Hagrid’s hut was surprisingly cozy—embers in the hearth were still glowing faintly. I tossed in a couple of logs and a resin-coated firelighter, then gave it a few puffs with the bellows lying nearby. Soon enough, the flames sprang to life, crackling merrily.

"Seriously, Weasley, why all the effort?" Malfoy sneered from the doorway. "You a wizard or a Muggle? Could’ve just used magic." Clearly, the prat had gotten over his earlier fright and was back to his usual snide self, probably hoping I’d forget the part where he’d been terrified.

"This isn’t my house, Malfoy," I said evenly, shifting the kettle on its hook closer to the flames. "If Hagrid prefers doing things this way, who am I to tell him otherwise? And, for your information, you don’t light proper logs with magical fire—it burns through too fast. And magical fire doesn’t even need logs, does it?"

"Fascinating, Weasley," Malfoy muttered, wrapping his robes tighter around himself as he leaned against the doorframe. His gaze flicked around the hut, taking in the clutter. "So, what? Planning to replace that oaf as gamekeeper someday? Although, knowing you, you’d probably enjoy the job. And this shack’s probably a step up from the hovel your family crams into."

"Malfoy," I replied, still calm, though my tone sharpened slightly, "you clearly haven’t grasped how deep in the muck you are. Insulting the bloke who just saved you from a stroll through the Forbidden Forest? Not smart. Keep pushing, and I’ll shoot red sparks into the air. Hagrid will come back, and you can have that lovely walk after all."

"You wouldn’t dare," he said, his voice shaky as he turned pale. "If you do, I’ll tell everyone about the egg."

"What’s there to tell if you don’t actually know anything?" I smirked, setting out mugs and giving them a quick wipe to make sure they were clean. "Now, I’m waiting—for an apology and some basic manners."

"Malfoys don’t apologize. Or give thanks," he said stiffly, which would’ve sounded grand if it weren’t for his wide, fear-filled eyes and the white-knuckled grip he had on the doorframe.

"In that case," I said with a grin, yanking the door open, "I think you’d better continue that noble tradition outside. Care to step out on your own, or shall I give you a hand, your highness?"

Malfoy glanced at the dark forest beyond the doorway, swallowed hard, and clung tighter to the doorframe. Somewhere out in the trees, a mournful howl echoed, and a bird flapped noisily overhead.

"Close it! Close it, you idiot!" he hissed, darting toward me and grabbing my sleeve in a panic. The second I shut the door, he let go, scowling furiously.

"Let’s call it a truce, Malfoy," I said as I calmly returned to setting the table. "Sit down and have a bite."

He cast another disgusted look around the hut, his gaze lingering on the pheasant carcasses hanging from the beams, before perching gingerly on the very edge of a stool.

"What’s that?" he asked, wide-eyed, pointing at the pickled apples I was eating. "You eat that rot?"

"Pickled apples, you git," I laughed. "And they’re delicious. Probably the only decent food in this place besides the honey. Go on, try one."

Malfoy hesitantly poked one with his finger, licked the juice cautiously, then bit into it. A moment later, he was onto his third, sipping tea in between bites.

"Not bad," he admitted grudgingly.

"So, Draco," I began casually, "how’d you know Potter was going to be on the tower that night? Were you spying?"

"Hardly," he sniffed. "I overheard Granger in the library. She talks too loud."

"In the library, eh?" I teased. "I’ll have to remind her to keep it down before Madam Pince throws her out. But what about you? Why didn’t you go straight to a professor or set Filch on him like usual?"

"And what if I didn’t want to?" he snapped, his eyes narrowing. "I wanted to catch Potter myself, alright? Get him expelled. I’ve got a broom too, but am I allowed? No. And he just flies about whenever he pleases."

"Not a great plan," I said seriously, setting my mug down. "You do realize they’ll never expel Potter, don’t you? He could blow up the Astronomy Tower, and they’d still let him stay. He’s the national hero and all that—a tragic orphan with famous parents. Tonight, you know what would’ve happened? We’d have gone into the forest, but not all together. Too much noise. Hagrid would’ve split us up. Kept Potter with him, of course, because someone’s got to babysit the hero. You and me? We’d get Fang, who’s about as useful as a chocolate cauldron when it comes to danger."

