Dragon Egg

Chapter 26

The Weasley brothers joked and bantered, returning to the common room in no time.

Harry suspected that the secret passage might have lasted a few more years—if only the two of them could walk like normal people.

Ron was squatting by the entrance, waiting expectantly.

"Harry, did you get the stuff?" Seeing them walk in, he couldn't wait to ask.

Harry kept a straight face and handed over a large bag of sweets: "Here, take it."

Ron reached out and took it, looking bewildered.

No...

That wasn't what he meant.

George teased: "Our little Ronnie is still just a baby who loves his desserts."

"Dumbledore likes sweets too." Ron didn't deny it, casually grabbing someone else to act as his shield.

Fred shook his head: "But he is Dumbledore."

George chimed in: "And you are just a Flobberworm-level baby Ronnie."

Ron flicked his hand and strode over to Harry's side: "Harry, I mean, the thing we talked about..."

Harry took off his hat and placed it on the chair by the fireplace: "Wait a moment, I have something to ask it."

"Thank you, it's freezing out there," the Sorting Hat shivered. "That's much more comfortable."

Harry pulled up a chair and sat down: "I discovered a problem today."

The Sorting Hat glanced at him, waiting for the question, its pointed tip drooping as it toasted itself comfortably by the fire.

"The man whose hands I severed—the wound showed the effects of the Blade Oil I used last time," Harry said. "Except he's human, and the oil shouldn't have worked on him."

"I remember wiping the blade clean."

The Sorting Hat spoke lazily: "It can absorb certain liquids, along with the magical effects carried within the blood."

"For instance, your Blade Oil."

"You never told me that." Harry reached into the hat and pulled out a bottle of Ogre Oil—he had brewed this himself, and now he felt like he was taking a loss.

The Sorting Hat was righteous: "You never asked."

"How long does it last?" Harry asked seriously.

The Sorting Hat thought for a while: "Ten years, maybe twenty. It's been a long time since I've seen that effect trigger."

"When Dumbledore first drew this sword, he was already over sixty, and he never used it."

"Are there any other effects?" Harry asked again.

The Sorting Hat was smug: "Of course. It can cut through water and fire, and it can even grant immunity to certain spells. After all, Gryffindor used this sword to fight against wizards, too."

Harry was somewhat amazed. The best weapon he had ever used could only amplify the effects of an Aard Sign—a gift Lambert had brought back for him.

The effect that satisfied him most, without a doubt, was its ability to absorb Blade Oil.

It saved money.

How much longer could he keep fleecing Hagrid? Seven years at most...

Harry stood up and patted Ron on the shoulder: "Let's go, we're heading out."

"Where to? Hogsmeade?" Ron asked, excited.

Harry glanced at him: "To find Hagrid. I didn't get what I needed."

"They didn't have it in Hogsmeade either?" Ron followed behind Harry. "Should we send a letter and have Hermione try?"

"Hermione doesn't have the money," Harry shook his head.

Ron blinked: "I thought she had plenty; she buys so many books."

"She comes from a non-wizarding family," Harry climbed out of the common room. "The amount of Galleons she can exchange each year is limited."

"Besides, she's too young. That item is contraband; we ran into a swindler the moment we got to Hogsmeade."

Ron was curious: "A swindler?"

Harry recounted the story slowly, and it wasn't until they reached the door of Hagrid's hut, under Ron's persistent questioning, that he finished.

"That's amazing," Ron's eyes were full of envy.

A simple little wizard out for a stroll, encountering a ruthless and vicious dark wizard, and finally defeating the dark wizard through the little wizard's own wit.

What a fairy-tale experience.

Why didn't those two wretched brothers take him along? Otherwise, he would be clinging to Harry's leg right now... oh, wait, no, he would be one of the heroic little wizards.

Harry knocked on the door. Fang lunged out first, but upon seeing who it was, he immediately tucked his tail, let out a whimper, and scurried back into the hut.

"Harry? How come you're here..." Hagrid was a bit surprised. "Oh, it's not that I don't welcome you, I just didn't expect it."

"Merry Christmas," Harry offered his greetings, skipping the small talk and getting straight to the point: "I have something I need your help with."

Hagrid welcomed them in: "What is it?"

"I need Bicorn horn powder and African Tree Snake skin. Do you have any?" Harry asked.

Hagrid shook his head: "Why would you want those? They're all contraband."

Harry didn't beat around the bush, being perfectly sincere: "The first trial of Gryffindor requires them."

"The trial of Gryffindor?" Hagrid's eyes widened. "Oh, right, you pulled the Sword of Gryffindor when you entered school. I don't have those things on hand right now."

Ron looked disappointed.

"But I'm going to Diagon Alley tomorrow to buy some potion to clear out Doxy," Hagrid changed his tune. "I can go and check for you. You know, there are always some wizards who deal in that sort of business."

Harry pulled twenty Galleons from his pocket and placed them on the table: "Thank you, Hagrid."

"No, no money." Hagrid blushed and waved his hands frantically.

Harry shook his head: "This isn't for you; it's for the people selling these things."

