Dylan's muscles bulged, brimming with explosive power. His feet swelled dramatically, sharp, curved claws sprouting from his fingertips, digging effortlessly into the soil. His spine arched upward, and a tearing pain ripped through his shoulder blades.
Gritting his teeth, Dylan endured it. Soon, a massive pair of wings burst free from his back.
His neck stretched rapidly, his face twisting grotesquely. His human features morphed into a dragon's snout lined with razor-sharp fangs.
*"Huff!"*
With a light exhale, two streams of scorching breath shot from his nostrils, laced with a faint whiff of sulfur. Fallen pine needles ignited, tiny sparks dancing between the gaps in his scales.
"My Animagus… is actually a dragon?"
By now, Dylan had fully transformed into a majestic dragon. His body was covered in thick, rugged scales with jagged edges that glinted coldly. His head was massive and broad, his vertical pupils flashing with a wild, untamed light as they opened and closed.
With a casual flick of his tail—thick and spiked like a steel whip—he snapped nearby branches effortlessly.
"Why did I turn into a fire dragon? And a Norwegian Ridgeback, no less!"
When the image of this creature first flashed in his mind, Dylan had been so startled he nearly aborted the Animagus transformation on the spot. Normally, an Animagus couldn't become a magical creature. Or rather, the transformation was supposed to be limited to non-magical animals. Attempting to morph into a magical being could lead to unpredictable, disastrous consequences.
Dylan had recently read plenty of books on Transfiguration. Beyond the official rules, there was a fundamental difference between a wizard's magic and that of magical creatures. Animagus magic was a spell rooted in a wizard's own power, forming a transformational bond with a specific non-magical animal. Magical creatures, with their distinct magical systems, were incompatible with this process.
Moreover, magical creatures often had unique physical structures, powerful abilities, or rare magical traits—like a phoenix's rebirth in flames or a fire dragon's ability to breathe fire. These were far beyond what an ordinary wizard could mimic or control through Animagus magic.
Attempting such a transformation risked a clash between the wizard's magic and the creature's, potentially causing physical or magical chaos—uncontrollable surges of power, irreversible injuries, or worse. The instincts and mindset of a magical creature also differed vastly from those of non-magical animals. A wizard transforming into one might lose their human consciousness, unable to revert to human form, or suffer severe mental trauma even if they managed to change back.
This was the conclusion Dylan had drawn from countless Transfiguration texts—even Professor McGonagall had warned him as much. He couldn't afford to be reckless.
But here's the thing: during Animagus training, while you didn't have to aim for a specific form, the magic would guide you toward the one best suited to you. Dylan never imagined his "perfect match" would be a dragon.
Had he not quickly performed a divination and confirmed that transforming into a fire dragon wouldn't spell disaster, he might've halted the process entirely.
"Isn't it said that an Animagus form reflects a wizard's personality and temperament? How on earth am I anything like a dragon?"
Dylan didn't get it.
He lifted a claw, marveling at the changes in his body. For a moment, he couldn't help but feel a strange sense of wonder.
At that moment, Norbert, who'd been circling high above, finally noticed the commotion below and swooped down. It landed cautiously, nostrils puffing out tendrils of hot air, eyeing the dragon—bigger than itself—with a flicker of confusion.
"Idiot! It's me, your master!"
Dylan opened his jaws, letting out a rumbling roar.
To his surprise, Norbert understood. It roared back in response: "Where'd you come from, you big dope? No way you're my master—he's not as cool as you!"
"…"
Dylan's dragon face froze, his eyelids twitching twice.
Well, how about that? Norwegian Ridgebacks could twitch their eyelids?
He'd just discovered something new. He'd assumed creatures like crocodiles, lizards, or dragons could blink but not pull off such expressive eye movements.
Feeling out his new body, Dylan sensed that if he wanted, he could open his mouth and unleash a blast of fire. Even more thrilling, he realized that despite being a dragon, he could still wield his max-level spells!
This revelation sent a surge of excitement through him.
He glanced at Norbert.
*"Roar!"*
With a bellow, a jet of dark, fierce flame erupted from his mouth.
Norbert yelped in alarm, flapping its wings frantically to dodge the attack.
*"Roar?"*
Staring at this larger dragon, whose flames were unlike its own—and suspiciously similar to the wicked fire its evil master conjured with that wooden stick—Norbert finally pieced it together.
"Stop blasting me, master! I surrender!"
Norbert squawked, landing a short distance away. Seeing Dylan wasn't about to attack again, it lumbered over on its sturdy claws.
"Wow, master, how'd you turn into one of me? And you look so cool!"
Norbert circled him, chattering excitedly, tilting its head with curiosity gleaming in its small eyes.