"No way," Malfoy whispered, his face pale again.

"Way," I said, nodding grimly. "I’ve known Hagrid for years. And I’ve learned that sticking close to Harry is dangerous. If things go south, they’ll save him first, not me, and definitely not you. You’re special to your lot, sure, but the Weasleys have enough kids that one less wouldn’t matter much."

"And you’re still friends with him?" Malfoy asked, genuinely surprised.

"Why not?" I shrugged. "Harry’s a decent bloke. I don’t meddle in his adventures—like tonight, as you saw. But here’s the thing, Draco," I said, my tone turning serious. "Stop tailing him. Got it? If you don’t want to get hurt, leave him alone. Play it smart. Be a Slytherin. You’re acting more like a Gryffindor, and that’s just embarrassing. Sometimes, I think you and Harry are two sides of the same coin."

"Not likely," Malfoy muttered, rolling a rock-hard scone across the table and avoiding my gaze.

For a while, we sat in silence, sipping our tea. In the dim light, the hut felt almost like something out of a fairy tale.

"Weasley," Malfoy broke the quiet, his curiosity clearly getting the better of him, "what’s the story with the egg?"

"Ah, nothing special," I said with a smirk. "Hagrid got sloshed and gambled away nearly all his wages. The man he was playing with let him win one round to keep him from causing a scene. He thought he’d won a dragon’s egg and brought it home, all proud. Kept it in the fire for a week before he realized."

"And the egg?" Malfoy asked, his voice a mix of horror and fascination.

"Not an egg," I chuckled. "Just a rock shaped like one. I’ve seen real ones at my brother’s dragon reserve—no comparison. Honestly, who’d give Hagrid a real dragon egg?"

"Well? What happened next?" Draco pressed impatiently.

"Nothing much," I shrugged. "We started feeling sorry for him, you know? The bloke’s stubborn enough to keep warming that stone until it cracked, and then he’d be heartbroken. Probably end up drowning his sorrows. So, we convinced him to let it go, told him it was risky business keeping it. Claimed we’d send the 'egg' to a sanctuary through some ‘connections’ we had. Said it needed to be taken to the Astronomy Tower at night for the handoff.”

"And? Did you take it?" Draco nearly bounced on his stool, completely forgetting about the dust.

"You kidding? What do you take me for?" I burst out laughing. "We never went near the tower. Just lobbed the stone into some bushes as soon as we were far enough from Hagrid’s hut. End of story."

We both cracked up and ended up chatting for ages, just shooting the breeze, until the distant sound of voices and movement reached us.

Draco shot me a panicked glance before quickly reverting to his usual haughty expression. I smirked knowingly and gave him a nod.

"Just so you know, Weasley," he drawled through gritted teeth, "we’re not friends."

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"Of course not," I drawled back, flashing him a conspiratorial wink. "And we’re not enemies, either. But don’t think for a second, Drakey, that I’ll let your insults slide. Playtime’s over, mate—I’ll give as good as I get from now on."

Draco sniffed disdainfully, clearly gearing up for some cutting reply, but before he could get it out, the hut door banged open, and Hagrid stomped in with Harry right behind him. Harry looked all flustered, practically bursting with something he couldn’t say in front of Draco.

"How’ve you lot been?" Hagrid asked, his gaze bouncing between us.

"Awful," I declared with exaggerated disdain, ignoring Draco’s furious glare. "Should’ve gone with you. This one wouldn’t stop whinging—nearly came to blows."

"Right then, up you get," Hagrid grunted, grabbing his crossbow and heading for the door. "I’ll walk yeh back. Got ter see Dumbledore sharpish."

"Ron, are you sure he won’t spill about the egg?" Harry whispered as we trailed after Hagrid’s massive strides. "I mean, really sure?"

"Nah," I replied, flicking a glance at Draco trailing behind us. "He’s promised to keep quiet. Besides, it’s not in his best interest to blab, Harry. This way, he gets to brag about spending detention in the Forbidden Forest at night and seeing a werewolf. If he rats us out, I’ll spread the word that he begged me to save him from going into the forest and then clung to my arm like a scared toddler because he was afraid of the dark."

