Adrian Wesson hadn't expected Dumbledore to actually throw a fire-dragon at him.
That, admittedly, was a surprise.
He wasn't worried, though. As for fire-dragons, he'd been able to subdue one with ease five years ago.
He glanced towards Professor Kettleburn, who was watching from a distance.
Professor Kettleburn stood with his arms folded, looking perfectly confident. He knew Adrian's true capability—he had even witnessed Adrian capture a fire-dragon alive.
Hagrid, on the other hand, looked both anxious and excited.
Much as he adored fire-dragons, he wasn't foolish. He knew full well that a fire-dragon was an unmitigated disaster for the average witch or wizard.
"Ten minutes, is it?" Adrian murmured, the corner of his mouth lifting into a confident smile.
The moment the cage vanished, the fire-dragon, freed from its suppression, gave a sudden twitch and slowly opened its eyes.
It hauled itself upright and glanced around, as if not quite understanding what had happened.
Then it loosed a low growl at the nearest target—Adrian—an unmistakable warning.
"Looks like you're in fine spirits," Adrian said with a quiet laugh. He remained composed, not even considering a single step back.
Hot white vapour jetted from the dragon's nostrils; the searing air warped in the heat.
Adrian didn't so much as flinch. He even gave the dragon a cheeky whistle.
The dragon's slit pupils tightened. It seemed to grasp that the human before it was provoking it.
It pawed the ground sharply; talons like scythes bit deep into the soil. Grass around it blackened at once under the furnace of its body heat. The steam from its nostrils thickened, like a volcano on the brink of eruption.
"Roooar—!"
With an ear-splitting bellow, the fire-dragon flung wide its colossal wings like a moving wall and lunged for Adrian.
Its vast bulk skimmed the ground, charging straight at him.
A blast of scorching air tore across the field, fierce enough to send Dumbledore's beard streaming in the distance.
At the instant the dragon would have struck—
"Apparition!"
Adrian's form warped and vanished, reappearing in a blink at the dragon's flank.
Prepared though he was, he was still a touch surprised by the speed of its attack.
This pass had singed his robes.
He frowned, patted the hem, and smothered the flame. "These are expensive. I'd appreciate a little care," he muttered, displeased.
Professor Kettleburn's eyes never left the arena. He showed not a trace of worry, yet his scrutiny never slackened.
He knew Adrian's true strength was far from exhausted.
Hagrid's heart hammered. "That's dangerous, that is," he muttered under his breath.
Having seen the little fellow dodge its strike, the fire-dragon seemed more angered than before.
Its furious gaze fixed on Adrian; its barrel-like chest rose and fell.
Deep in its throat, heat built. A dark red glow flickered behind its fangs, a wave of blistering air rolling forth.
Any witch or wizard versed in dragon lore knew what that heralded.
So did Adrian. He knew dragon habits inside and out.
As expected, the fire-dragon yawned its jaws wide and hurled a mass of flame straight at him.
Devil's Snare shot from beneath Adrian's robes, springing forward to meet the rush of fire.
Vines braided mid-air into a thick barrier, striving to block the dragonfire.
At the impact, the very air seemed to ignite; a sheet of flame roared over the shield. It just about held.
But unfortunately—for all its toughness—this was Devil's Snare.
The plant possessed tenacious life and fierce attack, yet against fire it was grievously fragile. Under the heat the vines blackened, curled, and filled the field with the acrid stench of char.
Adrian's brow creased, a flash of annoyance in his eyes at the plant's taking the initiative.
Though it had blocked the first wave, it had suffered for it. A swath of vine was reduced to ash, drifting away on the hot wind.
"This isn't your fight—flames are fatal to you," Adrian said lowly, with a note of reproof.
At his scolding, the Devil's Snare quivered, as if aggrieved—pleading that it had only tried to save him.
Adrian gave it no chance to risk itself again. With a sweep of his hand, the charred tendrils surged back beneath his robes and vanished.
"Eldra, analyse this foe's weak point."
He spoke in his mind to the Tree of Wisdom, intending to take the fire-dragon's measure first.
The answer came at once.
[Category: Fire-Dragon (Transfiguration)]
[Level: 1]
[Weak point: three inches left of the midline of the spine]
So—that was it. A fire-dragon produced by Transfiguration.
Adrian nodded to himself. No wonder its dragonfire felt a touch underpowered.
Clearly, Dumbledore hadn't brought along a fully grown dragon at all, but had used a most advanced Transfiguration to create this creature.
A construct like this hardly warranted Adrian's trump cards.
After venting its first gout of flame, the dragon crouched low once more, ready to strike again.
Adrian tightened his grip on his wand and slashed it in the air.
"Vincula Ferrum!"
A torrent of heavy, iron chains burst from his wand like a casting net, arrowing for the dragon.
Caught off-guard, the beast was bound fast; its massive limbs were cinched tight.
Its jaws were clamped by specially reinforced links, the dragonfire forced back down its throat with a rumbling snarl.
"Be good."
Unhurried, Adrian walked to the dragon's back as it writhed against the bonds.
He angled his wand precisely at the weak point on its spine and flicked a spell.
A silver-white bolt lanced from his wand-tip and struck three inches left of the dragon's midline.
The dragon's body went rigid; the struggle stopped at once.
Then the vast form began to leach of colour. Scales, talons, wings, tail… all dulled to mottled grey stone.
"Boom—"
With a heavy thud, the living dragon was gone. In its place stood a rough-hewn monolith, squatting on the churned earth.
Silence fell over the grounds.
After several seconds, Dumbledore strolled forwards and raised his hands, giving a gentle applause.
"Flawless work, Mr Wesson," he said, a gleam of appreciation in his eye.
"I must admit, Professor Dumbledore," Adrian replied, dusting the ash from his robes, "I've never seen a fire-dragon transfigured so well. At this fidelity, it's scarcely different from the real thing."
"Quite so." Dumbledore smiled. "For a test worthy of your talents, Professor McGonagall and I put some time into this little surprise."
"So—I've passed?"
"Of course!"
Professor Kettleburn came up then, a touch of satisfied pride on his face, and clapped Adrian on the shoulder. "Knew you'd be fine, young Ade."
"Thank you for the vote of confidence, Professor," Adrian said with a grateful smile.
Kettleburn waved it off. "Didn't lift a finger."
Not far away, Hagrid was still staring, slack-jawed, at the stone block.
"Hold on!" He hadn't quite recovered. "That weren't a real fire-dragon? I thought—well, no one told me—oh, blimey!"
Poor Hagrid. He really had taken it for the genuine article.
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