Harry and Ron had classes the next morning, so they obediently (under duress) returned to their dormitory to sleep. Hagrid said he really could not bring himself to see Norberta off in person, so Brian floated the dragon shipping crate up to Hogwarts' high terrace alone.
As soon as he stepped onto it, he saw a young witch with long brown curls and Traveling Robes sitting cross-legged on a fluffy Rabbit Fur Blanket as though she were on holiday, drinking hot tea and waving enthusiastically at him.
"Miss Targaryen?" Brian asked softly, carefully setting the crate down to avoid waking Norberta inside.
"That's right, that's me. Just call me Targaryen. Ah, you're not Hagrid, are you? Ha, I bet you want to ask me,
"'Why are you so sure?' I'll tell you right now-because when I saw you, I felt absolutely no desire to ride you."
Targaryen was a witch who could certainly be described as beautiful. Her fair face glowed in the moonlight, and her long eyelashes were like ripples on water in spring. But she was also exactly as Charlie had described her in his letter-"efficient, rather talkative,
"speaks extremely quickly, likes to say shocking things."
"Oh, sir, don't misunderstand. I simply have a hobby of 'trying to tame every large creature.' That's also the most important reason I became a dragon researcher.
"Of course, my father being a dragon researcher had a great deal to do with my choosing this path, and even with my developing certain unusual interests. Speaking of my father, although he's a somewhat well-known scholar in the field, his personal life is an absolute disaster. He's a complete scoundrel, which is precisely why Mother ambushed him with a curse. Oh, sorry, I may have wandered off topic. Anyway, Charlie told me that Hagrid