Teachers always want their students to excel, or at least assume that they will.
After the Quidditch match, classes entered the final stretch before exams, and the workload became overwhelming. The Easter break wasn't nearly as enjoyable as Christmas. With Hermione constantly reciting The Twelve Uses of Dragon's Blood or perfecting wand movements, there was little chance to relax.
The only silver lining was that Ryan became Hermione's primary study partner. He looked exhausted, balancing schoolwork with the knowledge he was absorbing from the grocery store.
Every evening, he sat in front of the fireplace in the common room, claiming that he was practicing an ancient inheritance technique from the East. This attracted curious classmates, though fortunately, being only eleven, he avoided being labeled a weirdo taking advantage of the situation.
Keeping up with Hermione's study pace also benefited Harry and Ron. With Ryan taking the brunt of Hermione's enthusiasm, they were spared much of her intense study pressure.
Still, the sheer volume of homework meant they spent most of their free time in the library, sighing and yawning as they struggled to keep up.
"I'll never remember all of this," Ron groaned one afternoon, throwing down his quill in frustration. He stared longingly at the bright blue sky outside. It was a perfect day, but homework kept them trapped indoors.
Harry, absorbed in A Thousand Magical Herbs and Fungi, was searching for Mistletoe Berries when he heard Ron mutter, "Hagrid? What's he doing in the library?"
Hagrid had just stepped past a bookshelf, hurriedly hiding something behind him. He looked entirely out of place in his enormous moleskin coat.
"Just looking around," Hagrid said evasively. "What are you lot up to?" He suddenly became suspicious. "Still snooping around about Nicolas Flamel, are you?"
"Oh, we figured that out ages ago," Ron said smugly. "And we know what the dog's guarding—the Philosopher's Stone—"
"Shhh!" Hagrid hushed him quickly, glancing around. "Listen—come see me later, alright? I never said nothin', but don't talk about it here! People might think I told you—"
"Alright, see you later," Harry said as Hagrid quickly made his exit.
Ryan, who had been focused on his book, now looked up with a thoughtful expression. Hagrid rarely set foot in the library—especially not for reading. Something felt off.
Frowning, Ryan excused himself and began scanning the shelves where Hagrid had been browsing. A few minutes later, he returned to the table, dropping a pile of books in front of Hermione, making her jump.
"What are you doing?" she scolded, rubbing the spot where her quill had scratched across her parchment. Harry and Ron also turned to him curiously.
"Dragons," Ryan murmured. "Hagrid's researching dragons. Look at these titles: Dragons of Great Britain and Ireland, From Hatching to Nirvana, A Guide to Raising Dragons... Why would he be looking this up? Did he actually get a dragon?"
"Impossible," Ron scoffed. "The International Confederation of Wizards banned dragon breeding back in 1709. Everyone knows that. Even if someone managed to get a dragon, keeping one hidden from Muggles is nearly impossible. Besides, dragons are incredibly dangerous! You should see Charlie—he's covered in burns from handling wild Romanian dragons."
"Not to mention," Hermione added, "dragon eggs are classified as Class A non-tradable goods. Even if one turned up on the black market, how could Hagrid afford it?"
"Hagrid's always wanted a dragon," Harry pointed out. "He told me that the first time I met him. Maybe he finally got his hands on one."
"That would be crazy," Hermione muttered. "What is he thinking?"
"Only one way to find out," Ryan said, closing his book. "Let's go ask him."
An hour later, they knocked on the door of Hagrid's hut. To their surprise, the curtains were drawn tight. Ryan frowned—this was unnecessary. The hut's high windows and fogged glass already prevented anyone from seeing inside. Pulling the curtains shut only made it look more suspicious.
"Who's there?" Hagrid called cautiously before letting them in and quickly shutting the door behind them.
Inside, it was stiflingly hot. Despite the warm weather, a blazing fire roared in the fireplace. Hagrid poured them tea and offered ferret sandwiches, which they politely declined.
As the conversation shifted toward the Philosopher's Stone, Hermione skillfully flattered Hagrid, coaxing out information. Piece by piece, he revealed that several professors had set up protective enchantments inside the hidden chamber.
Ryan, however, had his doubts. While Hagrid appeared simple and good-natured, he was a man in his sixties. Based on his experience, it was unlikely he would be so easily manipulated by first-year students. More likely, he was deliberately feeding them this information.
It made sense if Dumbledore had planned for this—grooming Harry as a hero. In the original timeline, Dumbledore had likely assumed that Quirrell was merely after the Stone for his own gain. He hadn't anticipated Voldemort hitching a ride on the back of Quirrell's head. Otherwise, there was no way Dumbledore would have allowed Harry to face Voldemort so directly.
As their questioning wound down, Ryan's eyes fell on a large black object nestled under the kettle in the fireplace. Feigning curiosity, he pointed at it.
"What's that? Something to eat?"
Hagrid stiffened, his eyes darting between them. "That's—oh…"
Ron crouched by the fire, peering at the object. "This is a Class A restricted item under Ministry law," he said grimly.
"And it's about to become an S-class item," Ryan added, stepping closer.
"What?" Harry asked, confused. "What are you guys talking about?"
Ryan sighed, noting Harry and Hermione's puzzled expressions. "In the Ministry of Magic's classification system, dragon eggs are Category A restricted goods. Once they hatch, they become Category S—extremely dangerous creatures."
"But that doesn't make sense!" Harry protested. "Every student has dragon-hide gloves, and you can buy dragon liver for a Galleon. If dragon parts are so common, why are eggs and live dragons so restricted?"
"It's because most dragon products on the market come from government-sanctioned dragon farms," Ron explained. He then turned back to Hagrid, his eyes narrowing. "This must've cost you a fortune."
"Didn't buy it," Hagrid admitted, looking sheepish. "Won it in a game of cards last night, down in the village. Bloke seemed keen to get rid of it."
Ryan exchanged a look with the others.
Hagrid had unknowingly walked into a trap.
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