Chapter 41: Heavy Armor and Spring
Polaris didn't know when he had fallen asleep. He only remembered lying in bed, staring at the ceiling for a long time, his mind filled with the images from the mirror—his parents' hands on his shoulders, his grandmother and aunt standing behind them smiling, Bangbang and Kreachersqueezed together, and Cho waving at him.
Then he closed his eyes.
And then he arrived at that graveyard.
He didn't know where this was. The sky was gray-green, like rotting lake water upturned in the heavens. There were no walls, no gates, only rows of gray-white tombstones jutting crookedly out of the withered yellow grass. The mist was thick, so thick he couldn't see anything beyond ten feet. But he could hear sounds—distant and faint, like someone calling his name.
He walked forward. The grass beneath his feet was dead, making no sound as he stepped on it. He couldn't recognize a single word on the tombstones, but he knew they were names. With every tombstone he passed, he felt his heart beat a little faster.
Then he saw them.
Long Meixiu was standing in front of a tombstone, her back to him. She was wearing those moon-white robes, her black hair falling over her shoulders, exactly as she had appeared in the mirror. Polaris wanted to call out to her, but his throat felt as if it were blocked by something. He started to run—his legs were heavy, each step like treading through water.
"Mom—"
He reached out, almost touching her shoulder.
Green light.
That light appeared suddenly, with no source and no warning. It shot out from the mist and struck Long Meixiu's back. Her body slumped forward like a tree snapped by the wind, so light she seemed weightless.
Polaris caught her. But her hand slipped through his. It didn't pull back; it passed right through—like passing through water, through mist, through empty air. He looked down at his hands; they were empty.
"Mom—Mom—"
He looked up. Someone stepped out of the mist. Cepheus. His gray eyes were bright, and a smile still lingered at the corners of his mouth. He walked toward Polaris, reaching out as if to pat his head.
Green light.
This time Polaris saw it—the light appeared out of thin air, with no one chanting an incantation, no one waving a wand. It just came from the mist, as natural as breathing, as inevitable as the falling darkness.
When Cepheus fell, his eyes were still open. He looked at Polaris, that small smile not yet vanished, but his body had already begun to fade like a painting soaked in water.
Polaris knelt on the ground, both hands empty.
Next was his grandfather Edmund. Then his grandmother Aurora. They stepped out of the mist, smiling at him, reaching out to him. Then the green light. Once, twice, three times. Every time it struck precisely in the chest, and every time it happened just before Polaris could touch them.
The graveyard was silent. No one screamed, no one cried. There was only the green light. Again, and again, and again.
Polaris knelt on the withered grass, everything around him empty. The tombstones were still there, but the people were gone. He looked down at his hands—they weren't empty. In his palms was a mask. Deep green with bronze patterns, the face of a warrior. He looked at the mask, and it looked back at him.
"No..."
He threw the mask away. It hit the ground with a metallic clang. But that sound didn't come from the mask; it was the sound of footsteps. Polaris looked up.
He was surrounded by people. No, not people—warriors. They wore heavy armor, their deep green plates glinting coldly under the gray-green light. Each held a sword, narrow and long, with a razor-sharp edge. They stood in several rows, perfectly aligned and motionless, like a silent wall.
Polaris stood in the middle of the wall. He looked down at his hands—empty. No wand, no mask, nothing. He looked back behind him; those tombstones were still there, crooked and gray-white.
He recognized the words on them now.
Cepheus Black. Long Meixiu Black. Edmund Selwyn. Aurora Selwyn.
Every word was crystal clear.
He reached out, wanting to touch the names on the tombstones. The moment his fingers touched the stone, it was ice-cold.
He woke up.
Polaris opened his eyes. The ceiling was deep blue—the starry ceiling of the Ravenclaw tower. The lamp by his bed was still on, its dim yellow light falling across the desk and onto the pile of Alchemy notes. His pillow was wet, and so was his back. His heart was racing, so fast he could hear the blood rushing in his ears.
He sat up, bracing himself against the edge of the bed, and took several deep breaths. Cold air flooded into his lungs. It wasn't the rotting chill of the graveyard, but the December chill of Hogwarts—clean, carrying the scent of pine needles and snow.
He turned to look out the window. The sky was still dark, but it wasn't that gray-green darkness anymore; it was a true night, one with stars. The North Star was in its usual place, shining quietly.
The system notification sounded in his mind.
[Detected host's emotional fluctuations and potential awakening of protective consciousness. Ika Mask unlocked—Shadowkhan Samurai Regiment can now be summoned.]
[Ability Description: The Ika Mask corresponds to the Shadowkhan Samurai Regiment of the Shadowkhan. The summoned warriors wear heavy armor, possessing balanced offense and defense and strict discipline. They carry heavy weapons such as katanas and belong to the heavy infantry class, with extremely strong combat capabilities in frontal pitched battles. The method of wearing is the same as other masks: wearing it tilted on the head maintains the host's normal temperament, while wearing it fully covering the face allows for full power but will affect their personality.]
Polaris sat on the bed, unmoving. He looked down at his hands. No mask, no sword. They were just the clean hands of an eleven-year-old boy. His nails were trimmed short, there were ink stains on his knuckles, and a small callus at the base of his thumb—worn there from gripping a broomstick.
He clenched his hands into fists, then released them.
The images from the dream still swirled in his head. The green light. Again and again, the green light. His hands passing through his parents' bodies, unable to grasp anything.
But he had new power now. The Shadowkhan Samurai Regiment. Heavy infantry. Frontal pitched battles. He no longer needed to kneel on the ground doing nothing like in the dream.
He lay back down, staring at the ceiling. The starscape rotated slowly, the stars moving along their own trajectories, unhurried.
Polaris closed his eyes, but he didn't fall back asleep.
For the rest of the holidays, Polaris buried himself in Alchemy.
He went to the library before dawn and didn't return until it closed. Madam Pince had grown accustomed to his routine, placing a cup of hot water on his table every day and occasionally an extra biscuit.
The twins' notebook gave him great inspiration. Their handwriting was as messy as if written with a broomstick, but their thinking was remarkably clear. Some recipes were things he had never seen in formal Alchemy books—applying the principle of the Engorgement Charm in reverse to Shrinking Sweets, or making Flash Powder change color at a specific temperature instead of just exploding. These things couldn't be found in rigorous alchemical texts, but their underlying logic was consistent with Ancient Runes.
Polaris began trying to make some small things himself.
He found a few thin wooden slats and used a small knife to carve Ancient Runes into them. The first time he carved too deep, and the wood split. The second time he carved too shallow, and the runes didn't light up. On the third attempt, he carved the Rune for 'light' on the front and the Rune for 'duration' on the back, then coated the edges with a layer of silver powder—the twins' notes said silver powder could stabilize magic output, making it much easier than activating it with raw magic power alone.
He placed the wooden slat on the table and gave it a light tap with his finger.
The wood lit up. It wasn't the bright flare of a wand spell, but a softer glow, like moonlight falling on snow. The light lasted for about ten minutes before slowly fading.
Polaris turned the wood over and over, examining it several times. This brightness was enough for use as a Lumos charm; the duration was a bit short, but at least it worked. He put the wood in his drawer and recorded all the parameters of this experiment in his notebook.
He made a few more later. Some only stayed lit for three minutes, some were too dim, and two burned straight to ash. But his success rate was slowly improving.
He didn't do anything more advanced. The books his aunt sent contained much more complex recipes, but he knew his level was still far off. Pseudo-charms didn't just need 'a piece of wood that glows for ten minutes'; they needed alchemical products that allowed ordinary people to use the power of charms. That required more precise runic arrays, more stable energy cores, and more complex conversion mechanisms. He hadn't even touched the threshold yet.
But at least, he had begun to take his first steps.
On the last day of the holidays, Cho, Anthony, and Hermione all returned together.
Polaris was sitting in the Great Hall eating lunch at the time, with a copy of "Advanced Runic Arrays" spread out in front of him, reading while he chewed on bread. A burst of chattering came from the main entrance, and he looked up to see the three of them dragging their trunks inside.
Cho walked at the front, wearing a thick navy blue coat with her scarf wrapped up to her chin. She spotted Polaris immediately and waved at him. Anthony followed behind, talking to Hermione about something; both of their expressions were very serious, likely debating some academic issue again.
