The Dragon King Bloodline of Hogwarts

Chapter 10 The Battle of Gringotts

Voldemort raised his hand. A dark purple light shot out from his fingertips at incredible speed, distorting the air on either side of the spell's trajectory and emitting a burnt smell.

Viserys' body moved before his mind. His Valyrian steel dagger was held across his chest.

The spell struck the blade.

A dark purple light exploded on the blade. The dagger vibrated violently, nearly dislocating his wrist, but he gripped it. The incantation was deflected by the blade and shot obliquely into the tunnel wall, leaving a dent in the stone with a dark purple glimmer at the edge.

Voldemort raised his eyebrows slightly.

"Valirian steel," he said, "can deflect spells, interesting."

He didn't wait for Viserys' reply. The second spell was already fired, deep red, faster, and circling towards Viserys' side.

Mag's stone wall rose from the ground with a roar before the spell hit.

The crimson light struck the stone wall, instantly cracking its surface but not shattering it. McGonagall, maintaining her shapeshifting spell behind the wall, spat out her voice through clenched teeth: "Mr. Targaryen, return behind the wall. This is not the enemy we were facing before."

Viserys didn't move. He watched the third spell re-form in Voldemort's hand, watched the Iron-bellied Dragon lurking in the shadows of the tunnel, and watched McGonagall's stone wall rise more and more slowly each time.

McGonagall noticed his gaze and her voice grew harsher: "Whatever you're thinking right now—"

"Dragons can't distinguish friend from foe, but I can."

McGonagall paused for a moment. She looked at Viserys's outstretched right palm, where runes glowed faintly.

"What are you going to do?"

"Let the dragon bite the magic stone. You entangle the priest."

"Then?"

"Then I let it devour Voldemort."

McGonagall looked at him. Eleven years old. His right arm was still smoking, the bruises from being knocked away by Shadow were still on his face, and there were red marks on his wrist from the impact of the dagger. He was assigning her tactical tasks.

The priest's fire spear began to coalesce, Voldemort's spell was already aimed at Viserys, and the Iron-bellied Dragon's tail thrashed restlessly among the tunnel rubble.

"You only have one chance," McGonagall's voice was hardened, "If the dragon doesn't listen to you—"

"It can hear."

McGonagall did not answer. Her transfiguration was already fully focused on the priest. Stone walls, spikes, and hands rose from the marble floor, separating the priest from Voldemort. Another stone wall rose beside Viserys, blocking Voldemort's third spell. An eerie green light exploded on the stone wall, causing it to crumble, but Viserys was no longer there.

She entrusted the priesthood to herself, and Voldemort to Viserys and a half-blind dragon.

Viserys swung the dagger horizontally and slashed his right hand. Blood splattered across his palm, then flames erupted. He let his blood speak for itself.

The Iron-bellied Dragon's nostrils flared. It smelled a familiar scent. The dragon lowered its head, its pale pupils fixed on Viserys. It couldn't see him, but it sensed it—this person carried dragon blood.

Viserys didn't command it. He projected his own senses through blood resonance: Voldemort's location, the silhouette of Voldemort's shadow, the golden-red pulsation emanating from the Philosopher's Stone in Voldemort's hand. That was the enemy.

A low, rumbling sound came from the Ironbelly Dragon's throat. It turned toward Voldemort.

Voldemort's spell struck the dragon. The spell hit its scales, and a dark light emanated from the pale surface of the scales as the spell was absorbed. Voldemort's pupils contracted slightly.

He underestimated the dragon.

The Ironbelly Dragon opened its gaping maw and swallowed Voldemort's half-spirited body whole. Voldemort's body disintegrated into black mist within the dragon's mouth, but the Philosopher's Stone remained solid—its dragon fangs held it firmly in place.

Voldemort's form reformed outside the dragon's mouth, becoming half as transparent as before. The Philosopher's Stone was no longer in his possession.

He looked down into the depths of the dragon's mouth, where golden-red light shone through the gaps between its teeth. The magic stone was held between the dragon's teeth. He couldn't get closer. Dragonfire had a restraining effect on the soul state, and he had already consumed a large amount of his energy when he was swallowed.

He made his choice. His form transformed into black mist, flowing along the tunnel floor towards the depths of the vault.

