Dragon.
"Let's grab the cup at the same time," said Harry, staring at Cedric with unshakable calm.
"Are you sure? You got here first," Cedric replied in surprise, his eyes narrowed in doubt.
"Yes. We're both Hogwarts champions," Harry said with a calm, almost brotherly smile.
Cedric looked at him for a moment longer… then nodded, returning the smile.
"Then… let's do it."
They both turned to the cup, which shone like a star trapped in the heart of the maze. Standing side by side, hands outstretched, they counted together:
"Three… two… one…"
And then they touched it.
Reality seemed to tear apart around them. An invisible whirlwind enveloped them, dragging them as if caught in the current of a magical hurricane. The journey was more violent than anything they had ever experienced; their stomachs churned, their vision warped, and when they finally landed… it was with a hard thud against the cold ground.
The cup flew off, rolling away into the darkness.
Both were gasping for air, staggering as they tried to get up. Around them stretched an ancient graveyard, drowned in thick shadows. The only source of light came from a large cauldron, bubbling and lit with greenish flames, casting eerie, dancing shadows.
"Where… are we?" Cedric whispered, still disoriented.
Before anyone could say more, a beam of green light shot through the air with a deadly screech, fired directly at Cedric.
The Avada Kedavra.
It was so fast, so unexpected, that even with Einar's training, with all his reflexes, Cedric barely managed to turn his head toward the threat. The only thing his eyes saw"in that instant stretched into eternity"was death approaching.
But then… something happened.
A violet flare, searing and pure, shot from Harry's chest. Like a whip of divine fire, it intercepted the killing curse and disintegrated it on contact, reducing it to magical ashes.
Silence.
Cedric stood frozen, breathless. Harry stared at his chest in disbelief… where a small black head was emerging, with bright eyes and a proud glint.
"Viir!" Harry exclaimed, a mix of amazement and joy. His little dragon had just saved Cedric's life.
Cedric, still in shock, could only nod in gratitude… but both readied themselves when they heard footsteps approaching among the graves.
A voice rose, filled with fascination:
"That was fabulous, I must say. A creature that destroys an Avada… that shouldn't exist, should it, rat?"
From the shadows emerged a man dressed entirely in black. His face was hidden behind a plain cloth mask"nothing ceremonial, just practical. But the way he walked… radiated a tangible threat.
Behind him, stumbling with a look of panic, came Peter Pettigrew. In his arms, he held something… a deformed, small figure, barely human… but Harry recognized that face.
"Pettigrew!" Harry roared in fury. "And Voldemort…"
"What?" said Cedric, tense, his wand still raised.
"Kill him already," rasped Voldemort.
"Sure, sure," said the masked man, raising his wand and launching another Avada Kedavra.
But this time Cedric was ready. He moved with a swift spin and dodged the deadly beam by mere inches.
"Stupefy!" Cedric shouted, counterattacking. The spell flew straight, but the stranger blocked it effortlessly, as if he had anticipated it.
"If you're going to face someone trying to kill you, boy… you'll need to be more lethal," the masked man murmured, casting a curse. Cedric managed to dodge it, but where it hit, the ground exploded, and a brown liquid splashed out, staining his clothes.
Cedric watched in horror as his robe began to dissolve, turned to dust by the corrosive substance.
Harry, meanwhile, raised his wand, aiming at Pettigrew.
"Diffindo!"
Pettigrew reacted surprisingly fast. Spells flew in both directions like a storm"blocked, deflected, exploding between tombstones. Though a coward, Pettigrew had survived the war… and now he was casting precise spells, not to kill, but to capture.
"You're as annoying as a fly!" the masked man growled at Cedric, preparing something more powerful.
"Wait…" Voldemort suddenly intervened. "That boy… is interesting. Don't kill him. Control him."
The masked man lowered his wand at once.
Cedric blinked, confused. Was he surrendering? He took a step toward him… but stopped, his instincts screaming in warning.
Too late.
