"…Hagrid got the dragon egg during the Christmas holidays. He said he won it from a Greek trader, but now that I think about it, that trader was Quirrell in disguise!"
Hermione recounted Norbert's origins with indignation.
Harry pushed up his glasses, adding grimly, "Hagrid wouldn't tell us anything about Nicolas Flamel or Fluffy, but a few whiskeys in, and he spills everything to a stranger!"
"Sorry…" Hagrid hung his head in shame.
"…"
If you lot had tried whiskey, you could've gotten the same answers, Melvin thought, tempted to defend Hagrid.
The heavy wooden door creaked open a sliver, and Melvin peeked inside. His eyes immediately landed on the dragon hatchling in the center of the room.
Norbert was about three or four feet long, with orange-red eyes that protruded slightly, glinting with a hint of wildness. Its lean frame was covered in glossy black scales that shimmered with a faint blue metallic sheen under the candlelight. Sparse, rounded spines lined its back, still short and blunt. Its throat and vocal cords were underdeveloped, producing a hoarse, cat-like hiss.
The floor was littered with bloodstained chicken feathers, and wooden buckets sat in the corner. The room reeked of a complex, pungent odor—a mix of faint blood, poultry droppings, and the sharp tang of brandy.
As they entered, Norbert whipped its head toward them, baring its teeth. Though only weeks old, its sharp fangs were already formidable. Its nostrils flared, exhaling hot air and a whiff of sulfur.
Nearly every piece of furniture bore the dragon's bite marks.
Ron grimaced, and Fang whimpered softly, both stepping back slightly.
"Isn't he beautiful? His name's Norbert," Hagrid said proudly, beaming at them.
The young wizards didn't see what there was to be proud of, their faces scrunched in distaste, eager to resolve this mess quickly.
"The moment he broke out of his shell, he saw me and took me for his mum," Hagrid said, chuckling as he reached to pat Norbert's head. But the dragon had no interest in playing along, snapping at him. Hagrid, quick on his feet, yanked his hand back just in time, the dragon's teeth clacking together in a cringe-inducing snap.
"Norbert bit Hagrid the first time he saw him. Hagrid thought it was affection, but really, his teeth just weren't sharp enough yet," Hermione whispered. Harry nodded silently.
Hagrid, narrowly escaping a bite, rubbed his hands together sheepishly. "Norbert's a good lad, usually sweet-tempered. He's just hungry now, a bit cranky."
"…"
"Easy, Norbert, don't fuss. Mummy's getting your milk ready."
"…"
Melvin and the three students watched as Hagrid got to work. He'd found the dragon's milk formula in a book: one bucket of chicken blood to three buckets of brandy, with dead rats as supplemental food once its teeth sprouted.
Hagrid effortlessly hefted a stone vat as tall as half his body to Norbert's side, grabbed a bucket of chicken blood from the corner, and twisted open several bottles of expired brandy from the Hog's Head, pouring them in with both hands. The liquid gurgled into the vat.
Soon, the room's stench intensified, the alcohol fumes stinging their eyes.
Hagrid's talent for raising dangerous creatures rivaled Riddle's knack for dark magic. The crude mix of chicken blood and brandy was rough, but the moment Norbert caught the scent, its eyes lit up. It spat a spark, scrambled forward, flapped its wings, and leapt onto the vat, plunging its head in to drink eagerly.
Slurp… slurp…
The scene was a bit gory, blood dripping everywhere.
"…"
Melvin's lips twitched as he cast a Bubble-Head Charm on himself, watching the dragon feed with interest.
According to The Dragon Breeder's Manual, dragons matured around two years old. Hatchlings typically produced their first sparks at six months, often with thick gray smoke. Flight came later, around ten months, or a year for slower ones.
Norbert, just two weeks old, was already showing sparks and flight attempts—a sign of great potential and Hagrid's excellent care.
Then, something unexpected happened.
Perhaps overexcited from too much brandy, Norbert grew restless, flapping its wings wildly. Unable to fly properly, it lost balance and plunged headfirst into the vat.
The chicken blood and brandy didn't drown it but made it more frenzied. It thrashed, splashing the mixture everywhere, filling the room with a potent blood-and-alcohol reek.
As Norbert's nostrils flared, choking on the sticky liquid, it spasmed, coughing from the discomfort and spraying sulfurous smoke.
Melvin quickly conjured a protective iron shield bubble. The three young wizards stood frozen, watching as Norbert's cough ignited the vat in a flash.
A faint but scorching dragon flame erupted from its throat, setting the nearby liquid ablaze. Luckily, the Hog's Head's cheap brandy, diluted with blood, burned out quickly. Only the vat's contents roared with flame.
Unfazed by fire, Norbert coughed twice, then reveled in the alcohol's thrill, its wings vibrating powerfully.
The vat became a giant alcohol lamp, with Norbert as the wick, lighting the hut like a beacon.
"Aaaah!" Ron screamed, frantically checking himself for burns.
"Quiet," Harry said, clamping a hand over his mouth.
"It almost burned the whole hut down!"
"I saw."
Harry had to shout several times to calm him.
No one was hurt. The students were far from the dragon and close to Melvin, protected by his shield.
Only Hagrid, standing nearby, had half his beard and hair singed, looking utterly disheveled.
The room smelled of charred feathers, like roasting poultry over a fire—smoky but less nauseating.
Hagrid stood dumbfounded.
Hermione's face was taut, her expression grim. Taking a deep breath to quell her nausea, she said, "Hagrid, you can't keep raising it. You have to send Norbert away—now."
"I can't abandon him…" Hagrid muttered, avoiding their eyes. "Norbert's too young to hunt or survive alone in the wild."
