You can read ahead up to 110 chapters on my Patreon: https://www.patreon.com/darkshadow6395
The sky was a dim, unchanging grey. Towering spires and weathered stone walls cast jagged shadows on the ground, their gloom mirrored by the enormous black dragon sprawled upon the ground.
Crimson patterns shimmered across its massive form, pulsating like veins of molten fire. They twisted and curled, resembling ancient runes, their glow intensifying with each breath the creature took.
“A magical being, shaped by the raw craftsmanship of nature?” Ian murmured, his gaze drawn to the intricate markings on the dragon’s body.
He strained to study them further, but before he could glean anything more, a forceful gust from the witch’s direction slammed him against the cold stone wall. Vines erupted from the cracks, binding him tightly.
“A witch’s roar?”
Professor Morgan’s expression was one of utter displeasure. Despite her small stature, the dragon cowered in her presence, the sound of rattling chains betraying its fear. Thick metal bindings clung to its neck, the marks of punishment visible on its dark scales, a consequence of its earlier defiance.
“Of course not,” Ian quickly backtracked, forcing a smile. “I meant to say that it is a demonstration of the esteemed teacher’s commanding presence!”
Morgan’s gaze narrowed, her smile icy. Ian could almost hear the proverbial clock ticking, he needed to act quickly if he wished to escape whatever punishment the formidable witch had in store.
“I brought candy!” Ian exclaimed, fumbling desperately as he pulled free his coin pouch. With a determined shake, he sent an avalanche of colorful sweets tumbling to the ground.
The festive stash he had pilfered from the Great Hall’s Christmas feast was no longer his. Thanks to his quick thinking, or sheer desperation, it now belonged to the imposing Morgan.
Despite her sharp disdain for Ian’s tendency to hoard snacks, the witch did not refuse them. Predictably, the moment the candies scattered across the stone floor, Morgan’s cold demeanor softened ever so slightly. With a dismissive wave of her hand, the vines slithered back into the cracks, freeing Ian.
“Is this your new pet, Professor?” Ian rubbed his sore arm and glanced at the dragon, hoping to steer the conversation in a safer direction.
Morgan snorted in disdain. “Hardly. Consider it the so-called compensation from your executioner friend.”
“A gift?” Ian’s brow furrowed.
“What use do I have for such a sluggish guard?” Morgan twisted her fingers lazily, and the chains constricting the dragon’s neck slackened. The beast remained motionless, its massive form trembling.
“Are you going to kill it?” Ian ventured, recalling the delectable dragon meat hotpot from a distant memory. The creature’s eyes, larger than any human’s, gleamed with panic.
“Please, wizard! I am but a dragon soul! There is no flesh for you to feast upon!”
Ian jolted. The voice rumbled, not from the dragon’s mouth, but from the nostrils, a reverberation of compressed air forming coherent speech.
“It can talk?” Ian blinked, stunned. “Well, there goes the menu option.”
Morgan’s sneer deepened. “Your era’s knowledge of history is woefully lacking.”
She flicked her wrist and a faint ripple of magic distorting the air. “Creatures of such caliber possess intelligence far surpassing many wizards. They once ruled the skies. If goblins can learn human tongues, why not dragons?”
Ian nodded, though he remained unsettled. The idea of a dragon conversing so effortlessly unsettled him.
“We are a higher life form,” The dragon declared, its voice thick with disdain. “Do not insult me with comparisons to those foul goblins. We reigned over the wizarding world for centuries.”
“The Age of Dragons,” Ian murmured, recalling the cryptic message left behind by Ravenclaw within the catacombs of Hogwarts. Yet even with the evidence before him, the thought of Dragons ruling the earth felt exaggerated, or perhaps that was simply the bias of history’s victors.
“That’s right! We were the masters of the earth and sky!” The Dragon, upon hearing its own declaration, grew visibly excited. Its booming voice echoed through the chamber, causing Morgan to frown and tighten the enchanted chains, their magical gleam pulsing faintly.
“Roar…”
The dragon’s pained cry rumbled low, though it no longer dared to unleash its voice at full volume. Ian observed the scene, realization dawning on him as to how he’d heard the dragon’s roar earlier despite the distance.