Meanwhile, Coalball—the sleek, elegant cat—darted over, gazing up at Dylan with its vertical pupils. Its whiskers quivered faintly as it breathed.
*"Meow!"*
Dylan waved a claw, beckoning it to climb onto him.
Coalball flicked its head lightly, then leaped gracefully onto Dylan's back in a few bounds.
Feeling the wings on his back, Dylan gave them a tentative flap, testing if he could take flight. Even with Voldemort's flying technique under his belt, using wings felt foreign.
He flapped twice, his massive wings whipping up a gust of wind. But he barely got off the ground—mostly just blowing himself upward with sheer force.
Coalball, nimble as ever, clung on as Dylan wobbled midair, nearly tumbling off.
*"Caw caw caw!"*
Norbert burst into laughter at his clumsy attempt.
Dylan shot it a glare. "You dare laugh at me? Forgot how you couldn't fly for ages and crash-landed on me with your fat backside?"
…
After giggling its fill, little Norbert waddled over, turned its back to Dylan, and began demonstrating proper takeoff technique.
"Hmph, at least you've got *some* conscience, you ungrateful little twerp."
Dylan stopped flapping and watched intently as Norbert sprinted forward, then launched into the air with powerful wingbeats, riding the updraft effortlessly skyward.
*"Whoosh!"*
As Norbert swooped down, the gust it kicked up swept dry leaves into a fleeting dragon shape before they scattered against Dylan's newly formed wings.
Copying its moves, Dylan took a few running steps, kicked off hard, and flapped with all his might.
*"Whoosh!"*
On his third try, the sharp screech of his wings slicing the air made trees tremble dozens of feet away.
Dylan finally took flight! A bit shakily, but he was airborne.
*"Meow!"*
His awkward posture—still adjusting to this body and its flight mechanics—sent him swaying unsteadily. Coalball yowled, claws digging into his scales for dear life.
*"Meow! Meow!!"*
Gazing down at his little domain, with Norbert flying beside him, a surge of pride swelled in Dylan's chest.
This was his world! And it'd only grow vaster, boundless in time!
Caught up in the thrill, he threw back his head.
*"ROARRRR—!"*
Norbert, flapping alongside, mimicked him with a cheerful *"Rawr rawr~"*, not knowing what he was roaring about but joining in anyway.
Dylan chuckled, descending slowly with Norbert in tow.
Back in the forest, the goblins and Cornish pixies—already terrified of Norbert alone—were now trembling in their burrows. The evil human who'd caged them here, flaying and bleeding their kin daily, had turned into a dragon too! The sheer pressure kept them cowering, too scared to peek out lest they be snatched up.
Other forest creatures shared their dread. When Dylan reverted to human form and glanced into the woods, all was silent.
He didn't bother with them. The forest was small for now, but once his space expanded, so would it. The issue would sort itself out.
Gripping his wand again, he felt a deeper connection to it than ever. And he couldn't help wondering: *Why* had he become a magical creature?
Even old Dumbledore didn't have an Animagus form—or maybe he kept it hidden. Could he have turned into a phoenix, faked his death, and slipped away from the Dumbledore identity to live free?
If Dylan had that power in Dumbledore's shoes, he might've done the same. Pure speculation, of course—no proof. Maybe Dumbledore never had an Animagus form at all.
But that only deepened Dylan's confusion.
"I feed Norbert every day, sure, but I feed Coalball too! So why'd the magic guide me to a fire dragon instead of a shadowcat? And yeah, I've studied both creatures' bodies up close—dissecting them, drawing their blood—but if that's all it took, I've bled a unicorn too. Studied its structure while I was at it. Why didn't I turn into one of *those*?"
No clear answer came to him. Transfiguration texts never covered this—nobody had ever become a magical creature before.
After racking his brain, one wild possibility emerged.
"Unless… the person already has magical creature blood in them."
The thought stunned him.
"My dad's ancestors were dragons? Or my mom? No, that's ridiculous. Wizard origins—whether natural, divine, or ancient inheritance—have nothing to do with magical creatures. Who'd even think of a wizard mating with one?"
This Animagus transformation, while a success, had brought surprises and sparked new questions.
"Looks like I've got another research project on my hands," Dylan sighed.
And he'd have to tackle it alone—he wasn't ready to tell anyone he'd become an Animagus, let alone a fire dragon. He could already picture McGonagall's reaction: not fainting, but definitely dragging him off to study him like a lab rat. Dylan studied others, not the other way around! If anyone was researching him, it'd be himself.
"Ugh. Other people's Animagi are rats, cats, big black dogs. Mine? A dragon."
From what he'd read and what McGonagall had taught him, an Animagus was mainly for wizards to gather intel, stay covert, protect themselves, or escape—like Sirius fooling Dementors, McGonagall turning liquid to dodge harm, or Peter scurrying down a sewer.