Polaris put down his book and stood up.
"You're back?"
"We're back." Cho walked over to him and looked him up and down. "Have you lost weight?"
"No."
"Liar." Cho unwound her scarf and sat down across from him. "Your face has gotten much thinner."
AI Model: gemini-3.1-flash-lite
Anthony leaned his suitcase to the side and sat down as well, looking Reese over: "You really have lost weight. Didn't you eat properly during the holidays?"
"I ate every day."
"Eating and eating properly are two different things." Hermione sat next to Anthony and opened the notebook she never went anywhere without. "How much do you eat every day? Is your caloric intake sufficient? Did you sleep on time?"
Reese looked at the three of them and suddenly felt his shoulders, which had been tense for several days, relax.
The green light, the tombstones, and the samurai armor from his dreams all faded away at this moment. They were sitting here, discussing whether he had eaten properly and if his face had thinned out. These trivial, daily, living concerns were like a hand gently pressing on his back, pulling him out of the gray-green fog.
"I'm fine." Reese said. This time, it was true.
Life after the start of the term returned to its normal rhythm. Classes, training, the library—a three-point line. Only now, there were a few more people on this line—Anthony still went to the library with him every day, Cho's training time overlapped with his, and Hermione would occasionally come over from Gryffindor to sit next to Anthony and read.
Reese and Cho began training harder for the match against Hufflepuff. Hufflepuff's playing style wasn't as dirty as Slytherin's, nor as fierce as Gryffindor's, but their coordination was very stable, and their Keeper was particularly outstanding. Captain Roger emphasized repeatedly at the tactical meeting: "Don't drag it out with them; if you drag it to the end, their patience is better than ours. Get the Golden Snitch early, and end it early."
The match took place on the first weekend of March. The weather that day wasn't great; it was windy, with low clouds and the occasional snowflake drifting down. But when Reese took off, he felt his state was better than in any previous match. His shoulders didn't hurt, his broom felt steady in his hand, and the trajectory of the Bludgers was crystal clear in his field of vision.
Andrew was responsible for the left side, and he was responsible for the right. Hufflepuff's Beaters didn't have much power, but their angles were tricky. For the first twenty minutes, neither side scored, and Ravenclaw's Chasers were blocked by the Keeper several times.
Cho spotted the Golden Snitch at the thirty-fifth minute. It flashed near the stands behind the Hufflepuff goalposts. She didn't chase it immediately—Reese had taught her not to rush when the Golden Snitch first appeared, but to observe its movement pattern first. She hovered for three seconds, watching the Golden Snitch drift to the left, then to the right, and then suddenly accelerate, flying toward the center of the pitch.
Cho dived. The Hufflepuff Seeker moved too, but his reaction was a beat slower. Reese was between them and saw a Bludger flying toward Cho's path. He turned sideways and swung his bat, knocking the ball in another direction. Andrew blocked one on his side as well. Both paths were cleared.
Cho's hand grasped the Golden Snitch.
Forty minutes. One hundred twenty to thirty.
Professor Flitwick jumped up from the staff table; the small man almost bounced onto the table itself. He waved his arms, and his high-pitched voice pierced through the cheering of the entire stadium: "Ravenclaw! Ravenclawwins!" Professor McGonagall glanced at him from the side, the corners of her mouth curving slightly, but she didn't stop him.
By the time Reese landed on the ground, Cho had already raised the Golden Snitch above her head. Her ponytail had come undone, and her goggles were lopsided, but her eyes were shining as if they contained two stars.
"We won." She extended her palm toward Reese.
Reese high-fived her. "We won."
Captain Roger lunged over from behind, throwing his arms around both of them, almost knocking the Golden Snitchout of Cho's hand. Andrew shouted from the side, "Easy, Captain," while Bradley and Chambers were waving to the Ravenclaw students in the stands, and the Keeper, Margaret, smiled for once.
Anthony was waving to them from the stands. Hermionestood next to him, also waving. Reese nodded at them.
They walked back together. Reese walked beside Cho, his broom tucked under his arm; his shoulders were still a bit sore, but he was in a great mood. The sky was still gray, and the wind was still strong, but he thought the sky looked beautiful today.
When they reached the Castle entrance, Hermione caught up from behind and pulled on Reese's sleeve.
"Reese, wait."
Reese stopped. Cho and Anthony stopped too.
Hermione's expression was very serious, completely different from how she looked waving in the stands just now. Harry and Ron walked over from behind and stood next to Hermione. Both of them had strange expressions.
"We found an empty classroom," Hermione said, her voice lowered. "There are a few things we want to tell you."
Cho looked at Reese. Reese nodded. The six of them walked through the corridor together, turned two corners, and entered the empty classroom that Hermione had found. After the door closed, the sounds from outside were cut off.
Harry stood by the window, the sunlight shining on his face, making his dark circles very clear.
"We know what's under the trapdoor," he said.
The classroom was silent for a moment.
"The Philosopher's Stone," Hermione continued. "Nicolas Flamel's Philosopher's Stone. It can turn lead into gold and produce the Elixir of Life. It's what the Cerberus is guarding."
Reese leaned against the table, not saying anything.
"What we're not sure about is—who wants to steal it," Ron's voice sounded a bit muffled. "Snape or Quirrell."
Harry glanced at Ron and took over: "During the holidays, Ron and I heard Snape and Quirrell talking in the corridor. Snape was asking Quirrell if he knew how to get past the Cerberus, and Quirrell said he didn't. Snape was very angry and said, 'You know better than I do what you're working for.'"
"Later, he threatened Quirrell alone once more," Ronadded. "He said, 'You don't have much time left.'"
Anthony frowned, his fingers tapping lightly on the table.
"But Professor Dumbledore is in the school," he said. "He's guarding the Philosopher's Stone, so it should be safe, right?"
Hermione nodded, but her expression didn't lighten much. "That's what I thought, too. Professor Dumbledore is the greatest white Wizard. If he is guarding the Philosopher's Stone—"
"What if Dumbledore is lured away?" Reese's voice wasn't loud, but everyone went quiet.
He remembered in the original book where Dumbledorereceived that fake letter and was called away from Hogwarts. That event hadn't happened yet, but it would. He couldn't say it out loud, but he could give them a direction.
"I'm just saying, if someone wants to steal the Philosopher's Stone, the best way isn't to force their way in, but to wait until the guardian isn't there," Reese said slowly, as if thinking while speaking. "Professor Dumbledore won't stay in the Castle forever. There will always be times when he needs to leave."
Harry looked at him and nodded: "That's what I think, too."
Hermione was silent for a moment, then nodded too. "Then what should we do? Tell Professor McGonagall?"
"We don't have any evidence," Ron said. "Just hearing a few words, the Professor won't believe us."
Anthony thought for a moment: "We can just pay more attention. We don't need to do anything special, just keep an eye out."
Hermione glanced at him, seemingly wanting to say something, but didn't refute him.
"Then that's it," Harry said. "Pay more attention. If we find anything, we'll let each other know."
Several of them walked out of the classroom one after another. Hermione looked at Reese before leaving, seemingly wanting to say something, but in the end, she just nodded. Anthony and Ron were discussing something behind them, their voices gradually fading away.
Reese walked at the very back. Cho walked beside him, not rushing to ask, just quietly following his pace. When the people in front had walked far away, she finally spoke.
"When did you get so close to Harry and the others?"
Reese thought for a moment. "During the holidays. Rontaught me how to play Wizard's Chess, and Harry took me to see something."
"What thing?"
Reese was silent for a second. "A mirror."
Cho looked at him.
"I just think," Reese said, "that they aren't that hard to get along with. Ron is tough-talking but soft-hearted, and Harry thinks about more things than he says."
Cho nodded. "And now? Regarding the Philosopher's Stone, do you want to get involved?"
Reese thought for a moment.
"Yes," he said. "But not now. Let's see how the situation develops first."
Cho didn't ask again. The two walked side by side through the corridor; sunlight shone in through the windows, stretching their shadows long and overlapping them.
