Weeks have followed since Harry heard the discussion between Quirrell and Snape in the Forbidden Forest, and still nothing has happened. Apart from Quirrell getting progressively thinner, paler, and jumpier, it seems he's managed to hold his own against Snape so far, which gives me hope that he'll be able to hold out long enough for Dumbledore to figure out what Snape's up to. Every time we pass through the third-floor corridor, we'll always put an ear to the door to make sure that Fluffy is still there and growling away to himself, which he always is, meaning that Snape's not gotten past him yet.

We've started giving Professor Quirrell looks of encouragement and smiles whenever we pass him hoping that even just the little bit of reassurance that he's doing brilliantly will help him take it even further than he's already managed. Ron's even started telling people off for making fun of him.

Along with the Stone and all of the problems revolving around it right now, we've also got another pressing matter creeping up on us as the weeks progress. Soon enough we'll be taking our first lot of exams here at Hogwarts, and both Hermione and I are hard at work in between worrying about the Philosopher's Stone with our revision for said exams, as well as trying to encourage the boys to go through their course notes as well. Mione's taking things a little further than I, of course, as she's been colour-coding her notes and writing up revision timetables to keep herself on track.

"Hermione, the exams are ages away," Ron said one day after she'd nagged them into letting her write them a revision chart as well.

"Ten weeks," she'd retorted in a snappy fashion, one that seems to be most prominent when she's thinking about class work too much. "That's not ages, that's like a second to Nicolas Flamel."

"But we're not six hundred years old," Ron had reminded her. "Anyway, what are you revising for? You already know it all."

"What am I revising for?" she snapped back in exasperation. "Are you mad? You realise we need to pass these exams to get into the second year? They're very important, I should have started studying a month ago, I don't know what's gotten into me..."

"Mione," I had spoken up from my place beside Harry. "Don't worry, okay? We'll do fine, and as soon as the fifth week comes along, then we'll start whipping them." I grinned as I watched the colour drain from Ron's face.

"Not funny, Y/N," he said before looking back to his chess game set in front of the two of us. "She'll probably do it, you know?"

"Oh, don't be ridiculous, Ronald," I laughed before checking his king. "I won't let her actually whip anyone until at least the second week before."

"You two are both idiots," Hermione sighed.

It just so happens that our Professors seemed to have the same outlook on the ordeal as Hermione and I, as they'd started piling mounds of homework on us that I'm sure the boy's found the Easter holidays not to be nearly as fun and laid back as our Christmas ones. Oh, the essays I had to read through, both Hermione and I, that the boys were unsure of, which was all of which we'd been set. I don't think Mione minded looking them over so much though, as it gave her more opportunities to critique them. I suspect that in the future she'd make a very impressive professor herself.

"I'll never remember this," Ron bursts suddenly one afternoon as he throws down his quill and turned instead to stare out the library's window. "Hagrid! What are you doing in the library?"

I tear my attention from my Transfiguration notes and look up to indeed find our friendly, gigantic, school gamekeeper looking awfully as if he'd just been caught doing something he shouldn't be. He's also hiding something, a book or sorts I expect, behind his back.

"Jus' lookin'" he replies casually, but with a hint of worry in his voice. "An' what're you lot up ter?" His gaze suddenly turns from casual-caught-in-the-act to suspicious. "Yer not still lookin' fer Nicolas Flamel, are yeh?"

"Oh, we found out who he is ages ago," says Ron, and I nod in confirmation. "And we know what that dog's guarding, it's the Philosopher's St-"

"Shhhh!" Hagrid hurriedly shushes as he frantically look around trying to deduce if anyone's heard us. "Don' go shoutin' about it, what's the matter with yeh?"

"There are a few things we wanted to ask you, as a matter of fact," Harry says, "about what's guarding the Stone apart from Fluffy-"

"SHHHH!" he shushes again. "Listen – come an' see me later, I'm not promisin' I'll tell yeh anythin', mind, but don' go rabbitin' about it in here, students aren' s'pposed ter know. They'll think I've told yeh-"

"Excellent, I've been wanting to come and see Newton," I cut of his ramblings with a smile.

"See you later, then," says Harry. Hagrid now shuffles off and back out of the library, the book still hidden with him. I wish I'd had the chance to glance at what it was about.

