Baelon Targaryen lightly adjusted his school robes and walked through the still-noisy Great Hall, heading toward the Headmaster’s Tower that towered into the clouds at the back of the Castle.
Along the way, the stairs shifted beneath his feet from time to time, and the Wizards in the portraits dozed or chatted with each other; the entire Castle carried an air of afternoon lethargy.
He moved forward quietly, his expression calm, as if he were merely going for a most ordinary interview rather than a meeting regarding the fate of a golden dragon.
He ascended the constantly changing stairs, passed through several hidden corridors, and finally arrived before the stone wall adorned with hideous gargoyle statues.
Baelon softly spoke the password:
“Lemon Sorbet.”
The stone gargoyles slowly moved aside, revealing a stone spiral staircase leading up to the Headmaster’s Office.
Baelon climbed the steps, reached the door, and knocked gently.
“Come in.”
Dumbledore’s warm and slightly amused voice came from inside.
Baelon pushed the door open and entered, his gaze pausing slightly.
In the office, besides Albus Dumbledore sitting behind the desk with his white hair and long beard, there was already a tall, heavily bearded figure standing there—Rubeus Hagrid.
Seeing Baelon enter, Hagrid immediately gave an honest smile, clearly having been waiting here for a long time.
Dumbledore raised his hand slightly, signaling him to sit, his tone peaceful and natural:
“Sit down, Baelon.
I believe you know why I invited you here.”
Baelon sat as told, his back straight and his expression calm, without a hint of panic:
“Headmaster, I know.
I brought a dragon into Hogwarts, which is a violation of school rules.”
Dumbledore steepled his fingers, his eyes searching but without reproach:
“I would like to confirm a few questions first.
What breed is this dragon?
How did you obtain it?
And how did you bring it into the Castle?”
“It is a golden dragon,” Baelon answered softly, “and still very young.
I encountered it before starting school and brought it with me all the way here, hiding it properly in a wallet with an Undetectable Extension Charm.
It hasn’t harmed anyone, nor has it disturbed any other students.”
Dumbledore nodded and then asked slowly:
“In Britain, it is illegal to keep dragons privately, let alone bring one into Hogwarts.
Why did you do it?”
Baelon looked up, his purple eyes appearing exceptionally serene under the lights, his tone carrying an unshakeable seriousness:
“Because the relationship between us is not simply that of master and pet.
There is a blood bond between us, a heritage.
It cannot leave me, and I cannot leave it.
A forced separation would cause harm to both of us.”
He paused, his voice light but clear:
“This was not an intentional violation of the rules, but a destiny I cannot go against.”
Dumbledore was silent for a moment, looking deeply at Baelon as if judging the sincerity in his words.
Hagrid stood to the side, his eyes shining as he listened, clearly very invested in the matter of the dragon.
After a long while, the Headmaster sighed softly, his tone becoming certain and steady:
“I understand.
Your situation is unique, not a common case of illegal breeding.
While rules are important, Hogwarts never easily gives up on any student in need of help.”
He leaned forward slightly:
“I will immediately write to the Minister for magic, Cornelius Fudge, explaining your special circumstances and the nature of the blood bond.
Given the current situation and reasons, I am confident I can apply for a special permit for you, allowing you to legally keep the dragon by your side.”
Baelon was slightly stunned, then stood up and bowed slightly:
“Thank you, Headmaster.”
“Don’t be too quick to thank me.” Dumbledore smiled gently and turned to look at Hagrid.
“Until the official permit arrives, the dragon cannot remain in the dormitory; it is too dangerous.
Hagrid is better at caring for magical creatures than most people.
I think you can temporarily entrust the golden dragon to him.”
Hagrid immediately gave a heavy nod, his voice booming and sincere:
“Leave it to me!
Give the little fellow to me, it’ll be perfectly safe.
It’ll eat well, sleep well, and no one will find out!”
Baelon felt a sense of relief and acknowledged them both again:
“Then I shall trouble you, Mr.
Hagrid.
And thank you, Headmaster.”
“It is what I should do,” Dumbledore said warmly.
“Remember, until the permit is officially approved, this matter must be kept secret.”
“I understand.”
The meeting ended there.
Baelon bowed to Dumbledore once more and then followed Hagrid out of the Headmaster’s office.