Reese knew he would be involved in the Philosopher's Stone affair. Not to be a hero, but for Nicolas Flamel's Alchemy notes, for the pseudo-runes, and to ensure that Grandma, Aunt, Bangbang, and Kreacher would all have the ability to protect themselves in the future. He could only take it one step at a time, like carving magic runes on an Alchemy wooden slip, stroke by stroke; if carved too deep, it would crack, and if carved too shallow, it wouldn't shine.
Chapter 42: Busy Revision
On the first morning of the Easter holidays, Rhys sat at the Ravenclaw table with a plate of fried eggs and grilled tomatoes in front of him. Cho sat opposite him, spreading jam on a piece of bread. Anthony sat beside Rhys, so tired his eyes weren't fully open, mechanically shoveling cereal into his mouth.
Hermione walked over from the Gryffindor side, a stack of parchment in her arms and that "I have a great idea" expression on her face. Rhys had seen this expression many times—it appeared whenever she discovered new material or formulated a new plan.
"Good morning." She set the parchment on the table and sat down next to Anthony.
Anthony, with a mouthful of cereal, mumbled a "Morning."
Hermione divided the stack of parchment into several portions and thrust one into each of their hands. Rhys looked down—it was a revision schedule, precise down to every hour of every day. Different subjects were marked in different colored inks; the revision progress, reference bibliographies, and self-test times were all clearly listed. At the very top, written in ornate script, was "O.W.L.s Exam Preparation Plan (First-Year Preparatory Version)."
Anthony, with a slice of bread hanging from his mouth, looked down at the plan, his eyes slowly widening.
"How much longer do we have until the exams again?"
"Ten weeks," Hermione said.
Anthony looked at the plan, then at Hermione, then back at the plan. "You really should have come to Ravenclaw," he said, his tone so sincere it didn't even sound like a compliment.
Cho glanced at the plan in her hand and added with a smile, "Professor Flitwick would definitely be so happy he'd agree to your house transfer."
"Then Professor McGonagall would be quite unhappy." Rhys folded the plan and put it in his robe pocket. Hermione glanced at him, the corners of her mouth curling slightly, but she didn't respond.
Hermione's revision plan took effect the very next day. In the days that followed, Rhys, Cho, Anthony, and Hermionewere like they had been hit with a Permanent Sticking Charm; they could be found at the same spot in the library almost every day. Hermione was always the first to arrive, claiming the long table by the window and stacking the necessary books by subject. Anthony was second, bringing his notebook that grew thicker with every note. Rhys and Cho usually came together from the training grounds, their hair not yet fully dry, with their broomstick bags leaning against the table.
Days in the library were quiet and disciplined. Madam Pince had grown accustomed to this group of regulars, only glaring when someone spoke too loudly. Hermione's revision plan was precise to the hour, but its execution wasn't rigid—Anthony would draw little arrows on the schedule indicating "this part needs to be extended by half an hour," and Hermione wouldn't get angry; she would simply add more time to that subject during the next adjustment.
When Harry and Ron appeared in the library, Rhys was looking over his History of Magic revision notes.
The two of them stood by the bookshelves, looking as dazed as lost travelers. Ron was clutching a crumpled piece of parchment containing Professor Snape's Potion Class essay topic. Harry looked around, spotted Rhys's long table, hesitated for a second, and then walked over.
"Is anyone sitting here?" He pointed to the empty end of the long table.
Rhys shook his head. Harry and Ron sat down, pulling books and quills from their bags. Their movements were very light, as if afraid of disturbing something—likely because Hermione was sitting opposite them, and Hermione's presence in the library was much like Professor McGonagall's.
Ron flipped open "Magical Drafts and Potions," read two lines, and his gaze began to drift toward the window. The sky outside was very blue, and ripples moved across the surface of the Black Lake, probably the Giant Squidbasking in the sun. His gaze drifted from the window to the ceiling, from the ceiling to Hermione's revision schedule, and from the schedule to the History of Magic notes Rhys was writing.
"Your notes are written so neatly," he said.
Rhys glanced at him and pushed the notes toward him. "Want to take a look?"
Ron hesitated for a moment and shook his head. "Forget it, I wouldn't remember it even if I read it."
Then he went back to looking out the window.
Hermione looked up, following Ron's gaze—there was nothing outside but the lake and the sky. She frowned but said nothing, lowering her head to continue writing her Transfiguration essay.
After a while, a heavy, clip-clopping sound of footsteps came from the corridor. The footsteps were very heavy, each step sounding like it was treading on soft earth, carrying a unique rhythm. Rhys looked up—he had only ever heard this kind of footstep from one person.
Hagrid poked his head out from behind a bookshelf, his massive frame looking particularly cramped in the library's narrow aisles. He saw Harry and a smile appeared on his face, then as if suddenly remembering something, he quickly tucked one hand behind his back.
"Hagrid!" Harry stood up. "What are you doing in the library?"
"Oh—just—looking around—" Hagrid's voice was half a pitch higher than usual, and his eyes flicked unnaturally to the side. He was clutching something tightly in the hand behind his back; Rhys could only see a small section peeking out from the sleeve—it looked like the edge of a page or the corner of a piece of parchment.
"Just looking around?" Ron's voice was thick with suspicion. He stared at the hand Hagrid was hiding behind his back. "Hagrid, what are you hiding back there?"
"Nothing!" Hagrid took a step back, nearly knocking over a bookshelf. "Just—borrowing a few books—nothing special—"
His gaze lingered on Harry's face for a second before drifting away again. Rhys had seen that expression before—it was the same look Bangbang had when caught stealing cookies, so guilty it couldn't be hidden.
"Hagrid," Harry's voice dropped, carrying a cautious probe, "about the Philosopher's Stone—besides Cerberus, what other enchantments are protecting it?"
Hagrid's expression changed. It wasn't guilt anymore, but alertness. He frowned, and the hand hidden behind his back dropped; the spine of the book he was clutching pressed against his trouser seam, but it still wasn't revealed.
"I can't tell you." His voice was much lower now, and much heavier. "Harry, that's a secret. Professor Dumbledoretrusts me—"
"I know, I know." Harry waved his hands quickly. "I was just asking."
Hagrid looked at him for a long while, then nodded. His expression softened slightly, but that hand never once came out from behind his back.
"You lot get on with your revision," he said, then turned and clip-clopped away. His pace was much faster than when he had arrived, his boots thudding on the stone floor as the sound gradually faded.
The library was quiet for a few seconds.
Hermione set down her quill, her gaze returning from the doorway as she scanned everyone present. "Any guesses as to what he was hiding behind his back?"
Ron had already stood up. The legs of his chair scraped against the floor with a piercing screech, earning him a glare from Madam Pince behind the counter. He ducked his head and lowered his voice: "I'll just go see what books he was looking at."
He walked to the bookshelf where Hagrid had just been standing, looking through the spines one by one. His finger stopped at a spot, and then he pulled out several books, clutching them to his chest as he walked back.
He stacked the books on the table. "Dragon Species of Great Britain and Ireland," "From Egg to Inferno," and "A Guide to Dragon Breeding." The covers of all three books were somewhat old, as if they had been flipped through many times, especially "A Guide to Dragon Breeding," where the gold lettering on the spine was worn almost illegible.
The group stared at the three books, quiet for a good while.
"Hagrid has always wanted to raise a Dragon," Harry said, his voice carrying a strange certainty. "He told me the first time I met him. He said he'd wanted one since he was a kid."
Cho frowned. "But that's illegal."
"The Warlocks' Convention of 1709 formally passed the law banning Dragon breeding," Anthony added quickly, then paused, looking a bit surprised himself. "...It was in Hermione's revision plan."
Hermione nodded, her expression serious. "Yes. Dragonbreeding is classified as a Class A Non-Tradeable Substance, punishable by imprisonment in Azkaban at the maximum."
Ron flipped through a few pages of "A Guide to Dragon Breeding," pointing to an illustration inside—a Dragon Keeper's arm covered in burn scars. "Dragons are dangerous. You should see Charlie—oh, he's my brother—he's got burn scars all over him. He's a Dragon Keeper in Romania; he gets burned several times every year."
