Of Friendship and Dragons

I love dragons. Really, I do. Ask anyone; they'll tell you it's always been that way. That's not exactly true, though. My love for dragons didn't start until my first year at Hogwarts.

I was terrified of going, to be honest. Mum, being a former teacher herself, had home-schooled us until time for us to go to Hogwarts, and so, I had never really been away from home. And Bill...well, Bill was two years older than I, with his own friends and interests already established. So I couldn't count on him being around for me too much.

A whole, horrendous week of loneliness passed before I remembered something Mum had told me. "If you get lonely or homesick, dear," she had said. "Just go down to the Gamekeeper's cottage, and have a visit with Hagrid. He'll be happy to talk with you."

And so, my first full weekend at Hogwarts found me on the doorstep of Hagrid's small cottage. I was filled with nerves. Mum hadn't told me much more about this Hagrid bloke, but I had met him already, of course. He had been the one to meet us at the platform in Hogsmeade when we arrived and brought all of us first-years up to the castle. Rather scary looking, he was, I'll admit. Nearly twice as tall as any normal man, and five times as wide, wild, bushy hair and beard. This was the man Mum thought would be good to turn to, for comfort?

With a sigh of trepidation, and gathering what I could of my courage - I was a Gryffindor, after all! - I knocked on the door. I heard a voice from within call out. "Hang on. I'm comin'." Sweet Merlin, I was trembling from head to toe, and it didn't get any better when the huge man opened the door. He seemed even larger standing this close to him!

But then everything seemed to change in an instant. This great, savage-looking man took one look at me, and his face broke into the widest, kindest grin I had ever seen outside of my family. "Well, bless me. If it ain' a youn' Weasley come ter visit! An' which 'un woul' yeh be? " He opened the door wider, inviting me inside.

Still trembling, I managed to stammer out my name. "Ch-Charlie, sir. Mum told me it would be alright to come and visit you. I hope I'm not being a bother." Merlin, I sounded like a five-year-old!

He gave a chuckle...at least, it sounded like a chuckle, a great rumbling sound, and he was still smiling kindly at me. "Well, o' course it's a'righ'! Good people, yer folks. Happy ter be o' help. Forge' all this 'sir nonsense. Jes' Hagrid'll do fine. An' wha' can I do fer yeh, Charlie?"

I breathed a sigh of relief at that point. Perhaps this was going to be easier than I had thought. He was just so nice. He listen attentatively as I poured out my heart about my homesickness and loneliness of the first week. I was rather surprised at myself, to be honest. Here I was, spilling all my thoughts and fears, to a virtually complete stranger! Somehow, it didn't feel odd at all, though. There was just something about this man that told me I could trust him, with my very life, if need be.

When I finally stopped babbling, he gave me another beatific smile - can such a word even be applied to someone of his size and savage looks? - and got up from the table. "Don' yeh worry none, Charlie. Yeh'll have yer own frien's b'fore too long. An' yer always welcome here, anytime. Care fer a cuppa tea? Rock cakes?"

I quickly discovered that 'rock' was the operative word in his rock cakes. Still, who was I to deny the hospitality of the first real friend I'd made since arriving?

We talked for a while about various things. The longer I stayed there, the more comfortable I felt. Eventually, the subject of magical creatures, which he seemed to know quite a bit about, came up. I confessed to him, the first - and quite possibly the only - person, ever, my fear of dragons. Yes, the very creature I work with now, I was deathly afraid of back then. Ironic, isn't it?

He stared at me for a long moment, incredulous. "Afraid o' dragons? But wha'ever fer? They're beautiful creatures! A migh' unnerstood by mos' folks, is all."

We spent the rest if the afternoon, as well as many others that year, talking about dragons. I listened intently as he talked of the appeal of each species. The Antipodean Opaleye, from New Zealand, with its iridescent scales and multi-coloured, pupil-less eyes. The Chinese Fireball - also known as Liondragon - with its smooth, scarlet scales and fringe of golden spikes. The Common Welsh Green, with its melodious roar. The Hebridian Black, with its bright purple eyes, rough scales, line of shallow but razor-sharp ridges along its back, arrow-shaped spike on the tip of its tail, and huge, bat-like wings. The Hungarian Horntail, supposedly the most dangerous of all the breeds, with its black scales, yellow eyes, bronze horns, and matching bronze spikes protruding from its tail. The Norwegian Ridgeback, which looks a lot like a Horntail, except that instead of tail-spikes, it has a prominent set of jet-black ridges along its back. The Peruvian Viper Tooth, the smallest and swiftest flying of the breeds, with its smooth copper-coloured scales, black ridge markings, short horns, and particularly venomous fangs. The Romanian Longhorn, with its dark-green scales, and long golden horns. The Swedish Short-Snout, with its beautiful silvery-blue scales. And, last, but certainly not least, the largest of the breeds, the Ukranian Ironbelly, with its metallic grey scales, deep red eyes, and particularly long and vicious talons.

As the year wore on, I found myself more and more fascinated with these great beasts, and less and less afraid of them. The way Hagrid spoke of them, with such joy, enthusiasm, and even love, intrigued my young mind.

By the time I boarded the train to return home, I was taking two new things with me - the knowledge that I had made one of the best friends I would ever have, and a new love, respect, and fascination for the great beasts I had been so afraid of at the beginning of the year.