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[Hogwarts] Ch 90: The Escaped Fire Dragons
🕑 Added 2025-07-13 20:03:49 +0000 UTC— — — — — —
Tom didn't even blink—just pulled out the gold and paid.
Power was what really mattered. Money? Just a tool.
Across the counter, Borgin's grin stretched wider and wider. His hands moved quickly, stashing away the Galleons like a seasoned dealer.
Customers this generous? If it were anyone else without strength or status, Borgin would've already started planning a double-cross. But even now, he hadn't figured out where "Michael" came from. None of the pure-blood families he knew acted like this guy.
It was like this wizard had popped out of nowhere—or maybe... wasn't even from the Uk to begin with.
Still, until he was sure, Borgin would play it safe. He'd stick to being a shady but honest merchant—just one who charged a little more than usual.
"You've heard what's been happening up north, yeah?" Borgin didn't dive straight into the good stuff—he eased into it with a question of his own.
Tom nodded. "There've been more new Ministries of Magic founded in the past few weeks than in the last few decades."
He had a subscription to the Daily Prophet's international edition, and recently, entire pages had been filled with new ministry declarations.
Borgin leaned in and lowered his voice like he was about to share a state secret. "With all the power shifts going on, a lot of places are falling through the cracks—like, say, the Romanian Dragon Sanctuary. Two Fire Dragons escaped. Two Hebridean Blacks, the nastiest kind."
Tom's breath caught. "Still alive?"
Borgin rolled his eyes. "What, you think dead dragons run away?"
"Where?" Tom cut straight to the chase. No time for small talk.
This was gold—better than he could've hoped for. If he could find the dragon, he'd not only get materials for "Project 187" but possibly even complete a trial.
"One of them vanished completely. The other one's been spotted near the Vosges Mountains."
Tom frowned, piecing it together. "Border of France and Germany?"
"Exactly," Borgin nodded, voice hushed. "That place's been a mess lately. Refugee wizards from up north, scavengers, and now—poachers. It's a madhouse."
"How many people have you sold this info to?" Tom asked bluntly.
Borgin put on a mock-hurt expression. "Would old Borgin do something like that? You were the first one I thought of when I got the tip two days ago. I haven't told a soul—yet. But if you don't act in five days, I'm selling it to someone else."
"I can guarantee you, no more than five wizards in all of Britain know about this—and none of them are dragon-chasing types."
Tom narrowed his eyes. "But you can't say the same for the rest of the world, can you?"
Borgin shrugged. "There's no such thing as a perfect secret. Especially when we got this info the same way others can."
"If you're serious about going after that dragon, better get your team together soon."
"They're already waiting," Tom said, turning and walking out without another word.
Behind him, Borgin stroked his chin thoughtfully. "So he's not a solo act after all... Now that's even more interesting."
...
Using his "Michael" identity, Tom bought a one-way ticket to Lorraine, France.
Technically, you still needed a visa to get from the UK to France. But with a good Confundus Charm? That little detail became someone else's problem. He landed in Épinal by nightfall.
The Vosges Mountains—some people might draw a blank when they hear the name. But across the Rhine, in the German stretch of forest? That's the legendary Black Forest.
The area was sparsely populated, with fewer than a million people in the entire region—but the number of magical beasts and wizards hiding in those woods? Plenty. Magical creatures roamed freely here, living in large, hidden communities.
Tom rested for the night in town and planned to head into the forest the next day to find the local wizard settlement.
...
"You're sure I can use my wand here without any problems?" he asked Grindelwald suspiciously during his nighttime study session in the mental space.
"Distance-wise, London to Vosges isn't that different from London to Hogwarts. Wouldn't the Trace still work?"
Grindelwald smiled. "The Trace is a British tracking enchantment. Cross the border, and it stops working."
"No magical government wants another country's surveillance system snooping around. You're free to cast all you want."
