In the twelve years of Ron Weasley's short life, he had learned one important lesson about lying to his mum: don't try to lie to mum. It was one of the many cruel burdens of being the youngest son. After raising five boys-most recently the infamous twins-Molly Weasley had an uncanny gift for sniffing out falsehoods.

That was why the letter she was holding in her hands was perfectly legitimate. She could give it all the skeptical appraisal that she wanted; there was no secret to be found there. The blocky handwriting was just Hagrid all over. Ron could still read it from where he was standing.

RON-

FLOO TO THREE BROOMSTICKS AT 8:00 FOR YOUR LESSON

- HAGRID

"And just how do you know Mr. Hagrid?"

"I thought I told you, mum. Me and Harry visited him all the time for tea. He knew Harry's parents, you know."

Her face softened a bit at the mention of Harry Potter, as expected. It stung a little that she gave Harry the benefit of the doubt that she would never give to her own flesh and blood, although to be fair Ron had probably earned the extra scrutiny by listening to the twins too often as a child.

"What sort of lesson is he on about?"

"He's the groundskeeper at Hogwarts. He knows all sorts of things about the plants and animals in the Forbidden Forest," Ron said, then paused, sizing up the perfect moment. "I think he gets lonely over the summer."

A naked look of sympathy flashed across his mother's face, and Ron knew he had her. And why not? Everything he said was true, after all. Mostly irrelevant, but true.

"All right, then. You listen to Mr. Hagrid and work hard. I don't want to hear from him that you've been slacking off, you understand?"

"Sure thing mum!"

Ron hurried over to the fireplace. Even if he seemed to have things sewn up, best not to hang about and tempt fate. Besides, Hagrid should already be waiting for him.

A quick trip through the floo deposited Ron neatly in the main hall of the Three Broomsticks. Hagrid was indeed there, his massive bulk making him easy to spot. The big man was visibly nervous, an odd thing to see in somebody who was eight feet tall if he was an inch.

Ron trotted over to him. "Hagrid! Ready to go?"

Hagrid polished off his drink in one massive gulp before setting the mug down on the bar with a little extra force behind it. "You sure about this, lad?"

"Sure I'm sure," Ron said. He made a beeline for the front door, waiting impatiently for Hagrid to catch up once he was outside. Seeing that he was still visibly uncomfortable, Ron reached up to pat him comfortingly on the elbow, which was about as high as he could reach. "Don't worry, I'm not risking anything I can't afford to lose."

When Hagrid had told them about winning a dragon's egg in a poker game, Hermione had quickly figured out the hidden meaning: over the course of the game, Hagrid had told a complete stranger just how to get past a massive three-headed guard dog. It had been an important clue in their efforts to decipher the mystery of the Philosopher's Stone.

Ron had sussed out an entirely different meaning: somewhere in Hogsmeade was a high stakes poker game where Hagrid was an occasional winner.

Fortunately, Hagrid still felt like he owed the three of them for helping him discreetly remove Norbert from Hogwarts and relocate the not-so-little guy to a place where he could grow up and live a healthy life. Ron hadn't hesitated to cash in his proverbial chip for a seat at today's table. Hagrid was clearly starting to have second thoughts, so Ron did his best to keep both of their spirits up with a steady stream of positive chatter.

Their roles were reversed when they entered the Hog's Head. Hagrid relaxed as he entered a familiar environment, while Ron tensed up at the sight of the rather dingy and foreboding pub. The penetrating gaze he was receiving from the ancient bartender wasn't helping matters. Ron managed to restrain a sigh of relief when the bartender shifted his eyes to Hagrid.

"'e's with me."

You could say many things about Hagrid-and Ron had-but the man was honest to a fault. He may not be thrilled with the promise he had made, but he obviously intended to keep it. Ron stuck close by his side as they made their way to a back room.

If the front of the bar was intimidating, the back room was downright hostile. Dark wood paneling seemed to absorb flickering torchlight, leaving only faint reflections to illuminate the rest of the room. Ron could dimly make out a series of heads mounted on the wall. He dearly hoped they had belonged to magical creatures.

The occupants of the room all seemed at home in the gloomy ambiance. At the head of the rough hewn wooden table sat a goblin who struck Ron as gnarled and twisted even by goblin standards. Next to him sat an old man sporting a shock of white hair who was otherwise completely unlike Albus Dumbledore. Ron shivered as his cold eyes seemed to take him in and dismiss him in an instant. An old woman sat next to the old man, the rat's nest of her hair and her wandering eye each putting up a fierce competition for the most off-putting of her facial features. The figure at the foot of the table was completely hidden under a black cloak. His-or her-only visible feature was a pair of glowing red eyes.

All of them were looking at Hagrid with varying degrees of curiosity. Hagrid cleared his throat and hemmed and hawed for a bit before making his announcement.

"This is the fella that helped me out wi' my dragon problem."

A wave of... not acceptance, exactly... tolerance, perhaps, rippled its way around the table. All the gloomy atmosphere in the world couldn't keep Ron from feeling like bouncing up and down after he took a seat. After all this, it was finally happening.

"Your wagers," the goblin announced.

The white haired man pulled a piece of paper from his pocket and scribbled something on it before placing it on the table in front of the goblin. The old woman and the cloaked figure both placed purses on the table that jingled softly as they came to rest. Hagrid tossed an egg that hit the table with a sharp thump before rolling to a stop before the goblin. Ron carefully drew a small red shard of gemstone from his pocket before setting it down for appraisal.

The goblin addressed them each in turn, placing stacks of chips in front of the white haired man, the old woman, and the cloaked figure. He counted out a stack of chips for Hagrid, then paused and fixed him with a serious look.

