Harry Potter: From Baldur's Gate to Hogwarts

Unlike usual, the headmaster's office wasn't occupied by just Dumbledore today.

A middle-aged, blond-haired man with a stout figure sat anxiously in the armchair before Dumbledore's desk, speaking in a language with an odd rolling accent.

Curious, Harry immediately cast a Tongue-Tying Charm on himself. As he listened to the conversation between the blond man and Professor Dumbledore, his eyes widened involuntarily.

That country—XX—collapsed? The one that sent people into space? It dissolved?! And now, a whole bunch of scientists were so poor they were on the verge of starvation?!

Suddenly, Harry felt that his plan to reach outer space might actually be feasible.

The subsequent developments could be summarized in four sentences:

Harry Potter requested to join the conversation.

Albus Dumbledore approved Harry's request.

Albus Dumbledore agreed that Hogwarts would assist XX's Ministry of Magic in taking in some of their stranded, highly accomplished researchers in the field of aerospace, along with their wizarding families.

Severus Snape remarked that the tea was quite good, and the snacks were rather tasty.

...

Hermione returned on the first day of term, and when she learned that Harry had been sneaking into the Forbidden Forest for five consecutive days—earning himself two weeks of detention from Dumbledore—her feelings became extremely complicated.

On one hand, the young witch was shocked by Harry's reckless behavior. ("That's against school rules! You're incredibly lucky you didn't get expelled!") On the other hand, she couldn't help but feel an envious resentment at the fact that Harry's detention was with Dumbledore himself—after all, this was Albus Dumbledore, the greatest white wizard of their time.

"Maybe I should take a stroll through the Forbidden Forest too," Hermione thought to herself, stunned by her own sudden idea after hearing Harry's explanation.

"By the way, Harry, where's Ron?" Hermione looked around, realizing that neither Ron nor his usual wizard chess companions were present.

"No idea. Ever since Ron and the others went to the fourth-floor corridor last time, he, Seamus, and Dean have been acting all secretive. I even saw them a couple of times in the library's history section, looking for something."

Harry slouched in an armchair, flipping through a book on charms he had borrowed from the library. "I tried asking—wait, Neville, were you hit with a Leg-Locker Curse?"

Just as Harry was speaking, Neville suddenly tumbled headfirst into the common room with a loud thud, knocking over several chairs. Instantly, everyone's attention turned to him. And when they saw Neville writhing on the ground like a helpless caterpillar, quite a few people couldn't help but chuckle—though it wasn't exactly the most ethical reaction.

Hermione didn't laugh. She stepped forward, drew her wand, and lifted the curse. Neville's legs immediately separated, and he stood up, hanging his head in silence.

"Neville, what happened?" Hermione led him to sit beside Harry. "Who hexed you?"

"It was Malfoy," Neville muttered. "I ran into him outside the library. He said he needed someone to practice a spell he just learned…"

"And you just stood there and let Malfoy cast a spell on you?" Harry gave Neville a flat look. "Even if you're not good at magic, you can at least throw a punch, can't you?"

"I—I didn't dare…" Neville lowered his head, his face turning red. "Crabbe and Goyle were with him. I was afraid… I wouldn't win."

"Win or not, you still have to fight!" Harry straightened up, his gaze locking onto Neville. "People who enjoy bullying the weak only back off when they're beaten hard enough to be scared. Neville, remember—you're a Gryffindor, chosen by the Sorting Hat itself!"

"Fight? Fighting is against school rules!" Hermione rolled her eyes at Harry. "Neville, listen to me—go to Professor McGonagall and report Malfoy!"

In the end, Neville chose neither Harry's nor Hermione's suggestion. After giving them an apologetic smile, he trudged toward the dormitory with heavy steps.

With the new school year underway, the young witches and wizards quickly became busy with their studies. Meanwhile, another group had also become preoccupied—namely, the Ministry workers constructing a series of buildings near the Black Lake.

But with over a week of detention still ahead of him, Harry had neither the time nor the energy to concern himself with these developments.

In fact, he was already struggling to keep up with his own problems—primarily, Professor Dumbledore's detention.

At first, Dumbledore's detention seemed normal enough. Under his guidance, Harry was simply expected to advance his studies in Transfiguration. However, everything changed on the very first night when the headmaster discovered that Harry needed to kill enemies to gain experience points and grow stronger.

