Professor Kettleburn spent several minutes admiring and flexing his new prosthetic limb, rotating the joints with the fascination of a child who'd been handed a new toy. Then, as if something important had suddenly resurfaced in his memory, he snapped his fingers.
"Come here for a moment, Little Ed. I have something to show you."
He reached for a worn leather briefcase that had been sitting quietly at his side and set it gently upon the table. Vinson watched with a puzzled expression as the professor unfastened the clasps and opened the lid.
Inside, nestled within several layers of soft cloth, was a rounded object roughly the size of a large melon. Kettleburn carefully pulled the cloth aside, revealing a glossy, speckled eggshell.
Vinson's eyes widened. "Is that… a dragon egg?"
"A Chinese Fireball egg," Kettleburn corrected with pride. "Quite a rare find, even among dragon eggs. I acquired it by trading away a rather substantial piece of fresh dragon hide."
The Chinese Fireball, native to the Far East, had always been regarded as one of the rarer and more striking breeds of dragon. Vinson had encountered several during his travels and work abroad, but Kettleburn—whose obsession with magical creatures tended to gravitate toward the large, dangerous, and uncontrollable—clearly saw this egg as a priceless treasure.
Vinson stared at the egg, then at the professor, confusion lingering in his gaze. "Professor… why are you showing this to me? Are you just showing off?"
Kettleburn chuckled, though he didn't answer immediately. Instead, he tucked the egg back into its cocoon of fabric and closed the briefcase. "That's only half the reason."
"And the other half?"
The professor sighed. "Well… I'm not entirely sure what to do with it. I recently received word that the Ministry of Magic is searching for a stolen Chinese Fireball egg."
Vinson froze. He had nearly forgotten that possessing a dragon egg—at least in Britain—was illegal without specific permits. Of course, he tended to do plenty of technically illegal things on a regular basis, so the detail often slipped his mind.
"…Is this the egg the Ministry is looking for?" he asked cautiously.
Kettleburn blinked at him with a very suspiciously innocent expression. "I certainly hope not."
Vinson stared at him, utterly speechless. The professor's post-retirement life seemed significantly more chaotic than one might expect from a man of his age.
Still… Kettleburn was his teacher. Troublesome or not, Vinson couldn't simply refuse.
With a resigned sigh, he nodded. "All right. I'll look after the egg for you. Dragon egg powder from a Chinese Fireball is a valuable—"
Kettleburn's eyes bulged, and he nearly leapt forward. "No, Vinson! Absolutely not! This egg is alive. It's incubating. Don't you dare think about turning any part of it into potion ingredients."
"Fine, fine…" Vinson muttered, though a small part of him still wondered whether shaving off an ounce or two would really hurt.
The professor looked relieved nevertheless. Standing, he cast one last lingering glance at the briefcase, a flicker of worry passing across his face.
"I need to find someone who can help me sort out this mess," he said as he headed toward the door. "In the meantime, take good care of it. It should hatch in about a week. Contact me then."
Vinson frowned. "Professor, why don't you take care of it yourself? No one knows magical creatures better than you."
Kettleburn halted mid-stride, his expression twisting into annoyance. "Because, Vinson, the Ministry has already investigated my home! Can you believe that? A newly retired professor—treated like a criminal!"
Vinson didn't say it aloud, but if he were working for the Ministry, the very first person he would investigate would be Kettleburn. The old man was practically a magnet for dangerous animals and questionable acquisitions.
"Don't worry, Professor," Vinson said. "I'll hide it well. And if anything goes wrong with your prosthetic, just send me a letter."
After the professor left, Vinson stood alone with the briefcase. He placed it on the table and stared at the concealed egg for several seconds.
"One week…"
As if responding to his voice, the egg suddenly shook.
"…?"
Vinson leaned in and touched its smooth surface. It felt cold—colder than it should be during summer. The violent tremble that followed nearly sent it tumbling off the table.
"It really might freeze to death…"
Dragon eggs required intense, sustained heat to hatch. Everyone who knew even the basics of magical zoology knew this, and Vinson, who'd raised magical plants that fed on fire, knew it better than most.
"High temperature, then…"
He closed the briefcase, picked it up, and carried it into the Plantation.
The spatial doorway—currently located inside Shed Number Three—opened easily at his touch. Moving the door had proven to be one of his most practical ideas; the Plantation was far too large to justify walking across it just to reach the exit.
Inside, he immediately spotted Lupin crouched in the Poisonous Demiguise field, carefully harvesting the mature fruits. This time, after nearly getting himself killed during the previous harvest, Lupin had taken extra precautions: thick dragon-hide gloves, heavy sleeves, and a hood that covered nearly every inch of his skin.
Poisonous Demiguise fruits had the strongest medicinal potency the moment they matured. Once they aged—even slightly—their efficacy diminished. Vinson always processed them immediately after harvesting, refining them into what he called the Poisonous Demiguise Essence.
It worked similarly to Essence of Murtlap—and, like Murtlap, the processed version could be stored for years without losing potency. Vinson grew enormous batches every year, resulting in a warehouse full of both standard Murtlap Essence and the much rarer Poisonous Demiguise variant.
The latter had no common use, but Vinson firmly believed that one day he'd find a reason to employ it. He usually did.
Realizing someone had entered, Lupin gently set down the Demiguise fruit he'd been holding and turned toward Vinson.
His eyes immediately dropped to the briefcase.
"What's that?" he asked, puzzled. "What did you bring in?"
Vinson exhaled slowly. He hadn't planned on explaining this yet—but the sooner the egg was placed somewhere warm, the better.
"Something troublesome," Vinson replied. "And something that definitely can't be kept out in the open."
Lupin raised an eyebrow. "You didn't bring anything dangerous in here… did you?"
Vinson hesitated.
Lupin's expression sharpened. "Vinson. What. Is. In. The. Box?"
"…A Chinese Fireball dragon egg."
Lupin inhaled sharply, nearly dropping the fruit basket. "You… you… you brought a dragon egg into the Plantation?! Are you insane?"
"It needs heat," Vinson said defensively. "Lots of it. And we can keep it hidden here better than outside. It'll hatch in about a week."
"Hatch?!" Lupin's voice cracked. "Have you thought about what happens after it hatches? A dragon can't live in your Plantation! Forget that—what if it burns everything down before you even notice?"
Vinson shook his head. "It won't. I'll set up protections. And anyway, the professor will take it back once it hatches."
Lupin stared at him skeptically. "Right. Because nothing ever goes out of control around here…"
Still, he stepped back and allowed Vinson to pass.
At the far end of the Plantation, where the Fire-Eating Flora thrived amidst near-constant flames, Vinson placed the briefcase near a cluster of plants emanating steady heat. The warmth radiating from the soil and leaves enveloped the egg immediately, and the egg responded with a gentle tremble—almost relieved.
"This should keep it alive for now," Vinson murmured.
Lupin lingered beside him, uneasily shifting his weight from foot to foot. "You're sure about this?"
"Sure enough."
"That," Lupin muttered, "is not encouraging."
Vinson knelt, watching the egg as faint ripples moved across its shell. It seemed almost restless, as though eager to break free.
"One week," Vinson repeated softly.
A Chinese Fireball. A rare breed. A dangerous one.
And now, for at least a little while… his responsibility.
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