Quirrell had certainly seemed different in the weeks that followed. His once vibrant complexion grew increasingly pallid, his frame appearing gaunter with each passing day. Yet, despite his physical deterioration, there was a resolute determination in his sunken eyes that hinted at an inner strength they had underestimated.
Every time they passed the third-floor corridor, Harry, Ron, and Hermione would press their ears to the door, their hearts pounding with nervous anticipation, checking to ensure that Fluffy's menacing growls still resonated from within. The faint sound of the beast's rumbling breath sent shivers down their spines, a constant reminder of the danger lurking just beyond the threshold.
Snape's presence, marked by his usual air of hostility, offered a glimmer of reassurance—surely, if the Stone was in jeopardy, his temper would have escalated beyond control. His dark, brooding figure served as a silent sentinel, standing guard against any potential threats that dared to encroach upon their sanctuary.
As they crossed paths with Quirrell, Harry offered him a supportive smile, his eyes reflecting a silent understanding of the pressures weighing heavily on their shoulders. It was a small yet meaningful gesture, a quiet reminder that they were in this together, facing the challenges ahead as a unified front against the forces of darkness.
Not to be outdone, Ron stepped forward, his normally jovial expression replaced by a steely resolve as he positioned himself at Quirrell's side. With each determined stride, Ron's presence served as a protective shield, ready to deflect any verbal barbs aimed at their fellow student. His unwavering loyalty was evident in the firm set of his jaw, a silent promise to stand by Quirrell's side and defend him against the mockery of their peers.
Together, their actions formed a shield of solidarity, a silent pact to stand firm against the looming threat that hovered on the horizon.
Hermione, however, had more on her mind than the Philosopher's Stone. She had started drawing up study schedules and color coding all her notes. Even though Harry was nervous about the upcoming exams, he thought that even this was a bit too much.
"Hermione, the exams are ages away," said Ron in an irritated tone.
"Ten weeks," Hermione snapped. "That's not ages, that's like a second to Nicolas Flamel."
Their conversation took place in the cozy Hufflepuff common room, where Ron had invited both Harry and Hermione over for a study session. The room, typically tidy and organized, now resembled a scene of controlled chaos as Hermione's meticulous preparations took over every available surface. Despite the warm and welcoming ambiance of the Hufflepuff common room, the intensity of Hermione's academic fervor seemed to permeate the air, lending an air of urgency to their discussions.
"But we're not six hundred years old," Ron reminded her with a chuckle, trying to lighten the mood. "Anyway, what are you studying for, you already know it all."
"What am I studying for? Are you crazy?" Hermione's voice rose with a touch of panic. "You realize we need to pass these exams to get into the second year? They're very important, I should have started studying a month ago, I don't know what's gotten into me…"
“You’re going to do absolutely fine,” Harry reassured her with a warm smile. “You’ve been acing all your homework, and your participation in class is hardly unnoticed.”
“Besides,” chimed in Ron, trying to inject some levity into the conversation. “If they expect Malfoy and his goons to pass, how hard can it really be?”
Unfortunately, the weight of their academic responsibilities seemed to grow heavier with each passing day, burdening Harry, Ron, and Hermione with a seemingly insurmountable pile of homework. The Easter holidays, meant to be a time of relaxation and rejuvenation, instead became a relentless marathon of studying and practice.
Hermione sat at a wooden table, her textbooks and notes spread out before her. With the end-of-year exams fast approaching, she was deep in study mode, determined to absorb as much knowledge as possible.
As she skimmed through the chapter on magical ingredients, Hermione's lips moved silently as she recited the information aloud to reinforce her memory. "The twelve uses of dragon's blood," she murmured, her voice barely above a whisper.
"Use number one: As an oven cleaner," she began, her quill scratching across the parchment as she wrote. "Use number two: In potion-making, as a thickening agent."
Hermione's concentration was unyielding as she continued to recite the list, her mind fully immersed in the task at hand. "Use number three: As a powerful ink for writing important documents. Use number four: In the creation of healing salves and ointments."
With each use she recited, Hermione's confidence grew. She knew that mastering this information would be crucial for the upcoming exams, and she was determined to leave no stone unturned in her preparation.
"Use number five: To repel certain magical creatures. Use number six: In the production of fire-resistant materials," she recited, her voice steady and unwavering.
As she reached the final uses, Hermione's quill flew across the parchment, capturing each detail with precision. "Use number ten: As an ingredient in advanced potion-making.