Rhys looked at the three books and said nothing. He knew what Hagrid was doing—he was hatching a Dragon egg. Norbert, the Norwegian Ridgeback egg. This was a plot point from the original story; Hagrid would win that egg from Quirrell and then hatch it in his fireplace. Harry, Ron, and Hermione would discover it and then find a way to send the Dragon away.
He looked up and found Cho watching him.
"What are you thinking about?" she asked.
Rhys thought for a moment. "I'm thinking that instead of guessing what he's hiding here, it would be better to just go and see."
They all looked at him.
"Don't you want to know what Hagrid is doing?" Rhys said. "We'll know if we go and see."
Harry nodded. He stood up and stuffed his Potion Classbooks into his bag. "Does everyone want to go together? These books are giving me a headache anyway."
Ron was the first to stand. Hermione hesitated, looked at the revision plan on the table, then at Harry, and closed her notebook. Anthony tucked a bookmark into the page he was reading, and Cho packed away her quill. Rhys was the last to stand, pushing his chair back into place.
The six of them walked out of the library. The light in the corridor was softer than in the morning, the setting sun staining the stone walls a warm orange. Hagrid's footsteps were long gone, but they all knew the way.
Rhys walked at the very back. He remembered the scene of the Dragon egg hatching in the original story, and Hagrid's massive, clumsy, gentle smile while holding the little Dragon. He remembered the picture books of magical creatures Bangbang had shown him when he was little; there were Dragons in them—not the ferocious, fire-breathing kind, but the kind in the picture books with wings spread like the evening glow and sparkling eyes. Bangbang had said, 'Look, Little Master, a Dragon.'
He was very small then and didn't understand anything, just thinking they looked nice.
Now he knew. Dragons weren't the docile things from picture books. They could breathe fire, they could bite, and they could burn a Dragon Keeper's arms. But Hagrid didn't care. Hagrid just liked them. That kind of liking didn't need a reason, nor did it follow logic.
He quickened his pace and caught up with the group ahead.
Chapter 43: The Egg in the Fire
An hour later, the six of them stood at the door of Hagrid's hut.
The curtains were drawn tight, letting not a single ray of light through. The wooden door was shut fast, yet a faint warmth seeped through the cracks, as if a fire were blazing inside. Harry glanced back at the others before stepping forward to knock.
"Who is it?" Hagrid's voice came from within, tinged with a hint of wariness.
"It's me, Hagrid. Harry."
The door creaked open a crack, and Hagrid's large face peered out, his beard a tangled mess and his eyes glinting like two beads in the dim light. He scanned the group standing outside, and his expression shifted—not with displeasure, but with the guilt of someone whose secret had been discovered. He then opened the door to let them in, shutting it immediately once everyone had squeezed inside.
The heat inside hit them like a wall.
Polaris felt a tightness in his lungs. It was a stifling, dry heat smelling of firewood, like walking into a greenhouse that was kept far too warm. Beside him, Cho couldn't help but let out a breath, fanning herself with her hand. Anthony took off his glasses to wipe the fog from the lenses, while fine beads of sweat had already formed on Hermione's forehead. Ron simply unbuttoned his coat.
The fire in the fireplace was roaring. It wasn't a normal fire—the flames were a golden-red, licking the hearth with a crackle as waves of heat surged outward. The wood was piled high, and the intensity suggested it wasn't just for warmth, but rather a deliberate attempt to maintain a specific high temperature.
"Sit down, sit down," Hagrid ushered them toward the table. "I'll go make some tea."
He pulled a few teacups from the cupboard and brought out a plate of sandwiches. The sandwiches didn't look very appetizing; the edges of the bread were curled, and the filling was a suspicious color. Polaris recognized it as stoat meat—Hagrid had mentioned before that he liked making stoat sandwiches, saying they were "chewy." Cho glanced at the plate and politely said, "No thank you, I'm not hungry," and the others followed suit in declining. Hagriddidn't mind; he took a piece himself and took a large bite.
"You've got something to ask me?" he asked, chewing his sandwich as his gaze circled their faces.
Harry glanced at Polaris. Polaris gave a slight nod.
"Hagrid," Harry said, his voice softening slightly, "could you tell us—besides Fluffy, what other enchantments are protecting the Philosopher's Stone?"
Hagrid stopped chewing. He put down the sandwich, his expression turning serious.
"I can't say," he said, his voice dropping. "You lot know too much already. Even if I did know, I wouldn't tell you."
He paused, his eyes scanning each of their faces.
"I don't know how you found out about Fluffy—but the Stone is safe. Safer than it was at Gringotts."
"Fluffy?" Anthony's voice rose a little. "That dog has a name?"
Hagrid's expression immediately shifted from serious to proud. "Of course he does. He's mine," he said, patting his chest. "Professor Dumbledore borrowed him from me when he wasn't even a year old. You've seen how big he's grown now."
"So those enchantments—" Hermione's voice was very soft, as if testing the waters, "were they designed by the Professors?"
"That's right," Hagrid nodded. "Professor Sprout, Professor Flitwick, Professor McGonagall, Professor Quirrell—" he counted them off on his fingers, "and Professor Snape. Each of them set a protection. One more formidable than the last."
The room fell silent for a moment.
"Professor Quirrell and Professor Snape?" Hermione's voice didn't change, but Polaris noticed her fingers tightening on her knees.
"Yeah," Hagrid said as if it were obvious. "They're all protecting the Stone. So you don't need to worry; Dumbledore is keeping an eye on it personally. Who could possibly get past all that?"
"Then—" Anthony pushed up his glasses, "are you the only one who knows how to get past the Cerberus? I mean, Fluffy?"
Hagrid blinked, then laughed. It wasn't a guilty laugh, but rather the laugh of someone who thought they'd been asked a very good question.
"Of course," he patted his chest. "No one knows except me and Dumbledore."
He laughed triumphantly. Polaris lowered his eyes and said nothing.
Cho's hand rested on Polaris's shoulder. She gave it a gentle squeeze, then wiped her forehead.
"Hagrid," her voice was a bit raspy, "could we open a window for a bit? It's a little too stuffy in here."
Hagrid's expression changed. He darted a quick look at the fireplace, then turned back and shook his head.
"Oh, sorry, Cho. Not just yet."
His gaze drifted toward the fireplace and back again, his face wearing that "I'm not hiding anything" look. Polaris steadied Cho by the arm and followed Hagrid's gaze.
The fire was still blazing. But in the deepest part of the flames, amidst the crackling logs, sat something Black and round. It was half-buried in the embers, its surface rough like a charred stone. However, as the flames licked over it, the surface glinted slightly—not like stone, but like something smoother and harder.
Harry saw it too. He stood up, walked around the table, and took a couple of steps toward the fireplace.
"What's that?"
Hagrid tried to block his view with his body, but it was too late.
"Nothing—" he said, but the guilt in his voice was impossible to hide.
Everyone crowded around. The six of them stood before the fireplace, staring at the blackish egg in the flames. It was a bit larger than an ostrich egg, its shell covered in fine patterns that glowed a faint dark red under the high heat. There were a few shallow cracks on the surface, not as if it were breaking, but as if something inside were pushing against it.
"It's a dragon egg," Polaris said.
Hagrid's face lit up, his previous guilt vanishing instantly. He rubbed his large hands together, his eyes shining like two lightbulbs.
"Black, you like dragons too?" His tone carried the excitement of finding a kindred spirit. "I knew it! I could tell you were an expert!"
"Where did you buy it?" Anthony's voice was tight. "Isn't trading these things illegal?"
"Won it!" Hagrid pulled a thick volume from under his pillow, the cover reading Dragon Breeding for Pleasure and Profit. "I was having a drink in the village last month and ran into a stranger. Won it playing cards. He couldn't wait to get rid of it—you should've seen that hand—"
"Won it?" Hermione's voice rose. "Hagrid, buying or selling those is against the law, and you actually—"
"I didn't buy or sell it! I won it!" Hagrid flipped through the book rapidly. "I've looked up so much information—look, it says right here in this book—keep the egg in the fire to simulate the mother dragon breathing on it. Once it hatches, feed it a bucket of chicken blood mixed with brandy every half hour—"
He flipped to a certain page and pointed at a colored illustration. It was a newly hatched dragonet, all wet, its eyes not yet open, and its wings pressed against its body. The expression on Hagrid's face as he looked at the illustration was one Polaris had only seen when Bangbanglooked at him.
