28th June 1994
Room of Requirement
3rd Person POV
The enormous chamber the Room of Requirement had transformed into was silent as a tomb.
It resembled a shadowed version of the Great Hall — vast pillars, vaulted ceiling lost in darkness, and only a handful of torches lining the walls, their pale flames swaying gently like watchful specters. The dim golden glow they cast was nothing compared to the other source of light in the chamber: the pulsing cocoon at its center.
Seven days ago, when the ritual began, Smaug's colossal golden corpse had lain beside Benjamin Carter, encircled by overlapping rings of glowing runes. Flesh, scales, bones, sinew — the ancient dragon's entire being had been offered to the ritual meant to push Benjamin past the limits of humanity.
Now Smaug was gone.
Every scale, every nerve, every drop of blood had been broken down and woven into Ben's body. What would have been a guaranteed death sentence for any wizard was only survivable thanks to the potent regenerative qualities of unicorn blood sustaining him through a week of destruction and rebirth.
For seven days and seven nights, the ritual had unmade him.
Rewritten him.
Reforged him.
Now it reached its end.
The cocoon, silent for a week, pulsed once — a deep, resonant thrum like a heartbeat. Lines of molten gold rippled across its surface, veins of fire weaving themselves into bright, shifting patterns.
Then it cracked.
A spiderweb of fractures raced outward. Light leaked from them — blinding, gold-white, growing brighter with each heartbeat.
And then—
BOOM.
The cocoon exploded outward in a burst of incandescent fire. Shards of crystallized magic sprayed through the air before dissolving like falling sparks.
A wave of heat rippled across the room, so intense it made the very stones tremble.
And from the heart of the fire…
A figure rose.
---
Ben's POV
My mind floated somewhere between sleep and waking — fuzzy, sluggish, like it had been wrapped in cotton. Pain registered first… except it didn't feel like pain. More like an echo of it. A distant, half-remembered throb that faded even as I tried to identify it.
Then even that disappeared.
I attempted to move my arms.
Nothing.
For a second, real panic stirred — then passed, as sensation returned in a warm wave. My fingers flexed. My legs responded. The paralysis melted away as though someone had whispered a counter-curse directly into my bones. I blinked groggily, then forced my eyes open.
My vision was… wrong.
Too sharp. Too vivid.
The room snapped into focus like the world had been poorly rendered before and the universe finally turned its graphics settings to Ultra HD.
Colors became richer. Shadows dissolved. Details I had never known were even visible leapt out at me — tiny flecks in the stone walls, the faint shimmer of leftover magic in the air… and a single strand of dark hair lying thirty feet away.
Thirty feet, and I could count its split ends.
The darkest corners of the room lit up under my gaze like someone had pointed a spotlight at them.
"Alright…" I muttered, or tried to — my voice came out deeper, smoother. "…this is new."
I waved a hand, conjuring a full-length mirror in front of me. The polished surface gleamed.
I stared at the reflection.
Still short dark hair. Still blue eyes — except they almost seemed to glow now, like someone had poured starlight into them.
But everything else?
Different.
Completely, dramatically different.
I'd grown taller — from about 175 cm to roughly 185 cm. Over six feet. My face had changed too. The softer lines of early adolescence were gone. My jaw was sharper. Cheekbones stronger. Chin more defined.
I looked… older. Stronger. Sharper.
A version of me I'd only ever half-imagined.
My gaze dropped lower.
Oh.
Oh wow.
Before the ritual, I'd had the early-stage physique of a teenager who exercised regularly. Now?
Now I looked like a fitness model who moonlighted as a demigod.
Broad shoulders. Solid, sculpted pecs. Defined arms. Biceps that bulged when I so much as flexed my fingers. A lean, hard abdomen with the beginnings of a six-pack.
I turned slightly.
Yep. Not imagining it. Definitely an upgrade.
Even my skin was flawless — no blemishes, no moles, even the two small scars I'd lived with for years had vanished.
"…Not bad," I said with a grin, and struck a bodybuilder pose. Because if you can't admire a magically-upgraded physique, what's the point of having one?
My voice reverberated oddly in the chamber — deeper, richer, like someone had run my previous voice through a premium bass enhancer.
Time to check the inside.
I cast Diagnostic.
The results hit me like opening a book where every page was a miracle.
My reflexes had become razor-sharp—animalistic, almost feline. My balance felt preternatural. Even standing still, I sensed every micro-adjustment in my muscles and tendons.