"Once you get good enough at the Confundus Charm, you won't even need to worry about the Trace anymore."
Grindelwald had taught Tom a clever trick—cast a Confundus Charm on the wand itself, trick it into thinking its owner is already seventeen, and boom—no more Trace.
Unfortunately, Tom's skill with Confundus wasn't quite there yet. It'd take more practice to pull that off. For now, he'd still need to be careful.
The next day, Tom followed a few secret codes passed among wizards and found the gathering spot in the Vosges Mountains.
This place was unique. Rich in magical resources—rare herbs, magical beasts, precious metals—it also housed goblin clans, dwarf communities, and even a veela tribe. Over time, it attracted all sorts of wizards looking to strike it rich and eventually formed a large magical settlement.
At its heart was a massive plaza. Every building stood within two kilometers of it, and every few buildings you passed? Another pub or inn. And they were packed.
Tom picked a clean-looking inn, checked in, and immediately made his way to the busiest bar he could find.
As for his information-gathering strategy? Classic bait.
He ordered the most expensive drinks and dishes on the menu, flaunted his cash, acted drunk, then staggered out the door.
Within seconds, four people started tailing him—two working as a team, two acting alone.
He didn't let a single one escape.
All four were caught and rewarded with a generous dose of Veritaserum, then... questioned.
Besides the textbook stuff, Tom knew next to nothing about this region. He'd just bought a map that afternoon. So he started with basic knowledge—local customs, landmarks, geography—before moving on to what really mattered: the dragon.
Turns out, the rumor had already spread. Even low-level wizards like these had heard about a fire-breathing beast showing up in the Vosges.
But despite the hype, not many were actually hunting it.
First reason? The dragon was officially registered—it belonged to the Romanian Dragon Reserve, which was under joint control by multiple Ministries. Most wizards didn't want to mess with that kind of heat.
Second? It was a dragon. Not exactly something the average witch or wizard could take down. One wrong move and you're toast—literally. Sure, its body was made of valuable parts, but who'd risk their life for it?
Well, most wouldn't. But over the past few days, professional poachers had started arriving in groups. Based on the intel from these four alone, Tom estimated at least six or seven teams were already on the hunt.
In other words—he had competition. Plenty of it.
And the Vosges Mountains were huge. Trying to find one dragon in a place like this—especially one that could fly wherever it wanted—wasn't exactly easy.
With the info he needed secured, Tom didn't bother with the four he'd captured. He just headed back to the inn, entered his mental study space, and started working on a plan.
He had two experienced mentors in his head—not using them would be the real waste.
"There's about ten days until school starts," Tom muttered. "I have to find the dragon by then, or I'll need to come up with some excuse to get time off."
Andros didn't care whether Tom took time off or not—he focused purely on the task and started thinking of ideas seriously.
Grindelwald, though, frowned.
"If you take leave... I'll have to wait even longer to see Dumbledore again."
That line of thought led him to recall a very fitting Dark spell for this situation.
"The Blood Trace Charm. It tracked the strongest scent of blood nearby—perfect for finding a dragon's lair, since a creature like that would leave behind plenty of bloody leftovers."
Tom's eyes lit up. "Teach me."
He picked it up in one night.
The spell had a five-kilometer range, and when paired with his increasingly precise Apparition skills, Tom was able to sweep the forest in expanding circles centered around the settlement.
Two more days passed.
Bad news? Still no dragon.
Good news? No one else had found it either.
Tom wasn't the one feeling the pressure now—it was Grindelwald who was getting antsy. At this rate, Tom really might have to ask for leave.
...
Then, on the third day, Tom ran into a situation.
Well—not just people. A group of humans... and a group of Veela?
Over a dozen wizards were chasing eight Veela through the forest.
Only, these weren't the charming, enchanting beauties from the pages of storybooks. Right now, they looked like full-on harpies—clawed, red-haired, sharp-featured, and furious.