A spell hit him from behind, and his body tensed instantly. He was paralyzed, trapped inside his own body like a frozen puppet.
"Cedric!!" Harry shouted, running toward him.
But Cedric suddenly turned. His arm trembled… and pointed his wand at Harry.
"No…" Harry whispered, confused.
A blast hit his chest, throwing him backward. He struck a statue behind him and, as if it had come to life, it wrapped around him tightly, restraining him with arms of stone.
"Well done!" the masked man said with cold satisfaction.
Behind Cedric, someone else approached. Their face was shrouded in darkness, but something about their gait, their figure, felt disturbingly familiar to Harry.
"Well done, Nott," Voldemort said, with a twisted, inhuman smile. "With that… I'll forgive your earlier recklessness."
"Thank you, my lord," the man replied, kneeling with devotion.
"Wormtail! Begin!" Voldemort commanded, his voice trembling with anticipation.
Peter Pettigrew lunged toward Harry with a dagger in hand, his eyes wild with fear, devotion… and madness.
Before Peter could get close enough, a violet flame burst from Harry's chest, like a spear of ancient fury.
The tongue of fire shot forward like a burning lance, forcing Pettigrew to raise his wand desperately, conjuring a shield.
"Protego!" he cried.
But it was useless. The fire tore through the shield as if it were smoke, striking him directly in the chest. A blood-curdling scream filled the graveyard.
"AAAAHHH! NOOO! Mercy…!"
Peter writhed on the ground, his clothes burning without visible flame, as if his very soul were being ripped apart.
From Harry's chest, Viir, the little black dragon, leapt out fiercely, landing with wings spread and bared fangs.
Despite his size, he loomed like a sacred creature, a guardian from a forgotten legend. His eyes gleamed with unsettling intelligence and deadly resolve.
Lord Nott, wasting no time, raised his wand and shouted:
"Avada Kedavra!"
The green bolt struck the small dragon squarely.
"NOOO!" Harry roared, his soul shrinking as he watched the killing curse engulf Viir.
But when the glow faded… Viir was still there. Unharmed.
Not only that, but he wore a mocking smile, as if he had just witnessed a ridiculous attempt. A spark of irony gleamed in his eyes.
"Are you seriously trying to kill a dragon blessed by the one who walks with Death?" his gaze seemed to say.
With a restrained roar, Viir responded by unleashing a burst of emerald-green fire.
Nott barely rolled to the side before the flames could reach him. The fire didn't hit a human, but rather a nearby tree… which withered completely within seconds. Its leaves shriveled instantly, the bark cracked, and the trunk collapsed with a dry crunch.
This wasn't normal fire. It wasn't a curse.
It was the very essence of death wrapped in flame.
Everyone stood frozen for a moment. Even Voldemort narrowed his eyes in surprise… and greed.
"Capture it!" he bellowed in fury.
Nott and the other Death Eater moved at once, conjuring arcane traps and curses on the ground. Enchanted branches, black chains, and containment circles emerged like serpents.
But Viir was a living whirlwind. He leapt, spun through the air, spewed violet fire that melted barriers and shattered spells.
It was glorious chaos.
Until Nott, with cunning, slipped behind Harry and pressed his wand to his throat.
"Move... and your master dies," he hissed coldly.
Viir froze instantly. The fire vanished. The dragon slowly turned his head, locking eyes with Harry.
"Viir, run! I'm fine!" Harry shouted urgently.
But Viir didn't move. A moment later, the chains coiled around him like vipers, binding his body to the ground.
"Shut up!" Nott growled, digging his wand into Harry's neck.
Swiftly, he grabbed the dagger Pettigrew still held, raised it… and cut Harry's arm, drawing his blood.
Harry gritted his teeth to avoid screaming. Blood dripped as Nott collected it, hurrying toward Voldemort.
Meanwhile, Pettigrew, still trembling and burned, crawled to the altar with his head bowed.
"Continue, Wormtail. Continue!" Voldemort shouted, his face twisted with impatience and desire.
