Chapter 31: The Silver Pendant on the Collar, The Black Egg in Hagrid's Fireplace (Patreon)

Mid-January. The Christmas holidays were over.

The Hogwarts Express had carried a noisy tide of students back, and the snow blanketing the castle's slopes was starting to melt.

In the Great Hall that morning, students from every House had filled the long tables again. Draconia had barely sat down at the Slytherin table when Pansy Parkinson, sharp-eyed as ever, pointed at her collar and gasped softly.

"Nia, that pendant is gorgeous! I've never seen you wear it before!"

The young lady wore a high-collared black velvet school cloak today, and pinned dead center on its white lace lapel was a small pure-silver teardrop pendant.

There wasn't a single showy gem on its surface, only a few exquisitely fine silver lines that gave off a faint, gentle glow in the morning light.

Draconia froze for half a second, so briefly that no one would have noticed.

Her hand flew up to cover the pendant. Her eyes darted, flustered, across the table toward Raven, then she lifted her chin and cut Pansy off stiffly.

"It's a little antique my mother had picked up from a pure-blood workshop in France. It's meant to keep out the cold. Honestly, don't be so provincial."

Even as she said it, her fingertips felt the pendant's soft warmth, and the tips of her ears quietly turned a pale pink.

She had taken it off three times before leaving her room. But the thought of the damp, bone-chilling wind in the dungeons had, in the end, driven her to fasten it at the most prominent spot on her collar after all.

Across from her, Raven lifted his teacup. His gaze rested on the silver teardrop at her chest for a moment, and the corner of his mouth curved up. "The French workshop has excellent taste, Miss Malfoy."

Draconia snatched her hand back as if she'd been scalded and shot him a glare. "Nobody asked you!" she hissed through gritted teeth. "I just think the corridors are too cold, that's all!"

Raven smiled and didn't press her any further.

*

The calm after term began didn't last long.

On Saturday afternoon, at a corner of the corridor outside the library's Restricted Section, Hermione hurried over and caught Raven just as he was heading for the fifth-floor workshop.

Harry and Ron stood behind her, both looking grim.

"Hagrid is definitely in serious trouble," Hermione said, lowering her voice, her brow knotted tight. "This morning I saw the borrowing register at the desk. Hagrid checked out Dragon Species of Great Britain and Ireland and From Egg to Inferno: A Dragon Keeper's Guide, both at once!"

"Dragons?" Raven stopped walking.

"He's got the curtains in his hut pulled tight, and black smoke's pouring out of the chimney in broad daylight."

"Brother Raven, will you come with us?" Harry said. "If Hagrid really is keeping something like that in his hut, it's illegal!"

"The Warlocks' Convention of 1709 banned private dragon breeding ages ago," Ron muttered beside them. "If the Ministry of Magic catches him, he'll end up in Azkaban!"

Raven gave a thoughtful nod. "Then let's go and see."

Ten minutes later, the four of them trudged across the muddy grass to the door of the rough stone hut at the edge of the Forbidden Forest.

Knock, knock, knock. Harry rapped on the heavy wooden door.

First came a burst of frantic barking from inside, then the dull thud of something heavy hitting the floor, and finally Hagrid's gruff, wary voice through the crack. "Who's out there?"

"It's us, Hagrid. Harry."

The door opened two inches, revealing Hagrid's big, shaggy face.

He glanced left and right to make sure Filch wasn't patrolling nearby, then stepped aside and let all four of them in. He slammed the door shut and shoved the bolt home.

The moment they stepped inside, a suffocating wave of scorching heat hit them in the face.

The snow outside had only just melted, but the fire in the hearth was roaring, the coals crackling. Fang, the huge boarhound, lay panting in the corner with his tongue lolling out.

And there in the hottest heart of the coals sat a heavy iron kettle.

Beneath it lay a huge oval egg the size of a rugby ball, its surface covered in rough, uneven black ridges.

"Merlin's beard..." Ron sucked in a breath, backing up until he was almost pressed against the table leg. "Hagrid... where did you get that?!"

"Won it," Hagrid said, rubbing his enormous, fan-sized hands together. His face was flushed, and he couldn't hide his excitement and pride. "Last night, at the The Hog's Head in Hogsmeade. I played cards with a stranger in a black hood who was passing through... He was desperate to put this up in place of gold. Just look at it! Isn't it beautiful?"

"What did this stranger look like?" Raven asked suddenly.

Hagrid blinked and scratched at his tangled beard. "Dunno. He was wrapped up tight, didn't even take his gloves off... But he knew his stuff, mind. Asked me loads of details about guarding that three-headed dog, and he kept pouring me whiskey..."

Harry and Hermione's faces changed at the same moment. A cold light flickered in Raven's eyes.

Quirrell.

To find out how to put Fluffy to sleep, Voldemort's fragment of a soul had finally used this dragon egg to pry Hagrid's mouth open.

"That's a Norwegian Ridgeback egg," Raven said.

He stepped closer, his eyes on the faint wisps of heat seeping from the cracks in the shell. "It will hatch in three days at most. And its first breath of fire will be enough to burn this hut to ashes, along with your bed, Hagrid."

"I'll take good care of it! I'll feed it brandy and chicken blood!" Hagrid spread his arms and planted himself in front of the hearth like a fiercely protective parent.

Just as the argument began to heat up—click.

From the tightly shut window on the side of the hut came the faint, sharp snap of a twig.

"Who's out there?!" Harry whipped his head around.

Through a thin gap where the curtain had slipped open, a streak of long platinum-blond hair, dazzling even under the gloomy sky, flashed past the glass and vanished!