The Dragon King Bloodline of Hogwarts

Chapter 14 The Choice of the Philosopher's Stone

The clouds spread out beneath my feet.

The Ironbelly Dragon's wings sliced ​​through the airflow. Viserys lay on the dragon's neck, his right hand pressed against the scales. The burn marks had scabbed over thanks to the potion, but the skin on his right arm still hurt when it was pulled during flight.

Hermione sat behind him, the dragon egg wrapped in her robe and held in her arms. Her hair was torn into a mess by the wind, and tears welled up in her eyes.

"Its eye," her voice was shattered by the wind, but each word seemed to leap out, "it almost crashed into the clock tower!"

"It's still adjusting to the light." Viserys didn't turn around. "There's no light in Gringotts, and its pupils need time to contract."

The dragon's eyes turned to one side, the outline of the clouds reflected in its pale pupils. Its vision had recovered somewhat, but not enough; the strong sunlight caused its eyelids to blink involuntarily.

Hermione nodded, then turned to look down at the Scottish Highlands rushing past. The mountains rose and fell, the lakes shimmering like shards of silver. She pointed to a silvery-grey ribbon in the distance.

"There are farmlands over there, a canyon over there, and people on that lake over there!"

"The Ministry of Magic is going to be busy." Viserys's voice was thinned by the wind, but every word reached Hermione's ears steadily. "A dragon smashed through Gringotts' bronze doors in central London. Muggle banishment and concealment spells can wipe away the traces afterward, but the people on that street at the time—their eyes can't be controlled by spells. Some will claim to have seen the giant bird, others will insist it was a plane malfunction, the entrance to Diagon Alley will be temporarily closed, and the goblins will have to spend a lot of Galleons to repair their prized security system."

He looked down at the Scottish wilderness beneath the dragon's wings.

"This world is different from mine. In my world, Targaryens conquered the Seven Kingdoms riding dragons. Dragons weren't things to be hidden; they were symbols of royalty. Here, wizards hide their magic in underground vaults, behind every ordinary brick wall that's been enchanted with a banishing spell. They possess the power to change the world, yet they pretend they don't exist."

He recalled the records he'd found in the library. Voldemort, whose name was mostly replaced by "Mysterious Man" by wizards, reigned for only a decade or so at its peak, confined to the British Isles. Even earlier, Grindelwald, with the slogan "For the greater good," instigated the Wizarding Wars across Europe, attempting to break the Statute of Secrecy and establish open wizarding rule over Muggles. Both were vying for the same thing—who would decide whether wizards should remain in the shadows or in the light, who would decide whether their powers should be locked away or unleashed.

"The wizards here clearly have power, but they hide it. No wonder the purebloods only have that little bit in their blood to fight over."

Hermione listened quietly, her hair a mess from the wind, and she frowned as she pulled her hair out of her mouth.

"But you're different. You rode a dragon and flew over London, not intending to hide at all."

Viserys did not turn around; his dragon wings sliced ​​a golden gash through the clouds, and sunlight poured down through the crack.

"So I have to be an outlier."

Hermione fell silent, the wind making her already messy hair even more disheveled, and she forgot to brush it aside.

She looked at his back, at that figure riding so naturally on the dragon's neck. The distance that had been bridged when they fought side-by-side in Gringotts and the Chamber of Secrets was now widened again by those words, stretched far apart. Far enough that she could see the gap between them. He was a descendant of a dragon king from another world, and she was from this world, the daughter of a dentist who hadn't even had a chance to enroll in school yet.

She hugged the dragon egg in her arms a little tighter; the shell was warm, like something certain.

"Where do we go now?"

"Hogwarts," Viserys said. "Professor McGonagall will get your parents there safely."

Hermione paused for a moment, then her eyes lit up. Her parents were already at Hogwarts—the best news she could think of at that moment. They were certainly worried about her, and she was worried about them, but at least they no longer had to guess each other's safety through the collapsed tunnels of Gringotts.

Moreover, Hogwarts.

She had to go in before school even started. This thought, like a small flame, burst forth from beneath her earlier fear and exhaustion, and she couldn't help but smile slightly.

"Wait a minute." She suddenly turned to Viserys, her brow furrowing slightly. "Bringing a dragon to Hogwarts, wouldn't that be breaking school rules?"

"It doesn't count until the students have been assigned to a different department."

"I guess that counts."

