The Tenth Weasley - CH - 90

Victor Krum gritted his teeth as the wind howled past him. The trees blurred below in a sea of green, his wounded shoulder throbbing with each movement. Blood soaked through the sleeve of his dark Durmstrang cloak, turning it a deep crimson that fluttered behind him. The broomstick beneath him — the newly developed folding travel model from the Balkans — was steady but not particularly fast or nimble. Still, it served its purpose.

He pushed the broom harder, navigating the cold air currents as best he could. Every jolt of pain reminded him why he hated being grounded — flying was his passion, but doing it with an open wound turned it into a torture test.

“Come on,” he muttered through gritted teeth, urging the broom forward. “Just a little more…”

As the great spires of Durmstrang Castle came into view beyond the cliffside fog, Victor exhaled in relief. He spotted two figures moving across the training courtyard. One was a tall, broad-shouldered man in crimson robes — Professor Navarro, the dueling master. Beside him walked an older man draped in deep violet, his wrinkled face framed by a long white beard — Professor Gultenhavn, the esteemed historian and ruins instructor.

Victor aimed for the open patch beside the courtyard but misjudged the angle. His balance slipped, and with a sharp curse, he crashed into a heap of snow and gravel near the castle’s lower ramparts. The broom clattered beside him.

“Merlin’s bones!” Navarro exclaimed, rushing over. “That’s Krum! Someone fetch the healer!”

Gultenhavn was at his side in an instant, helping the Quidditch champion to sit upright. “Victor, what in the nine hells happened to you? You’re bleeding through your robes!”

Victor coughed, clutching his shoulder. “We… found dragon poachers. Captured them. They have hatchlings. Tied up. Need Aurors.”

“Poachers?” Navarro snapped, his eyes narrowing. “Inside the island?”

“They chained the mother dragon… injured her,” Victor gasped. “We… students from Dragon Class. We followed the trail.”

Navarro’s face turned a deep shade of red. “The Dragon Class went into that part of the forest? Even the professors are told to avoid that sector unless fully prepared!”

“They didn’t know,” Victor said defensively. “We thought it was a nesting site. We didn’t know she was already attacked. But we stopped them.”

Gultenhavn glanced toward Navarro. “We must alert the authorities.”

“Yes,” Navarro growled. “To my office. Now.”

They helped Victor onto his feet and half-dragged, half-walked him through the halls of Durmstrang. Students in the corridor turned to stare as blood dripped from his cloak, but none dared approach. The sight of Victor Krum — Durmstrang’s star and pride — in such a state brought a silence across the hall like a winter storm had just entered.

In Navarro’s office, the professor threw powder into the fireplace and muttered, “Ministry Liaison Office — Norway.”

A green flame erupted in the hearth, and moments later, the stern face of a clerk appeared in the flames.

“This is Durmstrang Institute,” Navarro announced. “We need to speak with the Auror Division. Immediate threat. Ten poachers captured, dragon hatchlings involved.”

The clerk blinked once and nodded curtly. “Connecting you.”

Moments later, five wizards in black cloaks stepped through the Floo in rapid succession. They wore the silver runes of the Norwegian Auror Office on their shoulders, their eyes sharp and movements precise. One of them, a tall woman with ice-blonde hair, stepped forward.

“I am Auror-In-Charge Frida Elgsdóttir. You requested immediate support?”

Navarro motioned to Victor, who stood leaning against a chair. “This boy is Victor Krum. Star Quidditch player or not, he’s a Dragon Class student — and he and six others subdued a poacher ring this morning. Dragon hatchlings were taken. We believe they’re still on the island.”

Frida raised a brow. “Poachers here? That’s bold. But not impossible.” She turned to Victor. “You say you captured them?”

Victor nodded. “Ten men. Six were taken down before they could defend. Four fought. Injured three of us — including me. But we won. They’re bound in a clearing. The hatchlings are safe… for now.”

