Hagrid's hut.
Even though the snow had finally stopped, the air was still biting cold, so the fire in Hagrid's little cabin was roaring as usual.
Fang lay curled up right beside Rock, unusually quiet. Ever since the two of them had gotten used to each other, the massive boarhound had been like this—calm, almost gentle.
Hagrid loved it. He kept saying Rock had a natural gift for getting along with animals.
Meanwhile, Hagrid himself was rummaging through a battered old trunk, muttering under his breath.
"Honestly, Rock, I really think you oughta ask Professor Snape about this… whatever it is you're working on."
He glanced over at Rock, who was still deep in his experiment, stirring something that smelled faintly medicinal and faintly worrying.
"I've got a bad feeling about it, mate. Feels dangerous for a young wizard to be messing with."
Hagrid didn't actually know what Rock was trying to do—he just had that gut instinct that first-years shouldn't be touching certain ingredients.
"I know," Rock replied without looking up. "I'll talk to Professor Snape when the timing's right. Right now I'm just testing some materials."
He paused the stirring for a second.
"By the way, Hagrid—what are you doing?"
Ever since Rock had arrived, Hagrid had been digging through boxes and drawers like a man possessed. Rock couldn't help but be curious.
"Er…"
Hagrid froze mid-rummage, a flicker of something wistful crossing his craggy face.
"I… ran into something I really like. Thought maybe I've got stuff here the fella might want in trade."
Hm?
Rock stopped stirring entirely. With a flick of his wand he lifted the cauldron off the alcohol burner and set it safely aside.
"Something you like?"
He turned, giving Hagrid a suspicious look.
Don't tell me it's a dragon egg.
"Yeah," Hagrid said, rubbing the back of his neck. "Not the sort of thing that comes along every day. But the bloke's being funny about it—keeps dodging whenever I ask what he actually wants."
Disappointment was plain on Hagrid's rough features.
Dragon egg. For someone like Hagrid who lived and breathed dangerous creatures, that was basically the holy grail.
But under Rock's steady stare, Hagrid suddenly realized he probably shouldn't have said that out loud.
"Uh—never mind, Rock. It's fine. Just a shame, is all. If it doesn't happen, it doesn't happen."
He waved one massive hand dismissively, trying (and failing) to look casual.
Rock's mouth twitched.
"Hagrid… has no one ever told you you're terrible at lying?"
As he spoke, Rock crossed to the table, levitated the teapot, and poured Hagrid a proper cup of black tea.
Thank Merlin—no more rock-cake milk tea.
Hagrid had switched brews only after Rock admitted the milky stuff was starting to feel heavy.
"Let me guess," Rock said, settling into a chair and fixing Hagrid with a knowing look. "The thing you like… wouldn't happen to be a dragon egg, would it?"
Crack—
The enormous teacup slipped straight out of Hagrid's hand and shattered on the floor.
Fang yelped, leapt straight up, and bounded over to Rock, lifting one huge paw like look what you did.
"Poor guy," Rock said, half-laughing, half-exasperated. "Hagrid, do you have any burn salve around here?"
"Ah! Yeah—yeah!" Hagrid scrambled up, grabbed a big glass jar off a nearby shelf, and thrust it at Rock.
Rock examined the thick, pale-green paste inside. The preparation was crude, but the scent told him the dosage was heavy.
"This is… beast-grade salve?"
He gave the jar a little shake.
"Right," Hagrid said sheepishly, rubbing his hands together like a kid caught sneaking biscuits. "After that business in the Forest the other week, I saw some of the little critters got hurt, so I whipped up a big batch."
"Give me a minute—I'll tweak the formula so it works faster. You've got way too much white flux in here. Sure, it speeds up recovery, but it can cause hypertrophic skin growth and potion-burn from the overdose reaction."
"Blimey… that explains why some of 'em seemed worse after I put it on yesterday."
Hagrid's eyes went wide with sudden understanding.
"Sometimes more isn't better," Rock said, shaking his head. The white flux smell was so sharp it stung even his nose from arm's length.
He scooped out a portion, summoned a few ground herbs from his own supplies with another flick of his wand, and quickly re-mixed everything in a smaller jar. Then he gently applied the revised salve to Fang's paw.
"There you go, big guy. Run around outside for a bit—it'll be fine in no time."
He gave Fang a light pat on the head.
The boarhound trotted happily out the door.
Hagrid sat back down beside Rock, looking thoroughly embarrassed.
"Er…"
"If you've got nothing else going on," Rock said with a small smile, "just head over there like normal. I'm pretty sure the guy will name his price eventually."
Hagrid opened his mouth to protest.
Rock rubbed his chin thoughtfully.
"But if you won't admit it… don't come crying to me when you've got a dragon egg to hatch."
Hagrid's mouth worked soundlessly for a second, then snapped shut.
Yeah. With a magizoologist grandfather like Newt, Rock clearly knew exactly what he was talking about.
At least half a month of Forbidden Forest patrols had given Hagrid plenty of proof.
"Alright… but you can't tell anyone," Hagrid muttered, still looking nervous.
Rock waved him off. "Relax. But if you actually manage to bring it back… how exactly are you planning to handle the little monster?"
He gestured around the cramped, cozy hut.
"Even a baby dragon that hasn't hit adulthood yet could smash this place to kindling."
Dragons grew at an insane rate—one dramatic size jump per day. Give it less than a month and you'd have a full-sized catastrophe.
"Maybe… I could expand the hut?" Hagrid offered tentatively.
Rock stared at him.
No. That was dragon-over-life priorities.
"Or maybe the For—" Hagrid started.
Rock cut him off with a tired rub of his brow.
"Come on, Hagrid. The Forbidden Forest can't hold another dragon. You already let loose a colony of Acromantulas years ago—they've got proper webs now, even near the outer edges."
He'd seen them during patrols. Massive, sprawling silk networks.
If they were that established on the periphery, Hagrid's original eight-eyed giants had probably turned the deeper Forest into their personal kingdom by now.
Hagrid gave a sheepish grin, clearly knowing it wasn't realistic.
"How about this," Rock said. "When the time comes, I'll ask Grandpa to swing by. You could visit whenever you want."
As for the canon plan—dragging it up to a castle turret and handing it off to Charlie Weasley?
Hard pass.
Way too obvious. And honestly, Rock had already mentally filed dragon = full-body treasure trove.
Some parts could be bought on the open market, sure—but the prices were obscene.
When you grew up in the Scamander household, you learned to be thrifty where it counted.
"Deal!" Hagrid's face lit up like Christmas morning.
Right—of course! If the dragon was at Rock's granddad's place, Hagrid could just hop on his motorbike and visit anytime.
"Alright, alright," Rock laughed. "We'll cross that bridge when you actually get the egg. Just—"
He started to add maybe ease up on the drinking, then thought better of it.
Everything had lined up exactly like the books so far. No point derailing Hagrid's canon arc now.
Let events play out the way they were supposed to.