Previously on Better Be Slytherin:

What was Dumbledore getting at? He decided to ask. Perhaps, this once, Albus would give him a straight answer. "What are you talking about, Albus? Do you suspect Quirrell knows I'm not one of His agents anymore?"

Dumbledore smiled softly. "Not at all. I merely speculate that, to the untrained eye seeking knowledge, a conversation of that sort would terribly, mistakenly illuminating."

No. Not even this once.

--HPSSHPSSHPSS--

Harry stared at the black-shelled egg on Hagrid's table, watching it crack open even wider. The dragon egg was the most amazing thing he had ever seen, except maybe Quidditch or unicorns or the Mirror of Erised, and he was almost as excited as Hagrid, who was clapping his big hands together, his face lit with joy.

"Where did you get it, Hagrid?" said Teddy, cocking his head to the side as he did when he was thinking deeply. "It must've cost you a fortune."

"Won it," said Hagrid. "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?" said Millie.

"Well, I've bin doin' some readin'," said Hagrid, pulling a large book from under his pillow. "Got 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, like it's 'bout ter now, ye feed it on a bucket o' brandy mixed with chicken blood every half hour. An' see here -- how ter recognize diff'rent eggs -- what I got there's a Norwegian Ridgeback. They're rare, them."

He looked very pleased with himself, but Teddy didn't. "Hagrid, you live in a wooden house," he said.

Hagrid happily ignored him as a bit of shell fell off, followed by a gout of flame from within the egg three inches high.

All at once there was a scraping noise and the egg split open. The baby dragon flopped onto the table. It wasn't exactly pretty; Harry thought it looked like a crumpled, black umbrella. Its spiny wings were huge compared to its skinny jet body. It had a long snout with wide nostrils, the stubs of horns and bulging, orange eyes.

It sneezed. A couple of sparks flew out of its snout.

"Isn't he beautiful?" Hagrid murmured. He reached out a hand to stroke the dragon's head. It snapped at his fingers, showing pointed fangs. "Bless him, look, he knows his mommy!" said Hagrid as he reached for the bucket of chicken blood and brandy.

The dragon sank its snout into the mixture, and loud slurping sounds came from within the bucket. "Do you see that?" Millie exclaimed. "It's so cute!"

Harry didn't know about cute, but the baby dragon was certainly interesting. And a bit frightening to tell the truth. Yet he and Teddy merely nodded, going along. Suddenly, the baby dragon reared up out of the bucket, snout covered with blood and flapping its wings as if it had seen something. Harry turned in time to catch a glimpse of a face at the window, one topped with red hair. Weasley!

Harry darted out the door in time to catch the boy before he'd gotten far. "Ron, wait! Please!"

Ron Weasley turned, looking pale in the early evening gloom. "That's a dragon, that is. They're not allowed."

"Really? Hagrid didn't say." He gestured at the door. "Do you wanna see it? It's just hatched."

Curiosity warred with indignation on the Gryffindor's face.

"C'mon," Harry wheedled. "It's really neat."

"All right," Ron gave in. "Where did Hagrid get a dragon egg anyway?" he asked as they went inside. "They're supposed to be illegal."

"Ah, well," Hagrid said, seeing their newest guest. "That's what I tol' the stranger las' night. He din't take it well, but he 'greed I could take the egg off his hands." He grinned happily at the little creature, who promptly bit his thumb. "Isn't he lovely? I think I'll call him Norbert."

Hagrid spent the next few minutes feeding the dragon the bucket of blood and brandy, then trying to soothe the dragon from a case of indigestion, complete with bursts of alcohol-tinged flame.

"Maybe music'll work on little Norbert. Does wonders for Fluffy, it does."

Harry plucked the flute Hagrid had given him for Christmas out of his back pocket, where he sometimes kept it, so he could play it when his spirits needed a lift. But when Harry put it to his lips and blew a few practice notes, the dragon tried to bite it and wrench it from his grasp. Harry managed to keep hold of his flute, but he put it away rather than try again. "I don't think music will work this time, Hagrid."

"Guess, not."

Later, as the four students made their way back up to the castle, Ron said, "Hagrid could get into serious trouble, you know. Dragon breeding was outlawed by the Warlocks' Convention of 1709, everyone knows that. It's hard to stop Muggles from noticing us if we're keeping dragons in the back garden, and anyway, you can't tame dragons. It's dangerous. You should see the burns Charlie's got off wild ones in Romania."

"Charlie?" Millie asked.

"My brother. He works at a dragon preserve."

"In Romania," said Teddy, his face taking on his deep thinking expression.

"That's what I said," said Ron, going a bit red in the cheeks.