From that point onward, Harry suffered.

So did the Acromantulas in the Forbidden Forest.

On the second night of detention, Dumbledore took Harry deep into the forest and caught three Acromantulas for him to fight. Harry easily dispatched them and reached Level 3.

On the third night, the number of spiders increased to four. But with his second-circle spell slots unlocked, Harry once again emerged victorious.

On the fourth night, the number rose to six. It was a bit tougher, but Harry still managed to win.

On the fifth night, he faced nine. For the first time, he sustained injuries, but he also reached Level 4 and chose the Feat: Ritual Caster—Spell Study (Animal Speech + Identify).

On the sixth night, he fought ten and couldn't hold out any longer.

On the seventh night, Dumbledore made him study advanced applications of Transfiguration in combat.

On the eighth night, back to ten spiders.

On the ninth night… again.

On the tenth night, Harry attempted to escape—but Dumbledore caught him and dragged him back to the Forbidden Forest. This time, it wasn't ten spiders anymore.

It was eleven.

…

By the end of two weeks, Dumbledore had squeezed every last drop of magical energy out of Harry each night with surgical precision. Though Harry eventually reached Level 5 and unlocked third-circle spells, he was far from happy about it.

Neither were the Acromantulas, whose numbers had inexplicably dwindled by 123 in just fourteen days, leaving them on the brink of extinction.

Additionally, for the sake of both Harry's safety and the sustainable "development" of experience farming in the Forbidden Forest, Dumbledore had arranged for Harry's magical signature to be monitored by Hagrid's enchanted map—used to track dangerous magical creatures. Unlike other powerful creatures, which triggered alarms when approaching Hogwarts, Harry's marker lit up only when he entered the Forbidden Forest.

As for why Acromantula venom suddenly flooded the market in the following weeks…

Both Snape and Dumbledore claimed to know absolutely nothing about it.

---

In the blink of an eye, March 1st arrived—a significant day, not just because it was Ron's birthday, not just because Hogwarts had officially added a "Science Academy" alongside its four traditional houses, and not just because the mysterious buildings by the Black Lake were finally completed.

But also because, starting today, Hermione had begun drafting a revision schedule for herself—one that, of course, included Harry and Ron as well.

Hermione meticulously color-coded all her notes—even for subjects they hadn't finished studying yet—and strongly urged Harry and Ron to do the same. Ron, at first, didn't care much, but he simply couldn't endure Hermione's constant nagging.

As for Harry, having a top student create a study plan for him was something he fully supported. After all, he'd have to start reviewing in a month anyway, so getting a head start could only help.

However, for Ron, whose heart yearned for freedom, this was nothing short of torture.

"Oh, come on, Hermione, the exams are still hundreds of years away!"

"No, they're twelve weeks away," Hermione retorted. "Not hundreds of years. For someone like Professor Dumbledore, twelve weeks is practically the blink of an eye."

"But we're not over a hundred years old like Dumbledore," Ron pointed out. "Besides, Harry and I struggling with studying is one thing—" (Harry shot Ron a puzzled look: Since when did we become study buddies in failure?) "—but you, Hermione, you don't even need to review. You already know everything, don't you?"

"Why wouldn't I revise?" Hermione looked at Ron as if he had lost his mind. "Ron, are you insane? Do you even realize that we have to pass these exams to move on to second year? They're extremely important! I should have started reviewing a month ago—I have no idea what I was thinking!"

"At least let me have today—just today—as my last moment of happiness, okay?" Ron pleaded. "It is my birthday, after all."

Hermione bit her pen in thought for a moment before finally agreeing. And so, Ron's extracurricular study plan was postponed—until tomorrow.

However!

Unfortunately, the professors' version of hell, known as "homework," was not postponed.

That very evening, every young wizard found themselves buried under several fresh rolls of parchment worth of assignments.

Ron was, quite obviously, devastated.

Watching Ron trudge back to the dormitory with a long face, clutching his birthday presents, Harry sighed, re-summoned his Mage Hand spell—which had automatically disappeared once its duration ended—and continued writing his Defense Against the Dark Arts and History of Magic essays at the same time.

And just like that, between endless homework, revision sessions, and magic practice, a month flew by.

"I can't do this! I'll never remember any of it!"

One afternoon, Ron finally snapped. He flung his quill aside, leaving a trail of ink splatters across his parchment, but he didn't care. He could only stare longingly out of the library window.