"I'll never remember this," Ron exclaimed in frustration, the weight of their studies pressing heavily upon him. He glanced longingly out of the window, where the first signs of spring danced in the air, the promise of warmer days teasing their senses.
Harry sat at the library table, surrounded by a clutter of potions textbooks and parchment covered in hastily scribbled notes. His brow furrowed in concentration as he pored over a chapter on basic potion-making, specifically focused on the properties of the Wiggenwald Potion, a simple yet essential brew both Professors Snape and Sprout had enforced importance on. The warm glow of enchanted lanterns casting long shadows across the rows of bookshelves. The soft rustle of pages turning and the occasional creak of leather echoed in the air, creating a cocoon of quiet solitude.
Lost in his research, Harry barely noticed the passage of time until Ron's voice broke through his concentration. Startled, he looked up, his glasses slightly askew from hours of poring over small print.
"What is it, Ron?" Harry asked, his voice quiet but tinged with a hint of frustration. He rubbed his tired eyes, feeling the weight of Snape's impending potions exam bearing down on him. His attention shifted and saw Ron pointing at the unexpected sight of Hagrid, whose towering frame seemed out of place amidst the rows of dusty tomes.
The library was suffused with an aura of studious intensity, students hunched over books, their brows furrowed in concentration as they delved into their respective subjects. Amidst this scholarly ambiance, Hagrid's appearance was like a gust of wind in a stuffy room, bringing with it a sense of curiosity and adventure.
"Jus' lookin'," Hagrid muttered, his eyes darting around the room as if searching for hidden dangers. His shifty demeanor piqued the trio's interest instantly. "An' what're you lot up ter?" he continued, his tone now tinged with suspicion. "Yer not still lookin' fer Nicolas Flamel, are yeh?"
"Oh, we found out who he is ages ago," Ron boasted proudly, puffing out his chest. "And we know what that dog's guarding, it's the Philosopher's St—"
"Shhhh!" Hagrid cut him off abruptly, glancing over his shoulder to ensure they hadn't attracted unwanted attention. "Don' go shoutin' about it, what's the matter with yeh?"
Harry leaned in, his voice lowered to a whisper, as he broached the topic that had been burning in their minds.
"There are a few things we wanted to ask you, as a matter of fact," said Harry, his eyes flicking toward the towering bookshelves that surrounded them, "about what's guarding the Stone apart from Fluffy—"
"SHHHH!" Hagrid interrupted again, his voice urgent, a note of caution weaving through his words. The heavy timbre of his voice echoed slightly in the dimly lit library, adding weight to his warning. "Listen—come an' see me later. Now, I’m not promisin' I'll tell yeh anythin', mind, but don' go rabbitin' about it in here, students aren' s'pposed ter know. They'll think I've told yeh—"
"See you later, then," said Harry, nodding in understanding, the gravity of Hagrid's words settling over him like a heavy cloak.
Hagrid shuffled off, his massive frame moving with a certain urgency, the floorboards creaking beneath his weight as he disappeared between the rows of towering bookshelves that seemed to lean in conspiratorially, their ancient spines whispering secrets meant to be kept hidden. He left behind a lingering sense of secrecy, like the faint scent of something forbidden lingering in the air, a tantalizing hint of the mysteries he guarded within the depths of his heart.
Hermione's brow furrowed in thought, her mind working overtime to unravel the mystery that Hagrid's departure had left in its wake. "What do you think was he hiding behind his back?" she pondered aloud, her voice barely above a whisper, as if afraid to disturb the delicate balance of secrecy that hung in the air like a heavy veil. Her fingers traced the worn pages of her textbook, seeking solace in the familiar weight of knowledge as she sought to uncover the truth hidden within the shadows of Hagrid's cryptic words.
"Do you think it had anything to do with the Stone?" Harry wondered, his curiosity piqued by the cryptic exchange with Hagrid. His eyes darted around the library, half-expecting to catch a glimpse of something out of place. “It seemed like he didn’t want anybody to see...”
"I'm going to see what section he was in," declared Ron, determination flashing in his eyes like a spark igniting in the darkness. With purpose driving his every step, he rose from his seat, his Hufflepuff robes swishing softly against the floor as he strode toward the labyrinth of shelves. Moments later, he returned, a triumphant gleam in his eyes, with a stack of books cradled in his arms. The weight of knowledge bore down on him, causing the table to groan under the sudden load, as if protesting the influx of information. A few of the tomes appeared to lord over the others, their imposing presence commanding attention.
