A perfectly reasonable reaction. I should have been more careful—and more sensible. I should have asked her in the daytime to go to Hagrid's around this time. Was I an idiot?
Cursing my carelessness, I hurriedly pulled out Weasley's letter and handed it to her.
"I was on my way to your office! It's true! Please—read this. Hagrid isn't just keeping a dragon—he means to break security tonight and smuggle it out! If we go to his hut now, the dragon should be there!"
She read the letter, but the suspicion didn't leave her face.
"A dragon? Do you expect me to believe such a far-fetched story? This letter—trying to trick a teacher—"
"I know there's no excuse for being out of my dorm this late! But do you really think I came out in the middle of the night just to slander Hagrid? Am I…am I that untrustworthy to you, Professor?"
Ashamed of my own foolishness, my voice trembled a little. Her eyes widened by a fraction. She closed hers, drew a long breath, and let it out.
"Slytherin loses ten points for being out after hours. That is provisional. As for punishment—later. For now, we will verify the truth in your presence. Come with me."
She swirled her robes and headed straight for Hagrid's hut. I hurried after her.
We jogged across the silent grounds by the light of her wand. What if the dragon had already been moved? What if there had never been one at all? What if Weasley had been tricking me? Professor McGonagall was likely thinking the same thing—that she would show me the truth with my own eyes.
A sense of dread kept piling up.
Enduring the prickling silence against my skin, we finally reached the hut. Voices drifted from inside. I felt the blood drain from my face. Not just Hagrid—those were Hermione Granger and Harry Potter.
While I stood frozen, Professor McGonagall wordlessly unlatched the door with a spell and strode in, furious.
"What do you think you're doing!"
Her shout could have sent every creature in the area fleeing. The three inside stared, eyes wide. She crossed the room in long strides and flicked her wand at a wooden crate to check what was inside. There, about the size of a large dog already—though clearly newly hatched—was a jet-black dragon.
The change in Professor McGonagall's expression was dramatic. Her eyes sharpened, and her gaze speared Hagrid.
"Hagrid—how dare you! You brought students out of the castle in the middle of the night—what were you thinking? This is inexcusable for someone tasked with protecting them! And a dragon—what would you have done if one of these children had been hurt? How did you intend to take responsibility? How will you answer Professor Dumbledore, who trusted you? Did you think it was fine so long as you didn't get caught? This is unforgivably shallow—You contemptible fool!"
I had never seen an adult that angry. She shook from head to toe, fists clenched, and for a moment I thought she might actually punch him. The force of her presence made Hagrid look smaller than usual.
Catching her breath—but without lowering the heat of her anger—she turned on Harry and Granger.
"Potter! Granger! Why would you do something so idiotic? After a troll, now a dragon—did you think you could handle it yourselves? I expected better of you, Miss Granger. And you, Mr. Potter—does Gryffindor mean so little to you?"
They wilted under the scolding, but she didn't relent.
"I presume Weasley was involved as well. Do not bother hiding it."
They seemed unable to answer, but their flinch said enough.
"Fifty points. From Gryffindor."
"Fifty?"
"Fifty each, for three students, Potter."
"Professor…please…"
"That's—too harsh…"
"I will decide what is harsh, Potter. Hagrid, take that dragon to the Headmaster. Now. The rest of you, back to your beds. I have never been more ashamed of Gryffindor."
With that, she sent us hurrying back toward the castle.
She said nothing about me walking behind her, but the situation spoke for itself about where the leak had come from. Harry and Granger didn't say a word all the way back. Whatever friendliness had existed between us before seemed to have vanished—cleanly and completely.
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