My muscles themselves were a marvel—dense, powerful, yet shockingly supple. They didn't strain or burn the way human muscles should. Lactic acid buildup was drastically reduced. Recovery? Instantaneous.
My kidneys were practically super-filters, capable of neutralizing impurities so thoroughly I could probably drink questionable water sources without blinking.
My digestive system…
"Extremely efficient" didn't begin to cover it.
Nutrient extraction was off the charts. Waste production drastically minimized. Realistically, I wouldn't need to use the bathroom nearly as often.
My lungs were powerhouses—breathing was smooth, deep, and absolutely effortless. I could likely run for miles at breakneck speed without tiring. They were fortified against toxins, too.
Stomach, liver, filtration systems?
Capable of breaking down almost any organic matter. Most poisons couldn't even enter the system before being neutralized.
My circulatory system was reinforced. My heart beat with controlled strength; my arteries and veins were durable, flexible, and safeguarded against clotting or rupture.
Stem cell production was dramatically enhanced. Cellular regeneration was wildly accelerated. My immune system felt… fierce. Protective. Ruthless.
Then came the greatest surprise.
My bones, organs—even my skin—contained a lattice of naturally produced carbon nanotubes.
Smaug hadn't been invincible by chance.
This was the reason.
Those nanotubes formed a network that could absorb, redirect, or diminish the energy from spells. Even a volley of stunning spells might barely faze me now. Physical trauma? Reduced dramatically.
And my skin—fortified, resilient—felt like it could shrug off punishment that would cripple normal humans.
There was one downside, though…
"I'm going to eat like a dragon," I muttered. "Great."
This body would burn calories at absurd rates. Constant refueling would be essential. But hey—at least exercise wouldn't be mandatory anymore. My new body self-maintained.
I took a breath.
I felt powerful.
Primal.
Alive in a way no human had any right to be.
And long-lived—very long-lived. My telomeres were stabilizing constantly. Staying alive and young for millennia would no longer a problem.
And then came the realization that made me grin like an idiot.
My magic.
Before, I'd had an impressive internal reservoir. Strong for my age—strong for almost any age.
Now?
Magic flooded out of me in waves. Tangible. Heavy. Warm. A roaring storm just beneath my skin.
I raised my hands almost unconsciously.
Twin miniature fire tornadoes burst into existence above my palms—swirling, crackling vortexes of flame and wind.
The same spell I'd struggled to maintain in Middle-earth… now effortless.
Casual.
Like twirling a pencil.
I flicked my hands.
The tornadoes shot across the room, rising higher and higher, heat rippling through the chamber.
My magic reserves?
Barely dented.
My control?
Tight. Precise. Unshakable.
At last… every scrap of knowledge, every spell, every technique I'd learned was finally ready for full use.
I dropped my hands and let the fire dissipate. The fire tornadoes fizzled out near the far wall, leaving swirling scorch marks that shimmered briefly before the Room casually healed them.
I stood there for a moment, breathing in, basking in the power humming beneath my skin.
I felt strong.
I felt sharp.
I felt unstoppable.
I felt like the apex predator Smaug had once been.
And unlike him, I planned to put this power to good use.
But first, I needed to test myself.
The Room seemed to sense that thought because the space around me shifted. The stone floor rippled like water, expanding outward. Pillars rose from the ground in symmetrical rows. Target dummies formed in a neat line. A wide running track unfurled across the chamber, curving into the distance like a miniature Olympic arena.
"Alright," I grinned. "Let's do this."
Strength Test
I walked to the nearest stone pillar.
Just a simple punch, I told myself.
Then I punched.
The pillar exploded.
Stone detonated outward like a frag grenade, the shockwave sweeping across the chamber. Dust swirled through the air as rubble bounced harmlessly against my shins. When the debris settled, all that remained of the pillar was a crater and a few sad pebbles.
"…Okay," I muttered. "So we're skipping straight to Hercules mode."
The Room obligingly repaired the damage—stones knitting together in reverse, the pillar reforming piece by piece like someone rewinding time.
Speed Test
The running track beckoned. I jogged to the starting line, took a breath, and—
Moved.
Not ran. Not sprinted.
I blurred.
The world whipped past me in streaks of stone and torchlight. My feet hammered the track with rapid-fire impacts that somehow didn't tear my legs apart. Wind howled past my ears. I didn't feel the burn of exertion or the ache of muscles—just pure momentum.