After a brief farewell in the corridor, Baelon turned to return to the Great Hall.
By now, lunch was nearly over.
The food on the long tables was being cleared away, and most students were packing their things and talking in low voices.
Michael and Terry immediately stood up to meet him as soon as they saw him.
“How was it?
With the Headmaster…
is everything okay?” Michael lowered his voice, his tone full of concern.
Baelon nodded slightly, a gentle smile on his face: “Everything has been arranged.
Headmaster Dumbledore will apply for a special permit from the Ministry of Magic for me.
The golden dragon will be temporarily looked after by Mr.
Hagrid.”
Terry breathed a sigh of relief: “That’s great, we can relax now.”
“I’ll be taking the dragon over tonight, so I won’t cause you any more trouble,” Baelon said softly.
“We’re friends, don’t be so polite,” Michael said, patting him on the shoulder.
The three didn’t linger; after a few brief words of small talk, Baelon picked up his books and headed toward the library alone.
The library in the afternoon was quiet and warm.
Sunlight spilled through the high windows onto the wooden long tables, and the air was filled with the faint scent of old pages and ink.
Baelon found a seat by the window and quietly began leafing through books related to Potions and magical creatures.
Before long, a figure carrying a thick stack of books walked softly to the spot opposite him, set the books down, and spoke in a voice almost too quiet to hear:
“Excuse me, is anyone sitting here?”
Baelon looked up and saw it was Hermione Granger, so he shook his head gently: “No, please sit.”
Hermione sighed in relief, sat down quietly, and immediately immersed herself in her books.
The two read in silence with no further conversation, only the light sound of pages turning.
It wasn’t until it was nearly time for afternoon classes that the two of them stood up together and headed toward the Potion Class in the dungeons.
The afternoon Potion Class was held in the cold, damp dungeons.
The air was thick with the pungent smells of asphodel root, wormwood, wolfsbane, and skunk; the lamps were dim, the stone walls chilly, and the atmosphere oppressive.
This class was shared between Ravenclaw and Gryffindor, and it was their first Potion Class of the year.
Everyone had already heard that Professor Snape was extremely strict, especially favoring targeting Gryffindor students.
Just as Baelon walked into the classroom, a cold, raspy voice that sounded like it had been quenched in ice drifted slowly from the shadows of the podium.
“Look who we have here—Hogwarts’ most sought-after celebrity of late.”
Severus Snape, his black robes trailing on the floor and his face as grim as cast iron, locked his pitch-black eyes onto Baelon like a venomous snake, his lips curling into an extremely caustic arc.
“Showing off in the Great Hall this morning, attracting a crowd of witches following you around, even having Amortentia sent into your pumpkin juice.
What, is that overly pretty face of yours the weapon you use to attract attention?”
He paced closer slowly, his gaze sweeping maliciously over Baelon’s silver-white long hair and handsome features, his tone poisonous and sharp:
“I almost thought the Sorting Hat had accidentally sorted a delicate young lady into Ravenclaw instead of a real Wizard.
Or is it that Mr.
Targaryen’s only talent lies in this face that’s enough to confuse genders?”
The surrounding students all lowered their heads, not daring to breathe.
Baelon stood where he was, his expression remaining calm and gentle without a hint of annoyance.
He was born with vast and keen mental power, able to easily pierce through the disguise of language and touch the most authentic emotions.
No matter how caustic, sarcastic, or poisonous Snape’s words were, he could clearly perceive that there was no true malice in them—no targeting, no framing—it was just this Professor’s habitual mockery, severity, and warning-like sharp tongue.
He didn’t defend himself, but simply looked at Snape quietly, his attitude respectful and steady.
However, this overly calm appearance caused Snape’s eyes to darken.
“Silent?” Snape sneered, his voice dropping even lower and colder.
“Or…
were you just using those tawdry little tricks of yours to try and pry into my thoughts?”
Baelon spoke softly, his tone calm: “My apologies, Professor, I did not use Legilimency on you.
That is merely my innate Mental Perception.”
Snape narrowed his pitch-black eyes slightly.
He could tell the difference, of course.
As one of the top Legilimency masters of the era, he could distinguish the essential difference between active Legilimency and innate Mental Perception at a glance.
He knew perfectly well that Baelon had not broken any rules, let alone cast Dark Arts on him.
