Draco finished, only to find Arthur giving him a very odd look.
"What?" Draco blinked.
"Have you… tried putting it back into the summoning space?"
Arthur had to wonder if the kid's brain had rolled under the bed. Hugging an egg to sleep for a month straight—no wonder he'd stopped pestering Harry. The proper way to hatch a summoned egg was to let the summon space do the work. Apparently, since the day he'd called it out, Draco had never put it away.
"Uh… no." Draco scratched his head, mortified.
Thankfully, his dragon bailed him out. The cracked egg bulged; a green little head butted through, two stubby horns gleaming. It opened its mouth—Arthur braced for a proud draconic roar—
"Yip… yip… yip."
Arthur: "…?"
This was the "hauntingly beautiful call" of a Welsh Green? Wizarding aesthetics, man.
The hatchling felt the bond and wriggled free of the shell, pouncing into Draco's arms, nuzzling under his chin. Draco hugged her and grinned so wide he forgot how to human for a solid ten seconds. Then he remembered Arthur was still there and held the dragon up.
"Look, Arthur! My dragon! She's a girl—I'm naming her Hydra."
The hatchling took one sniff of Arthur's aura and immediately turtled, curling into a tight ball in Draco's palms.
Arthur, meanwhile, nearly choked on the name. "Hydra" was the nine-headed serpent of legend. Wasn't that… a bit ambitious?
"You sure?" Arthur asked.
"Of course. I want her to be like the myth—hard to kill. Unless you cut the head, she never dies," Draco said earnestly.
…Honestly? With Wild Growth in Draco's rune set, the little one really would be annoyingly hard to put down.
Then another thought struck Arthur: Isn't Harry's owl named Hedwig? Hydra… Hedwig… Close enough to make a shipper cackle. He made a mental note: when there was time, he'd upgrade Hermione's Genderbend Potion recipe—for science—and, you know, to help a friend out. Maybe.
Draco suddenly sneezed. "Weird. It's June, but I feel a little chilly."
Wizard instincts were a thing. Arthur deflected, "Who knows. Anyway, got food ready?"
As if on cue, the hatchling's belly grumbled. She hopped to the nightstand and crunched down the rest of her shell like crackers—then burped a tiny spark.
Right. Draco's furniture was going to die often.
"Of course! Father bought loads of jerky—mutton—and plenty of fresh cuts," Draco said, stroking the dragon's head.
"And where are you keeping her? You can't stash her in the summoning space forever."
Summon spaces were small and put creatures to sleep—handy, but not a habitat. It wasn't Arthur's Zen Garden where a dragon could literally stretch its wings.
Draco wilted. He'd thought about it, but had no solution.
Arthur remembered the game logic: that rune set let the dragon orbit its master and even downsize. "Try asking Hydra if she can shrink and perch."
Draco tried a tentative mental nudge. The hatchling flashed him a yes—then whoomp—she compressed to fist-size, fluttered up, and settled on his shoulder like a very arrogant butterfly.
"She says this is the smallest she gets! I can bring her everywhere!" Draco beamed.
Arthur nodded. Internally, he pictured September Draco explaining why his "pet lizard" suddenly had wings and breath weapon. Good luck, champ.
It was late. Arthur stood to go—but Draco, fidgeting, blurted, "Arthur… can I have your home address? I—uh—want to visit over the summer."
"Sure." Arthur jotted it down and headed out.
…
Next morning, Arthur boarded the Hogwarts Express home. He'd expected a quiet ride. Instead, the compartment filled itself.
It started with just Arthur, Hermione, and Ranni. Then Luna wandered in; strictly speaking, full house. Then Penelope slid the door open and squeezed in too. They were small; it just worked.
Arrangement: Luna on Arthur's left, Ranni on his right; Hermione and Penelope across. Twice the door slid open—once for Harry and Ron, once for Draco—and both times the newcomers took one look at the scene and said, in perfect unison, "Sorry to bother you," and closed the door gently as if evacuating a basilisk den.
Arthur wanted to protest—You're not bothering me; I'm bothering me—but honestly, he couldn't get a word in. Luna had come specifically to chat with Ranni; her brain chased butterflies for sport, and Arthur often just listened like Ranni did. Penelope had come for Arthur, but finding him engaged, she fell into an easy conversation with Hermione.
Midway through, Luna cocked her head. "By the way, do you know you have a fan club at school now?"
Arthur: "???"
"Since when? Why didn't anyone tell me?"
"Right after your month-long leave," Luna said serenely. "You popped into Dueling Club, looked prettier, and the witches formed a secret group."
"Prettier." Arthur rubbed his temple. "And what exactly do they want?"
"In their words: 'Protect the most handsome Arthur in the world.'"
Arthur was speechless. Hogwarts has a fandom problem now?
"So who started it?" he asked.
Luna glanced at Penelope.
Penelope had been squirming ever since Luna brought it up; now she went full tomato. "It's… not what you think. I realized the younger girls might do something impulsive, so I—organized it—to set rules. That's all."
Arthur thought back. Plenty of stolen glances lately, exactly zero ambush confessions. He'd chalked it up to better aura control. Apparently, it was… Penelope.
Her eyes darted, cheeks aflame—anyone with a pulse could see she liked him and was trying very hard not to. Funny thing: in the original timeline, by now she should've been chatting with Percy Weasley. Guess that never happened.
What Arthur didn't know: Penelope had noticed him way earlier—back when Professor McGonagall invited an eleven-year-old Arthur into the Transfiguration Club. As a perennial top Ravenclaw and now a prefect, Penelope had been proud of herself—until he broke her curve. Then this term she'd caught him awakening the Rowena statue, he'd lent her Ravenclaw's Diadem, and from there… well. Organizing a fan club to keep his peace had felt like the least she could do.
"So what did you tell them to keep them off my back?" Arthur asked.
Penelope lowered her voice. "That your face fits an Eastern proverb: 'to be admired from afar, not handled up close.' No one should monopolize you."
Arthur blinked. "You read Eastern proverbs?"
"A few books," she mumbled.
"Hold on—then why hasn't anyone come after Hermione or Ranni?"
The two were practically glued to him. Surely that drew heat?
Penelope coughed. Luna answered for her. "Ranni shattered the Ravenclaw common-room door and broke several bones that time. People remember. They prefer their heads not to be like that door."
Ah. Right. Reputation management by smash.
They laughed it off and the compartment eased into a warm hum. Outside, things were… less warm. Bored Draco went to needle Harry; ordinarily, it would've ended in sniping. But Ron—ever helpful—took a shot at the tiny green dragon on Draco's shoulder.
Draco stunned Ron flat in one flick. Harry tried to intervene and got tapped out too. Draco didn't do harm—just a tidy lesson—and strolled off feeling ten feet tall. First clean win over Potter. He'd be insufferable for a week.
Arthur never heard about it; when the boys woke, they were too embarrassed to tell a soul.
The Express slid into Platform Nine and Three-Quarters. After farewells to Luna and Penelope, Arthur walked out with Hermione and Ranni. Mr. and Mrs. Granger did a double-take—Arthur looked half a head taller than at Easter—but kids shoot up, and they shrugged it off.
The truth? The growth spurt came from Mohg and Miquella's power settling. Overnight, the change had spooked friends; Harry even cornered Arthur to ask if there was a secret to growing taller. Given that, in that "other world," Harry's actor topped out at about 165 cm, Arthur was mildly concerned destiny might try to fix Harry's height here too.
Not if he could help it.
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