The Veela hovered in the air, lobbing fireballs at the wizards below. They had the aerial advantage, but the wizards were no amateurs. A few had linked their Protego spells into a shield wall that absorbed every attack. The others were blasting spells into the sky without holding back. One Veela had already been hit and was now being carried mid-air by her allies—weakening their firepower even more.
But what caught Tom's attention wasn't the chaos or the violence—it was the silver-haired girl hiding among the Veela. She looked thirteen or fourteen, still young, but already had the kind of allure that hinted at her mixed heritage.
A half-blood Veela...
Tom had a pretty good idea who she was now.
He didn't hesitate. He apparated to the edge of the battlefield and shouted:
"Stop! Let the Veela go—I'll take it from here!"
Everyone froze at the sudden intrusion.
One of the human wizards, a grizzled man with a scar running down his cheek, barked, "Piss off if you wanna live! We spotted them first!"
Tom ignored the threat. "Answer me one question, and maybe I'll leave."
The scarred man snorted. "What?"
"Do you know where the dragon is?"
"Dragon?" The man laughed like Tom had just told the dumbest joke in the world. "You think you can take on a dragon? Even if I did know, I'd tell you just to watch you get eaten."
Tom sighed. "So... you don't know."
Then he raised his wand.
"Hell's Grasp."
BOOM.
A monstrous hand made of silvery-blue Hellfire erupted from the ground. The Veela and wizards alike watched in horror as it surged upward and closed its burning fist around the clustered humans.
Their shield charm cracked like glass under pressure.
Within seconds, most of them were engulfed in flames and turned to ash, their screams swallowed by the roaring fire.
"NOOOO!"
The scar-faced wizard had somehow survived—barely. Enraged, he whipped his wand forward and shouted:
"Avada Kedavra!"
A jet of green light surged toward Tom.
He casually sidestepped.
"Reducto."
The man exploded.
Chunks of flesh rained down. Tom's hellfire, responding to his will, transformed into streaks of flame that danced like falling stars, crashing down on the rest of the survivors. Within ten seconds, there were none.
Tom looked over the scorched battlefield with satisfaction. All that studying had paid off. The nearly 1,000 credits he'd spent weren't wasted—he'd fully mastered the Fiendfyre Curse, along with several of Grindelwald's custom variations.
Drop him in Paris during Grindelwald's prime, and he might've burned the whole place down too.
Now, the forest was dead quiet—only the soft crackle of lingering fire remained. The Veela didn't dare breathe too loudly, frozen in place as the flames still floated in the air, cutting off any escape.
Tom gave them a nod and a half-smile.
"Shall we talk?" He looked up at them. "But please, calm down first. You're looking pretty... dangerous right now, and I'd hate to lose control."
Just in case they didn't speak English, Tom switched to French.
That did the trick—at least partially.
Most of them still looked on edge, but two of the Veela chirped out some high-pitched screeches that seemed to calm the others. Slowly, they descended to the ground—still keeping their distance and shielding the silver-haired girl in the back.
To show he meant no harm, Tom reabsorbed the Hellfire into his palm, the flames vanishing in a swirl of golden light.
"Honorable human sorcerer, thank you for your help," one of the Veela said in heavily accented French. She still looked like a harpy, though.
Tom didn't blame them. It was like trying to get a cat to stop puffing up its fur while it still felt threatened. The harpy form was clearly an emotional defense mechanism. And right now, they were very much still on edge.
He kept his voice steady and calm. "I'm only here for the dragon. I'm not interested in anything else."
"And since I did just save your lives, maybe you could help me out. Just point me toward the dragon, and we'll call it even."
The bilingual Veela translated for the others. They looked at each other, uneasy and unsure how to respond.
The dragon was dangerous.
So was this human.
And refusing... might mean none of them would make it out.
"Fleur?!"
Just then, new movement stirred in the forest.
Another group of Veela in their birdlike battle forms swooped in from the distance—more were coming.
.
.
.