But that didn’t stop him from deliberately finding fault.
AI Model: gemini-3.1-flash-lite
“Excuses.” Snape said coldly, his tone brooking no argument.
“In my class, any unauthorized Legilimency is an act of insolence and rudeness.”
He raised his voice sharply, addressing the whole class coldly:
“Ravenclaw, five points from you!
I hope this helps Targaryen remember—Hogwarts is not a place for you to show off your talent or wantonly probe into others.”
The whole class fell into an instant silence.
Baelon remained unangered, merely bowing his head slightly.
“I will remember that, Professor.”
Snape snorted, turning his viper-like gaze toward Harry Potter.
“Potter.” He drawled, his voice filled with undisguised loathing.
“Our new celebrity.
Let me test you—if I added powdered root of asphodel to an infusion of wormwood, what would I get?”
Harry turned pale, standing there at a loss, unable to answer a single word.
Snape sneered, his tone dripping with sarcasm.
“It seems fame does not equate to wisdom.
Let me tell you, Potter, that would get you the Draught of Living Death, a very powerful sleeping Potion.”
He continued asking coldly: “Then tell me, what is the difference between monkshood and wolfsbane?”
Harry remained speechless, his face flushing red with embarrassment.
“Tsk tsk, you don’t even know the basics of Potion Class.” Snape mocked in a low voice.
“They are actually the same plant.
And, what is a bezoar?
Where does it grow?”
Harry gripped the corner of his robe tightly, unable to answer a single word.
Snape’s voice was cold as ice: “A bezoar is a stone taken from the stomach of a goat and it will save you from most poisons.
It seems that before coming to Hogwarts, you haven’t even opened a basic Potion book.”
He swept his gaze over the pale-faced students, his tone sinister and caustic:
“Why don’t you use your Troll-like brains to think about it?
These are the most basic common knowledge—hurry up and write it down!”
Before Harry could recover, Snape spoke again, his voice bone-chillingly cold:
“Gryffindor, five points from you.
For your disgusting ignorance.”
Harry’s face instantly flushed deep red.
Snape would not let it rest, his gaze like a knife:
“Standing there dazed, do you think my questions are amusing?
Another five points from you.”
The whole class didn’t even dare to breathe too heavily.
“Inattentive at the start of class, frivolous attitude, and completely lacking in reverence.” Snape spat out coldly.
“Gryffindor, another five points.”
Three consecutive point deductions made Harry barely able to lift his head.
Only then did Snape, with a trace of icy satisfaction, turn and walk back to the center of the podium.
He flicked his wand, and the windows on both sides of the classroom closed silently, the cold dungeon falling completely silent.
“You are here to learn the subtle science and exact art of Potion-making.
There is no foolish wand-waving here, so many of you will not believe this is magic.
I don’t expect you to truly appreciate the beauty of a gently simmering cauldron with its shimmering fumes and delicate scents, you will not truly understand the magical power of the liquid that flows into human veins, enchanting the mind and ensnaring the senses…
I can teach you how to bottle fame, brew glory, and even stopper death—but there is one condition: you must not be the dunderheads I so often have to deal with.”
“Now, the farce ends here.” He said coldly.
“Today we are brewing the Wideye Potion.
Ingredients, measurements, heat, stirring sequence, and the method of magic infusion—get one step wrong, and your cauldrons will turn into a puddle of foul-smelling green sludge.
I have no patience for cleaning up the garbage created by fools.”
He began to demonstrate, his movements crisp and precise, his black robes cutting cold, hard arcs in the dimly lit classroom.
Every explanation was laced with sarcasm and ridicule, yet it was so accurate that no one could refute it.
After the demonstration, he let the students work on their own, while he walked slowly between the rows of cauldrons with his hands clasped behind his back.
His footsteps were low and slow, each step feeling like it was treading on the students’ hearts, making everyone feel like they were sitting on pins and needles.
He stopped behind a flustered Gryffindor student, casting a cold glance:
“The ingredients are cut like a Troll chewed them, the stirring direction is reversed, and the magical infusion is a complete mess.
Are you trying to blow up half the classroom?
Gryffindor, five points.”
The student’s hand shook in fear, and the spoon dropped to the floor with a “clang.”
Snape frowned in disgust.
“Clumsy, another two points.”