For the first time in months, the weather was absolutely perfect—warm, dry, with a crisp spring breeze carrying the scent of fresh blossoms into the library. The sky was a brilliant, jewel-like blue, clear as a polished sapphire.

"And yet, on a day like this, we're stuck inside a library, surrounded by cursed homework, endless notes, and massive tomes. I hate exams!"

"Shh! Keep your voice down, or you'll summon Madam Pince!" Harry hastily clamped a hand over Ron's mouth.

The last time they'd gotten too worked up, Madam Pince had chased them out of the library, waving a feather duster at them. Harry had no intention of repeating that experience.

At that moment, a familiar figure entered Ron's field of vision.

"Hagrid! What are you doing in the library?"

Caught red-handed, Hagrid awkwardly shuffled sideways from between the bookshelves. "Just… lookin' around. Jus' havin' a look."

His evasive tone instantly piqued Ron's interest (anything to escape studying, really).

"What about you lot?" Hagrid suddenly grew suspicious. "Still diggin' around for Nicolas Flamel, are yeh?"

"Who?" Harry and Hermione tilted their heads in confusion, looking genuinely puzzled, while Ron visibly tensed.

Luckily, before Harry and Hermione could interrogate him, Ron successfully diverted their attention.

"Hagrid, why are you carrying a book on dragon rearing?" Ron asked, feigning innocence.

"Ah, this?" Hagrid's face flushed bright red. He waved his hands a little too wildly, nearly knocking over the bookshelf next to him. "Jus' a bit o' light readin'. Yep, jus' for fun."

Hagrid quickly stomped away, but Harry and Hermione's gazes followed him as he disappeared into the distance. Ron let out a long sigh of relief.

An hour later, the three of them knocked on the door of Hagrid's hut.

"Who is it?" came Hagrid's cautious voice from inside.

"It's us—Harry, Ron, and Hermione," Harry replied.

Hagrid let them in, then quickly shut the door behind them.

"Hagrid… why are all the curtains closed?" The moment Ron stepped inside, he was hit by an overwhelming wave of heat. Now that they were fully inside, the stifling warmth became almost unbearable.

It was a pleasantly mild day outside, yet the hut was sweltering. The windows were shut tight, and the only source of light came from the blazing fireplace.

Hagrid handed them each a cup of tea and offered a plate of weasel sandwiches.

Considering that it was nearly dinnertime, none of them touched the sandwiches—but they did sip their tea.

"Hagrid, can we at least open a window?" Ron fanned himself with his hand.

"Nope, sorry, Ron," Hagrid said, shaking his head before sneaking a glance toward the fireplace.

Harry noticed—and immediately followed his gaze.

Then.

"Hagrid, what is that?" Harry walked over to the fireplace, eyeing the soot-covered, fire-roasted object nestled under a kettle.

"Ah… well… that's…" Hagrid nervously tugged at his beard.

"Hey! Hagrid! Where did you get this dragon egg?" Ron, now squatting by the fireplace, exclaimed excitedly. "It must've cost you a fortune!"

"Didn't cost me a thing! Won it!" Hagrid puffed up his chest proudly. "Last night, I was at the Hog's Head having a drink when I met this stranger. Played a bit o' cards with 'im. Truth be told, seemed to me like he was real eager to get rid of that egg."

"But Hagrid, what are you going to do when it hatches?" Hermione asked.

"Oh, about that—" Hagrid turned around and pulled out a hefty tome from under his pillow. "I've been readin' up on it. This here's Dragon Rearing for Pleasure and Profit. Bit outdated, but it's got all the details."

He flipped to page 34 and pointed to an entry with an illustration. "See here? Says dragon eggs need to be kept in fire to mimic their mother's breath. And also…"

He flipped to page 41. "Once they hatch, yeh gotta feed 'em a bucket o' brandy mixed with chicken blood every half hour. And over here…"

Hagrid continued flipping until he reached page 96. "This lists different dragon eggs. Look here."

He pointed to an image of a black, rugged-looking egg and beamed. "This little fella's a Norwegian Ridgeback—real rare, that is!"

"Hagrid… I wasn't asking how to raise it…" Hermione pinched the bridge of her nose in exasperation. "I meant… that thing breathes fire, and you live in a wooden house…"

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