"Get a grip, Hagrid!" Hermione snapped, raising her voice. "He's stronger than Fang already, flying and breathing fire. If anything can't survive, it's the animals that cross its path."
"I'm not abandoning Norbert!" Hagrid insisted stubbornly.
Harry sided with Hermione. "Malfoy's already onto him. Do you want to get sacked?"
"No need to worry about Draco," Melvin interjected, clearing his throat. "He plans to use this to earn Neville's forgiveness, so he won't snitch."
Hermione glared at the professor. Whose side are you on?
"But I have to be clear, Hagrid," Melvin continued, his voice gentle but firm, resonating in the hut. "As early as 1709, the Warlock's Convention banned private dragon breeding. Later, Newt Scamander's Dragon Protection Act barred any wizard or unofficial group from hatching or raising dragons for any reason. You've probably broken hundreds of laws."
Hagrid stood silent, rooted to the spot.
"You know how fast dragons grow. In two weeks, Norbert will outgrow you. In two months, he'll be bigger than this hut. The Forbidden Forest can't hide a dragon. It'll need to hunt, fly, and breathe fire—it's in its nature."
Melvin paused. "If it hurts a student, even just singes a robe and scares someone, the Department for the Regulation and Control of Magical Creatures will send an executioner to chop off its head."
Hagrid's massive frame swayed slightly.
"And you, the gamekeeper who raised it, already have a record from your school days for keeping dangerous creatures. If you're lucky, you'll face a fine and lose your job at Hogwarts. If not, it's Azkaban for you, raising Dementors on some island.
"And Dumbledore, who vouched for you, will be seen as a poor judge of character, mismanaging the school and endangering students. He'll lose his position as Headmaster, maybe even be struck from the Wizengamot. The once-respected legendary wizard will be just a confused old man."
Hagrid's face went pale.
Harry and Ron fell silent, finding Professor Levent's calm severity scarier than McGonagall's.
Hermione, head tilted slightly, watched with gleaming eyes. The professor's methodical, fact-based persuasion, shaking Hagrid to his core, left a deep impression. She'd heard him lecture before, but this carried a profound weight.
"I… I didn't mean for this…" Hagrid's voice cracked, tears welling up. He couldn't stay stubborn now.
Harry, close to Hagrid, felt a pang seeing him like this and spoke up. "Sir, can you help us?"
"Honestly, I'd rather not," Melvin said, spreading his hands. "Everyone must pay for their mistakes. Hagrid was expelled from Hogwarts for keeping dangerous creatures, and Dumbledore gave him a second chance. Yet decades later, he still hasn't learned to channel his passions properly."
Hagrid sniffled, tears streaming down his cheeks.
Melvin pressed on. "He hasn't matured—worse, he's picked up a drinking habit, leaking secrets to the Dark Lord and nearly getting Harry killed. Maybe he needs to face the consequences to grow."
"Waaah…" The nearly ten-foot half-giant broke down, sobbing, tears and snot dripping into his tangled beard. "I'll go to Azkaban if I have to, but I don't want to drag Dumbledore down!"
The students' throats tightened, hearts heavy.
"Professor…" Hermione tugged at Melvin's sleeve.
"What?" Melvin looked down. "Don't you think he should take responsibility?"
"He should—absolutely," Hermione said, steeling herself. "But he hasn't made an irreparable mistake yet, and he knows he's wrong. He'll learn from this. Please, help him."
"Really?" Melvin asked, feigning doubt.
Hagrid wiped his nose, nodding vigorously. "Yes!"
Melvin pretended to ponder, then made a reluctant decision. "Fine, for your sakes, I'll help."
Cheers erupted. Harry and Ron rushed to comfort Hagrid, who wiped his face, smearing snot on his leather vest, a relieved smile breaking through.
Melvin felt a twinge of guilt. "But this help comes with conditions."
The cheers quieted. The trio looked puzzled. "What conditions, Professor?"
Melvin eyed the students. "You'll sign an agreement to… not sell out, but star in my film."
"Huh?"
The dragon hatchling lay sprawled on the round table, its head dangling over the edge, its nictitating membranes half-open, half-closed, with half its tongue lolling out. Gone was its earlier ferocity. Its chest rose and fell steadily, its breath long and heavy with the strong scent of alcohol. Occasionally, it sneezed, sparks shooting from its nostrils.
Its claws scraped the tabletop now and then, sending wood shavings fluttering down.
Hagrid's face still bore dried tear stains. Watching Norbert's lazy slumber, his heart melted, though he didn't dare show it.
Fang lay curled under the table, staring at his own paws, lost in thought.
The young wizards sat around the table. Hermione carefully read through the contract Professor Levent provided. Harry quietly explained to Ron what a movie was, occasionally pulling Hagrid into the conversation to talk about the Memory Mirror.
Older students had seen it in Hogsmeade on weekends, but these first-years, too young to go, relied on secondhand stories.
"Professor, didn't we already sign a contract before?" Harry asked softly.
"That was for the Quidditch matches. This is for a film," Melvin replied patiently, answering every question. "I plan to adapt your experiences for a worldwide wizarding audience. Don't worry, we'll consult you on the content and only release it with your agreement."
The young wizards fell silent, suspecting the professor always found a way to get their "agreement."
"And the payment's quite generous."
"…"
Though it felt a bit off, Harry and the others had no other way to save Hagrid. They quickly signed the contracts—three copies each, one for themselves, two returned to the professor.
"And yours, Hagrid."
"Huh? Oh!" Hagrid complied eagerly.
Melvin collected the contracts, pleased with the outcome. He'd helped Hagrid, achieved his own goals, and even handled some professor training for Dumbledore—a win-win for everyone.
Hmm, I should get Dumbledore to sign one too.
Call it compensation for all the overtime.
read more inpatreon
ilham20