The reconciliation, once achieved, settled into a new and more stable equilibrium. The four of them were a unit again, but the internal dynamics had been irrevocably altered. Harry, humbled and deeply grateful, now looked at Ariana not just as a powerful friend, but as a wellspring of knowledge and strategy, a resource he had been too foolish to utilize properly.
A few days after their truce, he found her in a quiet alcove of the library, where she was crossreferencing a celestial chart with a book on runic magic. Hermione was nearby, engrossed in her own studies. This time, Harry approached alone, without Ron's impulsive influence.
"Ariana?" he began quietly, his voice hesitant but sincere.
She looked up from her work, her periwinkle eyes meeting his. She offered a small, encouraging nod, an invitation to speak.
"I know I messed up," he said, his voice low. "And I'm sorry again. But… I need your help. The right way, this time. I need to understand." He took a deep breath. "You said you knew who Nicolas Flamel was. And that mirror… the one I saw my parents in… what was it?"
This was the moment Ariana had been waiting for. He wasn't asking for an accomplice; he was asking for knowledge. He was offering his trust. She closed her book, giving him her full, undivided attention.
"Nicolas Flamel," she began, her voice a calm, clear stream of information, "was one of the most brilliant alchemists in history. Alchemy is a branch of magic concerned with transmutation, the changing of one substance into another. Its ultimate goal is the creation of the Magnum Opus, the Great Work, which is the Philosopher's Stone."
She saw the flash of recognition in his eyes. "The Stone has two primary properties. It can transform any base metal into pure gold, and it produces the Elixir of Life, which grants the drinker immortality. Flamel and his wife, Perenelle, are currently over six hundred years old. He is, as I mentioned, a close associate of Professor Dumbledore's. The Stone you saw the three-headed dog guarding is almost certainly his."
Harry stared at her, dumbfounded. The entire mystery, which had consumed them for months, was explained in a few simple, factual sentences. "So… someone's trying to steal it."
"A logical conclusion," Ariana affirmed. "It is an object of immense power and temptation."
"And the mirror?" Harry asked, his voice softer, more vulnerable.
A flicker of empathy softened Ariana's gaze. "The Mirror of Erised. It is a very old, very powerful, and very dangerous piece of enchantment. It does not show the future, or the truth. It shows the viewer nothing more and nothing less than the deepest, most desperate desire of their heart. For a boy who never knew his family, it would show them to him. For a boy like Ron, who feels overshadowed by his brothers, it would show him achieving ultimate success on his own terms."
She leaned forward slightly. "It is not a healthy thing to dwell on, Harry. It shows you only what you cannot have, and it can drive people mad with false hope and longing. Men have wasted away before it. Dumbledore likely placed it there as the final, psychological protection for the Stone. Only someone who wanted to find the Stone, but not use it for their own desires, would be able to get it from the mirror. Someone pure of heart." She paused. "Someone like you."
Harry sat back, the pieces clicking into place. The mirror was a trap, a test. And he had walked right into it, obsessed. He understood now. He understood the danger, the logic, and the profound sadness of the artifact. "Thank you, Ariana," he said, his voice filled with a gratitude that went far beyond simple information. "Thank you for trusting me with that."
"You asked," she said simply. "That's all it took."
The trust, once established, paid immediate dividends. A few weeks later, Hagrid invited the four of them down to his hut, his face alight with a secretive, nervous excitement. In the center of his cabin, a large, black egg was sitting in the embers of his fireplace.
"Won it off a stranger in the pub," Hagrid said proudly. "Reckon it's a Norwegian Ridgeback."
Hermione immediately launched into a lecture on the illegality of dragon breeding, but Hagrid was too besotted with his new prize to listen. A few days later, the egg hatched. A creature that looked like a crumpled black umbrella with large, spiny wings emerged, sneezing sparks.
"Isn't he beautiful?" Hagrid cooed, stroking its snout. "I've decided to call him Norbert."
Harry and Hermione exchanged worried glances. Ron, however, was fascinated. But Ariana, who had been observing the small dragon with a quiet, analytical eye, spoke up.
