Ron scrambled to his feet with Harry's help, turning in circles as he brushed snow mixed with grass roots off himself. He said in frustration:
"Mate, I'm not a dragon. How would I know-oh, heavens, that dragon's still glaring at me! What did I ever do to upset her?
"Oh, is she looking at my pocket-ah! I've got it, Harry. That stupid dragon must have smelled Scabbers on me!"
Yes, although Hagrid had restrained Norberta, she was still staring fixedly at Ron's chest-to be precise, at the breast pocket of his robes. The pocket was empty now, but Ron's rat Scabbers usually liked resting there.
Without waiting for Harry's reply, Ron offered further compelling evidence for his discovery.
He pointed to his "right arm, which still looked a size larger than his left even now"-it still bore the marks of Norberta's last bite-and said with certainty:
"That must be it. Scabbers is a rat-he might be old and ugly, but that's only to people judging him as a 'pet.' In a dragon's world, all rats are delicious food! Scabbers was crawling on my right arm before I went out last time, so he bit my right arm!"
"I think you're right, Ron." Harry patted Ron's shoulder in celebration, delighted by his friend's discovery. "The dragon doesn't hate you!"
"Yes! I should have known that ages ago. The model dragon Charlie sent me has always liked me!"
Ron said proudly,
"I'm definitely telling Hermione about this, so she knows I really didn't provoke the dragon that day and gives me a proper apology-I hope she's still fiddling with that S.P.E.W. society thing in the common room."
Hagrid blinked his wet eyes, kissed Norberta, and said sentimentally:
"Good girl, I knew yeh didn't attack Ron on purpose! Wonderful, Ron. Now yeh ought