Under everyone's eager gazes, accompanied by the harsh scraping sound of the egg cracking, the little dragon finally arrived in this world.
"This is a dragon?" Basil couldn't help rolling his eyes from the sidelines.
He'd seen illustrations of dragons in books and thought he was prepared, but he hadn't expected a freshly hatched baby to be even uglier than that.
Wrinkled skin with barely any visible scales, spiky wings that were admittedly cool, but the skinny black body dragged the whole look down a notch. A long snout like a crocodile's, white nostrils, orange-red eyes, and little horn buds on its head.
The weirdest part was that, unlike most egg-born creatures, it wasn't covered in leftover yolk or fluid.
Its skin was completely dry.
That meant when it rolled around on the scorching-hot sand (scorching to them, comfortable to it), it didn't pick up any annoying fine yellow dust.
It made little squeaking noises, eyes narrowed, like it wanted to melt right into the hot ground.
"He really loves it here," Hagrid said, staring at the ugly little thing like he was enchanted, eyes practically glued to it.
"Of course," Ron said proudly. "Charlie picked this environment specially—it's perfect for a Norwegian Ridgeback. The sheep, the chickens, even the plants inside were all chosen because Ridgebacks love them."
"In a few weeks when it's bigger, we might even see it fly up into the 'sun'!"
"That's the power source for the whole Pet Case. It's good for the little guy and helps it bond with the space so it won't try to escape."
"Oh, right—you didn't forget how to maintain the case, did you?" Ron added, watching Hagrid stick his finger into the dragon's sharp-toothed mouth like a chew toy.
"I remember," Hagrid answered, a little distracted. "Point at the 'sun' and cast Incendio once a day—once a week at minimum."
He casually picked up his pink umbrella, aimed it skyward. "Incendio!"
A bright yellow flame shot up like it was being sucked into a funnel and disappeared into the sun.
"There we go." Hagrid tossed the umbrella aside and went back to playing with the dragon.
Ten minutes later, they were back in the castle, heading toward History of Magic.
Harry looked a little worried.
"Hagrid totally forgot just now. I'm really afraid one morning we'll wake up and his hut will be gone—replaced by sand, plants, lake water everywhere. And a fire-breathing dragon perched on Gryffindor Tower because he forgot to maintain the case."
But Harry's fears never came true.
Hagrid was careless, sure, but little Norberta (Basil had pointed out that Norbert was actually a girl) absolutely loved watching Hagrid play with fire.
So the case stayed perfectly maintained—the plants inside even looked lusher.
What really threw Basil for a loop, though, was how calm everything stayed afterward.
Even the Forbidden Forest was quiet. No reports of injured unicorns.
Basil checked the forest edge late at night and never saw Quirrell stumbling out with silver blood on his lips.
It seemed like in this timeline, Quirrell cooperating more willingly with Voldemort had made his body hold up better—no need to drink unicorn blood to stay alive.
Or maybe because Harry never got detention and sent into the forest, Dumbledore never forced Voldemort to expend energy that would require a unicorn-blood top-up, which in turn would have forced the forest encounter.
For anyone who knew Hagrid, the unusual part was that he barely came into the castle anymore.
That made Filch a lot happier—the caretaker hated people tracking mud everywhere, and Hagrid, constantly in and out of the forest, was one of the worst offenders.
In that peaceful atmosphere, time flew by. Before anyone noticed, June had arrived.
Exam week.
Summer had fully set in.
The weather was brutally hot, and even Basil's cold-resistant body finally met its match.
Not that he was afraid of heat.
But his body automatically absorbed excess heat and directed it to his heart.
The result? Unquenchable golden eyes.
His physique started shifting toward a more athletic build, and his height shot up overnight.
By the day before exams, Basil had gone from five feet tall to five-foot-nine.
The height increase kept the muscle from looking overdone—just sleek, flowing lines that hugged his frame perfectly, like an ancient Greek marble statue.
Those golden beast-like eyes radiated draconic majesty. Even mischievous Norberta would flop over and show her belly when she saw him.
As for the students and ghosts already drawn to his looks—they didn't dare get too close anymore. They just admired from a distance.
He was like a breathtaking view from the top of a sheer cliff: beautiful, but untouchable.
Thank goodness.
The only trouble came when Professor McGonagall worried he'd done something dangerous to himself and insisted on checking him over.
That caused a bit of a stir—everyone found out about the changes and decided it was some kind of bloodline awakening.
Because of it, the president of the Extraordinary Potioneers Society, Finn Granger—Basil's sort-of relative—sent a letter saying he wanted to introduce Basil to his daughter who was studying at Beauxbatons in France.
Basil turned it down flat.
Who do you think you are?
This guy was planning to spend his summer in another world. Some random wizard wanted to set him up on a blind date?
The next morning, after his usual patrol of the fourth-floor forbidden corridor:
The three-headed dog Fluffy was still alive and well, no musical instrument in sight.
Quirrell was in his office, looking solemn, carefully reviewing everything in the room—like he wasn't a possessed traitor but a dedicated professor prepping for exams.
It made Basil feel a little bad for the guy.
Though that was probably tied to Quirrell accepting the Defense Against the Dark Arts post and then deciding to go poking around the Albanian forest where Voldemort was hiding right before starting the job.
Basil shook his head, pulled himself together. Exams today.
June first—first-year exams.
Compared to the upper years, they had fewer subjects and easier material, so everything fit into one day.
What surprised Basil was how little written work there was.
Per subject, anyway.
Morning session: Charms, Transfiguration, Potions.
All written tests together, separate papers.
Charms had only five questions—simple stuff, like which syllable of Incendio you stressed or how high to flick your wrist.
Transfiguration had about the same number, plus one where you had to write out Gamp's five Elementary Laws of Transfiguration from memory.
Potions was mostly fill-in-the-blank: missing ingredients, steps, timing.
So all three written exams together got just one hour.
Then practicals.
Professor Flitwick called them in one by one to make a pineapple tap-dance across a desk.
Professor McGonagall watched them turn a mouse into a snuffbox—the fancier the box, the higher the marks; leftover whiskers meant deductions.
Snape was the scariest—he had them brew a Forgetfulness Potion right in front of him while he loomed behind them, occasionally leaning in so all they heard was his breathing.
He eased up a little only when passing Hermione and Basil.