"Norwegian Ridgeback," Hagrid whispered, as if sharing a precious secret. "A very rare breed. Look at these spikes on the back, and the shape of the wings—"
"Hagrid," Harry said softly but seriously, "you know this is illegal. If someone finds out—"
"No one will find out," Hagrid said, clutching the book to his chest, his voice muffled. "I'm just raising it for fun. When it gets a bit bigger, I'll—"
He didn't say what would happen when it got "a bit bigger." No one did.
There was another sound from the egg in the fireplace. A soft noise, as if something were moving inside the shell.
Cho leaned against Polaris, her face still flushed from the heat, her eyes fixed on the egg. She watched the dragon egg trembling slightly in the flames, her lips moving, though she said nothing.
Hagrid crouched down and added a few more logs to the fire. The flames grew brighter, licking the patterns on the eggshell, the dark red light dancing across his face.
"Don't you worry," he said softly. "I just want to see what it looks like. Just one look."
No one spoke. Polaris looked at Hagrid's back—that massive, hunched back silhouetted against the fireplace. He suddenly felt that some things didn't need a reason. Liking something was just liking it. Hagrid liked dragons, just as Bangbang liked making bubbles for him, just as Grandma liked spending extra time in the infirmary, and just as his aunt always asked "Is the money enough?" in every letter.
But the dragon egg couldn't stay here. He knew it, Harryknew it, Hermione knew it. Everyone there knew it. They just didn't have the heart to say it.
The egg in the fireplace made another sound. This time it was louder than before, and the cracks on the shell seemed to deepen.
"Hagrid," Hermione said gently, "if it hatches, where do you plan to keep it?"
Hagrid looked back and scanned the room. The wooden hut wasn't large: a bed, a table, a fireplace, and a few chairs. The windows were small, the door was small. By the time that dragon reached three feet in length, its tail would be sweeping the ceiling.
"I'll find a way," Hagrid said. His voice was firm, but there was a flicker of uncertainty in his eyes.
Hermione didn't ask further. Cho leaned against Polaris, her fingers pressing lightly against her temples. Polaris pushed the window open a crack. A cold breeze rushed in, dispersing some of the heat in the room. Hagrid didn't stop him.
Outside, the sun had set, leaving only a final streak of orange-red on the horizon. The edge of the Forbidden Forest was pitch Black, with the occasional movement among the shadows of the trees. Polaris looked into that darkness, thinking of the egg in the flames.
Dark red, patterned, with something moving inside.
Chapter 44: Fire and Submission
"I really wonder when we'll have some peaceful days again." Ron sighed in the library, burying his face in his hands and rubbing them.
There were only three lines written on the parchment in front of him, and his quill lay by the ink bottle, the ink on its tip long since dried.
Hermione looked up at Ron, then at Harry. Harry had Magical Drafts and Potions spread open in front of him, the page turned to the chapter on "Modified Recipes for Boil-Cure Potions," but as Polaris observed, he had been staring at the same paragraph for at least ten minutes.
"Have you two made your revision schedules?" Hermioneasked.
Ron peeked out from between his fingers. "What revision schedules?"
Hermione pulled two pieces of parchment from her bag and slapped one in front of each of them. They were marked with different colored inks, detailing the revision content for each day, reference books, and self-test times—exactly the same as the ones Polaris and the others held.
Harry looked down at it, his pupils contracting slightly. "There are only... left until the exams."
"Nine weeks," Hermione said. "If you start now, you'll still make it."
Ron looked at the schedule as if he were staring at an inscrutable spell. "Are you sure we'll make it? Is the exam not tomorrow?"
Hermione didn't answer. She had already lowered her head to continue writing her essay, the corners of her mouth curling up slightly—that specific kind of curl that said, "I know you'd say that, but I can't be bothered to refute it."
Polaris sat at the other end of the long table, observing the scene. Hermione hadn't consulted anyone about dragging Harry and Ron into their study group. It was just one morning, when Polaris, Cho Chang, and Anthony walked into the library, they found two extra people at the long table. Harry was sitting next to Hermione with his Transfiguration textbook open, and Ron was sitting next to Harry with... something in front of him, though he wasn't actually looking at it.
From that day on, the six-person long table became a fixture. Hermione sat in the middle, like a sheepdog, with Harry and Ron on either side. Polaris sat opposite Hermione, and Cho Chang and Anthony sat on Polaris's left and right. Madam Pince had already grown accustomed to their size, only glancing over a few times when she passed by to ensure that "the number of people had increased, but the noise level had not."
With Hermione's help, Harry's Potion Class essay had finally gotten started. Ron's progress was slower, but he had one advantage—he no longer glared at Polaris like he used to. Although he didn't say anything, Polaris noticed that Ron started to listen carefully when he explained problems, occasionally even asking, "What about this one?"
Days passed by like this. Until Hedwig appeared at the Ravenclaw breakfast table.
Polaris was drinking pumpkin juice when a snowy white owl fluttered down in front of him, a small folded note tied to her leg. Polaris recognized her as Hedwig—Harry often mentioned her. He untied the note and unfolded it; it was in Hagrid's scrawling handwriting, containing only four words:
It's hatching soon.
Polaris handed the note to Cho Chang opposite him. Cho Chang took a look and passed it to Anthony. After Anthonyfinished reading, his gaze fell toward the Gryffindor table. Hermione was taking the same note from Harry, and after reading it, instead of immediately formulating a plan as she usually did, she frowned.
Finally, the six of them decided to take a look during the break of their Herbology Class. Time was tight, so they quickened their pace. On the way, Ron muttered, "I told you we should have just skipped a class," but after a glare from Hermione, he shut his mouth.
Hagrid's hut was hotter than the last time they visited. The curtains were drawn even tighter, and the heat seeping through the door crack felt like the side of a road in summer. Harry knocked three times, and Hagrid's voice came from inside: "Who's there?"
"It's us."
The door opened a crack, and Hagrid's large face poked out. Seeing all six of them standing at the door, he opened it wider.
The small cabin immediately became cramped. Hagrid's bed, table, and fireplace, combined with the six people, left almost no room to turn around. Polaris was squeezed next to the fireplace, Cho Chang was standing in front of him, and Anthony was closest to the door. Hermione and Harrywere standing in front of the table, and Ron was wedged between the cupboard and Hagrid.
"It's about to come out." Hagrid's voice was very low, but the excitement in his tone couldn't be hidden.
The egg sat in the middle of the table. It was a full circle larger than it had been last time, the patterns on the shell were deeper, and a dark red light shone through the cracks, as if a fire were burning inside. The egg trembled slightly on the tabletop, making a clicking, clicking sound—not the sound of cracks, but something inside pecking at the shell.
The six of them crowded around, even Ron squeezed over from the cupboard side. Hagrid stood at the very front, his two large hands clasped together, his knuckles white.
The cracks on the shell grew larger. The clicking sound became more frequent and louder, like someone tapping with a small hammer inside. Then—
Pop.
A small piece of the shell flew off and landed on the floor. A wet, wrinkled little claw stretched out from the hole, clawing randomly in the air. Hagrid let out a stifled exclamation, covering his mouth with both hands.
Another piece of shell broke off. Then a third, a fourth. The shell cracked in half, and a small creature tumbled out, wobbling on the tabletop, unable to stand steady. Its body was grey-black, with a row of tiny spines on its back, and its wings were wetly plastered to its body, like two damp leaves. It finally stood steady and opened its eyes—golden yellow, with vertical pupils, like two burning ambers.
Then it sneezed. A small burst of sparks sprayed from its nostrils, landing on the tabletop and burning a few small scorch marks.
Hagrid reached out to hold it, but the little Dragon didn't look at him. It turned half a circle on the table, then another half, and crawled toward Polaris. Its claws weren't steady yet, and every step was shaky, but it crawled with determination, bypassing Hagrid's large hands, bypassing the teacups on the table, and crawling all the way to Polaris.
Polaris reached out. He didn't know what he was doing—the hand seemed to reach out on its own. The little Dragonraised its head, looked at his fingers, then opened its mouth and breathed a small mouthful of flame at his palm. The flame was gold-red and very hot; Cho Chang gasped and reached out to pull Polaris's hand back.