Viserys glanced at her. "Daemon Targaryen led it, and many people would love to have me do it too."

The dragon folded its wings and began to descend.

The treetops at the edge of the Forbidden Forest bent sharply to one side under the wind pressure. A flock of crows took flight with a whoosh, and goblins were ripped from the ground and thrown into the bushes. The Iron-bellied Dragon's claws struck the ground, pressing a huge dent into the grass.

Hagrid burst out of the hut. A pink umbrella was held aloft, a stone crossbow was clutched, and the mouth was open. Then he saw the dragon.

The crossbow dangled to his side, and the umbrella fell to the ground.

"Merlin's beard." He laughed, a pure, unadulterated laugh. "A true dragon."

He walked halfway around the dragon, quick but keeping his distance. He noticed the worn scales, the old wounds on the wing membranes, and the excessively thick neck joints; his excited expression momentarily faltered.

"It was locked."

"Underground in Gringotts, for many years." Viserys slid down from the dragon's neck, his knees buckling as he landed. "Never seen the sunlight."

Hagrid looked into the dragon's eyes again, then crouched down; even crouching, his massive body was still taller than a normal person.

"My name is Rubeus Hagrid, the gamekeeper at Hogwarts. You can smell me."

The dragon heard this and gave a low, guttural response from deep within its throat—not a threat.

Hermione was lowered from the dragon's tail, and she turned to Hagrid, "It needs a place to rest."

Hagrid finally snapped out of his daze, his gaze darting back and forth between the two children. "Who are you? I mean, you're not Hogwarts students, I don't know you, but you're riding dragons,"

"Viserys Targaryen, she is Hermione Granger. We're starting school in September."

Hagrid's eyebrows rose from beneath his tousled hair. Then his mouth slowly parted, revealing a huge smile.

"You, Merlin, you haven't even enrolled yet! A first-year student arrives riding a dragon!" He laughed, his voice so loud that the last goblin that hadn't escaped from the nearby bushes tumbled and scrambled into its burrow. "After school starts, you must come to my hut. I'll show you my dragon encyclopedia, all the species: Hungarian Horned Beetle, Norwegian Ridgeback, Welsh Green Dragon. Yours isn't in the encyclopedia, Merlin, I've been looking for it for twenty years. I'll bake you some rock crust."

Behind one of the castle windows, someone had already seen the dragon descend. McGonagall walked out of the castle's main gate, her steps quicker than usual, her square-framed glasses perched neatly on her nose, and her robes were different—the one charred in Gringotts was gone.

She saw the burn marks on Viserys' right arm, the charred black spots on Hermione's sleeve, and the Iron-bellied Dragon crawling beside them.

"Mrs. Pomfrey is already waiting in the medical room," she said. "You two, now."

Hagrid stood up from beside the dragon, spreading his hands: "Professor McGonagall, dragons need caves."

"Then you can go find Dumbledore; he'll be waiting for you in his office." McGonagall didn't look at him; her gaze remained fixed on Viserys's right arm. "Regarding the dragon's placement, you can apply to the Headmaster."

Hagrid nodded and backed away, bumping into a rock and nearly falling, his face still bearing that uncontrollable smile.

Hermione picked up the dragon egg from her bosom and handed it to Viserys.

Will I see you when school starts?

"September."

She nodded, followed McGonagall for a few steps, glanced back, and then quickened her pace to catch up with McGonagall.

She will come in September, less than two months from now.

In the headmaster's office, Fawkes dozed off on the perch. Dumbledore sat behind his desk, his fingers interlaced. Viserys stood beside the desk, holding the Philosopher's Stone.

"It was found in the dragon's mouth," he said.

"It is yours now," Dumbledore said.

Viserys looked down at the Philosopher's Stone, where a deep red light pulsated within it.

"Voldemort will come back for it."

"Yes," Dumbledore's blue eyes were calm behind his half-moon lenses, "but the stone chooses to remain in your hands, and when you no longer need it, it will choose again, not forever."

Viserys put the Philosopher's Stone into the inner pocket of his robe.

"I found the manor, and I opened it."

Dumbledore's hand paused in mid-air, then slowly lowered. "I knew you would find it."

Viserys turned and pushed open the door, the principal's office door closing behind him.

He reached into the inner pocket of his robe; the Philosopher's Stone was warm against his fingertips. The words spoken in the Gringotts tunnel still echoed calmly, "I'm curious to see what his descendants can achieve in my world."