"Dragons!" he whispered, the word barely escaping his lips, as if afraid to disturb the sanctity of the library's silence. "Hagrid was looking up stuff about dragons! Look at these: Dragon Species of Great Britain and Ireland; From Egg to Inferno, A Dragon Keeper's Guide."
"Hagrid's always wanted a dragon, he told me so the first time I ever met him," said Harry, his voice carrying a nostalgic edge as he reminisced about their early encounters. “Back when he was leading me through Diagon Alley...do you think he’s finally gone and gotten one?” His eyes sparkled with a mix of curiosity and excitement, mirroring the flickering candlelight that danced across the ancient tomes stacked before them.
"But it's against our laws," said Ron, his voice tinged with a hint of incredulity. "Dragon breeding was outlawed by the Warlocks' Convention of 1709,” Ron continued, his tone shifting almost imperceptibly to mimic the monotone drone of Professor Binns, as if channeling the ghostly history professor himself.
“The what convention?” Hermione asked, her brows knitting together in confusion as she struggled to recall any mention of such an event in her extensive studies. Her eyes darted to the books spread out before her, a silent acknowledgment of Ron's unexpected knowledge that momentarily caught her off guard, a rarity in itself.
“Binns talked about it in History of Magic a few weeks back,” said Ron, a hint of pride creeping into his voice at the memory of actually retaining something from the notoriously dull lectures. “It was probably one of the only classes of his that wasn’t a total wash. Harry sure had enough questions to bother him though.”
“I didn’t realize that number was one,” Harry said, his chuckle echoing softly in the dimly lit corner of the library where they sat. “I just didn’t know what he had said in regard to the Statute of Secrecy. I mean, I know Hagrid had mentioned not doing magic in front of Muggles, but I thought that was more of a request rather than something serious.” The flickering candlelight cast shadows across his face, emphasizing the thoughtful expression that settled over him as he contemplated the complexities of magical law.
Ron shook his head, his expression solemn as he absorbed the weight of the topic at hand. “Oh, no. It’s serious all right.” With a heavy sigh, he settled back into the chair, his hands moving animatedly as he spoke, gesturing to emphasize his points. It was evident that he relished the opportunity to share his knowledge, his passion for the subject shining through in every word.
“My Dad’s whole department is about trying to prevent Muggles from finding out about magic,” Ron explained earnestly, his voice carrying a sense of urgency. “He’s constantly investigating wizard objects and artifacts that cross their paths. When a Muggle who shouldn’t know about magic—they don’t count Muggle family members who take care of wizards—stumbles upon something they shouldn't, the Ministry gets these huge alerts all over the place.”
If you discover this tale on Amazon, be aware that it has been unlawfully taken from Royal Road. Please report it.
“Is that what the trace is?” Harry asked, leaning forward, his interest piqued by the intricacies of magical law.
“Oh, right,” said Ron, nodding in affirmation. “Forgot you asked about that and Binns totally blew you off.”
“The trace?” Hermione inquired.
“Magic sorta flows through us when we perform it, right?” Ron began, launching into an explanation with the fervor of someone eager to share newfound knowledge. “My Dad says that the Ministry is tuned in to that magic like a radio station. It helps them know where new wizards are born and such. Ever since the Statute of Secrecy, we’ve been trying real hard to stay under the radar wherever possible. So if magic is going off where Muggles shouldn’t know about it, then that is traced and reported to the Ministry—they send someone out to investigate it and…” His voice trailed off, leaving the implications hanging heavily in the air, a reminder of the consequences that could unfold if magical secrecy were breached.
Harry and Hermione were both listening intently to Ron’s explanation, their eyes fixed on him with a mixture of concern and curiosity, but both sat back slightly as he trailed off, sensing that whatever came next was more sensitive, like delicate threads of a conversation waiting to be delicately woven.
“What next?” Hermione probed, her voice gentle yet insistent, as if coaxing Ron to delve into the depths of the unknown.
“Well...I don’t really know,” Ron admitted, his brow furrowing in thought as he wrestled with the uncertainties swirling in his mind. “He never tells me that part. Must be bad. Or it might not be, but trying to seem so in an attempt to keep me from doing magic when I shouldn’t be.” He shrugged, a hint of frustration evident in his voice. “But I think I told you, Harry, being in a house full of wizards helps muddy up the trace a bit—makes it hard for the Ministry to tell exactly the source of a spell. Could be Percy practicing for his O.W.L’s, could be Charlie coming home to visit, or it could even be Mom or Dad cleaning up the room.”