“We’ll need to fly,” Frida said, turning to her squad. “Get your brooms. No wasting time.”

The Aurors summoned sleek black broomsticks out of magically extended holsters — professional-grade, built for speed and combat.

Navarro placed a firm hand on Victor’s shoulder. “You’re staying here. The medics will patch you up.”

“No,” Victor said quickly. “They’ll need to find the clearing. I know the route. I can guide them. Besides…” he added with a grin through the pain, “You think I’m missing the end of the story I started?”

Gultenhavn frowned. “This is no time for heroics.”

“I’m not being heroic,” Victor replied. “I just don’t want to sit here and miss it.”

Frida gave a brief nod. “If he can fly, he can lead. He’s already proven himself.”

Navarro grunted but relented. “Fine. But you’re not fighting again. You guide them, and when the Aurors engage, you stand back.”

Victor smirked. “Deal.”

With that, the group of six — Victor and the five Aurors — mounted their brooms and shot out of the Durmstrang courtyard, disappearing into the low-hanging mist beyond the tower walls.

Back in Navarro’s office, the fireplace dimmed.

Gultenhavn sat down heavily in a chair. “We’ll need to review the school’s safety procedures. If Dragon Class students can walk into danger before we even realize it…”

Navarro didn’t respond. He stood still, staring at the hearth, the image of Victor’s bloodied cloak burned into his mind.

“Let’s hope,” Navarro muttered, “that whatever’s happening out there ends without a funeral.”



Victor Krum soared through the misty air, the wind biting at his face as he led the five Aurors over the dense, snow-dusted forest of Durmstrang Island. Below, the thick canopy of pines parted now and then to reveal patches of rocky terrain or frozen creeks. After nearly twenty minutes of flight, Victor raised one hand and pointed down toward a clearing nestled between the hills.

"There!" he shouted, though the wind drowned out most of his voice. The Aurors followed his gesture, dipping their brooms in unison.

They descended into the clearing where the battle had taken place just hours earlier. The moment Victor landed, he let out a long sigh of relief. Everything looked exactly as he had left it: the broken stumps where spells had blasted apart trees, scorch marks on the snow-covered grass, and, most importantly, the poachers still tied securely with magical ropes.

But something was different.

The iron cages that had once held the dragon hatchlings were now open. Three young dragons, their scales shimmering in hues of emerald, bronze, and silver, were no longer huddled in fear. Instead, they were frolicking like oversized puppies among the Dragon Class students. One was gently nipping at Eryk’s robes, another curled infront of Harry, and the third flapped its wings playfully in the air above Sonja, who laughed and held up her arms.

Harry stood at the center, his hand extended as the silver hatchling nudged into his palm affectionately. Luis Cartier was crouched beside a rock, frantically taking picture after picture with his enchanted camera.

Victor blinked, stunned. "Are... are they playing?"

"They warmed up to us," Sonja called cheerfully, petting the bronze-scaled hatchling as it cooed in delight. "They’re actually really sweet. I think they trust us."

The Aurors landed behind Victor, quickly assessing the scene. One of them moved to inspect the poachers, casting spells to double-check the bindings.

"Still unconscious," muttered one Auror. "Magic-suppressing ropes held."

"We’ll use our own shackles," said another, conjuring glowing silver manacles from his satchel. "Secure them magically and physically. No chances taken."

Harry approached, handing over a small pouch. "These are their wands. We collected them after the fight."

"Excellent thinking," said Auror Frida Elgsdóttir, nodding her thanks. She took the pouch and passed it to her companion. "They’ll go into evidence."

While the Aurors busied themselves restraining and levitating the poachers into transport clusters, Luis didn’t miss a beat. He snapped another picture — this one of Sonja tossing a stick which the silver dragon caught midair with a proud screech.

"This is incredible!" Luis grinned. "Look at this — dragons bonding with us! I never seen anything like this."

