The iron fist struck, sending a group of Wild Hunt knights sprawling.
But the damage was minimal.
They were clad in dense, heavy armor.
Scamander flicked his wand, and the massive fist instantly reverted into a wrought-iron fence, blocking the road.
That had been his main goal—
To protect the Muggles.
"Wizard, not running anymore?" Caranthir raised his wand, and the air tightened. Frost spread outward from the tip, rapidly covering half the street.
A large-scale spell.
The hounds of the Hunt and their knights charged faster.
Winter descended on the city in earnest—a fitting Christmas snowfall.
"Stupefy!"
Scamander aimed at the nearest knight, casting with pinpoint precision.
The Wild Hunt warrior didn't dodge.
A faint red light, nothing flashy or earthshaking. It didn't look like a powerful spell. And the Hunt were elite; their armor was masterfully crafted, capable of withstanding most wizard spells. The knight had full confidence in himself and his gear.
And yet—
He went down hard, like a felled tree.
The others didn't hesitate, trampling over their comrade and pressing forward.
Scamander cast again.
Having learned their lesson, the Wild Hunt now took the unassuming spell seriously and began dodging.
Their speed slowed a bit.
But there were six knights and eight hounds—a sizeable force. Within seconds, the distance between them and Scamander shrank to less than twenty meters.
Scamander glanced to the side.
The Muggles had fled. A few cars tried to approach, but the iron fence stopped them in their tracks.
Good. It was safe now.
He tossed the suitcase in front of him and gave a flick of his wand. Click—the lock turned, and the case opened.
A deep, guttural roar erupted.
Fire and magma spewed forth—
Catching the Wild Hunt in the face, utterly unprepared.
"Norbert, glad to see you're still so lively," Scamander murmured, waving his wand again.
A sleek, black dragon surged out of the case, fixing its gaze on the armored knights.
This was the fire dragon that had hatched from the egg Hagrid had received six years ago—Norbert, raised all this time by Scamander.
Of course—
Scamander had never tamed it.
No one ever had tamed a fire dragon.
As a magizoologist, Scamander had always believed creatures should never be caged—unless they chose to stay, like his three kneazles.
But Norbert wasn't ready for the wild.
At six years old, she—yes, she—was still not yet mature. In the wild, a young dragon without a mother had only two fates: either devoured by a stronger magical creature (a fire dragon was quite the prize), or caught and killed by poachers. Though a young dragon's parts weren't as valuable as an adult's, they still fetched a hefty price.
The best-case scenario? Discovered by Muggles, captured by the Ministry, and sent to a dragon reserve.
Romania had the most famous reserve.
But raising fire dragons was prohibitively difficult and expensive. One could devour multiple Arthur Weasley salaries per month—plus the equivalent in medical bills.
No ordinary person or wizard would house one without reason.
Either for emotional/aesthetic reasons—like a zoo.
Or for economic value.
As a XXXXX-class creature, fire dragons had immense physical and magical power—and extraordinary healing. A ten-year-old dragon could be harvested for blood and liver.
Cheap dragon blood and organs on the market? That's where they came from.
Harvested every two months, until they were too old—then slaughtered for parts.
Rare dragon horns, scales, and the "dragon sinew" or "heartstring" used in Ollivander's wands—all came from this.
If Norbert were taken to a reserve, she'd be no more than livestock awaiting slaughter.
So Scamander kept her close, raising her in his suitcase, always continuing her wildness training. Dangerous work—whenever Hagrid had time, Scamander called him to help.
He'd done everything he could.
But a suitcase was still just a suitcase. A fire dragon's territory might span 100 square miles, with an even larger roaming range. The case was large—but nowhere near enough.
Stuck in the box, Norbert had built up a lot of fury.
And Norbert—was a girl, despite the name.
Caranthir finished his chant.
He raised his wand—
A massive ball of ice condensed and shot at the dragon.
Norbert didn't flinch. She lunged forward, mouth brimming with fire and molten breath.
The ice ball entered her jaws—
Crack! Like a hedgehog, icicles burst from within, piercing her upper palate and crawling down her body. In a blink, the fire dragon was frozen solid.
What kind of magic was that?
Could a Frost Curse truly be that powerful?
Scamander stared in disbelief. The cold was so intense, it felt like even his breath had frozen.
Snap!Pop!Crack! Like Chinese New Year firecrackers.
Aurors landed on the scene.
"A fire dragon? Bloody hell, what's a dragon doing here?" Kingsley's eyes bulged, swearing in disbelief.
The other Aurors were equally stunned.
"Mr. Scamander," one spotted the familiar figure behind the dragon, "what did you do this time?"
Scamander turned silently and pointed.
The Wild Hunt were rising, dragon breath still sizzling on their armor—but Norbert was still a juvenile. Her fire breath lacked the lethal heat of a mature dragon, delivering mostly physical impact.
"It's the Wild Hunt," Kingsley said grimly, his expression darkening.
An Auror frowned. "That the black-robed cult Potter warned us about?"
"They're wearing armor…"
Kingsley didn't hesitate—he fired a spell. "Careful. They're powerful."
Expelliarmus!
Aimed at a knight still downed. The knight's steel sword flew into the air, disarmed.
Other Aurors followed suit.
Caranthir spat and slammed his staff to the ground, quickly chanting.
Five bright ice balls formed above his head.
Whiz-whiz-whiz—
They shot like meteors toward the Aurors.
"Protego Maxima!"
Kingsley raised his wand and cast a shielding spell.
Caranthir really was strong—his entrance in the game's cinematic froze an entire battalion. But… the actual boss fight? Lacked presence. A pity.
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Powerstones?
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