“O.W.L’s?” asked Harry, his brow furrowing in confusion, his mind struggling to keep pace with the rapid-fire exchange of information.
“Ordinary Wizarding Levels,” said both Ron and Hermione in unison, their voices harmonizing like a well-rehearsed duet. At the understanding of such, they shared a brief glance, a silent acknowledgment passing between them before they quickly looked away, the weight of the revelation settling over them like a heavy shroud.
“They’re a set of standardized tests that fifth year students take that determine your level of learning for your last two years at Hogwarts,” recited Hermione, her words ringing with the familiar cadence of someone reciting from memory. “I’d read about it in Hogwarts: A History,” she added, a touch of pride coloring her tone as she referenced her beloved tome of magical knowledge.
“They’re super important tests. Percy’s been absolutely nuts about his coming up,” Ron affirmed, a note of seriousness underlying his words as he shared insights into his brother's preoccupation.
“Wow, I didn’t think the trace got so deep as that, though,” said Harry, his mind recoiling from the thought of future tests looming on the horizon. The mere mention of examinations sent a shiver down his spine, reminding him of the weight of expectations he already carried, let alone the prospect of ones he’d have to face four years from now. “Bet they’d know instantly if I cast any magic at the Dursleys.”
“Probably,” agreed Ron, his expression solemn as he considered the implications. “Those folks sound as Muggle as could be—and while they’re probably on that allowed list since they’re taking care of you, I’m sure they’ve got friends or other family that aren’t.”
“Taking care of him…” Hermione mused, her voice trailing off as she contemplated the unsettling reality of Harry's situation. “They don’t sound like they’re doing anything of the sort.”
Harry flushed red, a surge of heat rising to his cheeks as he bristled at the mention of the Dursleys. He hated feeling vulnerable based on how they had treated him, the memories of their disdain and cruelty still fresh in his mind. He longed to be anywhere but under their roof, to escape the suffocating darkness that seemed to envelop him in their presence. "Anything would have been better than people so darkly against everything that made him happy," he thought, his heart heavy with the weight of his own longing for acceptance and belonging.
“But that’s what makes dragons so dangerous,” said Ron, his voice taking on a serious tone as he steered the conversation back to the main topic at hand. “Muggles can see past a lot of small magic—most of ‘em anyway, but dragons are not small magic. Big and drawling and not to mention the fire—Charlie—my older brother,” he added, turning to include Hermione in the discussion, “says they have all these crazy rules and regulations over in Albania. They have to work in teams to make sure the dragons they’re taming are not a hazard to the people around. Lot of people think he’s just out there breaking the law—but in reality, he’s working on a Ministry sponsored team to prevent them from spilling out.”
“So, it’s real bad if Hagrid has gotten himself his own dragon,” said Harry, his expression turning grave as the implications sank in.
“Intensely,” Ron nodded solemnly, his agreement punctuated by the gravity of the situation weighing heavily on their shoulders.
“Well, we should go to his hut and see what’s actually going on. Besides, he did say he had some information on the stone,” Harry proposed, his determination evident in his tone as he sought to uncover the truth.
Ron glanced at Hermione, a silent plea for her agreement evident in his eyes. “If Hermione’s saying we should stop studying then you know it’s important,” he added, a hint of jest laced with genuine concern.
Hermione shot him a fierce look, her eyebrows furrowing in a mixture of exasperation and amusement at Ron’s attempt to lighten the mood. However, her resolve softened almost immediately, a tacit acknowledgment of the gravity of the situation. “Come on, we should get going,” she agreed, her voice betraying a sense of urgency as she gathered up her books, the weight of their mission settling over her.
With a shared sense of purpose, Ron and Harry fell into step behind Hermione as she led the way, their footsteps echoing softly in the crisp air as they made their way through the winding paths toward Hagrid’s hut. Each step brought them closer to the answers they sought, the anticipation building with every stride.
When they knocked on the door of the gamekeeper's hut but an hour later, the trio exchanged puzzled glances as they observed that all the curtains were tightly drawn, shrouding the interior in darkness. The air outside whispered with the rustle of leaves, but no light penetrated the thick fabric, creating an eerie atmosphere around Hagrid's secluded abode.
"Hagrid, it's us," Harry called out as they waited, the anticipation mounting with each passing second.