“In your era, were there Dark Kings and White Kings who wielded word-bound magic? Was there a World Tree?” Ian’s curiosity was piqued. Transitioning from Hogwarts to Cassel House for his dual studies in spellcraft and magical combat had broadened his perspectives, but encountering a soul from the age of Dragons was a rare opportunity.
He longed to uncover the history of this ancient creature, so unlike the dragons he had encountered in modern times.
“What are you talking about?” The dragon’s enormous eyes gleamed with confusion. While it understood each word Ian spoke, the meaning behind them seemed utterly foreign.
“Alright, I suppose not,” Ian finally sighed in relief. It appeared his world remained one of pure magic, untouched by the unsettling concepts he had briefly entertained.
“Regardless, we once ruled this entire world, leaving behind countless descendants. In that era, no humans roamed the land, nor any other insignificant creatures like you.”
The dragon’s voice carried a firm pride, as though asserting its undeniable dominance over the past.
Ian blinked, momentarily taken aback. Then, a sudden realization struck him.
“I see! I get it now! You were dinosaurs!” His excitement surged, connecting the fragmented pieces of information. It seemed like the most logical explanation for the so-called Age of Dragons.
“?????”
The Dragon’s confusion only deepened.
It shifted its gaze toward Morgan, silently pleading for clarification.
“You’re half right,” Morgan sighed softly, her tone laced with reluctant amusement. “From what I understand, the Age of Dragons it speaks of may indeed trace back to what you call the age of dinosaurs. No one truly knows how they first came into existence, but they were undoubtedly among the earliest high-level magical creatures.”
It was evident Morgan possessed knowledge far surpassing that of the dragon’s lingering soul.
“Yes, exactly!” The dragon, despite its evident lack of understanding, puffed itself up in agreement, attempting to maintain the illusion of wisdom.
“You actually know about dinosaurs?” Ian was astonished. After all, the concept of dinosaurs had only been formally introduced in the Muggle world during the 19th century. It seemed impossible for Morgan to possess such knowledge.
“Just because I exist as a soul doesn’t mean I stopped learning,” Morgan replied, her exasperation apparent. She rolled her eyes before continuing, “The dinosaurs you speak of were indeed known in our era, to a certain extent. They served as both prey and, on rare occasions, companions to the ancient Dragons.”
That knowledge, she explained, had been passed down by her mentors.
Ian fell silent, thoughtfully processing this revelation. After a moment, his curiosity got the better of him.
“So, does that mean the Dragons of today are direct descendants of those pureblood Dragons?”
“They seem far weaker than their ancestors,” Ian remarked, already forming his own theories. Still, he needed Morgan’s insights to confirm his suspicions.
“Mixed blood weakens the power within the bloodline; this is not a misconception of wizards, but a conclusion drawn from observing the evolution of magical creatures.” Morgan answered Ian’s question indirectly.
“I can answer this question.” The Dragon raised its massive claw, as large as a carriage, and declared, “As the last pureblood Dragon in the world, when I was born, the world was already filled with those weak mixed bloods.”
“I have never witnessed the glorious era of Dragons; it perished long before my time.”
A heavy rumble escaped its nostrils, its tone shifting with a wistful melancholy that left Ian wide-eyed.
“The last dragon clan will rest here, and the era of dragons has come to an end.”‘
The ancient inscription from the Hogwarts catacombs echoed in the young wizard’s mind. He had never imagined that the world could be vast enough to present such a coincidence.
“You… you’re the dragon from Hogwarts’ motto , ”Draco Dormiens Nunquam Titillandus (Never tickle a sleeping dragon)!” I saw your bones!”
Ian’s voice wavered as he connected the skeletal remains from the catacombs with the imposing Dragon before him. The realization had eluded him earlier, as the spirit before him appeared far more robust than the bones.
Perhaps the essence of its soul lent it a more tangible form.
“I am the first student of Hogwarts! And the only pureblood Dragon to have attended the school!” The dragon puffed up proudly, swishing its tail with satisfaction.
“I do not seek trouble! But I am not afraid of it! Should any foolish wizard disturb my slumber, I will ensure they regret it!”
Ian was left speechless. The dragon’s self-righteousness was both bewildering and amusing.
