[So, is it normal for this thing to start breathing fire the second it hatches?]
Having stepped off-screen to use his respawn mechanics and regenerate his tail, Tom walked back in. He stared with a bizarre expression at the tiny dragon on the table, which was currently trying very hard to dodge Hagrid's massive hands.
Even if a Norwegian Ridgeback was a fire-breathing dragon, surely it shouldn't be spitting flames the moment it broke out of its shell, right?
"It's definitely not," Draco said, looking just as bewildered at the creature on the table. "Normally, a dragon can't breathe fire even days after hatching. And they definitely aren't this... compliant! Dragons don't imprint. Even if their actual mother was standing right here, it wouldn't change their aggressive instincts."
"So you knew it was going to be aggressive the moment it hatched? Why didn't you say anything earlier?"
"Would it have mattered?" Draco shot Ron an exasperated eye-roll. "Knowing Hagrid, do you really think a little thing like 'aggressive instincts' would stop him from hatching it himself? Besides, a newborn dragon can't do much damage. For the first little while, the only real danger is the venom in its fangs, and even that isn't particularly lethal. It's easy to treat."
Squeak!
Before Ron could argue further, Norbert—as if perfectly understanding Draco's insult—let out a sharp squeak. A tiny puff of flame shot from its mouth, wobbling lazily through the air toward the blonde Slytherin.
Yes, wobbling. Unlike the forceful sneeze from earlier, this little wisp of fire drifted toward Draco at a pace so slow that any conscious human being could easily side-step it.
It felt less like an actual attack and more like a very grumpy expression of dissatisfaction.
[Um, it says it's very fierce, and you shouldn't look down on it!] Tom's mouth twitched as he translated for the baby dragon.
[By the way, that'll be a ten-Knut translation fee. Thanks.]
Might as well take this opportunity to fleece the rich kid.
When it came to translation fees, Tom hadn't planned on charging an exorbitant amount, keeping in mind that there were plenty of Muggle-born students who didn't have deep pockets. Ten Knuts (about a third of a Sickle) seemed fair.
But hey, every little bit adds up! Plus, that was the price per sentence, not a flat rate!
"I didn't even ask you to translate! And how do I know you're not just making that up?!" Draco glared at Tom in disbelief. Sure, he was a rich heir, but paying several hundred Galleons for that janky cardboard incubator had practically emptied his current cash reserves!
He only had a few dozen Galleons left on his person! To Draco, walking around with anything less than triple digits in his pocket was basically poverty. He was too embarrassed to even be seen in public like this!
Squeak~
However, the tiny dragon on the table nodded vigorously, its expression clearly saying, "Exactly what he said!"
Draco stared in sheer bewilderment. Was this even a dragon anymore? Since when were dragons this obedient and expressive?!
"Gotcha!"
Seizing the distraction, Hagrid lunged forward and grabbed the baby dragon. Ignoring its frantic squirming, he carefully peeled the remaining pieces of eggshell off its body. "There we go, little Norbert! You're a mighty dragon! You can't spend your whole life hiding inside a shell!"
Squeak—
The newly deshelled baby dragon looked down at its bare body. Then, displaying an almost human-like sense of modesty, it wrapped its leathery wings tightly around itself and buried its head in shame.
"? Tom, what's it saying?" Hagrid looked at the cat in confusion.
[It says you stripped it naked and now it's too embarrassed to show its face.]
Tom felt his feline face twitching uncontrollably. Seriously, what was going on with this dragon?! How did passing through his paws warp its personality into something so... bizarrely cute?!
Normally, a newly hatched dragon would try to bite Hagrid's fingers off! What kind of dragon hides its face in shame?! And what did it mean, "stripped naked"?! By that logic, Tom was running around streaking every single day!
Looking at the dramatic little creature, Tom suddenly felt a pang of regret. He never should have gotten involved in the incubation process just for a few hundred Galleons. If he had stayed out of it, they wouldn't have ended up with a dragon that acted like a cartoon character.
Squeak!
Hearing Hagrid's voice, the baby dragon cautiously peeked its head out from beneath its wings. It spotted Tom, and a look of pure joy flashed in its eyes. Letting out an excited shriek, it completely forgot about its "nakedness," flapped its tiny wings, and flew straight toward the cat.
"Merlin's sagging Y-fronts!"
Draco and Ron's eyes nearly popped out of their skulls. As the two people in the room who knew the most about dragons, they had never, ever heard of a dragon being able to fly the very minute it hatched!
In fact, under normal circumstances, a baby dragon wouldn't even attempt flight for several months!
But as the target of the flying dragon, Tom looked even more horrified than the boys.
It wasn't because he was afraid of being attacked. Given everything Tom had survived, a mere baby Norwegian Ridgeback was barely a blip on his radar. The problem lay in the specific squeaks the dragon was making as it flew toward him.
[Meow!] (I am NOT your mother, damn it!)
That's right. As the little dragon fluttered toward him, it was happily calling him "Mama."
Sure, from a technical standpoint, Tom had built the incubator that brought it to life. But he was a male cat! If it was going to call him anything, it should be calling him "Papa"!
And more importantly—
Squeak—Achoo!
Having lost the insulating warmth of its shell, the ambient temperature of the hut proved a bit too chilly for the newborn. Mid-flight, it let out another violent sneeze. And just like before, a gout of orange flame shot straight toward Tom's newly regenerated tail.
[Meow!] (Stay away from me!)
Faced with this "mortal peril," Tom's tail finally reacted. He whipped it hard to the side to dodge, and then—
FWOOSH.
His tail whipped directly into the path of the flame.
[Meow?]
Squeak?
Both cat and dragon froze. Little Norbert was especially confused. It had tried so hard to aim the sneeze away from Mama's tail! Why did the fire still end up hitting it?!
Staring at his tail—which had once again been reduced to a pile of charred ash—Tom felt the urge to cry but had no tears to shed.
Thank goodness the little guy's firepower was still weak, burning out after consuming the tail. Otherwise...
Yeah, Tom really, really didn't want to experience the sensation of being burnt to a crisp.
—Achoo!
Before Tom could even finish celebrating his narrow escape, the "sniffling" Norbert sneezed yet again. And this time, since Tom currently lacked a tail, the fireball landed squarely on his chest.
Watching the flames rapidly engulf his entire body, Tom gave up. I'm so tired. Just destroy me already. Make it quick.
Before anyone else in the room could even react, Tom was entirely consumed by the fire. In the blink of an eye, he was reduced to a neat little pile of gray ash on the floor.
"Tom!"
Squeak! (Mama!)
But before the panic could fully set in, a small wooden sign popped out of the pile of ashes.
[I'm fine. Just wait for me to respawn.]
A sudden, inexplicable draft swept through the room, blowing the ashes out through the crack under the door. Two seconds later, the heavy wooden door opened, and a perfectly intact, unburnt Tom casually strolled back inside.
He stared deadpan at the baby dragon.
[Hagrid, I think this dragon is sick.] He pointed a paw at Norbert.
[How about we just roast it and eat it?]