The day after the troll incident, things had finally started to settle down.
Or at least… they were supposed to.
But I couldn't shake the feeling that something was off.
We were sitting in the library after classes, trying to catch up on the homework we'd missed thanks to the chaos. The large oak tables were littered with parchment, ink bottles, and stacks of books. Hermione was furiously scribbling away, her quill scratching against the parchment like it was in a race.
"Honestly, Ron," she muttered without looking up, "if you don't finish your Transfiguration essay, Professor McGonagall will turn you into a teapot."
"I'm working on it!" Ron grumbled, though his quill was barely touching the parchment.
Rose was leaning over her Potions notes, her brow furrowed in concentration, while I was attempting to finish my Charms homework—though my mind kept wandering back to the troll fight.
"Ethan?"
I blinked and looked up. Rose was watching me closely, her eyes filled with concern.
"Hmm?"
"You're staring at your parchment like it insulted your family," she said softly, her lips quirking into a small smile.
I gave her a sheepish grin. "Just… thinking."
"About the troll?" Hermione asked, her quill pausing mid-word.
"Yeah…" I murmured, but before I could say more—
"What's he doing here?"
Ron's voice was barely above a whisper, but it carried enough urgency to make us all glance up.
At first, I didn't see anything unusual. But then I spotted him.
Hagrid.
He was sitting at a table in the far corner of the library, hunched over an enormous book that looked far too delicate for his massive hands. His bushy hair and wild beard practically hid his face as he leaned in, his eyes scanning the text with surprising intensity.
"Is that…?" Rose's voice trailed off as she squinted toward the book.
Hermione's eyes widened. "Dragon Species of Great Britain and Ireland," she whispered, reading the title on the spine.
"Why's Hagrid reading about dragons?" Ron muttered, leaning forward slightly.
"Good question," I murmured, my eyes narrowing.
Hagrid wasn't exactly known for his subtlety, and the way he kept glancing around nervously only added to the growing list of things that didn't add up.
"Maybe he's just curious," Rose offered, though her tone was uncertain.
"Or maybe," I murmured, "he's up to something."
I glanced down at my parchment, but my mind had already gone elsewhere.
Dragons…
The thought stirred something in my memory. I had read about this before—something about Hagrid. Then it hit me.
Hagrid had a thing for dragons.
I remembered it vividly from the books I had read back home—Hagrid had once kept a dragon egg. And if he was reading about dragon species now…
My stomach dropped.
Oh no…
I looked up again, watching Hagrid flip through the pages with nervous excitement. This wasn't just curiosity. He was planning something.
The next morning, the Great Hall was alive with the usual chatter of students. The long tables were piled high with toast, bacon, eggs, and all sorts of breakfast food. The scent of freshly brewed pumpkin juice filled the air, and the clinking of cutlery echoed through the hall.
WHOMP!
A small, scruffy owl swooped down out of nowhere, landing right in front of Rose and nearly knocking over her pumpkin juice.
"Whoa!" she yelped, pulling her hand back just in time.
The owl gave an indignant hoot and shook itself, sending a few loose feathers flying.
"What's this?" Ron asked, his mouth still half-full.
Rose untied the letter from the owl's leg, her brow furrowing slightly as she unfolded it.
"Who's it from?" I asked, leaning in.
"Hagrid," Rose murmured, her eyes scanning the page. Her expression shifted almost instantly—from curiosity to confusion, and then to… concern.
But before she read it aloud, the small owl fluttered to the side, making room for a much more majestic figure that swooped down gracefully and landed beside her plate.
Hedwig.
Rose's owl.
The snowy white owl tilted her head slightly, her piercing amber eyes watching us with quiet intelligence. Her feathers were pristine, gleaming in the morning sunlight that filtered through the enchanted ceiling.
"Hello, girl," Rose murmured softly, her lips curling into a fond smile as she stroked Hedwig's feathers gently.
Hedwig let out a soft, approving hoot, leaning slightly into Rose's touch.
"I swear, she's got better manners than you, Ron," Hermione teased, a hint of amusement in her voice.
"Oi!" Ron protested, though his mouth was still full.
Rose grinned as Hedwig gave Ron an unimpressed look, her amber eyes narrowing slightly.
"I got her this summer," Rose explained, her tone filled with warmth. "She's brilliant—always finds her way back, no matter how far."
"She's beautiful," Hermione murmured, leaning forward to get a better look.
"Yeah," Ron mumbled, though he was eyeing the sausages more than Hedwig. "Pretty… for a bird."
Hedwig gave an indignant flap of her wings, making Rose laugh softly.
"She's not just pretty," Rose said with a grin. "She's the best."
Hedwig gave a soft hoot, as if agreeing with her.
"Right, now let's see what Hagrid wants," Rose said, turning her attention back to the letter.
The evening air was crisp and cool as we made our way down the sloping grounds toward Hagrid's hut. The sun was setting, casting a warm orange glow over the Forbidden Forest in the distance. The grass crunched softly under our feet, and the faint smell of damp earth filled the air.
The door swung open, and there stood Hagrid—his wild beard and shaggy hair looking as untamed as ever. His beetle-black eyes lit up when he saw us.
"Ah! Yeh made it!" he beamed, stepping aside to let us in. "Come in, come in!"
Inside, the hut was warm and cozy, the fire crackling in the hearth. A large copper kettle whistled softly on the stove, and the scent of tea filled the room. But that wasn't all. On the table sat a lumpy, misshapen cake that looked suspiciously like a rock.
Ron grabbed a slice and, with a surprising amount of effort, tried to take a bite. CRUNCH. His teeth barely made a dent.
Ron blinked, his eyes watering slightly. "Delicious," he mumbled through clenched teeth.
Rose covered her mouth to hide her giggle, and Hermione's eyes widened in alarm.
"Ron… are you alright?"
"Peachy," Ron squeaked, still chewing with visible effort.
Trying to spare him from further pain, I quickly diverted attention back to the bundle on the table—a large, black egg.
"Dragon egg," I murmured, and Hagrid puffed out his chest proudly. "Norwegian Ridgeback. Gonna name 'im Norbert."
Ron was still rubbing his jaw when he asked, "Er… how long before it hatches?"
"Couple o' weeks," Hagrid murmured. "Keepin' it warm in the fire."
Ron cleared his throat. "Right, so… what about that… thing on the third floor?"
Hagrid stiffened. "You shouldn' have been there," he muttered.
"Well, it wasn't exactly on purpose!" Ron protested.
"What's he guarding, Hagrid?" Hermione pressed.
"Can't say," he mumbled, suddenly very interested in stirring his tea.
"Does it… have anything to do with—"
"Flamel!" Hagrid blurted out, then clamped his mouth shut, looking horrified.
Silence.
None of us were forgetting that name. Flamel.
I already knew.
But I wasn't going to tell them.
Not yet.
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