For the longest time, Ian, like countless others, including even Dumbledore, had believed the Hogwarts motto carried a deeper philosophical meaning. ‘”Draco Dormiens Nunquam Titillandus (Never tickle a sleeping dragon).”‘ A poetic metaphor, surely meant to convey caution and wisdom.
Yet now…
The truth was absurdly literal. Ian could almost picture a hapless wizard, badly singed, furiously erecting a warning sign after waking the slumbering beast. Over the centuries, that simple caution had transformed into a grand piece of wisdom, passed down by professors to generations of students.
In this age, the motto was seen as a profound reminder to tread carefully when facing the unknown , not to disturb seemingly calm entities that might conceal great danger. Even Snape had once used it to warn Ian against reckless behavior.
“Have we all just been overthinking it?”
The more Ian thought about it, the more convinced he became.
After all, the Latin inscription “Draco dormiens nunquam titillandus” directly translated to “Never tickle a sleeping dragon!”
It made far too much sense.
How many arrogant wizards had foolishly challenged this very dragon only to face a fiery fate? Ian recalled the resilient magic lingering in the dragon bones he had once seen and silently pitied those unfortunate souls.
“If it were me… well, I definitely wouldn’t stand a chance. But who wouldn’t be tempted to try?” Ian understood the reckless spirit of those past wizards all too well.
“That expression of yours reminds me of those blasted Gryffindor students.” The dragon’s next words broke Ian’s thoughts, and he suddenly realized which house had been most inclined to provoke it.
“Has anyone ever defeated you?” Ian asked, his curiosity getting the better of him as he gazed up at the ancient creature.
“Aside from a few professors teaming up, no other wizards can defeat me; I am ancient.” The Dragon boasted proudly about its long life.
However.
Witch Morgan suddenly interjected, “Their extinction has its own reasons, and it also relates to our long-standing cognition as humans. Due to the powerful connotation represented by the Dragon, they once became a touchstone for many heroes in our era to prove themselves.”
Her words made the Dragon somewhat displeased, yet it did not dare to voice any rebuttal. The witch was not lying; in her era, slaying a dragon was indeed a renowned feat, symbolizing great courage and strength.
This matter was heavily documented in wizarding lore, including accounts like the tales of Merlin and the heroic deeds of Middle Ages wizards. Even in Ian’s favorite Muggle literature, like “The Lord of the Rings,” dragons were often the ultimate challenge for heroes.
“It seems that we humans are indeed more powerful.” Ian sincerely expressed his sentiment while the Dragon snorted in dissatisfaction.
“All magical creatures find it extremely difficult to retain the strength of their bloodline during reproduction; only we humans are the most special exception, which is also the greatest trump card of humans in the primitive era.” Morgan’s words trampled on the current wizarding world’s pureblood supremacy theory, and Ian deeply agreed, as this teacher had already revealed the essence of human wizards to him through the lessons in the “love potion”, every human actually has the potential to become a wizard.
In such a case.
There would naturally be no dilution of bloodlines.
“Recessive and dominant traits…” Ian had temporarily set aside his research on potions and wizard bloodlines due to studying the Resurrection Stone, but he had indeed touched upon the subject in Morgan’s lectures on magical inheritance.
“Can I turn this dragon into my Patronus?” As soon as Ian thought of the Resurrection Stone, he immediately pulled out his creation, the ring shining with a mysterious glow, looking quite impressive.
Originally, he had intended to find a small animal for experimentation when entering the Twilight Zone, and the only difference between a large animal and a small animal was a single word!
“Can a Patronus choose itself?” The Dragon did not seem to feel any rage; it merely appeared puzzled, as if the educated dragon had encountered a knowledge blind spot, staring at the little wizard for a long time with a confused expression.
“You are actually a living person!”
It turned out that a large head might influence the transmission of neural signals; brain capacity does not necessarily represent intelligence. The belated realization of the Dragon let out an extremely shocked scream.
It was hard to imagine that a dragon could have such a rich facial expression.
“…”
Morgan felt extremely speechless at the Dragon’s foolishness.
“Oh! I understand! You are the reincarnation of Merlin! It must be like that! I read your story at Hogwarts! Only you could have such abilities…”
The Dragon’s exclamation lasted only a brief moment; its words filled with shock could not be completed before the witch, raising her hand, tightened the chains around its neck.