"Which might be the best place for little Norbert, right?" Harry asked quickly.

"I think it would not be a bad idea to give Hagrid the opportunity to let the dragon go," Teddy said. "He's going to find out very quickly that it's hard to keep a fire-breathing dragon in a small, wooden hut."

"Did you see how much it had grown in just an hour?" said Millie. "That Norwegian Ridgeback will outstrip a niffler before the end of the night."

"Niffler?" Harry whispered to her.

"Later," she whispered back before saying more loudly, "Whyn't you ask your brother if the preserve can take in another dragon, Weasley? That way, Hagrid won't get in any trouble and the little fella will have somewhere nice to grow up."

Harry grinned at her. "You're really taken with widdle Norbert, aren't you."

Millie punched his arm. Hard. "Yeah, as much as you fancy Fluffy."

"Oh, eww."

"Who's Fluffy?" Ron asked. "Hagrid mentioned the name, too."

Harry, Millie and Teddy exchanged glances. Teddy shrugged. "Might as well tell him. It's not like it's that big a secret if we found out."

Harry nodded and beckoned Ron closer so he could speak softly, even though they were still a hundred feet from the castle doors. "Fluffy is a cerberus. A three-headed hell hound. It's what's on the third floor, the reason we're all warned away from there."

"A . . . a cerberus? In the school? Are they mental?"

"Quite probably," said Teddy.

"But why? Why is there a hell hound on the third floor?"

"We figure it's guarding something," Millie told him, which was the truth. But, after a flick of a glance at her fellow Slytherins, she added, "We don't know what, though," which was not, really.

Ron's face had gone all funny, like he was passing gas, but then Harry realized the other boy was thinking -- it was the same face he wore during their occasional chess games, specifically the ones in which Harry did better than usual (and sometimes won.) "I wonder," he said after a moment, "if Hagrid has told anyone else what soothes 'Fluffy' to sleep."

The three Slytherins exchanged another glance. It was a very good question.

--BETTER BE SLYTHERIN--

Almost two weeks later, when Norbert was the size of a large dog and had poison fangs to boot, having bitten Ron when he visited one afternoon, Harry and Teddy were heaving a crate full of dragon up many, many steps to the top of the highest tower of Hogwarts. The two of them and the crate were covered by Harry's Invisibility Cloak. Millie was their lookout and guide, since neither of them could see much more than their feet. She led them up to the tower's top by as quick a route as possible, and they tried very hard to keep quiet. It was nearly midnight, so they were in danger of being caught out of bounds, but it was only at night that Norbert could be transported by broom across British skies to Romania.

They were almost there. Everything seemed to be going splendidly, in fact, until . . .

"Well, well, well. We are in trouble, aren't we," a nasty voice said, just as they reached a landing and could pause for a breath. Filch!

"Good evening, Mr. Filch," said Millie, proper as could be. Harry's knees knocked together and he forced them to stop. If they were caught, they'd all have to face some vile punishment, and Hagrid would get in really serious trouble, too. What was Millie doing? The crate grew heavier and heavier in his arms as they stood there, muscles trembling while they were forced to stand still. Sweat rolled off his brow into his eyes.

Filch's voice became more oily. "What are you doing out of bed, missy? It's far past curfew. Your Head of House will want to hear about this, oh, yes he will."

Mrs. Norris, Filch's cat, came sniffing around the boys' legs, and they stood perfectly still, not wanting to let her under the cloak, where she would disappear. There was no way Filch would miss seeing that.

"I'm terribly sorry, Mr. Filch, I'll . . ." Millie broke off suddenly, then gasped and pointed down the stairs in the opposite direction of Harry and Teddy and their dragon. "What the . . . Did you see that?!" she demanded, her eyes wide. "Peeves!" she shouted as she tore after the figment of her imagination, forcing Filch to chase her, or else let her go without punishment. Mrs. Norris bounded after them, apparently forgetting about her earlier sniffing.

"Peeves!" Filch roared as he raced down the stairs. "I'll get you this time!"

The boys stifled the laughter that wanted to bubble up and started moving up the stairs again instead. Millie had saved them!

This last set of stairs led to the top of the tower, and when they reached it at last, they were both panting for breath. Norbert was just waking from the dose of sleeping draught Hagrid had given him, and he started snapping and clawing at the sides of the crate. Fortunately, a young man stepped forward from the gloom of the tower top, under the overcast sky. He was skinny, but his arms were cords of muscle, and his skin was dark brown from the sun. "Ron?" he asked.

Harry and Teddy shed the Invisibility cloak. "No, I'm Harry. Ron couldn't make it, 'cause this blighter bit him. But Charlie told him you'd take Norbert to Romania for us?"