But Polaris didn't move.
The flame licked his skin like warm water flowing over his fingertips. It didn't hurt, it wasn't hot, there wasn't even a burning sensation. It was just warm, cozy, like holding your hands in front of a fireplace in winter. The little Dragonfinished breathing fire, tilted its head to look at him, then moved forward a step and pressed its head against his palm. Its skin was cool—having just come out of the eggshell, it hadn't been heated by the flame yet. Cool, smooth, like touching a stone dampened by rain. It lowered its head slightly, rested its head in Polaris's palm, and stopped moving.
Cho Chang had already examined Polaris's hand back and forth twice. "Are you not hurt?" Her voice was filled with disbelief.
Polaris looked down at his palm. No redness, no swelling, not even a blister.
"I only just found out, too," he said. This was true—he really hadn't known. He knew he had many abilities, but he didn't remember which one was "fire immunity." Anthonyleaned over to look at his palm, pushing up his glasses: "Your skin is immune to fire?"
"Seems like it." Polaris pulled his hand back. The little Dragon let out a dissatisfied cry, the sound thin, like a chick.
Hagrid picked up the little Dragon. His large hands cradled it like a newly hatched chick. The little Dragon struggled in his hands, looked back at Polaris, clawed at Hagrid's collar, let out a small yawn, and sprayed another small burst of sparks from its nostrils.
"Look!" Hagrid's voice choked up. "It recognizes its mother!"
Everyone looked at Hagrid, then at the little Dragon, then at Polaris. The little Dragon was rubbing its head against Hagrid's beard, its body clearly leaning toward Polaris, its wings flapping toward him from time to time. Ron opened his mouth, wanting to say something, but seeing Hagrid's expression, he swallowed it back.
Hermione's voice broke the silence. "Hagrid, how fast do Norwegian Ridgebacks grow?"
Hagrid's attention was still on the little Dragon, and he answered casually: "They grow fastest in the first three months, they can grow one—"
Before he could finish, a subtle sound came from outside the window.
Hagrid's reaction was faster than anyone's. He shoved the little Dragon into his chest, strode to the window, and pulled the curtains open with a jerk. The sunlight outside shone in, making everyone squint. Hagrid leaned over the windowsill to look out, only seeing a back—black robes, pale blonde hair, hurrying toward the Castle.
"Someone was spying!" Hagrid's voice sank. "A boy—"
Harry had already squeezed to the window. He only took one look, and his face changed. "Malfoy!" he said. "I recognize that back!"
The door was pushed open. Polaris squeezed past Hagrid, stepped over the threshold, and chased in the direction of that back.
"I'll go handle it."
Malfoy wasn't running fast. He wasn't a person good at sports to begin with, his robes dragging behind him, his boots stepping into the mud, splashing up bits of muddy water. By the time Polaris caught up, he had already reached the path at the edge of the Forbidden Forest, panting, his speed significantly slowed.
"Cousin."
Malfoy stopped and turned around. His face was flushed red, not knowing if it was from running or anger. Seeing that it was only Polaris, his expression changed—from panic to something more complex.
"What are you running for?" Polaris walked up to him, his breathing steady.
"That half-breed Giant!" Malfoy's voice went sharp. "He's raising a Dragon in secret! I'm going to tell a Professor!"
Polaris looked at him and sighed. Malfoy's face turned even redder.
"Are you really going to snitch?" Polaris's voice was calm. "Cousin, he is not 'that half-breed Giant.' He has a name. He is called Hagrid, and he is also a member of Hogwarts."
Malfoy's lips moved, but he didn't speak.
"Don't you like Dragons too?" Polaris continued. "Your name—Draco. I guess Aunt Narcissa and Uncle Luciusmust call you 'Little Dragon,' right?"
Malfoy's face turned from red to purple. "You don't—you can't call me that!" His voice cracked slightly. "I am your cousin!"
"I know."
"That half-breed—" Malfoy paused, swallowing the rest of his words. "He violated the law. Raising a Dragon is against the law—"
"Cousin." Polaris interrupted him. "How important is pure blood really?"
Malfoy was stunned.
"If pure blood is glory," Polaris said, "then I—Polaris Black—am not the pure blood you see. My mother came from the East, not a traditional pure-blood Wizard. Are you going to exclude me too?"
Malfoy's mouth opened and closed. "No," he said, his voice much lower than before. "That's different."
"It's the same." Polaris looked at him. "We are all the same."
He paused.
"The glory of pure blood is having access to deeper, more ancient magic than ordinary Wizards, it is having superior resources. This is the accumulation brought by the family, it is what allows us to grasp power, wealth, and status in the Wizarding world. It is not for dividing people into different classes."
Malfoy looked at him, his eyes filled with anger, defiance, and something else indescribable.
"The stronger your ability, the higher your status, the kinder you are to others—just like Professor Dumbledore. People will spontaneously respect you, love you, and want to be your friend. Not because of your bloodline, but because of what you have done."
Malfoy's fingers clenched his robes.
"When you usually mock Harry for not having parents," Polaris's voice softened slightly, "Cousin, I don't have parents either."
Malfoy's breathing skipped a beat.
"You think You-Know-Who has strong abilities," Polaris said. "He took away the lives of my parents, my grandfather, and my grandmother. Such a person, are you going to blindly admire him too?"
Malfoy's face went white. Not the kind of white that fades after flushing, but a real, bloodless pallor. His lips trembled slightly, as if wanting to say something, but something was stuck in his throat.
"If one day," Polaris's voice was very soft, "if you were asked to sacrifice something, and the price was losing your family—would you abandon Aunt Narcissa and Uncle Lucius?"
Malfoy didn't answer. He stood there, his lips still trembling, his eyes rimmed with red.
Polaris patted him on the shoulder and turned to walk back. After a few steps, he stopped without looking back.
"Cousin, do what you think is right about the Dragon egg."
He walked away. Malfoy stood in place, watching his back disappear at the end of the path. The wind blew, making his robes rustle. He stood there for a long time, then lowered his head, clenched his fists, and turned to walk toward the Castle. After a few steps, he stopped again and looked back. The path was empty, nothing was there. He stood for a while longer, then continued toward the Castle. This time, his steps were much slower.
Night had deepened. Polaris was the only one in the Ravenclaw common room. The fire in the fireplace was burning brightly, the orange-red light dancing on the deep blue carpet, illuminating the whole room warmly. Polaris sat on the carpet in front of the fireplace, leaning his back against an armchair, staring at his right hand.
His palm was very clean. No burns, no blisters, not even a hint of red. He flipped his hand over, looked at the back of his hand, then flipped it back.
"System," he said softly.
A cold, mechanical voice sounded in his mind.
[Present.]
"What's going on with my hand?"
[Host, have you forgotten? I am the Shendu System.]
The system's voice paused for a moment.
[Shendu is the Fire Demon. The Twelve Talismans are Shendu's abilities. Fire affinity and resistance are Shendu's innate talents. From the moment you inherited Shendu's magic talent, you would never fear fire again. Fire cannot hurt you.]
Polaris looked at his palm. The burst of flame the little Dragon breathed was still gold-red in his memory, warm, like the wind in front of the fireplace in winter.
[Similarly, as a Dragon-type demon, Shendu is superior to the Dragon creatures of this world.]
The system added.
[That little one lowered its head; it was submitting.]
Polaris reached his hand toward the fireplace. The flames licked his fingertips, gold-red, warm. He reached his whole hand into the fire, the flames passing over his skin like water flowing over stone, leaving no trace. Warm, hot, but no pain.
He pulled his hand back and looked at it. Intact. The fire in the fireplace crackled, burning the last piece of wood into charcoal. Polaris sat in front of the fireplace, resting his hands on his knees, watching the flames slowly dim.
Chapter 45: Night Transport
Malfoy quieted down even more thoroughly than Polaris Black had expected.
For several days after that, whenever Polaris Black met him in the corridor, he would always be on the verge of speaking. His lips would move as if he wanted to say something, but in the end, he would press them into a thin line and walk past with his head down. Crabbe and Goylefollowed behind him; the two big guys exchanged confused glances, then had no choice but to follow with their heads down as well.
