After Professor McGonagall distributed the holiday no-magic notices, students began preparing to leave. They packed their wardrobes, swept everything on their desks into trunks, then struggled to sit on the nearly-bursting cases, forcing the latches shut.
The castle was full of students hunting for lost items. Only when they started packing did people realize their hair ties, Chocolate Frog cards, or notebooks had vanished. Anthony heard Neville was searching everywhere again for his toad, Trevor.
Even though next term hadn't started, the Weasley twins had already borrowed twenty points from Gryffindor's hourglass.
Despite somehow passing Divination, Fred Weasley knocked over a pot of Snargaluff during the Herbology final. Half the greenhouse bloomed with its flowers. He became one of the few students who failed.
Given they'd previously promised Anthony all subjects would pass (except Astronomy and History of Magic) in exchange for a bag of Fwooper eggs, they now had to face the consequences.
"If we promise to pass Herbology next year, can it offset this year's grade?" Fred asked, struggling.
He'd passed the staff table during lunch. Professor McGonagall waved him over, calmly delivered the bad news.
Anthony seized the opportunity to grab a treacle tart from in front of Professor Flitwick while watching McGonagall's expression.
Other professors smiled at the scene. The Hall had fewer people than usual. They could hear every word clearly.
Since exams ended and the year-end feast was over, students had much more free time. Upper years were mostly in Hogsmeade on dates. Lower years bought sweets and snacks from what upper years brought back. Every common room table was piled with food and drinks. People barely wanted to come to the Hall for meals.
McGonagall's expression softened slightly. But she still said: "I'm afraid not, Mr. Weasley."
"Then what about this term's house points, Professor McGonagall?" George immediately asked.
"Gryffindor didn't win the House Cup anyway," Fred said.
Professor Sprout laughed. McGonagall frowned. "No," she said sternly.
Anthony saw Neville before he left. He was clutching his toad tightly—the toad looked unhappy—trying to move a heavy, enormous trunk. The boy called Dean was carrying the other end, face flushed red.
Anthony lightened the trunk for them, shrunk it to handbag size.
"Professor Anthony!" Neville looked up, delighted. "When are you going home?"
"At least after you all leave," Anthony said, smiling.
Hagrid would lead students across the lake by boat. During that time, Anthony needed to stay in Hagrid's hut, feeding the bad-tempered little dragon dead rats every so often. It was growing fast. Getting stronger. That battered copper kettle lid could barely contain it anymore.
Hagrid had enlarged the kettle considerably, piled heavy bacon on top of the lid. In Anthony's opinion, the bacon was pointless. The dragon kept breathing smoke. The bacon was getting smoked.
Harry, Ron, and Hermione visited Hagrid before leaving. They seemed curious why Hagrid's cupboard contained a huge, banging, smoking teapot. But they were quickly distracted by the Monster Book crawling out from under Hagrid's bed. Hagrid enthusiastically invited them to browse this interesting, novel book. Result: Ron left with a bright red nose.
"He's not serious, is he?" Ron said, rubbing his nose. "He's giving that thing as a gift?"
"I think Hagrid might actually mean it," Harry said hesitantly.
"Look on the bright side—I know what to give Hagrid for Christmas now," Hermione said. "I know a whole set of magical creature books. I was going to give them to you this Christmas, but I thought you might prefer sweets... I can buy a set for Hagrid! Those are proper gift books!"
"Hermione, Hagrid knows what magical creature books should look like. He just doesn't want to—ah, Professor Anthony!" Ron said.
"Good evening, Mr. Weasley. Good evening, Potter, Granger." Anthony bent down, smiled at them. "Heading home? Please give my regards to Arthur and Molly. Haven't heard from them in a while."
Ron's face immediately looked strange.
"Professor, I..." he said reluctantly. "Mum asked us to ask if you'd like to visit during the holiday." He glanced at the slightly stunned Anthony, quickly added: "She wouldn't write a special letter. Said this kind of thing just needs asking in person. I told her it wasn't quite right. She knows professors are busy. Our house doesn't have much—"
"Sure," Anthony said.
Ron stared at him wide-eyed. Anthony repeated: "Sure. I'm looking forward to it. I haven't visited another wizard's home yet. Should I bring anything?"
"No, nothing," Ron said. "Fred and George said you gave them their owl."
"They earned it themselves," Anthony said. "You know, right? The Muggle Studies group organized a practical activity. They found that owl at a pet shelter."
"Pet shelter?" Hermione interjected, looking interested. "Which one?"
Anthony gave the shelter's name and address. "I think it's perfect for Muggle Studies practical activities. Professor Burbage says she wants to organize one next year too."
Hermione nodded thoughtfully.
"What about you, Potter?" Anthony asked. "Any holiday plans?"
Harry's smile faded. "I'm going back to my aunt and uncle's."
"Hey, listen, you can come to my place too," Ron said. "No—you have to come. Mum will be thrilled. She already loves you. You too, Hermione—you should come."
"Sounds like a good summer plan," Anthony said. "Thank you for the invitation, Mr. Weasley. I'll send Molly an owl to arrange a time."
He bid the three farewell, continued toward Hagrid's hut.
Behind the hut, plants grew lush and wild. Pumpkin flowers had bloomed. Since the dragon had him frazzled, Hagrid hadn't had time to tend the garden. Hollyhocks and primroses sprouted in the fertile soil.