"I don't suppose you have a license for this?"

"License? Those wee things are harmless," Hagrid protested. "At least 'slong as you don't let 'em bite you. Or scratch you. Or look at 'em for too long. Or..."

Ron looked at the egg with renewed interest. It was noticeably larger than a chicken's egg, and decorated with blue flecks. Hermione might have been able to identify it, but he had no idea what could be growing in there. As long as it didn't hatch during the game, he figured it didn't much matter.

The goblin sighed and pulled back a handful of the chips he had prepared before sliding the rest over to Hagrid. He then picked up Ron's offering and examined it casually for a moment before freezing. He was moving somewhat stiffly as he drew a jeweler's loupe out of his pocket and examined the gem more closely.

"Is this authentic?"

His eyes were sharp, for all that one was distorted by the loupe. Ron had a feeling that this goblin might even be harder to fool than his mum. It was a good thing he had no need to lie.

"Harry Potter gave it to me himself."

After Harry smashed the Philosopher's Stone, he had kept a few fragments of the thing. Harry had been more than happy to share them out with his friends. They didn't have any magical use any more-Ron wouldn't be bothering with a poker game if he could just make his own gold-but Ron held out hope that it still had some value.

Judging from the sudden uptick in interest around the table, the mere association with the Boy-Who-Lived was enough to provoke interest. The goblin, curiosity satisfied, just grunted and dropped the fragment into safekeeping along with everybody else's wagers. He then counted out a stack of chips and handed them over to Ron.

Looking around, Ron saw that he had the most chips to start with of anybody. The white haired man was close, while the other three were noticeably far behind. That felt like a good sign to Ron. It never hurt to have the opportunity to push people around a bit with the betting.

The game was five card draw, with the goblin dealing. Ron spent the first few rounds folding every hand and trying to get a feel for the game. It took him five minutes to spot all the fake tells the other players were putting out. It took him another half hour to realize that those tells were real.

Poker was a serious thing for the Weasley boys. None of Ron's brothers had believed in going easy on their younger sibling, and they seized on every opportunity they could find to shift chores onto his shoulders. It was a cutthroat environment that had forced Ron to learn quickly. His opponents obviously hadn't had the benefit of a similar experience. It was up to Ron to take advantage.

The white-haired man's sneer became just a little too pronounced when he was bluffing. Ron called, and went on to win the pot.

The old woman's eye stopped wandering when she was staring at a good hand. Ron folded.

The cloaked figure's eyes glowed a little more brightly when he had a good hand, but his cloak rustled when he was bluffing. Fortunately, Ron had a good hand himself. He re-raised, and ultimately took down his biggest score so far.

Hagrid might as well have written the contents of his hand on his forehead. Ron tried not to take too much advantage, but it was hard to resist the temptation completely.

Over time it was as if the rest of the table was tilted towards Ron. He didn't win every hand, but he won more than he lost, and his wins tended to be bigger than his losses. As the night wore on the pile of chips in front of him grew and grew.

Things reached a climax when the white-haired man got a hand that he was a little unsure of, but that looked like it had the potential to be good. He raised, driving the others out of the pot except for Ron, who was curious about what his own hand might turn into.

The white-haired man took two cards, while Ron took one. The other man had hardly looked at his two new cards before he was shoving his entire remaining stack of chips into the pot. Ron didn't hesitate to match, prompting a nasty grin from his opponent.

"You've been lucky all night, boy, but it ends now. Full house, aces over twos."

He turned over his hand, showing that it matched his claim. Ron did his best to keep his own expression impassive as he laid his cards down one-by-one.

"I've got a straight..." he said, pausing before he revealed the last card. "Flush."

In Ron's opinion the three through seven of spades had never looked so beautiful. His opponent obviously had a different view as he slammed his hand down on the table with a sulfurous oath.

"That does it! I'm done for the night."

There was a general murmur of agreement around the table. Ron didn't even object, as a sudden wave of fatigue gave him some inkling of how late at night it was. The goblin turned to Ron first to see about cashing in his chips.

"Um... what does this get me?"

The goblin chuckled, not unkindly, as he counted out Ron's chips and did some quick mental arithmetic. "Assuming you want your own prize back... this should do it."

Ron was left staring down at the fragment of the philosopher's stone, the piece of paper, and eighteen galleons. He didn't pay attention to the division of the rest of the winnings, lost in thought at his own good fortune. Eighteen galleons! It was more money than he had even held in his hand before in his life. Now his only problem would be sneaking it home and figuring out some way to spend it without making his mother suspicious.

Ron was jolted out of his thoughts when a hand came down to clasp him on the shoulder. Looking up, he saw the white-haired man. Instead of the anger he was expecting, the old man had a contemplative expression on his face.

"Well, boy, I suppose it will do me good to have a partner again."

Startled, Ron looked back down at the piece of paper. It had "50%" written on it in large letters. Underneath was an illegible chicken scratch of a signature.

"I don't plan on changing the name, mind," the old man continued, unaware of Ron's confusion. "Borgin and Weasley just doesn't have the same ring to it."

Ron nodded in agreement. That sort of thing seemed far too likely to alert his mother to his recent adventures.

"I'll keep running the shop, while you take care of the odds and ends that old Caractacus used to handle."

"Odds and ends?" Ron asked, finding his voice again.

"Oh, don't worry," the old man said, waving a hand dismissively, "it'll be nothing like as dangerous as tangling with a dragon."

Over the next few years Ron would often reflect that that statement ruled out only an uncomfortably small set of tasks.