"Hagrid," she said, her voice calm and factual. "I believe your son is actually a daughter."
Hagrid looked at her, confused. "What'dyeh mean, Ariana?"
"The morphology is subtly different," she explained, pointing with a delicate finger. "The ridge along the spine has a slightly more pronounced curvature, and the snout is a fraction shorter and wider than the standard male of the species. Those are characteristics of a female Norwegian Ridgeback. You have a Norberta, not a Norbert."
Hagrid stared at the dragon, then back at Ariana, then at the dragon again. A wide, beaming smile spread across his face. "Norberta! Well, whaddya know! A little girl! Even better!"
The problem, however, remained. Norberta grew at an alarming rate. Within a week, she was the size of a small boar, her venomous fangs were developing, and she had set fire to Hagrid's duvet twice. Ron even got a nasty bite that swelled up alarmingly.
"We've got to do something," Harry said, during a panicked visit to the hut.
"I could write to my brother Charlie!" Ron suggested, his face lighting up. "He works with dragons in Romania! We could smuggle her out!"
Harry and Hermione looked tempted by the thrill of the idea. But before the reckless plan could take root, Ariana intervened.
"That is an excellent idea, Ron," she said, her praise making Ron puff up his chest. She immediately followed it with a dose of cold, hard logic. "Your brother is the perfect expert to contact. However, smuggling a Class A Non-Tradeable Magical Creature across international borders is a serious criminal offense that could land all of us in Azkaban and get Hagrid fired. There is a more efficient and legal solution."
The three of them looked at her expectantly.
"First," she said, ticking the points off on her fingers, "Hagrid, you must inform the Headmaster. Immediately."
Hagrid looked horrified. "Inform Dumbledore? He'll get rid of her! He'll have me sacked!"
"No, he won't," Ariana countered smoothly. "Professor Dumbledore trusts you implicitly. But you are living in a wooden hut with a creature that breathes fire. You are endangering yourself and the castle. Informing him is not an admission of guilt; it is an act of responsibility. It shows you understand the danger and require assistance."
She then turned to Ron. "Once Dumbledore is aware of the situation and has sanctioned her removal, then you will write to Charlie. Not to arrange a clandestine smuggling operation, but to organize a formal, professional transfer of a dangerous magical creature to a secure sanctuary. Dumbledore can authorize it. The Ministry can provide the necessary paperwork. It will be safe, legal, and above all, it will not involve first-year students sneaking around the castle at midnight."
The logic was unassailable. It was the adult solution. It lacked the thrill of a secret mission, but it was guaranteed to work without risk of expulsion or imprisonment. Hagrid, though heartbroken at the thought of losing Norberta, saw the profound wisdom in the plan. He trudged up to the castle that very evening. The next day, a smiling Dumbledore informed him that arrangements would be made. Ron, feeling immensely important, sent a formal owl to Charlie, explaining the situation and asking for professional assistance.
A week later, the transfer took place. It was not a shadowy affair on the Astronomy Tower. Two of Charlie's colleagues from the Romanian sanctuary, tough-looking wizards with burn scars on their arms, arrived at Hagrid's hut in the late afternoon. Professor McGonagall was there to oversee the proceedings, her expression stern but approving.
They sedated a now-enormous Norberta, secured her in a magically reinforced crate, and departed with a formal handshake and a word of thanks to Hagrid for his cooperation.
Malfoy, who had clearly been snooping, was seen lurking near the edge of the Forbidden Forest, hoping to catch them in the act of some wrongdoing. He saw nothing but a perfectly legal, professionally handled transfer of a dangerous animal. His face, when he realized he had nothing to report to Snape, was a picture of thwarted fury.
Back in the common room, Ron was ecstatic. "It worked! They got her! Charlie says they might even name a paddock after Hagrid!"
Harry and Hermione were just relieved. No detention. No lost points. No trouble.
Harry looked over at Ariana, who was reading by the fire as if nothing out of the ordinary had happened at all. They had solved a real-world problem with intelligence, collaboration, and responsibility. It felt, in its own way, far more satisfying than any midnight adventure ever could have. They were learning to be not just wizards, but competent ones.