Chapter 175 – A Little Angry Alexander
Saturday morning.
The Ravenclaw dormitory was still quiet—most students were fast asleep. It was already past eight o'clock, and at first glance Alexander Smith seemed to be asleep as well.
Harry and Ron were up early.
As Draco predicted, Ron's bitten hand was swollen like a pig's trotter.
If Ron hadn't developed a habit in Ravenclaw of finishing his homework the night before, he'd never be able to keep up now. With one hand out of commission, his usual last‑minute scrambles would have been impossible, and Ravenclaw would likely be losing points because of him.
A sudden low hum came from the far corner of the dormitory—Alexander's bed.
Harry and Ron both jumped.
But after almost a minute with no further sound, Harry exhaled, grabbed Ron's good hand, and hustled him out. They didn't even bother washing up—just threw on clothes and slipped out of the common room.
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Draco was already waiting for them on the sixth floor, arms crossed, an impatient scowl on his face. Crabbe and Goyle were nowhere to be seen.
Not that Draco had drifted from them; if anything, the troll incident months ago had made them more like true friends instead of a spoiled heir and two bodyguards.
But neither Crabbe nor Goyle cared about dragons—or about Harry and Ron. Forcing them along would only make them uncomfortable, so Draco left them to their own devices. Let them sleep in or play Gobstones in peace.
Harry, Ron, and Draco hurried through the castle grounds toward Hagrid's hut, whose doors had been tightly shut for days.
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They didn't waste time.
Today's mission: convince Hagrid to send the dragon to Charlie Weasley.
Harry hesitated at the door, wondering how Hagrid would take it. He rapped softly.
"Who is it?" came Hagrid's muffled, nervous voice.
"It's us," Harry answered.
The door creaked open just enough for Hagrid to peek through. When he saw only the three of them, he immediately yanked them inside, glancing around as if expecting spies.
Fang was nowhere to be seen. From a distant bark, Harry guessed the hound had been chained outside.
Harry felt a pang of sympathy—Poor Fang… pushed aside ever since Norberta arrived.
Even Hagrid, so kindhearted and steady, wasn't immune to favoring the new over the old.
But Harry didn't linger on it. He quickly explained the plan they'd discussed the night before: contact Charlie, send the dragon away before it was discovered.
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"I can't," Hagrid said gruffly. "She's too little. She'll die."
The "little" creature in question was stretching its neck toward them, claws flexing, teeth still stained from its last meal. It had grown noticeably since yesterday.
If anyone else saw her here, Hagrid might not just be sacked—he'd risk a trip to Azkaban.
"Hagrid, listen—Charlie's an expert on dragons!" Harry pressed.
Hagrid ignored him, humming a tune under his breath as he wrung blood from a dead chicken into a basin. Feathers floated everywhere, settling into the mess his hut had become. Normally, Hagrid's clutter had a strange order to it—jars neatly stacked, hams hanging in rows, unicorn hair bundled carefully. But now the place was a wreck, and he didn't even notice.
Harry exchanged a glance with Draco. This won't be easy.
Draco stepped forward. "Hagrid, you're not going to keep Norberta in this hut forever, are you? And if you try to hide her in the Forbidden Forest, what happens when she escapes and attacks a student?"
Ron raised his swollen hand. "Look at this! What if it were someone's neck instead of my hand? Dumbledore would be in trouble because of you!"
Harry added softly, "If Charlie takes her, she'll grow up with her own kind… not alone in a cabin."
For a moment, Hagrid's expression wavered. But then his eyes filled with tears. "I… I know I can't keep her forever. No—her. My little princess. Norberta! Norberta, where's your mum?"
He turned back to the dragon, cooing as she chirped and bobbed her head. Harry, Draco, and Ron didn't budge.
Finally Hagrid broke, wiping his eyes. "Fine. You can write to Charlie."
He pointed a huge finger at each of them in turn. "Then get out. And you—little Malfoy devil—don't come back unless Charlie writes back! Now go!"
The three of them exchanged worried looks but obeyed. Hagrid's mood had shifted into something dangerously sentimental. They slipped out into the cool morning air.
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High above, unseen, Alexander Smith floated like a shadow in the sky, watching.
He wasn't surprised Harry had kept this from him. Harry knew Alexander also knew about the Sorcerer's Stone and the three‑headed dog. Perhaps Harry thought Alexander might seize the Stone for himself.
Alexander understood. But that didn't mean he wasn't angry.
When Harry crept out earlier, Alexander had even pretended to talk in his sleep just to startle them—a petty little bit of revenge.
Originally, Alexander had planned to ambush Quirrell during his hunt for the unicorn, ending the threat before it grew. But now… no. Let Quirrell drink the unicorn's blood, let him grow stronger. Let Harry get his chance to confront him, just like in the original timeline.
Alexander would be watching.
And when the time came, he'd take the Philosopher's Stone himself—before Quirrell could even reach the restricted area.
A small smile played on Alexander's lips. Consider it payback, Dumbledore… for meddling with the sales of my potions.
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(End of this chapter)
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