Anyone with even a little experience in breaking the law knows the feeling.

The moment your crime gets exposed—your limbs go numb, your brain turns to fog, and you're plunged into icy dread.

That's exactly how Hagrid felt now.

It was like fate had come full circle. Fifty years ago, he was caught raising an Acromantula by someone named Tom Riddle… and got expelled from Hogwarts for it.

If it hadn't been for Dumbledore stepping in to protect him, he'd have been thrown out completely. Thanks to that, he was allowed to stay on as Hogwarts' gamekeeper.

Now, fifty years later, another Tom Riddle had shown up. Same name, same House, same brilliance—and once again, he had caught Hagrid raising a magical creature in secret.

The present moment mirrored the past with eerie precision.

This was the very first time Tom had spoken to Hagrid directly—no, to be precise, it was the first time they had any interaction. Until now, their relationship was more like… two people pretending the other didn't exist. Hagrid would even go out of his way to avoid him.

Tom didn't wait for an invitation. He stepped right into the hut like he owned the place. The clutter and mess around didn't interest him in the slightest—he made a beeline for the roaring fireplace.

The firewood crackled and popped, sparks jumping into the air, but it didn't distract Tom. He leaned forward and nodded thoughtfully.

"Not bad. That's a Norwegian Ridgeback. Quite a powerful breed, even among dragons."

Hagrid's love for dragons momentarily overpowered his fear of Tom Riddle. His eyes lit up. "A Norwegian Ridgeback? Are you serious?"

"Black shell, glossy like obsidian. Square scaling impressions. What else could it be?" Tom replied, raising a brow as if questioning Hagrid's credibility. "You mean to tell me you can't even identify dragon eggs by species? That's basic."

In truth, Hagrid had just borrowed an entire stack of dragon-related books from the library and hadn't even started reading before Tom barged in.

"Brilliant!" Hagrid beamed. "I love Ridgebacks. They've got such strong builds, and their hides are tough as armor. Just adorable, aren't they?"

"You seem a little too happy," Tom said lazily, voice slow but sharp like a blade drawn halfway.

The smile vanished from Hagrid's face instantly. Right. There was still the small matter of the giant criminal offense he was caught in the middle of.

"Ri-Riddle… what do you want?" Hagrid stammered. The towering half-giant—usually full of booming laughter—now stood there like a scolded child, his voice barely a whisper. "I… I can explain the egg…"

"Spare me. I'm not interested."

Tom waved him off and casually took a seat at the dining table like he lived here. Hagrid remained standing, sheepish and frozen. For a moment, it was hard to tell who actually owned the hut.

"I trust what I see with my own eyes," Tom continued coolly. "The egg is in your fireplace. That's a fact. Whether you stole it, bought it from poachers, or are the poacher—doesn't matter."

"If you've got an explanation, feel free to save it… for the Ministry investigators. Or better yet—" Tom smirked, "—you could try chatting with a Dementor in Azkaban."

Thud!

It was like the strength and bones were sucked clean out of Hagrid's body. He collapsed with a crash so heavy it cracked the floorboards. Tom actually winced—it sounded painful.

Hagrid, bless him, had a fragile heart. Like they always said—dogs take after their owners, and in this case, it seemed true.

Just the word Dementor had practically liquefied him.

"I can't go to Azkaban," Hagrid muttered over and over. "I can't go to Azkaban…"

And the way he looked at Tom now? Like he was staring at the other Tom Riddle.

"But then I thought…" Tom said casually, as if reflecting aloud. "Sending you to prison—what would I even get out of it?"

Hagrid's hope came rushing back like a tide. His emotions had been riding a broomstick at breakneck speed ever since Tom entered.

"You're someone Dumbledore trusts," Tom continued, his tone thoughtful. "I have no idea why he does, but I can't deny it. And frankly, falling out with him just because of you... hardly seems worth it."

"I'm a Slytherin, Hagrid." Tom now looked far more approachable, even a touch friendly. "And you know what Slytherins value most? Usefulness. If you can be useful to me… then we might just become friends, no?"

Hagrid grumbled under his breath, "That's not what friendship means…"

But the moment Tom gave him a chilly look, he quickly changed his tune.

"Alright, alright. I want to be your friend, Riddle. I mean… Tom. But what do you need from me? If it's turning on Dumbledore you want, forget it. I'd rather go to Azkaban."

Surprisingly, Hagrid's brain actually functioned for once—he laid out his bottom line clearly.

Tom just looked at him like he'd grown a second head. "What are you on about? Why would I ask you to betray the Headmaster? Are you writing some kind of drama in your head?"

"Then… what would stop you from turning me in?" Hagrid asked cautiously.

Tom glanced at the dragon egg. "Well, seeing as you managed to get your hands on a dragon egg, you clearly have your ways. I need certain potion ingredients and magical herbs. If you can gather everything on my list, not only will I let this slide… I'll even deal with Malfoy for you."

"Wait—that's it?" Hagrid asked, flabbergasted.

Potion ingredients and herbs?

That stuff was practically lying around the Forbidden Forest. Was that all Riddle wanted?

He had no clue how difficult this would be for anyone else. It wasn't just about the magical creatures and dangers inside the forest—just navigating the terrain and knowing where to find rare ingredients was a massive undertaking.

Honestly, apart from Hagrid, maybe only Newt Scamander could stroll through the Forest like it was his own backyard.

Tom pulled over a piece of parchment and a quill from the table and began jotting down a list. He didn't stop writing for five full minutes.

When he finally handed it over, Hagrid scanned it and sighed in relief.

Most of these were things he could find in the Forest. For the rare ones, he had contacts in Knockturn Alley. He could barter using forest goods—no big deal.

"Alright. Give me a few days and I'll have everything for you."

Tom held up three fingers.

"You've got three days. After that, I want everything on that list—top quality only. If you try and pass off second-rate garbage… get ready to see Dumbledore's disappointed face."

Hagrid nodded furiously. For the sake of his dragon baby, he'd do anything.

Truth be told, what Tom really wanted was Acromantula venom. The emphasis on quality was his way of hinting at Hagrid to go see Aragog.

Tom had been too busy lately, spending most of his time bonding with the unicorn. Any time he bumped into Acromantulas, they were too young to harvest anything useful. Outsourcing to Hagrid was simply efficient. And once Hagrid did it once, he'd get used to it.

Tom stood, brushing imaginary dust off his robes. Hagrid, assuming he was leaving, began to relax.

But instead of heading out, Tom walked right back to the fireplace and peered into it, nose wrinkling in disgust.

"You do realize how critical the incubation temperature is for dragons, don't you? And you're using a regular fireplace? This might turn out to be the weakest dragon I've ever seen."

Hagrid looked even more pitiful. "But… this is the best I could offer him…"