"What was he hiding behind his back?" Hermione voices my thoughts exactly. "Do you think it had anything to do with the Stone?"

"I'm going to see what section he was in," informs Ron as he drags himself from his seat, obviously seeing this as the perfect excuse to get out of study. It's only a few minuets later that he's back and knocking me back out of my Transfiguration revision again. "Dragons!" he whispers hoarsely. "Hagrid was looking up stuff about dragons! Look at these: Dragon Species of Great Britain and Ireland; From Egg to Inferno, A Dragon Keeper's Guide."

"Hagrid's always wanted a dragon," tells Harry, and I nod in remembrance of him telling me something of the sort one afternoon when I'd brought down some cookies for he and Newton. "He told me so the first time I ever met him."

"But it's against out laws," says Ron. "Dragon-breeding was outlawed by the Warlocks' Convention of 1709, everyone knows that. It's hard to stop Muggles noticing us if we're keeping dragons in the back garden – anyway, you can't tame dragons, it's dangerous. You should see the burns Charlie's got off the wild ones in Romania."

"But there aren't wild dragons in Britain?" says Harry.

"Of course there are," Ron informs. "Common Welsh Green and Hebridean Blacks. The Ministry of Magic has a job hushing them up, I can tell you. Our lot have to keep putting spells on Muggles who've spotted them, to make them forget."

"So what's Hagrid up to?" questions Mione.

