Alaric Thorn had not expected Dumbledore to actually throw a dragon at him. It was an escalation that bordered on the absurd.
However, Alaric was far from worried. When it came to dragons, he had reached a level of proficiency five years ago that allowed him to subdue them with practiced ease. He glanced toward Professor Kettleburn, who was standing at a distance with his arms crossed, looking remarkably unconcerned.
Kettleburn knew Alaric's true strength; he had personally witnessed the younger man capture a live dragon in the wild. Hagrid, on the other hand, looked caught between terror and ecstasy. While he adored dragons, even he wasn't foolish enough to forget that a loose Ridgeback was a walking natural disaster for the average wizard.
"Ten minutes?" Alaric murmured, a confident, predatory smirk tugging at the corner of his mouth.
The moment the cage vanished, the dragon twitched, its massive frame heaving as its golden eyes slowly slit open. It stood up, neck craning as it surveyed the clearing, clearly disoriented. Then, its gaze locked onto Alaric—the nearest living thing—and it let out a low, vibrating growl that rattled the windows of Hagrid's hut.
"Looking quite spirited today, aren't we?" Alaric let out a low chuckle. He remained perfectly still, not even bothering to take a defensive step back.
The dragon snorted, venting twin plumes of scalding white steam that caused the air to shimmer and warp. Alaric simply offered a casual whistle. The dragon's vertical pupils contracted; it understood the provocation. It raked its talons through the earth, the grass beneath its belly turning black and brittle from its internal heat. It was a living volcano, seconds away from eruption.
"ROAR—!"
The deafening cry shattered the silence of the forest edge. The dragon snapped its wings open like a pair of massive, leathery sails and lunged. It flew low to the ground, a battering ram of scales and muscle aimed directly at Alaric. The sheer displacement of air sent a wall of heat rolling outward, catching even Dumbledore's long silver beard and tossing it over his shoulder.
The instant the dragon reached him—
"Apparate!"
Alaric's form twisted into a localized vacuum and vanished, reappearing instantly ten yards to the dragon's left. Despite his preparation, the creature's speed was impressive; a stray spark from its passing had managed to singe the hem of Alaric's new robes.
He frowned, dabbing at the small ember with a gloved hand. "These were quite expensive," he muttered with a hint of annoyance. "I'd appreciate a bit more care."
Kettleburn watched the display with hawkish intensity. While he hadn't shown concern, he never stopped observing. He knew Alaric's true power hadn't even begun to surface. Nearby, Hagrid's heart was hammering against his ribs. "Terrible dangerous," he whispered to himself. "Truly terrible."
Enraged by the human's disappearance, the dragon pivoted. Its eyes burned with a primal fury, and its chest began to swell rhythmically. Deep in its throat, a deep crimson glow began to gather—the unmistakable harbinger of dragon fire.
Alaric, a master of dragon behavior, didn't wait.
As the beast unhinged its jaw to unleash a torrent of flame, the Devil's Snare surged from beneath Alaric's robes. The black vines lashed out, weaving together in a split second to form a dense, sacrificial shield.
The fire met the vines with a roar. The air ignited. While the barrier held long enough to keep Alaric untouched, the price was high. Devil's Snare, for all its lethality, was notoriously flammable. The vines blackened and shriveled instantly under the extreme temperature, filling the air with the pungent scent of burnt vegetation.
Alaric's brow furrowed, a flash of displeasure crossing his face at the Snare's impulsive protectiveness. "This isn't your fight," he whispered sternly. "Fire is your death."
The scorched vines twitched as if wounded by his tone, recoiling back toward him. Alaric didn't give the plant a second chance to intervene. With a sharp gesture, the remains of the Snare flowed back under his skin, vanishing entirely.
Eldra, analyze the enemy's structural weakness.
The Tree of Wisdom's response was instantaneous:
Species: Dragon (Transfigured)
Level: 1
Weakness: Three inches left of the spinal midpoint.
I see. A construct.
Alaric gave a subtle nod of understanding. No wonder the dragon fire felt somewhat muted compared to a true Ridgeback. Dumbledore hadn't actually imported a nesting mother; he and McGonagall had crafted a masterpiece of Transfiguration.
A construct of this level didn't require Alaric's "trump cards."
The "dragon," having finished its first breath, crouched low for a second pounce. Alaric gripped his wand and slashed it through the air.
"Incarcerous!"
Heavy, enchanted chains erupted from his wand tip like a cluster of iron vipers, wrapping themselves around the dragon's limbs and snout. The creature collapsed, its jaw forced shut by reinforced links, stifling its next breath of fire into a muffled, frustrated grunt.
"Stay still."
Alaric walked toward the thrashing beast with measured steps. He reached the creature's back and leveled his wand at the precise coordinate Eldra had identified. He fired a single, piercing bolt of silver light.
The dragon's body seized. The thrashing stopped instantly. Before the eyes of the onlookers, the color bled from its scales. The black shimmer turned to a dull, dusty gray. The wings, the talons, and the tail all solidified into cold, unmoving granite.
CRASH—
The sound of stone hitting earth echoed through the clearing. Where an apex predator had stood, there was now only an irregularly shaped, massive stone plinth.
Silence reclaimed the forest.
After a long ten seconds, Albus Dumbledore stepped forward, his hands coming together in a slow, rhythmic applause. "A flawless performance, Mr. Thorn," he praised, his eyes sparkling with genuine appreciation.
"I must admit, Headmaster," Alaric said, casually brushing a fleck of ash from his shoulder, "I have never seen a Transfiguration so complete. The mimicry was almost indistinguishable from the real thing."
"Indeed," Dumbledore smiled. "Professor McGonagall and I spent quite some time preparing this little surprise to ensure your test was sufficiently engaging."
"Does this mean I have passed?"
"Undoubtedly."
Kettleburn stomped forward, a triumphant grin on his weathered face as he clapped Alaric on the shoulder. "I told them! I knew you wouldn't have a lick of trouble, Alaric."
"Thank you for the vote of confidence, Professor," Alaric replied with a small smile.
Meanwhile, Hagrid was standing a few yards away, staring blankly at the giant stone block. "Wait a minute," he stammered, finally finding his voice. "Tha' wasn't a real dragon? I thought... I spent all mornin' talkin' to it... no one told me... oh, blimey!"
Poor Hagrid. He looked as though he had just discovered his new best friend was a garden gnome in disguise.