When I skidded to a halt, I realized I had circled the entire track in seconds.
Seconds.
A low laugh escaped my throat. I ran again—another blur, another circuit, another burst of sheer exhilaration. On the third lap I jumped, and cleared a ten-foot-high hurdle without breaking stride.
I stopped only when the Room flickered warning runes at me, clearly concerned I might accidentally break the speed of sound inside a school.
Endurance / Agility Test
Obstacle courses sprouted next—towering platforms, swinging blades, narrow beams, shifting walls, and flaming hoops. It was as if the Room had raided a Triwizard maze, a ninja warrior set, and several dark wizard hideouts, then mashed them into one absurd circuit.
"Perfect," I said.
I started running.
My reflexes carried me through effortlessly. Duck. Twist. Leap. Roll. Flip. My body responded with mechanical precision, like I'd bypassed years of training and gone straight to mastery. On one jump, I fully expected to fall short—only to realize midair that my sense of balance was rewriting the laws of physics.
I landed lightly on a moving platform, grinning like I'd invented gravity.
A swinging blade came straight for my face.
I tilted my head a fraction. The blade sliced past with a whisper, trailing sparks along the carbon nanotubes in my skin.
The Room actually paused the course for a moment, as if recalibrating difficulty.
I smirked.
"Keep it coming."
Spell Resistance Test
A cluster of enchanted dummies rose around me, glowing runes etched across their wooden forms. They raised their arms.
A volley of spells shot forward.
I didn't dodge.
A low-powered Depulso hit my chest—hard enough to stagger a normal wizard. Except it just felt… warm. Tingling. Like someone tossing a pebble at a brick wall.
Stunner. Deflected.
Blasting Hex. Absorbed.
Petrificus. Dissipated.
Full Body-Bind. Dead on arrival.
My carbon nanotube-laced tissues absorbed and redirected magical energy like a living lightning rod.
One dummy fired a Reductor Curse.
It pushed me back an inch.
One inch.
"That," I said, "should definitely have hurt."
The dummies upped the power. Coordinated attacks blasted me from every direction—flashes of scarlet, orange, purple, blue. The air shook with spells.
I stepped forward through the storm, brushing off the magic like dust.
When the barrage ended, the dummies sagged on their stands, clearly confused.
I cracked my knuckles.
"My turn."
I raised one hand and conjured a fireball—not huge, just the size of a Quaffle.
But the moment it formed, I felt how absurd it was. The magic thrummed in my palm with a smooth, bottomless depth. I didn't need a chant. I didn't need focus.
I was the focus.
With a flick, I sent the fireball forward.
It hit the dummy and disintegrated it completely. Ash drifted to the floor like fallen snow.
Fine Control Test
I needed something delicate—something to ensure I wasn't all brute force now.
The Room responded by conjuring a set of tiny floating needles. Dozens of them. Each glimmering faintly with runic etchings. They arranged themselves into a sphere around me, waiting.
Perfect.
I held out both hands and summoned raw magic—thin threads of precise golden energy spiraling from my fingertips. I guided the needles through complicated patterns, weaving them in formation like a miniature ballet troupe.
It felt easy. Too easy.
I increased the difficulty.
The needles accelerated.
Paths crossed.
Patterns grew intricate.
The formations twisted into fractal patterns.
Still easy.
Then I split my concentration—controlling some of the needles with my right hand, some with my left, and used my mind to redirect the rest.
The swirling patterns synced into a mesmerizing 3D tapestry.
None crashed.
None wavered.
I exhaled softly.
My control was sharper than ever—smoother than I'd dared to hope.
Final Trial: Combat Drill
The Room shifted one last time. Five bludgers drifted up from the floor and hovered in a star pattern around me, waiting.
I chose not to think.
Instinct took over.
I leapt upward—twisting in midair—and fired a concentrated Firebolt at the closest bludger, detonating it into harmless embers.
I flipped backward—caught another speeding bludger in my hand—and crushed it with surprising ease.
A third bludger zipped towards my face. I just raised my hand and had a thought. A white hot tendril of lightning manifested and obliterated the black iron ball.
Fourth bludger—slashed apart with a simple gesture, wind currents bending at my command.
Fifth bludger—I shattered with a punch that sent shockwaves crawling across the floor like quivering serpents.
When I landed, the chamber fell silent.
The Room of Requirement shimmered faintly… almost like it was applauding.
I let out a breath—long, steady, exhilarated.