He walked, stared, scolded, and deducted points all along the way.
The only sounds left in the classroom were the light clinking of cauldrons and his cold, caustic voice.
Soon, he paced to Baelon’s side and paused.
His gaze fell on Baelon’s cauldron.
The ingredients were neatly cut, the measurements precise, the stirring steady at a constant speed, the magical control stable, and the Potion displayed a uniform, clear pale green.
Nothing wrong, but nothing spectacular either.
Snape remained expressionless, staring coldly for a few seconds.
He neither mocked nor nodded, simply uttering flatly:
“…Barely acceptable.”
After saying this, he turned and continued his patrol, as if that glance had never happened.
Baelon continued his work calmly, completely unaffected.
The entire Potion Class ended in an oppressive, tense atmosphere, like walking on thin ice.
Not until Snape announced the end of class did all the students feel as if they had been granted amnesty, scrambling to leave the dungeon.
After Potion Class, the students walked in groups toward the Great Hall for dinner.
Along the way, everyone was whispering, their voices kept extremely low, yet full of lingering fear.
“Professor Snape is just too terrifying…”
“Gryffindor lost so many points today…”
“Harry Potter was completely bewildered from the start when he was asked those questions.”
“Targaryen was also deducted five points for no reason…
even though he didn’t do anything.”
Many gazes fell quietly on Baelon, filled with sympathy and curiosity.
Several Ravenclaw witches hesitated several times, wanting to step forward to comfort him, but hindered by his calm, gentle, yet unapproachable aura, they eventually just watched from afar, not daring to disturb him.
Michael and Terry immediately walked to Baelon’s side, accompanying him to take a seat.
“Don’t take it to heart, Professor Snape is like that with everyone.” Michael whispered comfortingly.
“Yeah, he’s just picking on people on purpose.” Terry nodded as well.
Baelon smiled lightly, his tone calm.
“I’m fine, he didn’t mean any harm.”
His attitude was so indifferent, as if it wasn’t his own House points that had been deducted, and this composure only made the students secretly observing him feel even more admiration.
Dinner ended amidst low discussions.
Baelon said goodbye to his two friends, quietly retrieved the hidden dragon hatchling, and as the twilight deepened, walked alone toward Hagrid’s hut on the edge of the Forbidden Forest.
The hut was warm and bright, light smoke drifting from the chimney, and the aroma of broth could be smelled from afar.
Hagrid was already waiting at the door, and as soon as he saw Baelon, he immediately strode up to meet him.
“Come in, come in!
How is the little one?”
Baelon gently set the dragon hatchling down, and the little dragon immediately leaned docilely against his feet, emitting soft, tiny chirps.
“Mr.
Hagrid, for the time to come, I really have to trouble you.”
Hagrid crouched down, carefully stroking the little dragon’s scales, his eyes shining brightly.
“Don’t worry!
I’ve raised magical creatures much harder to take care of than this, I guarantee I’ll keep it strong and healthy!”
Baelon nodded gently, took a small, heavy pouch of Galleons from his pocket, and handed it to Hagrid.
“Mr.
Hagrid, I know that raising a dragon is very expensive—food, medicinal herbs, warmth, and care all cost money.
This is a small token of my appreciation, twenty Galleons a month, as your compensation and for the dragon’s daily supplies.”
Hagrid was taken aback and hurriedly waved his hands.
“Oh no, no, the Headmaster has already given instructions, I’m just helping—”
“This is not just helping, it is a trust.” Baelon’s tone was serious and firm.
“The little dragon will grow bigger and bigger, and its appetite will become increasingly astonishing.
These Galleons are to ensure it eats well and lives comfortably.
If you accept them, I can truly be at ease.”
Hagrid looked at his sincere and persistent expression, scratched his messy black beard, and finally laughed honestly.
“Well…
then I won’t stand on ceremony!
Rest assured, I will definitely take care of your dragon properly!”
Baelon crouched down, gently stroked the top of the dragon hatchling’s head, and whispered a few words of comfort.
The little dragon rubbed its head gently against his palm, full of attachment.
“I will come to see you often.”
After giving the instructions, Baelon stood up, nodded to Hagrid again, and turned to walk into the night.
The heavy stone that had been hanging in his heart for so long finally fell completely.
I give my full efforts to you all make happy but you guys did not support me even in small ways.