The dragon egg hatched much faster than Kyle had expected. Only a few days after the Easter holidays, he received a letter from Hagrid.
It contained only four words: "Hatching soon."
The handwriting was even messier and more crooked than usual, and Kyle was certain that Hagrid hadn't taken his eyes off the dragon egg, not even while scribbling the note. The letters seemed rushed, almost jittery—nothing like Hagrid's typical scrawl.
But it made sense. Raising a dragon had always been Hagrid's dream, and with the egg about to hatch, this was the moment he'd been waiting for. It was impressive enough that he even remembered to send a letter.
Kyle quickly scarfed down a few bites of grilled sausage before heading over to Hagrid's hut.
"You're just in time. It's about to hatch."
Hagrid opened the door, his voice buzzing with excitement. "I was so nervous last night, I didn't sleep a wink."
The egg, no longer by the fireplace, sat on the table, trembling occasionally with faint shakes.
To Kyle's disappointment, there were no cracks visible in the egg.
"Judging by how often it's shaking, it'll probably take another two hours before it hatches," Kyle sighed. The dragon would likely emerge around 10 a.m., right when he'd be in Transfiguration class on the third floor of the castle.
If only it could've been a day earlier. Yesterday morning he had Herbology in the third greenhouse, which was close enough to slip over during break. But today was different—Transfiguration was followed by Defense Against the Dark Arts, and Kyle didn't want to risk being late.
...
He was still mulling this over as he made his way back to the castle.
The first three days after a dragon hatches are the best time to bond with it. In those early days, newly-hatched dragons are like sleepy newborns, their bodies still adjusting. Their aggressive instincts are dulled, and they feel a natural sense of closeness to any living creature they see.
If you miss that window, getting along with them becomes much harder.
Looks like I'll need to visit Hagrid's more often over the next three days, Kyle thought.
Of course, gifts would be essential too. Nothing fancy, just dried meat and fish—perfect treats for a Norwegian Ridgeback, ideal for winning its favor.
In a way, raising a dragon wasn't all that different from raising a cat.
In Transfiguration, Kyle was half-listening as Professor McGonagall spoke. With a casual flick of his wand, he turned the rabbit in front of him into a delicate, golden trophy, its surface glinting with polished detail.
"Perfectly shaped, not a hair out of place. If you'd done that a month ago, I would've given you an extra five points…"
Professor McGonagall's voice suddenly sounded close by.
"I understand your determination to win the competition, but I must remind you that today we're practicing transfiguring slippers… You can't go walking around with a Quidditch trophy."
"Sorry, Professor…"
Kyle flushed and quickly waved his wand, transforming the trophy into a pair of fluffy slippers with cat ears.
Professor McGonagall gave a satisfied nod. "Don't daydream in class next time."
"Three points for Hufflepuff."
...
As soon as noon arrived, Kyle darted out of the classroom as soon as the lesson ended, eager to get acquainted with the newborn dragon.
Passing by the entrance to the Great Hall, he caught sight of Harry and Malfoy. But that didn't surprise him. As long as it wasn't during class, it seemed like Malfoy could always be found hovering near Harry—something of an unspoken rule by now.
Except today, they looked a bit… different.
Malfoy was standing with Crabbe and Goyle, laughing loudly, an air of triumph about him. Harry, on the other hand, looked uneasy, almost guilty, as if he'd been caught doing something he shouldn't.
They seemed too absorbed in their standoff to notice Kyle walking by.
Has Malfoy finally managed to get rid of Ron? Kyle thought, glancing curiously back at them.
Ten minutes later, though, he had an idea of what was going on.
"So, Malfoy saw the Norwegian Ridgeback too?"
"I'm not sure," Hagrid replied, sounding a bit downcast. "I only saw him leaning against the window—I didn't even notice when he came."
Kyle looked over at the window Hagrid had indicated, frowning. "I think Malfoy just saw something on the table. He probably didn't realize it was a dragon."
Hagrid's eyes lit up. If Malfoy hadn't figured it out, maybe they wouldn't have to send Norbert away after all.
"It's just a guess," Kyle added.
The window wasn't high, but most of it was covered by curtains, leaving only a small gap, which might have obscured a full view of the table from outside. Still, Kyle couldn't be certain; he hadn't been there at the time and had no idea where Harry and the others had been standing.
But knowing Malfoy, Kyle doubted he'd miss a chance to get Harry in trouble. If he'd truly seen the dragon, he wouldn't be lingering in the Great Hall right now—he'd be heading straight to Snape's office.
Kyle offered Hagrid a few more reassurances, then took out a dried fish and went over to amuse the baby dragon.
True to its species, the little dragon—still small enough to fit in his hands—had remarkably sharp teeth and promptly bit the dried fish in half.
"Kyle… are you sure it's alright to feed it this?" Hagrid asked nervously. "I remember reading somewhere that it should be drinking chicken-blood brandy at this stage and not eating solid food for at least a week." He reached for Dragon Breeding for Pleasure and Profit, the worn book he kept under his pillow.
He'd been studying it closely; although the book was a bit outdated, it provided a thorough guide on dragon care.
"What you're talking about is the standard for captive breeding," Kyle explained, pulling out another piece of dried fish. "In the wild, dragons don't have chicken-blood brandy on hand. For certain species, like the Norwegian Ridgeback or Hungarian Horntail, they're ready to eat solid food as soon as they hatch. Those sharp teeth aren't just for decoration."
"Really?" Hagrid blinked, taken aback.
But seeing Norbert happily munching on the dried fish, he decided to trust Kyle's advice. Whether it was brandy or dried fish, as long as the little dragon liked it, it should be alright.
Soon, the bag of dried fish was empty, and Norbert let out a contented burp, sending a small puff of flame from his mouth.
"Looks like Norbert has a taste for fish…" Hagrid said, beaming. "Oh, by the way, I almost forgot to tell you—I named him Norbert."