Dragon Egg

Anthony stood in front of the garlic-laden portrait and took a deep breath.

"Professor Quirrell?" he called softly. "Professor Quirrell, are you there? Look, I'm really sorry, but if you need someone to talk to."

He stepped forward and knocked on the door, his voice echoing faintly down the corridor. The garlic cloves in the painting shook as the frame vibrated, some rolling lazily within the canvas before coming to a halt.

"Professor?" Anthony knocked again.

Suddenly, a loud flush reverberated through the hallway, followed by a sharp sob.

"Oh, here we go again! Can't a poor ghost get a moment's peace in her bathroom?" Moaning Myrtle flew out of the toilet, hovering angrily in the air. Her eyes, swollen from crying, landed on Anthony. "Ah, it's you, Professor Anthony. I thought it was that big oaf again."

"Hello, Myrtle," Anthony greeted her kindly. "What big oaf are you talking about?"

"That giant Gryffindor oaf," Myrtle said venomously, drifting downwards. "Clumsy as ever, can't seem to do anything right. He's so slow at learning magic. I'm surprised he's still here—everyone else has graduated."

Anthony immediately understood who she meant. "Hagrid?" he asked, though he was taken aback by Myrtle's indifference toward her supposed "murderer" and her ignorance of Hagrid's name, despite the Ministry's past accusations.

"Yes, that's the one, I suppose," Myrtle replied, floating closer with a conspiratorial air. "You'd better watch out for him, Professor."

Anthony raised an eyebrow. "Why's that?"

Myrtle puffed up, pleased to share her gossip. "Oh, you didn't see it, Professor Anthony. He was terrifying. He banged on your door like he was going to break it down. So, of course, I came out to scold him. And the look on his face when he saw me—it was exactly like the students I catch wandering at night. It was ugly, professor, I'm telling you. He's up to something bad."

"Ah..." Anthony couldn't help but feel a pang of sympathy for Hagrid. It must've been quite a shock for him to see the ghost of a classmate from the past, now yelling at him.

"Do you know why he came looking for me?" Anthony asked, more out of curiosity than concern.

Myrtle floated lazily, losing interest. "He muttered something about drinks and bookstores. After realizing you weren't here, he said he was off to a nearby pub for a drink and stormed off." She glanced at Anthony, sensing his disinterest in her disdain for Hagrid, and seemed disappointed that her slander hadn't sparked more interest.

"Ah, I see. Thanks for letting me know, Myrtle," Anthony said with a polite nod.

...

As evening descended, the setting sun bathed the sky in fiery hues of orange and red, gradually softening into a delicate pink. The Black Lake mirrored the changing colors, shifting from deep crimson to a pale lavender, while the night sky crept up from the horizon, dark blue with lazy purple clouds drifting by, carried on the breeze rich with the scent of damp earth.

In the distance, the soft cooing of owls from the Owlery mixed with the rustling of the leaves in the Forbidden Forest. After finishing the Welsh cheese Coco had brought him, Anthony rested on the railing of the corridor, gazing at the scenery, when he spotted Hagrid stumbling back toward his cabin, clearly drunk.

Though the weather had been pleasant, Hagrid was wrapped in an odd, oversized robe. He fumbled with the door to his cabin, finally managing to open it, while Fang barked loudly from inside. Remembering that Myrtle had mentioned Hagrid coming to see him earlier that afternoon, Anthony decided to pay him a visit after dinner.

He knocked on the door.

"Who's there?" came Hagrid's muffled voice. Anthony noticed that all the windows were closed, and the curtains were tightly drawn. If he hadn't known Hagrid so well, Myrtle's warning would've sounded far more ominous.

"It's me, Henry," Anthony called out.

"Oh, right, it's you," Hagrid replied. Heavy footsteps sounded behind the door, followed by the grating noise of a rusty lock turning.

With a loud creak, the door swung open slightly, revealing Hagrid's beetle-black eyes peeking out from the crack.

"You've got great timing, don't ya?" Hagrid muttered, letting out a small burp. "Come in, come in." He glanced around nervously behind Anthony before pulling the door shut with a loud thud after Anthony entered.

The room reeked of alcohol, and the warmth from the fire only intensified the smell. A copper kettle lay upside down on the floor, and on the table sat a strange, tattered bag, with Hagrid's oversized robe draped across it. Anthony glanced around, perplexed by the mess, until his eyes landed on Hagrid's face.

"What are you up to—wait, what's that on your face?" Anthony asked, squinting at the plaid cloth hanging awkwardly over Hagrid's beard.

"Oh, this?" Hagrid replied casually, tugging at the makeshift mask. "Protective mask."

"Why do you need a mask?" Anthony pressed.

Hagrid shifted uncomfortably. "It's nothin'," he muttered, rubbing his hands together. "You came to see me for somethin', right?"

"Well, not exactly," Anthony said, still eyeing the strange setup in the cabin. "I heard you were looking for me earlier, so I thought I'd check-in. I was in the library this afternoon. Where'd you go for a drink?"

"The Hog's Head," Hagrid replied, his tone lightening up. "Just in Hogsmeade. Oh, you haven't been there yet—"

"I've been there," Anthony interjected with a smile. "Crawled out of the kitchen once, if that counts."

Hagrid's eyes lit up. "Ain't it a fine place? A bit messier than the Leaky Cauldron, but much more lively!

'Hiccup...'

Lots o' great stuff there. We should go together next time, Henry."

"Of course, next time," Anthony agreed, though his attention was still fixed on the robe and the mysterious bag on the table. "But, Hagrid, what's that?"

"Oh, this?" Hagrid hesitated, glancing at the bag as though unsure whether to share its contents.

"You didn't buy something else, did you?" Anthony asked, exasperation creeping into his voice. "I once wasted twenty galleons on a hair-growth potion, you know."

Hagrid puffed out his chest a little, a hint of pride in his voice. "Nah, didn't buy it. I won it." He lifted the robe from the table, carefully grabbing the corners of the bag. With a slight shake, something dark and round rolled out.

A faint orange-red glow, like molten lava, flickered across the uneven surface of the object. The moment it hit the air, it started to sizzle and emit black smoke. Fang, startled, leapt up and scrambled against the wall, barking in fright.

Anthony coughed through the smoke, suddenly understanding the purpose of Hagrid's protective mask.

"Cough, cough What is this, Zuko's latest attempt at fried eggs?"

Hagrid grinned, ignoring the chaos. He gingerly picked up the spherical object and placed it into the fire, where the explosions softened into a gentle crackle, like smoldering wood.

"No, Henry," Hagrid said solemnly, his eyes twinkling as the flames reflected off the shell. "This is a dragon egg."