Chapter 38
In the week since Norma hatched, Harry and Ron had ended up far more exhausted than Gray.
There was no helping it. Unlike Gray, they couldn't finish their homework at lightning speed. With exams approaching, Hermione had drawn up strict revision schedules for them, and she refused to let them leave until everything was done.
So they were forced to squeeze every last drop of brainpower, trying to make their minds work faster so they could finish and finally go see Norma.
Hermione couldn't quite understand the boys' obsession with the dragon. She thought Norma was adorable too, and holding her was genuinely pleasant, but she didn't spend every waking moment thinking about her—or lose focus in class the way Harry and Ron sometimes did.
As for Gray—well, there was no point even mentioning him. He was perfectly attentive during lessons, but the moment class ended he vanished. He didn't even return to the Gryffindor common room; he went straight to Hagrid's hut.
Hermione had once worried that Gray might start spending nights in the hut, curled up with Norma, but mercifully that hadn't happened.
In the Gryffindor common room, Ron and Harry sat across from Hermione, staring at her pleadingly.
Hermione held their homework in her hands. She frowned as she read, then closed her eyes and let out a heavy sigh, as though she were enduring actual physical pain.
"Hermione, come on, isn't that enough?" Ron squirmed in his seat. He was dying to bolt for Hagrid's hut, but he didn't dare. "If we're any later, Norma's going to start without us."
"If she ever stops helping us with homework, imagine what our marks would look like," he added silently.
"Your work isn't even serious," Hermione finally snapped. "The dissolution of the Werewolf Council in 1429? The Werewolf Council hadn't even been formed in 1429! What were you thinking, Ron?"
She turned to Harry. "And you're not much better. The purpose of the Werewolf Council was to ensure peaceful coexistence with wizarding society—not to conquer the world and turn everyone into werewolves. Did you copy the plot of some novel and paste it in?"
Harry's face flushed with shame.
The essays were so badly mangled that it looked as though the two of them had decided to rewrite history entirely.
"Please, Hermione," Ron begged, "can't we talk about this later tonight? Norma won't wait for us."
Harry nodded frantically in agreement—until Hermione shot him a glare.
"It's just breathing fire. What's so exciting about it?" she said, trying to sound indifferent.
"But you finished your homework faster than we did," Harry muttered.
Hermione's own work lay neatly stacked beside her, but the handwriting was noticeably less careful and precise than usual.
Her cheeks reddened. "I always work at this speed," she insisted.
Still, she no longer had the heart to lecture them. With a sigh she set their essays aside and gave a small nod.
"But," she added sternly, "you are going to redo these properly tonight. I refuse to see two giant 'D's on your work tomorrow."
"Promise," Ron said immediately, already scrambling to his feet. Harry hurried after him.
Hermione sighed again and followed.
The three of them arrived at Hagrid's hut. Gray was already seated inside, holding a chunk of deep-red stone that carried a faint smell of sulphur.
Norma lay sprawled across the table, both front claws pinning a rock-skin biscuit between them while she tore into it with sharp teeth. Crumbs flew everywhere, scattering across the tabletop.
In just a few days her body had grown again. She was now three times longer than when she first hatched—no longer a large cat that could be cradled in someone's arms, but closer in size to a large dog with a mouthful of dangerous teeth.
When the three newcomers entered, Gray gave them a brief nod and returned to studying the stone in his hand. Hagrid, meanwhile, greeted them cheerfully.
"Hey! You finally made it! This little one's growing so fast—if you'd come any later you might've missed it."
Hagrid's body bore even more marks now: his arms were covered in bite marks of every size, a living record of Norma's growth. Yet his black-beetle eyes shone brighter than ever—perhaps brighter than a week ago.
If anyone had measured Hagrid's height, they would have been astonished to find he had gained nearly five centimetres in the past week. On his massive frame the change was almost imperceptible, so no one had noticed.
Gray, however, could see that Hagrid's life-force circuits glowed more intensely and had grown more intricate, sprouting new patterns that hadn't been there before.
"Just in time," Ron panted, grinning. "I thought we'd miss it."
Fred and George had never seen anything like this—they hadn't even seen a real dragon.
But he, Ron Weasley, had helped raise one.
Ron took a couple of eager steps forward, wanting a closer look, but Norma immediately lifted her head, growled low in her throat, and bared her teeth.
Ron retreated hastily to stand beside Gray.
Fine. Helping raise her still counted. Yesterday's batch of chicken-blood brandy had been his recipe, after all.
"When does it start?" Hermione asked calmly. She walked over to Norma without hesitation and stroked the top of her head.
Norma stretched her long neck and nuzzled gently into Hermione's arms.
She had grown accustomed to Hermione's scent and no longer needed the magical-circuit bracelet to guide her.
As for Harry and Ron—Gray had no intention of putting magical-circuit bracelets on them, no matter how much they adored Norma.
Some boundaries were best left intact.
"In about ten minutes," Gray replied. Motes of light floated into the air before him. "Once her fire glands are fully developed."
He set the fire-stone down beside him and switched to his magical sight to examine Norma.
Her development was even more advanced than he had expected. He had originally thought it would be another week before she needed to swallow a fire-stone and produce her first real flames.
But the constant roughhousing with Hagrid had accelerated growth for both of them. Norma's body was stronger than the average hatchling's, and her fire glands were maturing ahead of schedule.
Through his magical vision, Gray could see that her body now hosted far more magical circuits—many of them so intricate and complex that he could neither understand nor replicate them.
At her throat, a new circuit was forming at astonishing speed. In roughly ten minutes it would be complete.
That was the location of the fire glands. Once they were fully developed and filled with combustible material, Norma would swallow the fire-stone to stimulate them, igniting her first true burst of flame.
For a dragon, that first breath of fire was a critical milestone—the dividing line between hatchling and juvenile. It would shape her future development.
Fire was also the most common weapon in dragon disputes. The strength of a dragon's flame directly reflected the quality of its fire glands—and the better the glands, the stronger and healthier the dragon overall.
In some dragon clans, the leader was chosen by whose fire burned hottest and longest. Most clans, however, still settled dominance the old-fashioned way: through sheer physical combat.
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