Anthony heard Ron say: "I'm serious, Harry. Come to ours. We'll have a great time."
"You can't just think about fun!" Hermione said. "Don't forget—homework. Don't tell me you're planning to ask me for essays at the end of holiday again, like Christmas."
Harry laughed. "Of course, Ron. I'll definitely come. The Dursleys can't wait to get rid of me. If I hide in the kitchen scraps, I'll get dumped outside by eight."
Anthony had already knocked on Hagrid's door.
"Henry, you're finally here!" Hagrid said, voice full of relief. "Norbert's nearly starving!"
The Norwegian Ridgeback Hagrid had named "Norbert" was blowing a huge plume of smoke from its nose. It circled on the ground, terrible temper, burned off a chair leg while Hagrid answered the door.
The three-legged chair wobbled, seemed uncertain whether to crash to the floor.
BANG. Norbert's tail swept the chair hard. The chair fell backward.
"Oh, you naughty little rascal," Hagrid said, reached down, picked up Norbert. Norbert immediately twisted around, bit Hagrid. Hagrid just laughed, put it back on the table, handed Anthony a dead rat.
"Hold the rat by the tail," Hagrid instructed. "Then dangle it gently over Norbert's head. Shake it a bit. Make it seem like the rat's still alive..."
Norbert stared with its orange-red eyes, glared viciously at the rat, flapped its wings, stretched its neck, snatched the rat's neck. Anthony immediately let go. Let the dragon tear the dead rat to pieces.
"Oh, Henry, you shouldn't have let go," Hagrid said. "You can tug the rat's tail, wrestle with Norbert a few rounds. In the wild, mother dragons do this. Develops the hatchling's hunting skills. Exercises its wings."
The hatchling was tilting its neck back, swallowing a huge chunk of rat meat without chewing. It pressed the rat's corpse with sharp claws. Its slender nose puffed out a satisfied plume of black smoke, then breathed a small fireball.
"Why are you developing its hunting skills?" Anthony asked. "Who do you want it to hunt—Fang?"
Hagrid looked uneasy. He stroked his beard. "But, Henry, you know—Norbert's a dragon. It should have hunting skills."
"Dragons in the wild even hunt humans," Anthony reminded him.
"Oh, not Norbert," Hagrid said. "Norbert won't. It's still a baby. And I'll tell it not to hunt humans."
Anthony worried Aragog had given Hagrid some wrong impressions.
"Hagrid, I must remind you," Anthony said. "Acromantulas and dragons are both XXXXX-rated creatures, but Acromantulas speak human language. Dragons don't. That's a crucial difference. You might convince Aragog. I highly doubt you can convince a Norwegian Ridgeback."
"I know, Henry. I know I can't keep Norbert forever... I know someday I'll have to part with it... But not now. It's still fragile. Can't hurt anyone." To prove his point, Hagrid held his hand in front of Norbert. The dragon immediately bit his finger. Not a drop of blood.
"See? Just a baby," Hagrid said. "It still lives in a teapot."
"An Enlarged teapot," Anthony said. "That teapot's already as big as a cauldron."
"But still a teapot," Hagrid insisted. "Anyway, you know how to feed it now! Once an hour. I'll be back soon!"
He strode to the door, looked back lovingly at the dragon.
Norbert had eaten the first rat—skin, bones, everything. Now it pressed its nose to the table, sniffing, searching for the second dead rat. The spikes on its wings reflected sharp light.
Anthony sighed, pulled another dead rat from the leather box. But he quickly realized he didn't actually need to hand-feed Norbert.
Just a thought—the rat corpse flew out of the box. But this hatchling had developed some feeding quirks from Hagrid. Once it realized the rat had crawled to its mouth, it gave up eating, tried finding something else edible instead.
With Fang tied up in the yard, Anthony figured it would probably find him.
He manipulated the dead rat to crawl to the table corner in a strange, stiff posture—like it was about to escape. Norbert pounced eagerly, flapped its wings, tore the rat into shred after shred with tiny sharp teeth.
Soon Norbert discovered the rat corpse could even spin around it while already torn apart. And this was an almost endless zombie rat queue. Every time it finished one, another waited.
The dragon was thrilled. It coughed, tried breathing fireballs, wanted to burn the strange thing in front of it. When it actually got charred, it gnawed a few bites, then spat it out, bored.
Anthony discovered he couldn't manipulate the charred parts. After experiencing flames, that lump of charcoal was no longer defined by Necromancy as something he could control.
After he'd fed Norbert an entire box of rats, the dragon's belly bulged slightly. Its temper improved considerably. It sprawled on the table, black wings spread flat—like a bizarre moth.
Anthony laughed. "Why does Hagrid call you Norbert?"
Norbert turned its head toward him, blew a huge plume of smoke from its nose. It made a surprisingly whimpering sound.
"You can make sounds?" Anthony asked, surprised. Hagrid had never mentioned this. He'd always assumed dragons were mute—possibly smoke-damaged.
Norbert whimpered, slowly crawled closer to Anthony. It raised its head, orange-red eyes locked on Anthony's face, seemed to be thinking.
Anthony stood up. "What? What do you want? Another box of rats?"
But Norbert had decided what to do. It breathed fire at Anthony, burned a huge hole in his sleeve. If Anthony hadn't dodged quickly, he figured his arm might have gotten the cremation treatment.
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