But him? Turning into a fire dragon was about as subtle as a blaring trumpet announcing, "Here I am, come kill me!"
Still, with his magical prowess—maxed-out resistance as a dragon, unstoppable Killing Curses as a human—he wasn't worried about losing a fight. Stealth and escape weren't his priorities. His strength made his Animagus form an extension of his power.
"Whatever. Between my cloak's glamour, the shadow realm's invisibility, and the shadowcat's phasing, I don't need an Animagus form for sneaking around."
Pulling out a notebook, he scribbled down his fresh insights and sensations from becoming a fire dragon.
"When a dragon breathes fire, it's not some organ producing it—there's no special gland. Its fire isn't absolute; like a basilisk's gaze, a bird-snake's resizing, or a phoenix's rebirth, it's an innate magical ability. But a dragon's fire can merge with Fiendfyre."
His pen paused, then raced on with guesses and theories.
Wizards couldn't typically learn magical creatures' magic—it was unlearnable. Yet as a fire dragon Animagus, Dylan had instinctively woven his Fiendfyre Curse into the flames he breathed. A first-ever blend of creature and wizard magic.
After filling pages with notes, he exhaled, stashed the notebook, and clenched his fist.
"My human body's still the same, but the power surging through me? Way beyond before."
Calming himself, he sank into his mind. Each heartbeat thundered like a war drum, pumping endless strength through him.
"Weird… why do I feel like I've still got a dragon's power?"
An idea struck him. Brows raised, he decided to test it.
In a clearing, he focused, taking a deep breath until his chest swelled. Eyes closed, he traced the magic that had flowed through him as a dragon.
Suddenly, he felt it—even in human form!
As the power gathered, his eyes snapped open, gleaming fiercely.
Lips parted.
*"BOOM!"*
A blazing torrent of fire roared from his mouth, rocketing skyward!
The flames carried a scorching heat and a wicked, destructive aura, writhing wildly in the air. By his estimate, the fire stretched forty or fifty feet—matching what he could do as a dragon!
*"Bzzzzt!"*
The intense heat warped the surrounding air.
Yet human Dylan stood unscathed by his own dragon breath.
Joy bubbled up inside him.
"Holy crap! I'm a human T-Rex?!"
Wand in hand, he swung it sharply. The lingering fire obeyed, bending to his will. Aiming at a nearby tree, he flicked his wand, and the flames lunged like a tamed beast, engulfing the trunk in orange-red fury.
*"Crackle!"*
The tree blazed, thick smoke billowing up. In moments, a tree that'd take three or four people to hug was reduced to smoldering ash.
A shrill cry rang out. A goblin darted from near the tree, fleeing deeper into the forest.
Dylan smirked. "Even without Fiendfyre, this dragon breath blows Incendio out of the water. Only Firestorm might compare—but that takes way more magic than spitting this out!"
A rare attack he could unleash silently in front of anyone.
If questioned? "Oh, it's just a souped-up Incendio. What, you can use Firestorm, but I can't use dragon breath?"
He spent more time in his suitcase space, filling half his notebook before calling it quits.
The next day, he handed Tom's diary back to Harry.
"Too bad, I couldn't figure anything out from it."
Harry took it, lips pursed. "If even you can't find a clue, Dylan…"
"Maybe it's just a regular diary." Dylan shrugged, lifting the Imperius Curse he'd placed on it.
Tom was just Tom—a sliver of Voldemort's student-era soul, powerless against Dylan's max-level Imperius, dragon-taming or not. Even if that dragon had still been in its egg.
After dinner, back in his dorm, Dylan claimed a batch of achievement rewards before practicing flight in his suitcase. Nothing too useful—especially after becoming an Animagus. One reward just made his dragon form "cooler."
Pointless—he was already ridiculously cool as a dragon!
Buying a house solo, though, unlocked a decent perk:
---
**[Achievement]: I'm a Homeowner!**
**[Description]: Guess who's the homeowner? Me, that's who!**
**[Requirement]: Own a property fully in your name.**
**[Reward]: Ghostly Aura Magic Circle**
---
**[Magic Circle]: Ghostly Aura**
**[Casting Method]: At midnight, when yin energy peaks, gather will-o'-wisps from a graveyard, powdered bat fangs, old shroud fibers, and charred remains of a creature burned by Fiendfyre. Mix, seal in a crystal ball, bury it by your front door, chant the incantation, and activate the circle.**
**[Effect]: Once active, it runs the Ghostly Aura Curse automatically. The house is shrouded in thick, invisible ghost energy, forming a barrier. When enemies approach, the aura morphs into snarling phantoms that attack, disrupting their magic—making spells erratic and weaker.**
**[Note]: Ghost energy messes with enemy magic, reducing its potency.**
---
"Not bad," Dylan mused. A self-sustaining spell, basically.