He won't be so weak next time he comes.

Viserys turned and walked toward the cellar. In the battle of Gringotts, he had fused the priest's fire spear with his own bloodfire; he needed to know if that thing was still there.

The corridor was secluded, not far from the Slytherin crypt. Torches burned quietly on the stone walls. He stopped and drew his wand.

Damon's notes described how to absorb and utilize other flames. When he read them, he only had his own flame, but things were different after Gringotts, when that thing had traveled through his body.

Magic converges at the tip of the staff.

A point of light leaped out, golden-red, hovering in mid-air. He used his mind to guide it, lengthening and sharpening it. The flame swirled and contracted above his palm, about an inch long, with a sharp arrowhead and a straight shaft.

It became.

Suddenly it shuddered violently.

The arrowhead sparked first, then the shaft broke in two. The entire arrow shattered silently into a shower of light, swallowed by the air.

He lowered his arms, his breathing becoming heavier than before, indicating that his magical power had not fully recovered.

A sudden burning sensation in my chest.

The light from the Philosopher's Stone, blood red, pierced through the robe and surged up the chest to the right shoulder, flowing down the arm and into the wand.

Viserys was stunned; the Philosopher's Stone was giving him magic!

The Gringotts scene flips back, showing Voldemort pressing the stone into the priest's palm. The movement is brutal, like forcing a door that refuses to open; in that battle, it did not choose Voldemort.

It chose him.

Viserys gripped the staff handle and raised his arm again.

The tip of the staff lit up again.

This time, the flames no longer leaped wildly when they erupted; instead, they automatically converged into an arrow shape. The three flame arrows hovered above his palm, slowly rotating like darts held by a magnet.

He stared at the three spinning flaming arrows for a moment, then flicked his wrist.

Three arrows shot out in response, their flames trailing golden-red tails across the corridor, simultaneously striking the same brick on the opposite stone wall.

A muffled thud.

A fist-sized crater blasted open in the stone wall, sending shards of stone flying and sparks flying everywhere. The torch on the wall flickered violently, and his shadow trembled wildly against the surface.

Viserys stood there, looking at the still-smoking crater, a slow smile creeping onto his lips.

This is the priest's fire.

In the battle at Gringotts, the priest used fire to shape and attack him, and now that power is in his own hands. He not only swallowed it, but also turned it into his own arrows, though he only had time to condense three.

Three.

The smile faded.

The hole in the stone wall was smoking, which looked frightening enough, but it wasn't nearly enough; he needed more.

If more fire can be found, absorbed, and transformed, these three arrows can become thirty, or something sharper than arrows.

And the magic of this world.

The Hogwarts library, the classrooms, the professors who brushed past him in the corridors—he hadn't truly made use of any of these things yet. Voldemort's tone in Gringotts was like that of someone looking at an experiment. Well, let him see how much this experiment can take from his world. And the priestess of the Lord of Light—she must hold the secret of two worlds within her.

He withdrew his hand and turned to walk towards the library.

The three arrows were just the beginning.

Daenerys sat in the corner by the window, next to the lowest shelf of the bookshelf. The Encyclopedia of Magical Creatures lay open on her lap, and she had copied Fawkes onto a sticky note with a yellow crayon, but it didn't quite look like him. She looked up when she heard footsteps, her purple eyes flashing.

She slid off the chair, put the book back on the bottom shelf—she remembered where it was. Then she walked up to Viserys and looked up at the burn mark on his right arm.

"My brother is injured."

"It's all better now." He crouched down to look her in the eye.

She reached out a finger and very lightly touched the edge of the rune on his palm. The rune felt slightly warm under her fingertip.

"Dani," Viserys said, "I'll show you something tomorrow morning."

"What?"

"A dragon, alive, it's on the edge of the Forbidden Forest."

Daenerys's eyes widened, her purple eyes staring unblinkingly at him.

"Is this a gift for me?"

Viserys paused for a moment. He hadn't thought of that word when the dragons escaped from Gringotts vault, but she said it: gift.

I guess so.

Daenerys nodded, a small but deep smile curving her lips. Then she buried her face in his sleeve, rubbing it against him; the cuff still carried the coolness of dragon scales and the fishy smell of the lake.

"My brother is back," she said.

"Yes, I'm back."