Once, while eating in the Great Hall, Polaris Black saw Malfoy standing by the Slytherin table, looking from afar at Harry and Ron on the Gryffindor side for several seconds. Goyle tugged at his sleeve, and only then did he snap out of it, sit down, and start cutting the steak on his plate.
"What's up with him lately?" Anthony noticed Malfoy's gaze. "He keeps looking over here."
"He's thinking about something," Polaris Black said.
"What could he be thinking about for so long?"
"How to apologize to someone."
Anthony's fork paused in his hand. He looked at Polaris Black's expression, then at the direction of Malfoy, nodded thoughtfully, and didn't press further.
Polaris Black had mentioned this to Harry and Ron.
"Don't worry about Malfoy snitching." On their way back from the library to the Gryffindor tower, Polaris Blacklowered his voice. "He won't do that."
Harry looked at him without speaking immediately. Ron's expression clearly read 'I don't believe it,' but after looking at Polaris Black's face, he swallowed the words that were on the tip of his tongue.
"Are you sure?" Harry asked.
"Sure," Polaris Black said. "If he wanted to snitch, he would have done it already."
Ron muttered something, probably 'I hope so.' Harrynodded, patted Polaris Black on the shoulder, and the two turned and walked into the Fat Lady's portrait door.
Polaris Black stood there for a while, then turned and headed toward the Ravenclaw tower. The torches in the corridor stretched his shadow long, swaying back and forth on the stone wall.
He thought of Malfoy standing by the Slytherin table, dazed. That boy, who had been pampered since childhood and taught a brain full of 'pure-blood supremacy,' wasn't born a bad person. He was just spoiled, locked in a golden cage with the word 'Malfoy' carved onto its bars.
It takes time to break open the cage. Polaris Black wasn't in a rush.
The problem of the Dragon was much more urgent than Malfoy.
In just one week, Norbert—the name Hagrid gave the little Dragon—had grown three times larger. When it first hatched, it could fit in Polaris Black's palm; now it required two hands to hold. Its wings were no longer two damp flaps but had unfolded, the thin wing membranes showing dark red veins in the firelight. It had learned to breathe fire—not the sneezing kind of sparks, but real, small streams of flame that could ignite firewood.
Hagrid's hut was a mess. The walls were covered in charred marks, half the curtains were burned away, and the bedsheets had been changed three times, each time shredded by claws. Hagrid had almost completely set aside his duties as Gamekeeper, staying in the hut from morning till night, feeding Norbert chicken blood and brandy, and holding it to soothe it to sleep.
The chicken blood and brandy were being consumed quickly. Hagrid's meager savings couldn't buy many barrels, so Polaris Black wrote a letter asking his aunt to send a batch from home, express, free of charge. His aunt's reply was short: "Chicken blood and brandy sent. Stay safe." She didn't ask any more questions.
The six of them went to Hagrid's hut again.
This time it was because the chicken blood and brandy sent by Polaris Black had arrived, and they were helping to deliver it. The moment they pushed the door open, the group fell silent. When they had visited last time, although it was messy, it was still livable. Now—the stone bricks in front of the fireplace had been cracked by Norbert's flames, and one of the wooden beams on the ceiling had been replaced with a new one, likely repaired by Hagrid himself. The floor was covered in a layer of wood shavings to absorb Norbert's waste, but the air, mixed with the smell of burning and alcohol, still made everyone involuntarily hold their breath.
Norbert was lying on Hagrid's bed. It could no longer lie on the bed—it would collapse it. But it still tried to rest its upper body on the mattress, with its hind legs on the floor and its tail dragging, the tip of it occasionally flicking and leaving a new scorch mark on the wall.
Seeing Polaris Black, it climbed down from the bed and waddled over. Its claws scraped against the floor with a harsh sound, wings half-spread for balance. It rubbed against Polaris Black's trouser leg, then raised its head and breathed a small stream of flame at him—not an attack, but a greeting. Polaris Black didn't dodge; the flame burned against his trouser leg and extinguished, leaving the fabric intact. The fireproof material his aunt had customized for him had finally found its use.
Hagrid sat by the table, holding a teacup with both hands, not drinking. His eyes were red, and his nose was red too.
"Hagrid," Harry sat down opposite him, his voice very soft. "Just let it go. Set it free."
"I can't." Hagrid's voice was muffled. "It's too small. It will die."
He put down the teacup and picked up Norbert from beside Polaris Black's feet. Norbert struggled a bit in his arms, flapped its wings twice, breathed out a string of sparks, then quieted down, resting its head on Hagrid's shoulder.
Tears blurred his eyes and flowed down through his beard. "Look, it already recognizes me. Norbert, Norbert!"
Norbert ignored him. It tilted its head, looking past Hagrid's shoulder at Polaris Black.
Harry shook his head. "Hagrid, in another two weeks, it will grow as big as your house. Although no one is snitching, such a large target will naturally be discovered."
Hagrid hugged Norbert tighter. "I know. I know I can't keep it. But I can't just throw it away like that."
Ron stood at the door, watching Norbert's wings in the firelight, and suddenly spoke: "Charlie."
The group all looked at him.
"My brother Charlie," Ron said. "He studies Dragons in Romania. He can take care of Norbert."
Polaris Black took over the conversation. "I'll have my family rush a certificate proving that a Dragon was accidentally discovered after being hatched. Ron, you write a letter to your brother, and I'll have my aunt send it along to Charlie. We'll have people from the House of Blackcoordinate with Charlie's contacts. This way, the Dragoncan be sent to Romania, and even if it's discovered, there will be evidence to prove it's a legal discovery—turning Hagrid's illegal raising into a legal discovery of a hatchling."
He paused. "A foolproof plan."
Ron opened his mouth, looked at Polaris Black, and then nodded. "That's great. Hagrid, do you think this will work?"
Hagrid held Norbert, silent for a long time. Norbertyawned in his arms, and a string of sparks puffed out of its nostrils, landing on his beard and singeing a few hairs. He didn't put the fire out, just plucked away the singed beard stubble.
"Okay," he said. His voice was so hoarse it was almost inaudible.
The days waiting for a reply were longer than expected. Charlie needed to coordinate his time, and the House of Black's rush certificate wouldn't take effect just because the Ministry of Magic stamped it. His aunt's letter said, "Paperwork is in process, don't worry," and the letter Ronreceived also said, "Next weekend at the earliest."
During this week, Norbert grew another size. Hagrid's hut could barely contain it. Its tail would stretch into the fireplace, extinguishing the fire three times; each time, Hagrid had to pull its tail out to check for burns. Norbert's scales had hardened, and ordinary flames couldn't hurt it, but Hagrid still checked it carefully every time.
Saturday night, the reply finally arrived. Charlie said to hand it over at midnight on the tower, and the House of Black's certificate was attached, stamped by the Ministry of Magic—his aunt had used the Selwyn family's connections, making it several times faster than the normal process. Hagrid read the certificate several times, folded it, and stuffed it under his pillow.
Before midnight, the six of them gathered at Hagrid's hut.
The sky was pitch Black, overcast, with no moon and no stars. This weather was good for transport—low visibility, not easy to be discovered. But Polaris Black still cast the Disillusionment Charm on everyone, including himself. The six outlines disappeared one by one in the darkness, with only the occasional footprints on the ground proving they were still there.
Hagrid put Norbert in a large crate. Norbert was already too big; the crate barely fit it. Its head poked out from the gap in the lid, its yellowish eyes glowing in the dark.
Hagrid knelt down, pressed his face against the crate, and rubbed against Norbert's head through the wood. Norbertbreathed a small stream of flame, setting his beard on fire; this time he put it out—not because of the pain, but because he didn't want the fire to burn the crate.
"Goodbye, Norbert," his voice was so hoarse it didn't sound like his own. "Mommy won't forget you."
Norbert squeaked, thin and high, just like when it had first hatched.
Polaris Black opened the air vents on the crate lid and checked the securing ropes inside one last time.
"Let's go."
Cho Chang was responsible for observing the Dragon's status and casting the Silencing Charm—Norbert could not make a sound; a single cry would be enough to alert the entire Castle.