Voldemort withdrew from the battlefield. The Philosopher's Stone remained in the dragon's mouth.

Viserys did not pursue. He looked back at the other side of the battlefield: Mag was running out of magic, and the priest's fire spears were beginning to pierce her defenses, leaving new scorch marks on her robes.

His bloodline resonance was activated once again.

McGonagall caught a glimpse of his movement out of the corner of her eye. Her shapeshifting spell instantly changed, the stone wall shifting its focus from protecting Viserys to protecting Hermione and Granger. Her voice pierced the hum of the flames: "Mr. Targaryen, what are you going to do next?"

"Let the dragon lead us out. Her primary target is me, and secondarily the dragon egg. Once I and the dragon egg are gone, you will be safe."

The Iron-bellied Dragon's tail rose from the tunnel rubble.

Viserys turned to Hermione. "Give me the dragon egg."

Hermione didn't move. She hugged the dragon egg even tighter.

"If you're alone, she'll chase you." Hermione's voice trembled, but she enunciated each word clearly. "With the egg here, she'll have to chase in two directions."

Hermione—

"Take me with you."

Viserys looked at her. At the other end of the tunnel, the priest's flames reformed, and the Iron-bellied Dragon's tail hovered in mid-air, awaiting command.

There's no time for arguing.

He turned to the Ironbelly Dragon. Its tail drooped down, the thick tip gently wrapping around Hermione's waist, lifting her steadily onto its back.

Viserys flipped and climbed onto the dragon's neck. His right hand grasped the dragon scales, the burn marks and runes pressing against the cool scales. The moment the runes in his palm touched the dragon scales, a very faint golden-red light shone through the gaps in the scales.

He sensed the spatial outline formed by the dragon's sense of smell and hearing. The tunnel appeared to him as a map of interwoven air currents and echoes.

He guided the dragon to turn towards Gringotts Hall.

McGonagall stood amidst the rubble, her square-framed glasses askew, her robes charred in several places, the tip of her wand clinging to the last vestige of the stone wall. The priest's fiery spear had carved cracks into the stone.

She didn't say "be careful".

"When you get back to Hogwarts, you'll have to explain to me every single wound you sustained today."

Viserys glanced down at her. Her eyes weren't reproachful. He nodded.

The priestess saw Viserys on the dragon's back, Hermione coiled around its tail, and the dragon egg in its arms, and the golden-red light shining between its teeth—the Philosopher's Stone was also there. Her focus was entirely on the dragon's back.

She abandoned McGonagall. Flames coalesced into propulsion, and she chased after the dragon.

The Iron-bellied Dragon moved much faster than a human in the tunnel. It had been driven through this tunnel for many years, and every inch of the stone wall was etched into its muscle memory.

The dragon charged into Gringotts Great Hall. The marble floor shattered beneath its claws, and the magical lamps on the dome were swept away by the gusts of wind whipped up by its wings. The goblins had already fled, and the hall was deserted.

The dragon smashed through Gringotts' bronze doors.

The London sun streamed in, stinging the dragon's pale eyes and making it squint. It hadn't seen sunlight in years.

Viserys lay on the dragon's neck. The wind rushed into his robes, and the sun illuminated the scorch marks on his right arm. He glanced back.

Hermione lay on the dragon's tail, clutching the dragon egg tightly to her chest. Her hair was ruffled by the wind, but she did not bow her head.

The priestess chased after him to the doorway. Her flames dimmed in the sunlight. She stood within the broken bronze doorframe, watching the shadow of the dragon's wings streak across the cobblestone pavement of Diagon Alley. She turned, and the flames engulfed her figure.

The Iron-bellied Dragon flew over London, its wings swallowed by the clouds.

Viserys lay on the dragon's neck, the wind blowing his silver hair back. His right arm still throbbed, the burn marks and runes overlapping. His hand pressed against the dragon's scales, he could feel the dragon's deep, slow breath. The runes in his palm and the pulse beneath the scales beat in sync. The dragon knew which way to go.

The clouds dispersed, revealing the outline of the Scottish Highlands below, with rolling hills and the lake's surface like shattered silver. The Iron-bellied Dragon began its descent, heading towards an island in the middle of the lake.