"We can. I'm Edward, Charlie's friend. These other blokes are helping out. Let's get the wee beast strapped into the harness." Over the next few minutes, they did just that. The four broom riders had a harness ready for the crate, to carry it between them, so no one person was saddled with all the weight.

Harry and Teddy said a quick goodbye to Norbert as the broom riders flew off the top of the tower, and Harry grabbed his cloak as they headed downstairs again.

In the Slytherin Common Room, Harry and Teddy waited up for Millie to return. While they waited, Harry wondered aloud to Teddy why Snape hadn't known they were out of bounds.

"He only has his alarms and such up for the first couple months or so each year. After that, he figures students know enough not to get caught, and he doesn't have to chase after us all the time. My cousin graduated last year, and she told me our Head drops any special alarms around Christmas."

Harry nodded, glad to know that, but also wondering to himself where the Bloody Baron had been tonight. Maybe he and Snape were together, talking or plotting together, both of them assuming Harry was asleep in bed. While sitting and waiting for Millie to come in, Harry experienced a strange sense of longing. For some weird reason, he wished he could confide in the professor like he used to do. He would love to tell the professor about the dragon. Oh, not to get Hagrid in trouble, of course, but because he would have liked to share his first sighting of a dragon with the man -- though not tonight's adventure, certainly. But he couldn't. He couldn't share anything like that anymore. After all, Snape was working with Quirrell to try and kill him . . . no, he couldn't think that, not really. Snape wasn't trying to kill him, probably. But he was trying to get the Stone.

A Stone that would bring Lord Voldemort back to life, and back to power as well. With that Sorcerer's Stone, and the potion he could make with it, Voldemort would let loose another reign of terror such as the one he'd unleashed before Harry's parents had been killed. It was likely Voldemort would try and kill Harry again.

Once more, Harry wished Snape wasn't involved with the scheme. He wished it really, really hard. But any doubts he had had of the man's intentions towards him had been squashed quite soundly in Potions class week after week for the last couple months. Snape had belittled him each day and snarled at him, and then vanished his potions and made him do them over or get no credit. And his eyes . . . Snape's eyes were dark and cold now, like black tunnels leading nowhere.

Millie slipped into the room while he was turning this over in his mind, and the two boys jumped up and ran over to her. No one else was around -- it was nearly 3AM -- and they peppered her with questions. "What did he do? Did you get away? Did Filch tell Snape?"

Millie held up her hands as answer, and they were red and raw, as if she had been cleaning with bleach and not using gloves. Harry said, "I've got some salve," as Teddy led her to the choice spot by the fire in the dungeon room and sat her in the comfiest chair. Harry retrieved the container quickly, a bottle of salve he and the professor had made just after Christmas break, when Harry's hands were getting red and sore from the wind and rain during Quidditch practice, with the minimal gloves Seekers wore. The salve helped soothe his raw, chapped skin, just like Snape said it would.

Millie took the salve and spread it on her hands gratefully.

"It's got Murtlap essence in it," Harry told her. "One of the best things for burns and cuts, too." He grinned as her pained expression faded. "Are we going to have to prank Filch? What did he make you do?"

"He made me scrub the entire Entrance Hall, can you believe it? At this time of night? I might as well stay up. If I go to bed now, I'll sleep till lunch."

They all agreed and spent the next couple hours, until the rest of the House was stirring, talking about Norbert and Hagrid's propensity for giving away sensitive information.

"It's mad," Teddy said solemnly. "I like him well enough, but I would never trust Hagrid with a secret, especially one like this, one which involves You-Know-Who."

Harry agreed. "It's almost like Dumbledore wants someone to be able to get the Stone. But why?"

"I'd think a better question would be, but who?" Millie said, and then wondered, "Why bring it here at all? I mean, I know Gringott's got broken into just after they moved it -- which is a fine piece of fortune-telling on their part, no lie -- but, well, wouldn't this be the next place anyone would look? If the Headmaster had sent it to Siberia in a Yeti's backpack instead, it'd be safe as houses."

"Maybe Flamel is still using it to keep himself alive," said Teddy. "So it has to be where he can get to it."

"But then someone would always be going in and getting past Fluffy!"

"Hush, Bulstrode, you'll wake the dead. The Stone produces the Elixir of Life once a year, so it's not like he's got to pop in to see the thing every weekend. Flamel probably heard someone was trying to get his Stone and asked the Headmaster to keep it safe for him. They're supposed to be old friends, right?"

"That's what it says on the Frog card," Harry said. "But I don't know, Teddy. Seems like a lot of holes in that theory."