Victor limped over, still stiff from his shoulder wound. One of the hatchlings came over to him, sniffed his cloak, and nudged him gently in the hip. Victor chuckled and knelt slowly, careful of his shoulder.

"You didn’t forget me, huh?"

The Aurors finished binding the poachers. Frida looked over at the group of teenagers now surrounded by playful dragon hatchlings. Her stern face softened slightly.

"You know," said one of the younger Aurors, leaning against a tree, "my sister writes for the Oslo Magical Times. She’s struggling to find a story worth publishing."

"Oh?" Harry raised an eyebrow.

"Yeah. She’s under pressure from her editor to find something heartwarming or heroic. This… this is gold. Young students rescue dragon hatchlings from dangerous poachers? It’s got everything."

Frida gave a small nod. "A positive story about student bravery might help raise support for stronger magical creature protection laws too."

The young Auror grinned. "Mind if I take a photo? I’ll send it to her."

Harry exchanged glances with the others. "Sure. Why not?"

Within moments, the seven students stood in a line — muddy, scraped, bruised, and smiling — with the three hatchlings gathered around them. The dragons perched or lounged beside their favorite student: the bronze one by Ingrid, the silver nuzzling Harry’s side, and the green curled around Sonja’s legs.

Click.

The flash of light marked the moment.

"Thank you," the Auror said sincerely. "You’ll be in the papers by tomorrow. Heroes of Durmstrang."

Once the poachers were levitated away and taken by broomstick toward a secure drop-off point, the students turned toward the mountain path again.

"It’s time to bring them back to their mother," Harry said.

The hatchlings, though young, flew with ease through the trees, always returning to the students with eager chirps. When Sonja called, they responded instantly, gliding down to her arms or flapping around her like excited birds.

Victor glanced back once more as they made their way uphill.

“Hard to believe,” he murmured.

Harry nodded. "Let’s just hope their mother doesn’t breathe fire the moment she sees us."

Sonja laughed. “Oh, please. You’re the Basilisk-slayer, remember? You’ve got this.”

And so, together, they began the journey back to the cave — not just to return what was taken, but to witness a family reunited.



The group of Dragon-class students returned to the cave accompanied by two stern-faced Aurors. The forest seemed quieter now, almost reverent, as if it too acknowledged the significance of what had taken place. They approached the mouth of the massive, triangular cave cautiously, still wary despite the earlier victory.

From within, they could already hear the furious clanking of chains and the thunderous thrashing of the injured dragon. The powerful beast, still bound in the rear of the cave, roared in rage and pain, its golden eyes flashing in the dim light. Dust trembled from the cave walls with each pull of its massive limbs against the iron chains embedded deep in the rock.

But then came the sound the dragon had waited for—the high-pitched chirps and clicking calls of its hatchlings. The three small dragons swooped ahead of the students, their leathery wings fluttering as they flew straight to their mother. At once, the thrashing stopped.

The Aurors, raising their wands in alarm, paused mid-step. One of them, a stocky wizard named Gunnar, said, "Hold. It's calming down. Let’s not provoke it."

The mother dragon's breathing slowed, her massive head turning toward the hatchlings. She let out a deep, low rumble—not of threat, but of recognition and relief. The students watched in awe as the hatchlings pressed against her neck and under her wings, squeaking happily.

"That’s what we wanted," whispered Sonja. "Let her feel they’re safe."

Ingrid, Marek, Eryk, and Louis—students who specialized in magical creatures—stepped forward slowly, their movements deliberate. The dragon didn't react violently, its focus solely on the hatchlings. Now that the dragon was soothed, they moved in to examine her wounds.

"Right hind leg, deep gash," said Ingrid, kneeling beside the limb, her wand glowing. "Likely from a silver restraint. And bruising along the flank."

Marek opened a magical field kit, revealing vials of healing salve, enchanted bandages, and powdered moonstone. "We’ll need to reduce the swelling before we can do any deeper healing."

Harry stood beside the Aurors, his wand at the ready, watching every movement. Meanwhile, