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[Hogwarts] Ch 104: The two Unicorns
🕑 Added 2025-07-23 22:46:30 +0000 UTC— — — — — —
In the end, between the temptation of messing with Harry and the not-so-subtle pressure from Tom, Draco gave in.
Tom smiled and gave him a pat on the shoulder. "Smart move, Malfoy. You made the right choice."
Draco managed a strained smile.
"Don't look so miserable," Tom chuckled. "Sure, you lost a shot at getting back at Potter, but you gained something far more valuable—my friendship. No more looking over your shoulder, worrying about old grudges. I think that's a pretty fair trade, don't you?"
Draco nodded. Truth be told, it wasn't until now that he finally relaxed around Tom. Every encounter with Riddle up to this point had been colored by fear or guilt. But now, with Tom owing him a favor, it felt like they were finally even. He could finally act normal around him.
With Malfoy gone and the deal settled, Tom turned his attention to organizing the magical ingredients Hagrid had gathered—sorting them meticulously by category.
---
The seven-day holiday flew by, and on the last evening, Daphne returned to Hogwarts by train. As soon as she saw Tom, she dropped all pretense of composure and ran straight into his arms.
Later, with Hermione joining them, the three made their way to the Room of Requirement. Daphne was animated, excitedly filling them in on Astoria's progress.
After several rounds of strengthening potions, her sister's condition had noticeably improved—her stamina now almost on par with an average girl's. The two had even spent the holiday zooming around the manor grounds on broomsticks, laughing like kids again.
But halfway through, Daphne's cheer faded.
Just like Tom had guessed, the potions only dealt with the symptoms, not the curse itself. It was like draining a half-full bucket—eventually, the water would return. And when it did, Astoria would slip back into her frail, sickly state.
Still, they had bought time. Time to find a real cure.
Hermione gave Daphne a few words of comfort, and seeing her spirits lift a little, she brought up Hagrid's dragon situation.
"He's lost his mind, hasn't he?" Daphne gaped. "Trying to hatch a dragon at Hogwarts? The howlers from the parents alone could flood the school!"
Hermione shrugged helplessly. "It's not just me—Harry and Ron both tried to talk him out of it too. But it's no use. He's dead set on seeing it hatch. Whether he keeps it or not afterward is anyone's guess."
Daphne thought about it. "Well, then let him dig his own grave. It's the Headmaster's mess to clean up—not ours."
Tom nodded. "Exactly. We'll just sit back and enjoy the show. I mean, when's the next time you'll get to witness a dragon hatching?"
He'd just checked on the egg earlier that day. Nestled in the Gubraithian Fire—a magical white fire that never went out—the black dragon egg was pulsing with life, twitching occasionally. The hatching wasn't far off.
Daphne and Hermione exchanged looks. Okay, yeah—watching a dragon hatch? That did sound cool.
...
Tom's timing turned out to be spot on. On the second day after term resumed, both he and Harry received a note from Hagrid via owl.
Just four words: {It's about to hatch.}
Daphne couldn't concentrate at all that morning. She spent the entire History of Magic class fidgeting in her seat, constantly glancing out the window toward Hagrid's hut, terrified she'd miss the big moment.
As soon as Professor Sprout dismissed class, she grabbed Tom's hand and sprinted toward the grounds.
They weren't the only ones racing over. Three Gryffindors had just emerged from the greenhouses and were hurrying toward the hut too. Hagrid, practically glowing with excitement, waved them all inside.
Hagrid had explained to Harry and Ron that Tom had found out about the dragon and agreed to keep it quiet in exchange for some rare magical ingredients—and occasional visitation rights.
Honestly, it was a pretty smooth bit of PR. By framing it as a mutual deal rather than blackmail, it sounded way less pathetic.
The atmosphere was... a little awkward. Hermione quickly made her way to stand beside Tom and Daphne. The two groups didn't mix at all—clear lines drawn between them.
Maybe if Ron hadn't been there, Harry might've actually had a decent conversation with others. But Ron was a walking disaster.
Ever since the troll incident before Halloween, things between Ron and Hermione had gone cold. Hermione didn't think she'd done anything wrong and couldn't care less about Ron's attitude. Meanwhile, Ron—used to being invisible—was convinced Hermione looked down on him, especially now that she spent time with Slytherins.
Harry could see the truth, though. It wasn't about Slytherins in general—Hermione just had close ties with Tom and Daphne. Private friendships didn't erase inter-house competition. There was nothing wrong with that.
In fact, Hermione had probably earned more points than all the other first-year Gryffindors combined. No one had the right to criticize her for her choice of friends.
Still, Ron was his best mate, so Harry kept his mouth shut and stood in awkward silence by his side.
Hagrid didn't notice any of the tension. He was laser-focused on Tom.
"I heard the shell crackin' this morning—think it's time to take the egg out?"
Tom gave a casual flick of his wand, and the Gubraithian fire vanished, sucked neatly back into his wand.
Hagrid quickly set the egg on a tray and placed it on the table.
Hermione and Daphne exchanged looks again—this whole scene felt weirdly like dinner was about to be served.
The egg had already split in a few places and wobbled every now and then. Everyone held their breath, staring intently, as if afraid even a whisper would disrupt the hatching.
CRACK—
Then, with a loud crack, the shell finally burst open.
A tiny, sticky, absolutely hideous baby dragon emerged, its head still half-covered in broken shell. It wobbled clumsily and let out a bizarre little screech.
Hermione and Daphne crouched in unison.
The thing was ugly. Wrinkled, black, and shriveled like a crumpled umbrella. The proportions of its body and wings were completely off, and there were weird, gross bumps all over its skin. Not even the kind of ugly that's cute—just plain unsettling.
But Hagrid? His eyes were practically sparkling.
"He's beautiful, ain't he? Absolutely gorgeous."
Hagrid reached out, wanting to pet the baby dragon's head—but the little creature bared its teeth, recoiled, and even let out a few tiny sparks from its nose.
He froze, clearly unsure of what to do.
The baby dragon clumsily twisted its body and looked straight at Tom. It crawled forward a little, let out a confused, warbling squeak, then quickly backed away, covering its head with its wings and trembling all over.
Its reaction—eager but terrified—left everyone in the room baffled.
"Come here," Tom said casually, scooping the baby dragon into his arms.
He gave it a gentle rub. Despite how ugly it looked—wrinkled, black, and covered in odd little lumps—it was surprisingly soft to the touch, like a warm, squishy plush toy. Even its scales felt more like rubber than armor.
After that initial fear faded, the dragonling seemed to realize that Tom meant no harm. It relaxed completely in his arms, letting out a low, contented purring sound as it melted into his petting.
Tom knew exactly why the little dragon was acting like this.
He had killed a Hungarian Horntail. That alone had marked him with a dragon-slayer's tag—one that dragons instinctively feared. It was just like the legendary Andros the Invincible, who, after slaying two dragons, could send others fleeing from miles away with nothing but his presence.
But there was another side to this. The fire used to hatch the egg—Gubraithian fire—had been conjured by Tom himself. It carried his magic, his essence. As far as the baby dragon was concerned, that made Tom... well, kind of like a mom.
The combination of the two—fear and familiarity—created the weird contradiction they'd just witnessed.
Luckily, because Tom had only slain one dragon and had dragon blood fused into him, the intimidating aura wasn't too strong. In the end, the sense of kinship won out.
Meanwhile, Hagrid was practically starstruck. He stared at Tom like he was witnessing the stuff of legend. If he had read even half the books in the library, his brain would probably be screaming: 'This guy's cracked! Absolutely cracked!'
After a few minutes of playing with the dragon, Tom got bored and offered to let Daphne and Hermione try holding it. They both turned him down immediately with matching looks of disgust.
The novelty had officially worn off.
Daphne snapped a few photos with her magical camera for the memory, then lost interest entirely. So Tom shrugged and left, taking the girls with him. That left just Harry and Ron behind with Hagrid.
Only after they left did the room start to feel a little less tense.
"Hagrid… are you really not planning to send the dragon away?" Harry asked, watching the baby—now happily munching on chunks of raw beef—devour its meal with alarming enthusiasm.
But Hagrid was still floating in a cloud of joy from getting his dragon back, barely listening. He muttered a vague reply, and it was clear he wasn't taking the question seriously. Harry sighed. There was no getting through to him.
The next week was rough. For Harry, it was basically a mix of constant stress and low-key panic. The baby dragon—now named Norbert—was growing like a balloon on fast-forward. He was also getting increasingly aggressive. (And yes, Tom didn't say it's a girl.)
Harry worried every day that someone would discover the dragon. On top of that, he had to deal with Malfoy's veiled threats.
Sure, Hagrid claimed that Tom had "handled it" and warned Malfoy off, so nothing would happen. But Harry didn't trust it. He had no clue how much power Tom actually held in Slytherin, and he didn't believe Malfoy would let things go that easily.
Eventually, thanks to Harry and Ron's constant nagging, Hagrid finally agreed to send Norbert to Charlie Weasley—Ron's older brother—who worked at a dragon reserve in Romania.
As for Tom, he hadn't visited the hut since day one. His attention was completely consumed by something even cuter and fluffier: a baby unicorn.
He was now at the point where he could pick it up and cuddle it, but the second trial still hadn't been triggered.
Maybe the unicorn was too young to understand ideas like loyalty or following a master. Or maybe their relationship just wasn't that kind
(Baby Unicorn: "Please. We're not even friends.")
Tom was not amused.
Every time he thought about it, he got annoyed all over again and ended up aggressively ruffling the unicorn's fuzzy head.
"Whinny?" The baby unicorn blinked its giant, innocent eyes at him, totally confused by the sudden attention.
Tom ignored it and looked over at the adult unicorn grazing peacefully nearby.
The adult unicorn should understand more, right?
Well, the older unicorn did understand. In fact, she'd caught on to Tom's intentions a while ago. She just didn't care. Life in the Forbidden Forest was good—plenty of food, friendly magical creatures, no reason to bow to a human.
So she was perfectly happy freeloading.
Tom gives food → she eats.
Tom stops → oh well, someone else will feed her.
She had no idea what kind of world awaited her outside this magical bubble.
But reality hit hard.
One Wednesday, a male unicorn was found dead in the forest. By the time Tom arrived, the shimmering silver blood had dried, and the two unicorns (adult and baby)—mother and daughter—were visibly shaken.
"See this?" Tom pointed to the bloodstain. "You thought the forest was safe, didn't you?"
"You don't have connections. You don't have protection. It's just the two of you now. What if something else comes for you?"
"Whinny…" The adult unicorn let out a soft, pitiful cry.
"I've already placed a tracking charm on your baby. If she's ever in danger, I'll know. But you? You've got nothing."
Tom leaned closer, voice low and serious ."Madam… you don't want your little girl growing up an orphan, do you?"
The unicorn understood every word. Her expression flickered with conflict.
Finally, survival instincts won out over pride. She lowered her head and bent her front knees.
Tom pressed his mark onto her.
In his mind's eye, the second trail began to glow—dimly, not nearly as bright as the first one—but still, it was progress. She hadn't fully submitted, but she was close. If another threat showed up, he was sure he could tip her over the edge and complete the trial.
Feeling smug, Tom returned to the castle.
Harry was in high spirits too. Hagrid had finally agreed to let the dragon go, and they'd gotten a reply from Charlie. He couldn't come himself, but he'd arranged for a few of his friends to pick up Norbert and take him to the reserve.
That final week, Norbert grew at a terrifying rate. His aggression spiked too—he even bit Ron, leaving his arm swollen like a giant eggplant.
When Madam Pomfrey asked what had happened, Ron stuck to the classic cover: 'Dog bite.' The look she gave him said she didn't believe a word, but she didn't push.
She'd seen too many strange injuries from Hogwarts students to care anymore.
She gave him a bottle of anti-venom and a roll of anti-swelling bandages, then sent him on his way.
At last, the night came.
Harry and Ron, both hidden under the Invisibility Cloak, carried a crate-bound Norbert up to the Astronomy Tower.
Moments later, several broomsticks sliced through the night sky and touched down in front of them.
.
.
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