"Weasley!" Draco hissed furiously, his voice low but full of venom.

I turned back and gave him a cheeky wink. Hopefully, he got the message and would keep his mouth shut.

"You," Hagrid barked at Draco as soon as we reached the castle, "off ter the dungeons. You two, follow me." He left us at the staircase, veering off to the left.

"Ron, keep an eye on Harry," he muttered as he went. I nodded, and he added, "Make sure you head straight to bed, no sneakin’ about. Harry’ll fill yeh in."

But Harry didn’t say a word as we climbed the stairs. Once we reached the common room, he suddenly grabbed my arm, and we hurried inside.

Hermione was fast asleep by the cold fireplace, clearly waiting for us and dozing off unnoticed. Harry gently shook her shoulder, and she jerked awake, blinking.

"You’re back," she breathed, clearly relieved, before narrowing her eyes at us. "What time is it? And where’ve you been?"

"Three o’clock," Harry answered. "We were in the Forbidden Forest—well, I was with Hagrid. Ron stayed back in the hut with Malfoy."

"Malfoy?" she asked, frowning. "What was he doing there?"

"He followed you two," I replied, "and McGonagall caught him. You lot were too loud in the library. He overheard and put two and two together."

"Forget Malfoy," Harry cut in impatiently. "I saw Voldemort. He’s the one drinking unicorn blood."

"What?" Hermione gasped, going pale. "Harry, that’s impossible. He’s dead!"

"Hagrid says he’s not dead, just… gone. And he could come back," Harry argued, his voice firm. "And Firenze—the centaur we met—basically confirmed it. It’s him."

"Confirmed how, exactly?" I asked, raising an eyebrow.

"Well, not directly," Harry admitted, looking briefly sheepish before his resolve hardened. "But he said enough. He mentioned the Philosopher’s Stone and how it grants immortality. Snape’s after it for Voldemort—that much is clear."

"But how did you even see him, Harry?" Hermione’s voice trembled. Facing down a greedy Potions Master was one thing—Voldemort was entirely another. "What did he look like?"

"I don’t know," Harry admitted, deflating a little. "He had a hood on. By the time we got to the clearing, he’d already killed the unicorn and was drinking its blood. Hagrid shot an arrow at him, but he just vanished, like black smoke. My scar hurt so bad I couldn’t see straight. Then the centaurs showed up, and Hagrid started grilling them, but they mostly talked about Mars and all sorts of cryptic stuff. On the way back, we found another unicorn, still alive, but badly injured. Hagrid tried to save it, but—"

"But what?" Hermione pressed, her voice tight.

"He couldn’t," Harry said softly, shaking his head. "The injury was too serious. He put it out of its misery while I… looked away."

"But he can’t get in here, right?" Hermione asked anxiously, her voice rising. "Not with Dumbledore in the castle…?"

"Enough," I cut in, seeing she was on the brink of panic. "We’ll talk about this tomorrow. I’m knackered."

We kept going over it for what felt like hours. Harry was insistent: Voldemort was near. His scar was acting up, and it terrified Hermione. At one point, Harry and I nearly came to blows trying to calm him down. Safe to say, it wasn’t exactly a peaceful night.

After that, he calmed down a bit and stopped making the already tense atmosphere worse—exams had begun.

Surprisingly, I did all right on mine, though I mucked up a bit on History of Magic and got a bit flustered during the Transfiguration test. Conversations about the Stone continued, but I mostly kept my mouth shut, even as Harry and Hermione were deep into it, darting off to Hagrid’s or the third floor to check on Fluffy. Harry knew I wasn’t buying into it, so he left me alone. Shame, though—I couldn’t get it through their thick skulls that Snape wasn’t involved.

Then, one day, they cornered me, both of them buzzing with excitement. I was just heading out from the library for a stroll.

Harry, I’ll give him this, was sharp enough when Hermione was around to nudge him in the right direction. They’d badgered Hagrid and pieced things together.

“We’ve got to go to Dumbledore now,” Hermione declared, as if it were the most obvious thing in the world. Harry looked like he’d rather handle it himself with a wand and some bravado, but after a few half-hearted objections, he begrudgingly agreed she was right.

“Does anyone know where his office is?” Hermione asked, clearly frazzled.

“We’ll find out on the way,” I said, hoping we could get this over with quickly. Luckily—or unluckily—we didn’t get far before we ran into McGonagall, levitating a stack of scrolls and books in front of her.

“And what are you three doing inside the castle?” she asked sternly, in that way of hers that makes it sound like simply existing is against the rules.

“We need to see the Headmaster, ma’am,” Hermione said bravely. “Could you tell us where his office is?”

“The Headmaster is not in the castle,” McGonagall replied crisply. “He left half an hour ago on Ministry business and won’t return until tomorrow.” She turned to walk away.

“Oh, no, Professor, wait!” Harry burst out, blocking her path. “It’s about the Philosopher’s Stone. Someone’s going to try to steal it tonight.”

McGonagall gasped, scattering her scrolls everywhere. Then, she fixed us with the kind of glare that makes you feel about two inches tall. What followed was a tirade so scathing I could barely process it. The only bit that stuck was her firm insistence that the Stone was perfectly safe, guarded by protections beyond our comprehension, and we were not to meddle.

We walked away in silence. Harry and Hermione looked thoroughly disheartened, clearly unsure of what to do next.

“Snape’s definitely going to try for it tonight,” Harry finally muttered. “I wouldn’t be surprised if he orchestrated Dumbledore’s absence himself—sent him off to the Ministry when there’s nothing waiting for him there.”

“Right,” I snorted. “Because the Ministry’s on the North Pole, and it takes a whole day to get there. Honestly, Harry, you’ve got to stop with this Snape nonsense. It’s not him.”

“Well, well,” a familiar voice drawled behind us. “And what mischief is this little trio plotting now?”

We turned slowly to find Snape looming over us, his black eyes glittering with suspicion. For a moment, it looked like he might actually be amused by the panicked expressions on Harry and Hermione’s faces. Me? I was trying not to laugh at the irony of it all.

“You look guilty enough to be up to no good,” Snape said, his voice like silk dipped in venom. “One more midnight escapade, and I’ll personally see you sent home, Mr. Potter.”

Harry, predictably, didn’t take the hint to keep his head down. Instead, he squared his shoulders and glared at Snape like he wanted to hex him on the spot.

Snape sneered and turned to leave.

“Wait, sir,” I blurted, ignoring the horrified stares from my friends.

Snape stopped and arched an eyebrow at me, his expression caught somewhere between curiosity and disdain.

“The Headmaster’s out, sir,” I began, forcing myself to keep calm under his piercing gaze. “We’ve reason to believe someone will attempt to steal the Philosopher’s Stone tonight.”

“And who, pray tell, would dare such a thing, Mr. Weasley?” Snape asked, his voice dripping with sarcasm.

“I think it’s Professor Quirrell, sir,” I said plainly. “Could you keep an eye on him? Just to be safe.”

Snape stared at me for a moment, and for the briefest second, I thought I saw surprise flash across his face.

“I am not in the habit of monitoring my colleagues to appease students,” he said finally, his tone cold. “However, I shall look into it. Wait for me by the Potions classroom. I’ll join you in half an hour.” He glanced at Harry and Hermione. “You two are dismissed.” Then, with a dramatic swirl of his robes, he strode away.

Behind me, silence. When I turned, Harry’s face was a mask of fury, and Hermione looked as if she’d been betrayed by her own shadow.

“Traitor,” Harry spat, his fists clenched. “Now Snape’ll hand the Stone over to Voldemort, and he’ll become immortal!”

“Ron,” Hermione whispered, her voice trembling with hurt, “how could you? And to accuse Professor Quirrell like that…”

“I’m done trying to prove anything to you two,” I snapped. “Time will tell who’s right.”

“Coward,” Harry hissed, before storming off. Hermione hesitated, glancing between us, then ran after him.

“Stop,” I called, grabbing her arm. “Hermione, please, just drop this. Snape warned you about sneaking out at night—you’ll get expelled.”

But she shook me off, determination blazing in her eyes, and followed Harry into the corridor.

“Harry! Wait!” I heard her voice echo, and then they were gone, leaving me alone.