"Not a clue," I reply. "But I can tell you, I'm itching to find out."

~~~{...Ӂ...}~~~

It's been an hour since Hagrid had suspiciously left us to our work in the library, and now we're stood outside of his hut. Ron's the one to knock on the door. It seems that he's either trying too keep out the dying light of the afternoon, or the prying eyes of random wanderers, as all the door are shut tight, and the curtains all seem to be drawn. Hagrid's voice then breaks the short silence following our knocking.

"Who is it?" He lets us in as soon as we answer, but instantly I wish he'd just let us stay outside, as the blazing heat encapsulating the room is terrible overwhelming. I feel myself break into an almost instant sweat as soon as the door's closed again. He tries offering us tea and stoat sandwiches, but we decline as kindly as possible.

"Wow... It's like a sauna in here," I say before Hagrid gets to what he's wanting to say.

"So – yeh wanted to ask me somethin'?"

"Yes," Harry replies. "We were wondering if you could tell us what's guarding the Philosopher's Stone apart from Fluffy." This question earns him an instantaneous frown.

"O' course I can't," he answers. "Number one, I don' know meself. Number two, yeh know too much already, so I wouldn' tell yeh if I could. That Stone's here fer a good reason. It was almost stolen outta Gringotts – I s'ppose yeh've worked that out an' all? Beats me how ye even know abou' Fluffy."

"Oh come on, Hagrid, you might not want to tell us, but you do know, you know everything that goes on round here," Hermione flatters the giant, bushy man, and I giggle under my breath when I notice the look of pleasure on Hagrid's face. She's quite cunning when she wants to be, our Hermione Granger. "We only wondered who had done the guarding, really. We wondered who Dumbledore had trusted enough to help him, apart from you."

"Well," he begins, and I beam at my brunette best friend full of pride, "I don' s'pose it could hurt ter tell yeh that... let's see... he borrowed Fluffy from me... then some o' the teachers did enchantments... Professor Sprout – Professor Flitwick – Professor McGonagall – Professor Quirrell – an' Dumbledore himself did somethin', o' course. Hang on, I've forgotten someone. Oh yeah, Professor Snape."

"Snape?" we all ask in union out of shock.

"Yeah – yer not still on abou' that, are yeh? Look, Snape helped protect the Stone, he's not about ter steal it."

So... so if Snape is 'helping protect' the Stone, then that means he's got a pretty good idea as to what the rest of our teachers have cast and conjured to protect it as well! All except, it would seem, whatever Quirrell has done to keep it safe. That must be why he's bullying the poor man into helping him and not anyone else! Because he's already figured the rest out!

"You're the only one who knows how to get past Fluffy, aren't you, Hagrid?" Harry asks the man anxiously, and I can tell he must be thinking the same as myself, and most likely Hermione and Ron, too. "And you wouldn't tell anyone, would you?"

"Not even one of the teachers?" I'm quick to add on.

"Not a soul knows except me an' Dumbledore," he answers steady.

"Well, that's something," Harry breathes a sigh of relief, and I nod.

"Um – Hagrid, do you think you could crack one of the windows? It's far too hot in here," I ask the kind man, but sadly I receive a shake of his head in return.

"Can't, Y/N, sorry," he say.

"Hagrid – what's that?" Harry suddenly asks, and I follow his line of sight to find a very familiar looking shape resting upon the coals within the fire.

Hagrid doesn't quite know how to answer, and more so than ever does he look nervous about what we've asked. If dragons are illegal to keep as pets, then I'm sure he's worried about word getting out and getting in trouble for having an egg sitting in his fireplace.

"Where did you get it, Hagrid?" asks Ron, a look of awe on his face. I move over towards the fire and look over the rough egg shell. I don't recognise the type as dragons are something I haven't paid as much attention too when regarding Magical Creatures. "It must've cost you a fortune."

"Won it," he says finally. "Las' night. I was down in the village havin' a few drinks an' got into a game o' cards with a stranger. Think he was quite glad ter get rid of it, ter be honest."

"But what are you going to do with it when it's hatched?" Hermione asks next. Hagrid moves over to his large bed and pulls the book that he'd had hidden behind his back from under his pillow.

"Go this outta the library – Dragon-Breeding for Pleasure and Profit – it's a bit outta date, o' course, but it's all in here. Keep the egg in the fire, 'cause their mothers' breathe on 'em, see, an' when it hatches, feed it on a bucket o' brandy mixed with chicken blood every half hour.

"An' see here – how ter recognise diff'rent eggs – what I got there's a Norwegian Ridgeback. They're rare, them."

"Hagrid, you live in a wooden house," Mione exclaims, though without getting his attention back off of the egg as he's humming away to it like a mother might a restless baby.

"Hagrid?" I call to him, and his head shoots around. "Where's Newton?"

"Ah, little fellers under me bed again, I think," he answers, and with a questioning look from all three of my friends, I move over to the bed and couch at the side.

"Newton, are you there?"

"Who's Newton?" asks Ron.

I don't answer, however, as I'm suddenly tackled by my chipper little Niffler, who's obviously deduced that I've most likely smuggled him down some more cookies from lunch. I pick him up and give him a hug before turning him around to face my friends.

"This is Newton... I haven't really had the time to introduce you all before now," I laugh as he squirms a little to get to my pocket. "He's looking for the cookies I've brought him."

"What is that?" Harry suddenly asks, a strange look on his face.

"Umm, well, he's a Niffler. Nifflers are Magical Creatures. They've got a little pouch on their fronts, see? And when they spot something sparkly, and they really love sparkly things, they'll snatch them up and store them away in there," I explain.

"And how long have you know this one?" Mione asks.

"Oh, I don't know – December?"

"You mean to say you've been helping look after this for months and we didn't even know? Hagrid, where did you even get one! I thought they were more common with Goblins."

"He ain't mine," Hagrid answers her. "Young Y/N brough' 'im a little while back, she did. Jus' been keepin' him outta trouble."

"He's yours? Well where did you find him?" Ron questions this time.

"Outside the first morning we got snow, actually. I brought him to breakfast with me, and Transfiguration. He got out in class and tried stealing one of Professor McGonagall's bejeweled books, but she found him out."

"And you didn't get in trouble?" Mione asks.

"No, she was nice about the whole thing. Just asked me to bring him down to Hagrid. I think she had a soft spot for him, really. I could tell she liked him. I mean, who wouldn't? Look at him! She let him keep the silverware he stole from the Great Hall and everything. You are the cutest little thing, aren't you, Newton?" I say while scratching the creature's belly, and he wriggles about before I hand him the cookie and he's bolting back towards his hiding place, I suspect to escape the heat.

"And you never told us?" Hermione speaks again.

"To be completely honest with you, with everything else that's been going on lately, it just kind of... slipped my mind I guess."

~~~{...Ӂ...}~~~

This morning, Hedwig delivered Harry a small letter from Hagrid that said nothing but two words. 'It's hatching'. The boys and I were immediately excited, and Ron even suggested skipping our Herbology class to go down and witness it, but even I was against that idea. It's one thing to slack off on a study session for such, but a lesson in which we could be told something we'll need to know for the exams? Yeah, no – I wouldn't be missing that.