Friendship shouldn't be tainted by money. No matter how good the relationship between members of the Wolf School was, matters involving commissions were always settled clearly—mooching drinks didn't count, that was a different story.

Hagrid nodded reluctantly and patted his chest with a thud: "Alright, don't worry. I'll make sure to get them for you at the fairest price."

They chatted with Hagrid for a while longer.

Harry and Ron left, politely declining a bag of Rock Cakes—food that even a Witcher was helpless against.

It wasn't until the Christmas holidays were nearly over.

That Hagrid finally sent an owl to Harry.

"Did you get the items?" Harry hurried through the door, asking the moment he entered.

Hagrid was hesitant. He pointed to the table, where a wooden box sat alongside eighteen gold Galleons and a pile of silver Sickles: "I only managed to get the African Tree Snake skin. There was no Bicorn horn powder."

Harry picked up the box and opened it. The dark, bruised-looking snake skin was very fresh; it had been peeled less than a month ago.

"Thank you, Hagrid." Harry's expression was serious. "You've already solved half the trouble for me."

Hagrid pushed the money back toward Harry: "I have an idea about the Bicorn horn powder, too. There are some in the Forbidden Forest, though they're a bit mischievous."

"And with the snow so deep right now, it might not be easy to find them. I'll need some time."

Harry smiled slightly: "No rush. I'm only in my first year; I still have six and a half years left."

Hagrid was stunned: "Harry, you should smile more. You look just like your mother when you do."

The Christmas holidays ended quickly.

The first thing Hermione did upon returning to Hogwarts was to find Harry. Upon learning that he had already obtained the formula for Polyjuice Potion and was only missing the final ingredient—the Bicorn horn powder—her expression turned inexplicably melancholy.

"How long will it take Hagrid to get it?" Hermione asked, clutching her books and reading through data on Bicorns. "That's a 'XXXX' rated dangerous creature."

"I recall he isn't exactly a qualified wizard?"

"Don't worry, Hagrid can handle it." Harry waved his hand. "He's very strong. At the very least, the Troll I dealt with was no match for him."

Hermione remained frowning: "Should we go steal some from Snape's storeroom?"

"I told you, that would be the easiest way." Seeing someone suggest the same thing he had, Ron put his hands on his hips.

Harry shook his head: "That is the final resort."

Hagrid's efficiency this time was much slower than Harry had anticipated.

By the time February arrived.

There was still no news from him.

Harry couldn't wait any longer; he decided to go ask in person.

As soon as Friday's classes ended and they had finished lunch, they hurried toward Hagrid's hut.

When they were nearly at the house, Harry stopped and frowned.

"What's wrong?" Hermione asked.

Harry drew his wand: "Something isn't right."

Despite the warming weather, the house was locked tight with the curtains drawn. Furthermore, the temperature inside was stiflingly hot; standing this far away, he could already feel a wave of heat hitting his face.

Hermione and Ron didn't dare speak. Holding their breath, they followed Harry as he walked slowly to the door.

Knock, knock—

Harry rapped on the door: "Hagrid, are you home?"

A muffled response came from inside: "Who is it?"

It was Hagrid's voice, and he sounded perfectly healthy, which made Harry breathe a sigh of relief: "It's me, Harry."

"Wait a moment." Hagrid's response suddenly turned panicked. After a long while, he opened the door to let them in.

It was even hotter inside; the fire in the hearth was burning more fiercely than it had in the dead of winter.

"Harry, you'll have to wait a bit longer." Hagrid muttered. "I haven't..."

Harry ignored him, walking straight to the fireplace and stopping: "There's an egg in the hearth, Hagrid. Is this your lunch? That's a truly crude way to cook it."

"Oh... this, um... it's an egg of a very cute creature." Hagrid spoke in a fidgety, somewhat flustered manner, "I'm trying to hatch it."

"Is it a dragon egg?" Hermione blurted out, "I've read in books that only certain types of dragon eggs require this kind of incubation."

Ron raised his voice, exclaiming, "A dragon egg?"

"Hagrid, raising dragons is illegal! Private dragon breeding was banned as far back as the 1709 Wizards' Convention."

Hermione glanced at Ron in surprise—she hadn't even known that; Ron, who only ever slept through History of Magic, was actually speaking with such authority.

"My brother Charlie works with dragons in Romania." Ron scratched his cheek.

Harry felt the surging life force and magical aura emanating from the dragon egg; it was a top-tier material.

"Where did you get it? Was it when you were helping me buy African Tree Snake skin?" Harry resisted the urge to reach out and turned to ask.

Hagrid tugged at his beard: "No, it was just a few nights ago. I was drinking in Hogsmeade and thought I'd ask around if anyone had any Bicorn horn powder for you."

"A stranger came over to play cards with me, and after a few rounds, he put the dragon egg up as a wager—honestly, the man was desperate to get rid of it."

Harry stood up and raised an eyebrow: "Wagering with a dragon egg? Was there anyone else besides you?"

Hagrid shook his head: "No, just the two of us. A dragon egg is far too conspicuous."

"Tell me in detail about that night." Harry walked back to Hagrid's side and sat down.