"Alright," I said softly. "Now let's see what it's like to be a dragon."
---
28th June 1994
Forbidden Forest
As I opened the portal, I couldn't help but marvel at the change in my magic. Before, opening a portal took effort.
Focus on the destination.
A precise hand gesture.
A steady stream of magic to keep the wormhole stable.
Now?
I just visualised the place and pointed.
The air peeled open like it was eager to obey me.
I stepped through.
Sunlight greeted me instantly, warm and bright as I emerged into the forest clearing. Fresh air rushed into my enhanced lungs—light, crisp, impossibly sharp. Everything felt cleaner now, as though my body had gone from "standard human model" to "dragon-grade biological engine."
My senses stretched outward without needing to try.
Sound rushed in first—layers and layers of it, distinct and harmonious:
The pounding heartbeats of every animal within a mile.
The delicate flutter of a bird's wings on the far side of the clearing.
Water dripping rhythmically inside caves beneath the hillside.
A rat nosing through grass twenty-five meters behind me.
Then smell hit—vivid and complex:
Pine sap.
Damp earth.
The sweet drift of honeysuckle from the forest's edge.
Even the subtle ozone-like scent of buried magic.
My vision sharpened next, shifting into something almost unreal. Color deepened. Edges refined. Shadows clarified. I could count the hairs on a squirrel's tail halfway up a tree. I could see the veins in leaves fluttering in the wind.
It didn't overwhelm me.
It all… harmonized.
This was what dragons perceived.
Awareness as vast as the sky itself.
I took a breath.
Time for the finale.
"Let's do this," I murmured.
I closed my eyes and reached inward to the part of me that wasn't human anymore.
The part that hummed with molten sunlight.
The magic responded instantly.
Power curled up my spine—warm, heavy, resonant. My bones vibrated, not painfully but like someone striking a tuning fork made of me. My skin rippled as golden scales shimmered across it, blooming outward like a living mosaic. My heartbeat deepened—shifting from the rhythm of a boy… to the thunder of a beast.
My limbs stretched and thickened. Muscles unspooled, rewove, grew ancient and immense. My spine lengthened with crack-crack-crack sounds as vertebrae multiplied in rapid succession.
A long, sinuous tail unfurled behind me.
Then—
Wings.
They burst from my back in a glorious sweep, not with pain but with triumph—like banners snapping open to greet a waiting sky.
The ground trembled under my expanding weight. Trees shuddered and shed leaves like nervous dandruff.
In barely ten seconds, I was no longer human.
I was a dragon.
A towering, radiant, twenty-meter-long gold dragon with an eighteen-meter wingspan. My scales gleamed like hammered sunlight. Each breath sent shimmering waves of heat distorting the air. My claws sank into the earth, carving trenches as easily as fingers through soft sand.
I flexed a wing.
FWHUMP.
A shockwave rippled outward. Trees rattled. Leaves erupted in a cyclone. A few woodland creatures peeked out, stared, and collectively decided they wanted absolutely none of whatever I was.
My draconic eyes opened fully—molten amber slit by vertical pupils—and the world exploded into clarity.
Enhanced senses multiplied:
I heard a beetle tunneling underground.
I smelled which exact tree a squirrel climbed three hours ago.
I tasted the ambient magic in the air—sharp, electric, intoxicating.
And beneath it all…
I felt… unfinished. Not incomplete, but growing.
This form wasn't my peak. Not even close.
This was the adolescent stage of something that would one day surpass even Smaug.
The realization made a deep, satisfied growl roll through my chest.
I shifted experimentally.
My tail swept behind me—
—and sliced cleanly through a fallen log like it was sponge cake.
Oops.
I flapped my wings once—
FWOOOOOM—
—and leaves, rocks, and possibly a confused badger were launched skyward in a very undignified manner.
A cloud of warm smoke curled from my nostrils. I was amused, exhilarated… and painfully aware that if I wasn't careful, I'd accidentally redecorate half of Scotland.
But flying?
Flying was non-negotiable.
Time to take off.
Three.
Two.
One.
I crouched, muscles coiling—
—and lunged skyward.
FWHOOOOM
One explosive wingbeat devastated the clearing. Grass flattened. Branches shook violently. Leaves swirled into the air like confetti thrown by panicked wedding guests.
I blasted upward.
I tore through the treetops, erupting into open sky in a burst of golden scales and shattered twigs. For a heartbeat I hung weightless, suspended between the blazing morning sun and the world falling away beneath me.