This time it was even tighter than before, making it feel as if half of its head was about to fall off… Not only could it not roar, but even rolling on the ground in pain seemed to have drained it of strength.
“It must not be a Ravenclaw House dragon.” Ian silently mourned for the Dragon, which did not know when to say what.
“Let me see your creation.” Morgan maintained the grip on the chains around the Dragon’s neck and took the imitation Resurrection Stone ring that Ian handed over. After examining it for a moment, she slowly furrowed her brows.
“Once put into actual use, it will become completely untraceable before our eyes.” Morgan seemed quite dissatisfied with this characteristic of the death magic text.
“I see it clearly…”
Ian wasn’t sure why others struggled, but whether it was Grindelwald or Morgan, both seemed convinced that the death magic text couldn’t be perceived by ordinary wizards.
While they could see the runes Ian had copied, neither could truly analyze the finished product imbued with the death magic text. Ian had confirmed this during a recent experiment with Grindelwald.
“You’re not like us.”
Morgan handed the imitation Resurrection Stone ring back to Ian. She often made similar remarks, yet she avoided further explanation each time Ian asked.
“I call it the Patronus Ring.” Though it was only an imitation, Ian had earnestly named it. After all, a little creative liberty hardly counted as cheating. He’d made subtle improvements to its design.
The ring gleamed with a radiant brilliance, far more striking than the original Resurrection Stone, resembling one of those dazzling artifacts whispered about in wizarding tales.
“Call it whatever you like. I only care about that piece of parchment that answered your question, the one that mysteriously appeared in your pocket.” Morgan’s meaning was clear. The last time Ian had entered the Twilight Zone, she had placed an enchantment on the parchment to track its origin.
Now, she wanted answers.
Her dissatisfaction was plain. A question she couldn’t solve had been answered by someone else.
“Wasn’t that your prank?” Ian was startled by Morgan’s insistence. He’d suspected her as the culprit, but even after questioning nearly everyone he could think of, the parchment remained silent and inert.
“It seems you haven’t found the one who gave you the note.” Morgan’s keen gaze read Ian’s reaction like an open book. Her furrowed brows deepened, and despite the beauty of her enchanted form, Ian could see the frustration beneath it.
“Perhaps that person has already left Hogwarts or took special precautions to avoid being tracked.” It was the most logical explanation Ian could offer.
However.
His reasoning only made Morgan’s expression darken further. A knowing smile, tinged with icy amusement, spread across her face.
“Do you truly believe there is a wizard more powerful than me in your little school of childish games?” Morgan’s mood shifted with alarming speed, her arrogance unmistakable.
“…”
Ian quickly shook his head.
“Of course not. That person must have fled. Yes, that’s it! After giving me the note, they ran off, which is why your methods couldn’t trace them.”
The certainty in Ian’s voice seemed to mollify Morgan, at least a little. But her furrowed brow remained, uncertainty still lingering.
“Perhaps… Though I laced that parchment with my understanding of magic, its effects would only manifest in the mortal realm. I can’t imagine any wizard in your era surpassing me.”
Morgan’s words dripped with the confidence of someone who had spent lifetime honing her craft.
“Even your so-called celebrated Albus Dumbledore… He may stand at the threshold, but that last step remains unbridgeable. And that gap is no mere distance, it’s the chasm that separates an ant from the heavens.”
Her voice carried the weight of ancient pride, and though Ian couldn’t argue, a part of him couldn’t help but wonder. After all, in a world as vast and mysterious as the wizarding one, what other secrets might yet lie hidden?
“My suggestion is for you to have a duel with Dumbledore!” Ian eagerly handed over the ”Patronus Ring”, having long pestered the legendary witch for a chance to summon a historic spirit as his Patronus. Who wouldn’t want a legendary figure as their protector?
“You still haven’t given up on such nonsense?” Morgan sighed, having dismissed Ian’s request countless times before. But this time, she finally offered an explanation.
“Your magical power can’t even sustain the form of a minor spirit, let alone bring a legend like me back to the mortal realm,” the ancient witch said with a resigned tone.
Ian’s expression shifted in disbelief.
