The Art of Language
"You believe Albus Dumbledore a word?" Tom said slowly, adding as he looked at Malfoy's exasperated expression.
"However, I didn't say you can't scare Potter. You can mention dragons to him every now and then, as long as you don't tell the professor or anyone else. You can do whatever you want with them."
Malfoy paused for a moment, thought about it, and realized it didn't seem like a bad idea. This way, he could keep Potter under his thumb, which was even better than directly accusing him!
But the thought of not being able to watch Potter be punished openly still made him feel wronged, and he pouted, looking resentful.
But she dared not argue with Tom, and could only swallow her anger, like a wronged little wife.
Under the temptation of "making fun of Harry" and the oppressive power of Tom, Malfoy finally backed down and dejectedly agreed to the rules.
Tom chuckled and patted him on the shoulder, his tone smug. "Discretion is the better part of valor, Draco. You made the right choice."
Malfoy forced a smile that looked more like a grimace, cursing Tom a hundred times over in his mind.
"Don't be so upset," Tom laughed even harder. "You lost the chance to complain and get revenge, but you gained my friendship in return! What a great deal!"
Malfoy nodded repeatedly, feeling relieved.
The seven-day holiday passed in the blink of an eye. On the last night, Daphne took the train back to school and pounced on Tom as soon as she saw him.
A big hug enveloped him, making it hard to breathe. The familiar scent of shampoo filled his nostrils, and Tom squinted comfortably.
The three then slipped into the Room of Requirement, where Daphne excitedly recounted Astoria's recent situation:
After drinking several strength-enhancing potions, their physical strength was now almost the same as that of an ordinary girl, and the two sisters could even ride Flying Broomstick and play wildly in the manor.
But as she spoke, her voice lowered. The medicine was ultimately only a temporary fix; the curse remained, though it was being suppressed for the time being.
Once the effects of the medicine wear off completely, Astoria will revert to her previous sickly state.
Fortunately, the timeframe has been extended considerably, giving them ample time to find a cure.
Hermione comforted Daphne for a few moments, then changed the subject and brought up Hagrid's story about raising a dragon.
"Has he gone mad?" Daphne jumped up in surprise.
Hermione shrugged helplessly. "Harry, Ron, and I have all tried to persuade him, but he's completely stubborn and insists on hatching it. As for whether we'll give it away later, that's still uncertain."
Daphne curled her lip. "Then let them suffer the consequences. The principal will be the one in a mess, not us."
Tom nodded and added, "We can just watch the show. You've never seen a dragon hatch, have you? This is a good opportunity to see it for yourselves."
He had just checked this morning; the dragon egg in the Gubraithian Fire was hopping around every now and then, and it wasn't long before it hatched.
Hermione and Daphne exchanged a glance, their interest instantly piqued. A dragon hatching was not a sight to behold.
Tom was right. On the second morning of school, he and Harry received a note from Hagrid with just four words: "Shelling soon."
Daphne instantly lost all interest in class, becoming restless throughout the entire History of Magic lesson, glancing out the window every few seconds in the direction of Hagrid's Hut, afraid of missing a crucial moment.
As soon as the school bell rang, she grabbed Tom and rushed out, with Hermione close behind. They ran all the way out of the castle and headed straight for Hagrid's Hut.
Just as eager as they were were Harry and Ron, who had just come out of the greenhouse.
The door to Hagrid's Hut was ajar. Tom pushed it open and went inside, a wave of heat hitting him.
"Tom! You're here!" Hagrid crouched in front of the fireplace, his face showing the expression of a first-time father. "Look, it's almost out!"
Hagrid told Harry and Ron that after Tom found out he was raising a dragon, he offered Tom materials and the promise that he could come see the dragon anytime to keep it a secret.
This person is a master of language, turning being passively caught into an active transaction, instantly making it less shameful.
Harry and Tom's relationship was fairly normal; if Ron hadn't been there, they might have been able to chat for a bit, but Ron was the biggest troublemaker.
Ron had been gossiping behind Hermione's back about her close relationship with Slytherin, and now seeing Hermione standing with Daphne Tom, he rolled his eyes even more.
Hagrid, completely oblivious to the eerie atmosphere, stared expectantly at Tom: "I heard the eggshell crack this morning, can we take the egg out now?"
Tom waved his wand, Gubraithian Fire seemed to be sucked into the tip of the wand.
Hagrid quickly brought over a tray and placed the dragon egg on the table. The sight made Hermione and Daphne's lips twitch; it looked like they were about to have a meal.
Tom walked over, squatted down, and looked at the dragon egg. The crack was getting bigger and bigger, and the little dragon's claws stretched out from inside, grabbed the edge of the eggshell, and pushed hard.
The eggshell broke, and a wet little dragon landed on the dining table. It was blackish-green all over, with a row of pale yellow spines on its back. Its eyes were not yet open, and its mouth opened and closed, making a soft chirping sound.
Hermione and Daphne frowned almost simultaneously, their faces full of disgust: This little dragon is so ugly! It's all wrinkled and black, like a crumpled black umbrella.
Its body and wings were disproportionate, not even ugly-cute, and it had some disgusting little bumps on its body, which they didn't like.
"Norwegian Ridgeback," Tom nodded. "Good quality."
Hagrid carefully picked up the little dragon and placed it in a basket lined with a blanket. The little dragon curled up into a ball, its wings pressed against its body, like a newly hatched chick.
"Isn't it absolutely beautiful? It's perfect! I have to name it." Hagrid's eyes sparkled. "How about we call it Norbert?"
As Hagrid spoke, he reached out to touch the little dragon's head, but the little guy snarled and dodged away, spitting out sparks from its nose.
Hagrid was at a loss for what to do, but the next second, the little dragon clumsily turned around, his eyes fell on Tom, he crawled forward two steps, and then yelped and shrank back.
It huddled with its head covered by its wings, trembling, its expression of wanting to get close yet not daring to, leaving everyone bewildered.
Tom reached out and scooped up the little dragon, cradling it in his arms and kneading it. Despite its ugly appearance, it felt like a soft, fluffy ball of flesh, with soft, pliable scales—surprisingly, it felt quite nice to the touch.
The little dragon, who was initially trembling with fear, gradually realized that Tom meant no harm and completely relaxed, even purring comfortably as Tom ravaged it.
Tom knew perfectly well: he had killed a Hungarian Horntail and had the mark of a dragon slayer on him. Back then, after Andros killed two fire dragons, the other fire dragons fled in terror from hundreds of kilometers away.
The little dragon wanted to get close to him because he was the one who set off the Gubraithian Fire, which contained his magic, making him like a "half-mother" to the little dragon.
The combination of these two opposing forces created this contradictory scene.