"Ho is it?" came Hagrid's muffled voice from within, a hint of caution evident in his tone. The door creaked open slowly, revealing the large figure of the half-giant, his expression unreadable as he ushered them inside before shutting the door with a decisive thud, sealing them off from the outside world.
The temperature inside the hut was stifling, the heat from the blazing fire in the grate washing over them in oppressive waves. Despite the warmth of the day outside, the flames crackled merrily, casting flickering shadows that danced across the walls like specters in the night.
Hagrid bustled about, his movements cumbersome yet purposeful as he prepared tea for his unexpected guests. The aroma of the brewing beverage mingled with the scent of burning wood, creating a comforting yet claustrophobic atmosphere within the small confines of the hut. He offered them stoat sandwiches, a peculiar delicacy that only Hagrid seemed to favor, but the trio politely declined, their appetites suppressed by the heavy air of secrecy.
"So—yeh wanted to ask me somethin'?" Hagrid's voice rumbled through the cozy confines of the hut, the warmth of the fire casting flickering shadows across his rugged features.
"Yes," said Harry, his voice steady despite the weight of the question they were about to ask. There was no point beating around the bush. "We were wondering if you could tell us what's guarding the Philosopher's Stone apart from Fluffy."
The question hung in the air, heavy with anticipation as the trio awaited Hagrid's response. They had decided on the way down that they would start with the topic of the stone since they had some ground to work off of—and see where it led in relation to the possible dragon he may or may not have had. It was a delicate balance, a dance of words they had to carefully navigate as to not upset Hagrid and lose their opportunity.
Hagrid returned a furrowed brow to Harry, his expression a mixture of concern and reluctance. "O' course I can’t,” he said, his voice gruff with emotion. "Number one, I don' know meself. Number two, yeh know too much already, so I wouldn' tell yeh if I could. That Stone's here fer a good reason. It was almost stolen outta Gringotts—I s'ppose yeh've worked that out an' all? Beats me how yeh even know abou' Fluffy."
“Oh, well that one’s easy. We walked into the wrong door,” said Ron, a sheepish grin playing across his face as he recalled the chaotic events that had led them to discover the guardian of the Philosopher's Stone.
“More like...was chased. Peeves was involved... was a whole thing,” Harry added, his words tinged with a hint of amusement at the memory of their harrowing encounter with the mischievous poltergeist.
“That Peeves….” Hagrid said with a grumble, his voice heavy with exasperation. “Don’t know how long he’s been around, but I know he’s been a thorn in that Filch’s side for as long as he’s been here.”
"Oh, come on, Hagrid, you might not want to tell us, but you do know, you know everything that goes on round here," said Hermione in a warm, flattering voice, her eyes sparkling with gentle persuasion. Hagrid's beard twitched and they could tell he was smiling, his rough exterior softened by Hermione's words. "We only wondered who had done the guarding, really," Hermione continued, her voice sincere. "We wondered who Dumbledore had trusted enough to help him, apart from you, of course."
Hagrid's chest swelled with pride at these last words, a flicker of emotion crossing his features as he absorbed Hermione's heartfelt compliment. Harry and Ron exchanged a knowing glance, their admiration for Hermione's tact and diplomacy evident in the shared beam of appreciation they directed at her.
"Well, I don' s'pose it could hurt ter tell yeh that...let's see..." Hagrid's voice trailed off as he pondered, his bushy eyebrows furrowed in concentration. The fire crackled softly in the background, casting a warm glow over the scene as they awaited his revelation. "He borrowed Fluffy from me...then some o' the other teachers did enchantments...Professor Sprout—Professor Flitwick—Professor McGonagall—" he ticked them off on his fingers, his movements deliberate and methodical, as if reliving the moment. "Professor Quirrell—an' Dumbledore himself did somethin', o' course. Hang on, I've forgotten someone. Oh yeah, Professor Snape."
"Snape?" Harry's eyebrows shot up in surprise, his mind racing with the implications of Snape's involvement.
"Yeah—yer not still on abou' that, are yeh?" Hagrid's tone was dismissive, his exasperation evident as he addressed Harry's lingering suspicions. "Look, Snape helped protect the Stone, he's not about ter steal it." His words carried a note of finality.
Harry sensed that Ron and Hermione were grappling with the same thoughts swirling in his mind. If Snape had been involved in protecting the Stone, it suggested he had insider knowledge about the defenses set up by the other teachers. He likely possessed a wealth of information—except, it seemed, on how to bypass Quirrell’s defenses and then how to navigate past Fluffy.