"Hermione, how many times in our lives are we going to see a dragon hatching?" Ron had tried reasoning with her.

"We've got lessons, we'll get into trouble and that's nothing to what Hagrid's going to be in when someone finds out what he's doing-"

"Shut up!" Harry whispered annoyed.

I was about to yell at him for being so rude before I caught sight of a lurking Malfoy standing only a few feet away and stopped still in his tracks. He'd no doubt just heard everything Hermione and Ron had just said, and he's sure as anything not going to keep it to himself.

"Oh, dear..." I whispered out after watching him scamper away with the new information. "We're doomed."

"Come on!" said Hermione quickly. "We've got a lesson anyway. We'll figure this out later!"

I nodded and followed behind her with both boys behind me. It was blatantly obvious they were angry at the fact we'd all just been caught by Malfoy and that Mione nor I were going to listen to their wanting to skip class, even if it's for a pretty amazing cause. It was on our way there that they had both finally annoyed Hermione enough to have her agreeing to go to Hagrid's during morning break.

"It's nearly out!" Hagrid practically sings as he lets us in.

Inside of the wooden hut, the egg, once cradled by coals and ablaze logs, is now laying on the old, self-fashioned table covered in deep, lengthy cracks creating vaguely-moving segments of all different sizes and shapes. The baby dragon is moving about on the inside of the shell trying to break itself free.

We each sit down on one of Hagrid's chairs and wait patiently for it to happen. Not a few moments later are a few of the segments erupting open and revealing one of the baby's black, leathery wings! The little thing finally flops from the rest of the shell onto the table before us all looking awfully like a lump of dark leather or perhaps an umbrella's canopy. It's wings are very large in comparison to the rest of it, and it's brilliant, fire-opal-orange eyes contrast greatly with it's overall jet-black colouring.

"Wow..." I breathe as I watch it pick itself up and look around at us, who're all staring back at it with gazes of awe and wonderment, as well as utter unbelieving on Harry's part, but such is understandable, after all, he's barely known about his wizarding blood for a year.

It sneezes, and a few sparks fly from it's long snout tipped with wide nostrils that singe Hagrid's beard ever so slightly.

"Isn't he beautiful?" the aforementioned, huge man murmurs gently in his new friend's direction. He reaches out to stroke his head, but the small dragon snaps at his fingers, baring his very sharp fangs. "Bless him, look, he knows his mummy!"

"Hagrid," Hermione starts, "how fast to Norwegian Ridgebacks grow, exactly?"

Hagrid looks as though he's about to answer, when suddenly he's snapping my attention from the dragon and towards the window where he's staring in horror. I try peering out it, but I can't make anything out.

"What's the matter?" I quickly ask.

"Someone was lookin' through the gap in the curtains – it's a kid – he's runnin' back up ter the school," Hagrid answers in an uneven and low panic.

Harry jumps up from his seat and shoots to the door. He pulls it open and peers out obviously trying to identify who's just seen Hagrid's secret pet, and when he turns, his face is almost as pale as what Hagrid's has become.

"It was Malfoy," he mutters, and my heart sinks.

~~~{...Ӂ...}~~~

Since Malfoy's finding out of Hagrid's secret last week, we've been spending as much of our free time as possible in his hut and trying to convince him that he can't keep the dragon, especially now that Malfoy of all people knows about him. Harry's been most prominent with worrying, and the rest of us aren't far behind. I've been spending time with the reptile when we visit, as it's seemed to take a liking to me which causes me to smile each time the little bugger tries handing me burning coals that I'll always have to decline.

"Just let him go," urges Harry one afternoon. "Set him free."

"I can't," Hagrid replies. "He's too little. He'd die."

I frown and decline yet another coal from the dragon thinking about the poor thing trying to fend for himself out there in the Forbidden Forest or somewhere similar. He surely wouldn't be able to look after himself. Especially not after being hand reared since hatching; he's much too dependent on Hagrid for his meals.

"I've decided to call him Norbert," informs Hagrid, and I smile at the name. Norbert and Newton, the best of friends! Though they aren't actually very fond of each other. "He really knows me now, watch. Norbert! Norbert! Where's Mummy?"