Then I beat my wings again.
FWHUMP. FWHUMP.
I soared.
Wind streamed along my scales—cold, sharp, exhilarating.
Below me, the Forbidden Forest rippled like a dark green ocean, its canopy bending under the force of my wingbeats.
My senses sharpened even further now that I was airborne.
The morning air tasted like freedom.
Magic vibrated across the sky like hidden songlines.
The world hummed beneath me—alive, interconnected, impossibly detailed.
I banked left, my enormous body cutting through the sky with a grace that felt ancient… instinctive… mine.
My tail swept behind me, steadying my glide.
I climbed, wings pulling me higher and higher.
I opened my maw.
And I roared.
It wasn't a shout.
It wasn't even sound in the human sense.
It was music.
Deep, resonant, golden thunder that rolled across the land and reverberated against the heavens.
The wind howled past my ears as I soared over the empty Highlands, far from curious professors, judgmental portraits, and any building I might accidentally set on fire. Below me stretched nothing but endless green valleys and cracked stone ridges — the perfect place to see what my new lungs could really do.
I hovered there, wings spread wide, sunlight washing over golden scales.
"Alright," I muttered to myself in a voice that rumbled like distant thunder, "let's see what we can do."
I inhaled.
The breath wasn't air — it was power.
Magic pooled inside my chest like molten gold, coiling tighter, hotter, brighter with every heartbeat.
Then I opened my jaws.
And unleashed.
FWOOOOOOOM.
A torrent of dragonfire roared into the sky — not red, not orange, but pure gold, spiraling outward like a solar flare. It twisted and curled in a corkscrew of blistering heat, bright enough to cast shadows on the mountains below.
The air rippled violently.
Clouds instantly vaporized.
Heat shimmered across the horizon like the world was bending.
And I could feel it — the sheer force, the overwhelming fire-magic coursing through me. This wasn't like conjuring flame with a wand. This was primal. Ancient. Alive.
I angled my head downward.
FWOOOOSH—KRAAACK!
A beam of concentrated dragonfire speared toward a distant cliff. Stone didn't melt — it evaporated. A perfect glowing line was carved straight through the rock face like a hot knife through butter.
I blinked.
"…okay. Maybe don't aim that anywhere near civilization."
I drew in another breath, testing control.
This time, I let a thin stream loose — a narrow beam of white-hot flame no thicker than a man's arm. It sliced a boulder cleanly in half.
Precision mode?
Check.
Power mode?
Terrifying.
But also check.
For fun, I tried a large sweeping arc next.
FWWWHOOOSH—
A massive wave of fire spread out like the breath of an angry sun, scorching the air but touching nothing below thanks to a careful upward angle.
The warmth glowed along my scales, humming pleasantly.
"Okay," I rumbled to myself.
"This is officially the coolest thing I've ever done."
I beat my wings once, rising even higher into the blue.
One last test.
I inhaled — deeper than before — feeling my chest expand with volcanic power.
ROOOOOOOOOOAAAAAAR—FWOOM!
Silence followed.
The world felt small beneath me.
And I felt… unstoppable.
After a long moment, I let my wings dip, gliding gently toward the ground.
"Right," I muttered to myself, "definitely not doing that near Hogwarts."
And grinning like a lunatic, I soared back toward home.
---
28th June 1994 – Scottish Airspace
Commercial Flight 247, London → Reykjavik
The flight had been perfectly normal.
Clouds.
Snoring passengers.
Crying toddler in Row 9.
Overpriced sandwiches.
Then the aircraft lurched.
Not violently — but enough for the pilot, Captain Harris, to glance out the left window.
He froze.
A golden dragon — twenty meters long, glowing like a newborn sun — shot upward past the plane in a vertical spiral, leaving a fiery vortex in its wake.
Captain Harris blinked once.
Twice.
Three times.
The dragon exhaled a thin beam of molten fire that sliced a cloud in half.
The flight attendant knocked, "Captain? Is everything alright?"
"…Mary?" he whispered.
"Yes?"
"…what's our policy for reporting large airborne reptiles?"
"…pardon?"
He swallowed.
Hard.
"Ladies and gentlemen," he said over the intercom, voice trembling, "if you look to your left, you will see what appears to be a… a… mythical creature setting the sky on fire."
Half the plane screamed.
The other half pressed themselves against the windows.
One passenger fainted face-first into a cup of tomato juice.