Anthony and Hermione took turns using the Levitation Charm to keep the crate a few inches off the ground, reducing the noise of transport.
Harry and Ron were responsible for keeping watch, one looking ahead and the other behind.
Polaris walked at the very front; under the cover of the Disillusionment Charm, his silhouette completely blended into the night.
The crate moved slowly along the path.
Hagrid stood at the doorway of his hut, watching the crate floating in the darkness drift further and further away, not following them.
When they reached the corner of the Castle's outer wall, Harry suddenly stopped and raised his fist—this was the signal they had agreed upon beforehand, meaning "situation detected."
Polaris looked in the direction of his gaze.
A figure emerged from the shadows of the tower.
It was not Filch, and it was not a Professor. It was Malfoy.
Harry's voice was very low, yet tight: "What are you doing?"
Malfoy stood there, his eyes wide in the darkness.
He clearly only saw Harry and Ron—because he could hear their voices but could not see them.
He opened his mouth, then closed it again, his gaze shifting from the direction of Harry's voice to the spot where the crate was floating.
The outline of the crate was faintly visible in the dark.
"I..." Malfoy's voice was a bit tight, "I heard Potter and Weasley talking about transporting a Dragon. I just wanted to follow and see."
He paused for a moment.
"I like Dragons too."
His expression was complex.
The arrogance was still there, his chin slightly lifted, but his eyes kept darting around, not daring to look in Harry's direction.
His fingers clutched the edge of his robes so tightly that his knuckles were white.
His lips moved as if he wanted to say something harsh, but in the end, he didn't say anything at all.
Polaris stepped out from the shadows, and the moment the Disillusionment Charm was lifted, their silhouettes appeared like ripples in water.
When Malfoy saw the group, his expression shifted. "But I didn't expect there to be so many of you."
"Since you're already here," Polaris said, "come along."
Malfoy was stunned.
"You and Cho Chang keep an eye on the Dragon's status." After saying this, Polaris tapped his wand lightly. "Disillusionment Charm."
Malfoy's outline vanished.
He looked down at his own transparent body but said nothing.
The group continued forward.
Cho Chang walked beside the crate, her hand resting on the lid; the Silencing Charm made every breath of Norbert's soundless.
Hermione and Anthony maintained the Levitation Charmfrom front and back, evenly distributing the crate's weight.
Harry and Ron walked on either side, eyes fixed on every corner of the darkness.
Malfoy walked at the very back, as quiet as if he didn't exist.
The high tower stood in the midnight wind.
After lifting the Disillusionment Charm, they waited for a while.
The wind was strong, making their robes rustle.
Ron hunched his shoulders, and Hermione pulled her scarf up.
Polaris stood at the edge of the tower, looking toward the northern sky.
Several dark shadows emerged from beneath the clouds.
People riding broomsticks, wearing thick, dark robes, their scarves streaming behind them in the wind.
The leader was a young man with red hair, freckles on his face, and a faint scar on his chin—left by a burn.
His broomstick was faster than the others, and he landed first.
"Charlie." Ron went to meet him.
Charlie Weasley jumped off his broomstick, patted his brother on the shoulder, and then saw the others emerging from the darkness.
His gaze paused on Polaris for a moment before landing on the crate.
Norbert poked its head out from a gap in the crate lid and breathed a small puff of flame at him.
Charlie smiled. "Norwegian Ridgeback. Look at the density of these spines; a fine specimen."
Three people from the House of Black also landed.
Polaris hadn't seen the leader before, but he recognized the crest on the robes—the symbol of a star-swirl broomstick.
The person walked up to Polaris and nodded slightly: "Young Master, the Mistress sent us to assist."
Polaris nodded.
The people from the House of Black took out iron chains and secured the crate.
Charlie checked every chain, pulling on them to ensure they were secure, then whistled into the air.
Several ropes descended from above, and iron hooks latched onto the four corners of the crate.
The crate slowly rose into the air.
Norbert's head poked out from the gap, its bright yellow eyes scanning the darkness one last time.
It saw Polaris and let out a cry—Cho Chang's Silencing Charm had been lifted during the handover—the sound was thin, carrying far into the night wind.
Then it was pulled into the clouds and disappeared from sight.
Charlie mounted his broomstick and waved at them. "Don't worry, once it reaches Romania, it's our job."
He paused and glanced at Ron. "Write a letter home to Mom and tell her not to worry."
Ron nodded.
Charlie and the others ascended into the air and disappeared into the clouds.
The seven of them stood on the high tower; the wind was still blowing, and the sky was still dark.
The crate and the Dragon were gone; only a few lights shone from the Castle windows below the tower.
Ron moved first. "Let's go, I'm freezing."
He turned and walked toward the stairs.
The others followed behind.
Malfoy walked at the very back, and Polaris walked beside him.
"That crate," Malfoy suddenly spoke up, his voice very soft, "that Weasley—Charlie—will he really take good care of that Dragon?"
"He will," Polaris said.
Malfoy was silent for a moment, not asking anything else.
The spiral staircase was very long, winding down circle by circle.
The footsteps of the seven echoed against the stone walls, occasionally someone would kick a step, making a dull thud.
Cho Chang walked in front of Polaris, Hermione and Anthony walked in front of Cho Chang, and Harry and Ronwere at the front.
Malfoy walked beside Polaris, his pace very slow.
"What you said the other day," Malfoy's voice was pressed very low, low enough that only Polaris could hear, "I went back and thought about it."
Polaris did not reply.
"Some of it was right," Malfoy said.
His voice sounded awkward, as if he were saying something he didn't want to admit but had to.
"Some... I still need time."
Polaris nodded. "No rush."
Malfoy said nothing more.
When they reached the middle of the stairs, Ron suddenly stopped. "Did you hear something?"
Everyone stopped.
Footsteps came from below the stairs—not the footsteps of one person, but the rhythmic, unhurried footsteps of two feet.
There was another sound, lighter, finer, like something rubbing against the ground.
Polaris's heart sank.
Oh no.
He had forgotten about this.
In the original story, after transporting Norbert, Harry, Ron, and Hermione were caught by Filch, and since everyone had let their guard down after sending the Dragon off, Polaris hadn't cast the Disillusionment Charm on everyone either.
"It's Filch," Harry said in a whisper.
It was too late.
A beam of flashlight shone up from below the stairs, hitting Harry directly in the face.
Harry instinctively raised his hand to shield his eyes, and the flashlight beam moved to Ron's face, then Hermione's, then Anthony's, then Cho Chang's, then Polaris's, and finally Malfoy's.
Filch stood at the corner of the stairs, holding his flashlight high, the expression on his face like he had just found a bag of gold.
His chin was lifted, the corners of his mouth turned down, and his pale eyes were full of triumph.
"Out of bed," he said, "and so many of you."
His gaze paused on Polaris's face, and the corners of his mouth turned down even further.
"Come with me to see Professor McGonagall."
No one argued.
No one tried to run.
Everyone exchanged glances, seeing the same expression on each other's faces—"We're done for."
The seven of them lined up and followed behind Filch, walking through the corridor, down two flights of stairs, and through another corridor.
Filch walked quickly, looking to be in a very good mood, occasionally looking back to ensure no one had fallen behind.
Professor McGonagall's office was on the second floor.
Filch knocked on the door three times, and a stern "Come in" came from inside.
Professor McGonagall was sitting behind her desk, still holding a quill, with a stack of parchment spread out in front of her—she clearly hadn't gone to sleep yet and was grading assignments.
She looked up and saw the seven people filing in behind Filch; the expression on her face changed from stern to severe.
"Mr. Filch, you may return now," she said.
Filch clearly wanted to stay and watch the fun, but he nodded and turned to leave.
The door closed.
Professor McGonagall's gaze swept across the faces of the seven people one by one.
Harry, Ron, and Hermione of Gryffindor.
Cho Chang, Anthony, and Polaris of Ravenclaw.
And—
Her gaze paused on Malfoy's face.
"Mr. Malfoy?" Her eyebrows lifted slightly. "I thought you were in Slytherin."
Malfoy opened his mouth but couldn't get any words out.
Professor McGonagall took off her glasses, wiped the lenses with her robes, and put them back on.
"Well," she said, "who wants to go first?"