“But my magic should be close to the upper limit for wizards,” Ian argued, furrowing his brow. “And didn’t you say you lost your magical power and abilities? Logically, wouldn’t it be easier to summon you through the Patronus than to bind that Dragon?”
The little wizard was indeed a touch stubborn.
He cast a glance at the enormous Dragon beside him, now sprawled on its back, groaning pitifully as the enchanted chains cinched tightly around its neck.
“Merlin’s beard! Why do you think summoning a slothful dragon is simpler than manifesting a powerful witch like me?” Morgan scoffed, determined to shatter Ian’s illusions. She took the ”Patronus Ring” from his hand once more.
She slid it onto her finger without hesitation.
“This remains untested.” Ian tries to protest, alarmed by Morgan’s reckless actions.
“Then let this be the test.” Morgan showed no concern about the ring’s potential effects on her.
Thanks to Ian’s careful enchantments, the ring automatically adjusted to fit her finger, its gleaming silver surface emanating a dazzling light. On the hand of the legendary witch, it resembled a priceless heirloom.
“Without treading the veil between life and death, come forth, my foolish apprentice, no more imposing than a fluttering Pigwidgeon, and feel… the weight of your teacher’s presence.” Morgan’s eyes twinkled with amusement.
She summoned a wand for Ian with a casual flick of her fingers.
“Expecto Patronum!”
Ian, ever resolute, gripped the wand tightly and cast the spell. A brilliant silver light erupted from the tip, illuminating the space as the shimmering form of his Patronus emerged. It radiated with remarkable strength.
At the same moment, silver threads began to snake around Morgan’s hand, emanating from the ”Patronus Ring”.
The ring, crafted as a replica of the Resurrection Stone, resonated powerfully with the Patronus charm. The enchanted silver lines twisted and curled, seeking to envelop Morgan and pull her essence towards Ian.
Yet the threads faltered.
Despite Ian’s best efforts, his magic was insufficient. The strands of silver energy flickered and failed, unraveling and reforming repeatedly, unable to complete their purpose.
“It must be my craftsmanship. The ring isn’t strong enough.” Ian’s face flushed with frustration. Even as the spell sputtered, he stubbornly held onto the belief that the failure was due to his alchemical shortcomings rather than a lack of magical power.
That was the pride of a wizard, the refusal to accept defeat.
“To summon your teacher as your Patronus, you must first become a legend yourself.” Morgan chuckled, removing the ”Patronus Ring” and tossing it back to Ian, her eyes gleaming with amusement and challenge.
The little wizard quickly caught the precious item he had worked so hard to create.
“What about it?” Ian glanced at the Dragon, which was now sprawled on its back, looking as though its head might topple off at any moment. Even Nearly Headless Nick would likely declare that this dragon’s predicament was quite something.
“That, too, requires your magic to reach the absolute limits of wizardry.” The legendary witch’s words struck Ian like a thunderbolt, leaving him with a face full of dismay, as though he had aged eighteen years in an instant.
“Honestly, a Dragon Patronus isn’t all that remarkable. Even a genuine pureblooded one would probably be no more than average. Size doesn’t always equate to strength.” Ian’s tone suggested he was trying to convince himself of this fact, although the glint of disappointment in his eyes remained undeniable.
“You mentioned seeing the bones of this Dragon, didn’t you?” Suddenly, Morgan’s voice cut through the air.
“Yes, beneath our school. It’s nothing more than a skeletal remnant now,” Ian answered quickly, sensing that his teacher was about to unveil yet another of her invaluable lessons.
Morgan’s elegant fingers tugged once more at the fabric of her dress, effortlessly tearing away another small strip. The material shimmered faintly, as though saturated with ancient magic.
“You’ve already learned the ”Soul Snare” from your senior sister, but I’ve told you before that was merely a limited application. The magic she pursued was a fragment of something far greater, intended to explore the mysteries of the soul itself.”
She handed Ian the strip of fabric, her expression unreadable.
“The advanced form of that knowledge is what I call ”Spirit Binding and Soul Dispatching”. Study this carefully, and if you manage to combine it with your ever-so-proud ”Corpse Control Curse,”, the results might just surpass even your wildest hopes. A mere Patronus dragon will pale in comparison.”
Morgan’s words ignited a spark in Ian’s heart.