A small child gasped, delighted:
"LOOK MUMMY! IT'S SPYRO!"
Captain Harris flicked on the radio.
"Control, this is Flight 247 — we just had a visual on… on… something. Large. Gold. Flying. Possibly hostile. Possibly on fire."
"Please clarify," the radio crackled.
The captain stared numbly at the sky.
The dragon roared — a thunderous, echoing call that rattled the fuselage.
Captain Harris whispered:
"…it waved at me."
Static.
Then the control tower responded with perfect Muggle professionalism:
"…say again?"
---
Headmaster's Office
Dumbledore sat in his armchair, peacefully sipping a cup of lemon-mint tea.
Across from him, Fawkes perched proudly on his stand.
The phoenix let out a sharp, urgent trill — the magical equivalent of:
ALBUS. SOMETHING IS ON FIRE.
Dumbledore didn't even look up.
"Yes, yes," he murmured, "I felt it."
Fawkes flapped his wings frantically.
Another indignant trill:
ALBUS. SOMETHING IS ON FIRE IN THE SKY.
Dumbledore continued sipping.
"Indeed," he said calmly, "Benjamin seems to be… experimenting with his new form."
Fawkes hopped closer, feathers bristling with offended disbelief.
A screech:
EXPERIMENTING IS NOT SUPPOSED TO BE VISIBLE FROM SPACE.
Dumbledore set down his teacup.
A small smile tugged at his lips.
"Fawkes, my dear friend… when Benjamin Carter does something, it is always visible from space."
Fawkes made a noise like an exasperated kettle.
Dumbledore glanced out the window just in time to see the distant flare of golden dragonfire lighting up the clouds.
He nodded to himself.
"Mmm. Yes. That is… definitely him."
The phoenix facepalmed with his wing.
---
Deeper in the Forbidden Forest
The centaurs were gathered in a clearing, gazes lifted toward the sky.
A streak of golden fire ripped through the clouds miles above — bright enough to illuminate the entire forest canopy in shimmering amber light.
Bane took a horrified step backward.
"This is NOT a normal celestial sign."
Firenze's eyes glowed with the reflection of the golden blaze.
His voice carried the weight of prophecy.
"This is no mere sign. It is a declaration."
Magorian pawed the ground. "A declaration of what?"
Firenze breathed, awestruck, "That a power has awakened. One not seen since the age of dragon-kings."
Bane snorted. "More like the age of catastrophes!"
But Firenze shook his head.
"No. The stars speak of great change. And today the sky answers. This golden fire… is not a herald of war."
"What then?" Magorian pressed.
Firenze looked toward the heavens, where Ben's dragonfire carved glowing scars across the sky.
"It is the herald of a new age."
Bane blinked.
"…of what kind of age?"
Firenze turned to him, expression serene.
"An age of unity.
Of transformation.
Perhaps even… peace."
Bane stared at him as if he'd grown a second torso.
"Peace?!" he snapped. "A dragon breathing fire across the heavens heralds peace?"
Firenze smiled faintly.
"Yes."
Magorian exhaled, eyes wide with wonder.
"Then the one who carries this flame… is destined to change the world."
Overhead, the golden dragon roared — a deep, resonant sound that echoed across the forest like ancient thunder.
The centaurs bowed their heads.
For omens this bright were not accidents.
They were beginnings.
---
Ben's POV
The euphoria of flight buzzed through every scale, every wing membrane, every inch of draconic muscle.
I angled downward, catching an updraft, letting it carry me in a lazy arc toward the clearing where I'd begun.
Trees parted beneath me as I descended.
My wings flared—
FWHOOOM
—and I landed with a deep, earth-shaking thud that sent a ring of ripples through the grass.
For a moment I just stood there, chest rising and falling, warm smoke curling from my nostrils. The aftertaste of dragonfire lingered on my tongue — metallic, electric, addictive.
One steady breath.
Two.
Three.
I closed my eyes and willed the change.
Golden scales sank into skin.
Wings collapsed inward with a ripple of light.
My body shrank, bones shifting, magic folded inward like a thousand suns dimming gently.
In a heartbeat, I stood on two human legs again — barefoot in the clearing, breath fogging lightly in the air.
I laughed once. Breathless. Giddy.
"That… was awesome."
I looked up at the sky, still trembling slightly with adrenaline.
"I need to do that again."
And with a grin I couldn't suppress, I stepped through a portal back to Hogwarts.