"All right then, how about this: Professor Dumbledore is supposed to be the most powerful wizard of his age, the one who beat Grindelwald, and the only one of whom You-Know-Who is said to be afraid. So long as the Headmaster is in residence, I wager he's got loads of warning spells and such in place so he can swoop down on anyone doltish enough to try and steal something out from under his nose."

Teddy certainly had a point. Harry nodded, nearly satisfied. So long as Dumbledore was at Hogwarts, the Stone was safe from Quirrell and Snape and Voldemort, too.

--BETTER BE SLYTHERIN--

()The next two weeks, heading into the end of May, were a flurry of activity as they started revising for their exams in earnest. In years to come, Harry would never quite remember how he had managed to get through his exams when he half expected Voldemort to come bursting through the door at any moment. Yet the days crept by, and there could be no doubt that Fluffy was still alive and well behind the locked door.

As June began, the air was sweltering hot, especially in the large classroom where they did their written papers. They had been given special, new quills for the exams, which had been bewitched with an Anti-Cheating spell.

They had practical exams as well. Professor Flitwick called them one by one into his class to see if they could make a pineapple tap dance across a desk. Professor McGonagall watched them turn a mouse into a snuffbox -- points were given for how pretty the snuffbox was, but taken away if it had whiskers. Snape made them all nervous, breathing down their necks while they tried to remember how to make a Forgetfulness potion. ()

Harry did the best he could, trying to ignore the stabbing pains in his forehead, which had been bothering him for days. He'd had pains like this before, but never so often. And then, the night before their last exam -- History of Magic -- Harry's had an especially dark nightmare with Voldemort as the star, where Harry got the impression that the mad wizard was ready to go after the Stone.

That next afternoon confirmed it.

Purely by chance, he heard from one of the Weasley twins that the Headmaster had been called away to London unexpectedly.

"And we had all our notes to give him about a new verse for the school song," bemoaned Fred. Or maybe George.

"We'll just have to sing it ourselves, without adult preview," said George. Or maybe Fred.

Dumbledore was gone! This was Voldemort's chance to steal the Stone. Harry would bet anything that Dumbledore's visit to London was only a ruse, maybe a letter sent to him by a faker, by Quirrell, perhaps, or even Snape. He'd be in for a surprise when he reached his meeting in London, Harry was sure.

Harry raced off to tell his friends what had happened, and almost collided with a tall dark figure sweeping down the central stairs. Snape!

"Good afternoon," Snape said smoothly.

Harry stared at him.

"You shouldn't be inside on a day like this," he said, with an odd, twisted smile.

"I was --" Harry began, without any idea what he was going to say.

"You want to be more careful," said Snape. "Hanging around like this, people will think you're up to something."

Harry flushed, but turned to go outside.

Snape called him back. "Be warned, Potter -- any more nighttime wanderings and I will personally make sure your last days here are quite miserable. Good day to you."

He strode off in the direction of the staff room.

Harry stared after him. Snape had as good as said that he knew about Harry bringing the dragon to the tower, but not only that, he was threatening Harry with dire consequences if he went out tonight, the very night Voldemort was going to go for the stone.

Snape was going to go for the stone himself tonight. Harry knew it!

"Millie!" he cried upon entering the Common Room. He spied her across the room on one of the couches and raced to her side, sliding to a stop near her elbow. "Millie," he repeated, his voice much softer. "It's happening! The Old Man has left the building."

"What?" she exclaimed, finally looking up from the tangle of cat's cradle she had strung on her fingers. "When?"

"Just now," he whispered. "It was 'unexpected,' and no one knows why he's gone, just that he is. It's the perfect time, you see? To do it."

"To get the . . . thingy, you mean?"

"Yes! We have to stop them."

"Harry . . ." Millie looked down at her hands again for a moment. Even with the salve, it had taken days for her skin to heal completely from her last detention. "Shouldn't we tell someone? One of the prefects, maybe? Or . . ." She hesitated, and Harry knew what she wanted to say.

"Or Professor Snape? Are you mental? He's the one who wants the thingy anyway; he won't do anything except laugh."

Millie pursed her lips, and Harry was instantly sorry he'd called her mental, but before he could apologize, she said, "How do you want to stop them, then?"

"Well, I . . ." Harry closed his mouth and fumed. He had no idea, really. He couldn't tell Dumbledore, as if he'd be believed anyway . . . he could tell the Bloody Baron, if he could find the ghost, but wasn't sure that would do any good. As it was, the Bloody Baron couldn't stop anyone from stealing the stone, either, as he didn't have a real body. Unless . . .

"See?" she said evenly. "I can go see him if you--"

"No," he interrupted. "I know what I can do."

With a frown, Millie said, "What?"

"I can go get the Stone myself."