"Ghostly Aura, though? Doesn't fit my vibe. Shouldn't I get a Holy Sanctuary or something? Summoning ghouls—what's that about?"
He shook his head. He owned a property now, but the paperwork was a hassle. He was still waiting on Gringotts to finalize the transfer.
Setting his suitcase by his bed, he flipped it open and climbed in.
Over the next few days, he carved out time from other studies to practice his Animagus form and flying.
Hogwarts' mood had lightened a bit. Professor Sprout had good news: the Mandrakes were nearing maturity! Soon, Snape could brew restoration potions, easing fears of attacks—assuming they stayed non-physical. Who knew if the rumored monster could swallow someone whole alongside petrifying them?
The tension hadn't vanished, just eased.
"Ugh, Dylan, ever since the Christmas break ended and we came back to school, my right eyelid's been twitching nonstop!" Neville grumbled at the table, poking his steak listlessly with a fork until it bled juice.
"I remember you saying two years ago—left eye twitches for fortune, right eye for trouble! It keeps twitching. Think something's up?"
Dylan turned, popping a cherry tomato in his mouth and chewing slowly. "When'd I say that?"
"When we first met! I kept losing Trevor, but you found him every time. I was terrified of losing him again, and my right eye twitched. You said it then."
Dylan blinked, popping another tomato. "Oh, yeah? I barely remember. You've got a sharp memory, Neville."
Neville scratched his head, sheepish. "Not really. That line just stuck with me—it was cool, like a prophecy or something. Felt spot-on."
Dylan grinned, digging back into his meal.
Neville glanced across at Harry and Ron, whispering, "Since Hermione got attacked, they've been so down."
Dylan flicked his eyes over too, then shrugged. "Worrying about a friend's normal."
Neville nodded. "True. I'd be worried sick if it were you."
Dylan paused mid-tomato, turning to him.
"…"
*Can't you say something nicer?*
Neville's knack for choking people with casual comments had only grown with time.
"Maybe I should recommend some upbeat books for him. He can't keep talking like this!"
Dylan opened his mouth, then shut it. Neville didn't mean harm. Sighing, he turned back to his food.
Mid-February, Valentine's Day hit. Instead of mature Mandrakes, Hogwarts got Lockhart's latest stunt.
Dylan had been up late in the Forbidden Forest with Hagrid, so he slept in and joined Harry and co. for breakfast late. The Great Hall was mobbed.
As the crowd thinned, they stepped inside—and nearly went blind from the decor.
The grand, solemn space had been turned into a wedding venue. Dylan eyed the walls—probably hit with a Growth Charm—covered in blooming pink flowers. Petals overlapped, wafting sweet scents, weaving romantic patterns from wall to corner.
Worse, as students sat, the ceiling rained multicolored heart-shaped confetti, spiraling down to blanket everything—bread, fruit, even porridge.
Dylan stared at his milk porridge, now dotted with pink and red hearts, and nearly turned dragon right there to blast the roof off.
*Has Lockhart lost it? What's this nonsense?*
Neville gaped beside him, watching Lockhart at the staff table. "Dylan, don't tell me he did all this?"
Dylan's eyelid twitched. "Who else?"
Scanning the hall's spellwork, he raised a brow. Growth Charms? Floating spells? Done this well? His gaze slid to the staff table—specifically, a tired, sour-faced Flitwick.
Case closed.
No way Lockhart pulled this off alone.
Even Harry and Ron, usually glum, cracked smiles at the absurdity.
Neville tried scraping confetti off his plate.
"Evanesco!"
Dylan vanished the mess from both their meals.
Neville sighed in relief. "Thanks. What's our Defense professor up to now?"
Dylan shrugged. "Beats me."
"Why'd Dumbledore and the others let him do this?"
Dylan smirked. "Forgot what Hagrid said last time?"
A few days back, Neville had gone with Dylan to Hagrid's for compost—Sprout needed it for the Mandrakes. Dylan tagged along to plan their next forest meetup.
Chatting with Hagrid, the topic turned to Lockhart. Neville vented about his over-the-top antics, and Hagrid, with Dylan there, spilled more.
Dumbledore struggled with Defense professors. Dylan knew bits, but Neville didn't. Hagrid explained: for decades, no professor lasted a full year without some disaster. No one wanted the job twice—mentally, physically, or practically, it was cursed.
By who? Voldemort.
Dumbledore even tapped top Hogwarts grads to fill in, but none made it to year two. He'd nearly run out of alumni.
Neville shivered. "That guy's terrifying."
(End of Chapter)