“Thank you! My dearest teacher! You truly are the greatest witch in existence!”
Only moments earlier, Ian had been dismissing the significance of size, but now his eyes gleamed with uncontained excitement. His enthusiasm seemed to shimmer like a Lumos charm.
“Size doesn’t equate to strength because size itself ‘is’ strength!”
Grinning from ear to ear, Ian clutched the precious fabric as if it were a priceless treasure. The swiftness with which he shifted from dejection to delight could rival even Morgan’s mercurial moods.
…
The sky above the small town bore little resemblance to that over the castle.
Sunlight cascaded through the morning mist, falling like golden threads upon the aged cobblestone streets. The tranquil settlement basked in the gentle radiance, wrapped in the perpetual embrace of the Twilight Zone.
Beyond the town, majestic mountains loomed, their peaks glowing beneath the soft light. The air carried the mingled scents of damp earth and delicate wildflowers, a fragrance both refreshing and serene.
In this idyllic setting, vibrant blooms swayed gently, their colors painting the town with life. Wisps of smoke curled from the chimneys, signifying the quiet stirrings of morning.
Before one humble home, a girl practiced her swordsmanship with relentless dedication. Her every movement was graceful and precise, the fluid arc of her blade cutting cleanly through the crisp air. A boy stood nearby, watching intently, his hands firmly planted on his hips.
“Pandero, we defeated that wicked Dragon. Surely we deserve a rest, two or three days, at least?”
The girl’s long hair fluttered with each swing of her sword. Though her complaint carried a playful tone, her movements never faltered. The ease with which she wielded the blade spoke of countless hours of training, every stroke practiced to perfection.
In the Twilight Zone, time ebbed and flowed unpredictably. No one could say how many days had passed since the girl, once a complete novice, had grown into the skilled swordswoman she was now.
“Ariana, swordsmanship is a reflection of effort. The more you pour into it, the more you’ll gain,” Pandero responded, his sharp gaze never leaving her.
“You promised that defeating the dragon would earn us a princess and treasure, but all we found in its lair was… well, not even a single rotten apple.” Ariana’s tone was half-amused, half-exasperated.
Despite her words, she did not cease her practice. The rhythmic hum of her blade continued, steady and resolute, as Pandero watched over her with an unyielding sense of purpose.
“Uh, I remember stories like this usually had a princess and a pile of gold.” The boy scratched his nose, looking slightly sheepish. However, the embarrassment didn’t linger long. A mischievous grin quickly spread across his face. “But don’t you fancy the idea of taking down something even more powerful than a dragon?”
“Are you suggesting I should take ‘you’ down?” The girl blinked, her tone carrying a trace of amusement.
“…”
The boy fell silent, casting a wary glance at the gleaming sword resting by her side. Then his eyes shifted towards the distant castle, its silhouette dark and looming against the sky.
“Right. Today’s the day!”
With sudden resolve, the boy stepped forward, facing the girl with a dramatic air.
“Could you, er, kneel? Just one knee?”
He asked with a visible air of nervousness, leaving the girl thoroughly perplexed.
“What are you playing at now?”
Despite her confusion, the ever-direct Ariana set her water cup aside and complied, lowering herself onto one knee before Pandero.
“Though I’ve no magic to call my own, there are other things I ‘can’ do.” Pandero placed his hand on Ariana’s forehead, his voice lowering to a solemn whisper.
“I bestow upon you my blessing, Ariana. I grant you the right to wield my blade and shatter any obstacle that stands in your way.”
He paused, the weight of the moment thick in the air. For a brief instant, it seemed as if the boy himself was considering the meaning of his own words.
Finally, as if deciding something once and for all, Pandero straightened his shoulders.
“Breaker of the Law, Ariana,” he declared grandly, a gleam of satisfaction in his eyes. “Rather impressive, isn’t it? I think it suits you.”
There was no blinding light, no roar of magical energy. The sky remained calm, and the breeze continued its soft whispers. Yet, as his hand lifted from Ariana’s forehead, a faint mark shimmered before vanishing without a trace.
Much like the gift Ariana had once given to Ian, she too had now received a gift from a friend.
‘(End of this chapter)’
You can read ahead up to 110 chapters on my Patreon: https://www.patreon.com/darkshadow6395