"Y-yes, my lord…" Peter murmured, taking the dagger now soaked with the Chosen One's blood.
The ritual was about to begin.
...…
Meanwhile, in the stands"at the exact moment Harry and Cedric vanished in a flash from the Tournament"a shiver ran through Einar's body. His gaze, normally calm and controlled, shifted to a mix of unease and indescribable gravity. The air around him thickened, as if the very atmosphere knew something was about to be unleashed.
His eyes sharpened, his jaw clenched. And without a word, his clothes began to dissolve into particles of light, floating gently like golden ash… until they were replaced by something far more imposing.
Everyone present turned instinctively. Not out of curiosity. Not by will.
Something ancient within them compelled them to look.
Einar's new armor assembled over his body as if summoned by the gods themselves: dark plates with glowing veins, forged in ancient fire and forgotten magic. Two massive dragon horns adorned his helm, which looked more like a crown fit for a celestial warlord. His chest and shoulders were guarded by thick plates etched with draconic runes, but his arms"bare and scarred"radiated untamed, inhuman power.
It was the Armor of Ysmir.
The Armor of the Dragon of the North.
Not a fashion choice.
The only thing strong enough to endure what Einar was about to release.
"MUL..." he intoned, deep and resonant, his voice heavy with power.
The earth itself trembled.
The animals around Hogwarts fell to their knees, as if crushed by an invisible force. Some crawled, others simply collapsed, trembling, eyes wide with terror.
"QAH..." he continued, the sound like the roar of a newborn volcano.
In hidden corners of the world, dragons"few and concealed"roared in unison, raising their heads to the skies.
It wasn't fear.
It was glory.
It was honor.
It was recognition.
"DIIV..." he finished, and the sky answered.
A golden light descended from the heavens, wrapping Einar like a celestial mantle. It was as if the universe itself recognized his bloodline and granted him permission to reveal his true form.
Ancestral terror gripped everyone present. A primal, instinctive fear beyond all reason. They couldn't breathe properly. Most didn't dare raise their heads.
And the few who did… were left breathless.
Einar's eyes turned golden, incandescent like newborn suns. His pupils sharpened into the slits of a millennia-old beast, shifting between the patience of a hunter and the fury of a god.
His hands became clawed, covered in golden scales that shimmered like living jewels. From his back, two majestic wings unfolded, made of golden fire. Not common fire"liquid light, pure power, elegance incarnate.
A golden aura"warm, immense, overwhelming"engulfed him entirely.
He was a dragon.
He was a god.
He was Einar.
Hermione and Fleur, nearby, couldn't take their eyes off him. Fleur trembled, mouth agape, as if her heart might burst. Hermione, for the first time, had no thoughts. Her logical mind found no words, no explanation. It was… too much.
Einar didn't look at them. Didn't look at anyone.
He leaned forward slightly, charging energy into his legs. The ground cracked beneath him, leaving a deep mark where he stood.
And then…
"WULD NAH KEST!" he roared, his voice thundering like a divine storm.
In an instant, he vanished.
A sonic explosion thundered violently. Spectators were thrown to the ground, ears bleeding from the pressure, a sharp ringing filling the air as if reality itself had been torn.
Minister Fudge, pale as a corpse, screamed:
"W-what the bloody hell was that?!"
No one could answer.
No one dared to.
…
Far away, in a place beyond time and realms known to mortals, someone was watching.
A man.
One who had already transcended.
He sat atop a floating rock in the middle of a glowing nebula, his silhouette shining with a light akin to what now enveloped Einar.
He smiled.
"Looks like my little brother has learned something fascinating…" he said softly, almost fondly.
"I never had that chance… There were no dragons in my era.
And yet, I still became one of them."
His eyes gleamed with nostalgia… and anticipation.
"I wonder… how far will he go? Though he's still young… Far too young to control that power…"
His robe"his armor"was the same Einar now wore.
The mark of those who not only inherited the power of dragons…
But became their equal.