"You're the only one who knows how to get past Fluffy, aren't you, Hagrid?" said Harry, his voice tinged with anxiety. "And you wouldn't tell anyone, would you? Not even one of the teachers?"
"Not a soul knows except me an' Dumbledore," Hagrid declared proudly, his chest swelling with pride at the trust placed in him by the esteemed headmaster.
"Well, that's something," Harry muttered to the others, a sense of relief washing over him as he exchanged a knowing glance with Ron and Hermione. "Hagrid, can we have a window open? I'm boiling." His request was punctuated by a bead of sweat trickling down his forehead, a testament to the stifling heat that permeated the hut.
"Can't, Harry, sorry," said Hagrid, his voice tinged with regret as he glanced at the fire, his eyes flickering with unease.
Harry followed Hagrid's gaze, his curiosity piqued as he focused on the source of Hagrid's apprehension. "Hagrid—what's that?" he asked, though deep down, he already knew the answer. After all, it had been the other reason why they had come down to visit Hagrid. In the very heart of the fire, nestled underneath the kettle, was a huge, black egg, its glossy surface reflecting the flickering flames.
"Ah," said Hagrid, his fingers fidgeting nervously with his beard as he struggled to find the right words. "That's er..."
"Where did you get it, Hagrid?" said Ron, his curiosity getting the better of him as he crouched over the fire, his eyes alight with fascination. "It must've cost you a fortune."
"Won it," said Hagrid, his tone tinged with a mix of pride and apprehension. "Las' night. I was down in the village havin' a few drinks an' got into a game o' cards with a stranger. Think he was quite glad ter get rid of it, ter be honest."
"But what are you going to do with it when it's hatched?" said Hermione, her voice laced with concern as she voiced the question that had been weighing on all of their minds.
“Especially with how much they need to eat...and their other...uh, activities,” said Ron, his tone laced with a hint of apprehension as he inspected the egg once more, his eyes widening in realization of the responsibility it entailed.
"Well, I've bin doin' some readin'," said Hagrid, his voice brimming with excitement as he reached under his pillow, retrieving a weathered tome from its hiding place. "Got this outta the library—Dragon Breeding: Easy Steps on Becomin’ a Tamer—it's a bit outta date, o' course, but it's all in here.”
Hermione's eyes widened in alarm as she grabbed the book, flipping through its aged pages with a mixture of fascination and concern. “Out of date...Hagrid, this book is almost three hundred years old,” she exclaimed, her brow furrowing with worry.
Hagrid waved off her concern with a dismissive gesture, his confidence unshaken by the book's age. “Ah, well. It’s all the same at the end of the day, ain’t it? Keep the egg in the fire, 'cause their mothers breathe on 'em, see, an' when it hatches, feed it on a bucket o' brandy mixed with chicken blood every half hour." He paused, a gleam of pride shining in his eyes. "Been collecting and storing up fer this very occasion. An' see here—how ter recognize diff'rent eggs—what I got there's a Norwegian Ridgeback. They're rare, them. Thinkin’ of callin’ him Norbert when he ‘atches." The anticipation in his voice was palpable, his excitement infectious as he shared his plans for the dragon hatchling.
He looked very pleased with himself, his broad grin stretching across his rugged features, but Hermione's gaze darted between Ron and Harry, each of their faces fraught with worry, their brows knit with concern.
"Hagrid, you live in a wooden house," Hermione interjected, her voice tinged with apprehension, but Hagrid seemed oblivious to her words. He hummed merrily as he stoked the fire, the flames dancing in the hearth, casting flickering shadows across the walls.
“Well, I think it might be about time you three get back up ter the castle—wouldn’t want Filch catching you out of bed at this hour," Hagrid said, breaking the moment of silence with his hearty voice. "I know he’s been on the prowl since he hasn’t gotten the chance to hand out punishments in a while.”
As they made their way back to the castle, their minds were consumed with worry over what might happen to Hagrid if anyone found out he was harboring an illegal dragon in his hut. The weight of the secret hung heavy on their shoulders, casting a shadow over their thoughts and conversations.
"Wonder what it's like to have a peaceful life," Ron sighed wistfully, his gaze drifting to the horizon as evening after evening they struggled through all the extra homework they were getting.
Hermione had offered to make up a notated schedule for him as she had for herself, and Ron had not known a worse fate—not knowing how to proceed, or having the entire minute by minute of his next ten weeks plotted to the “T”.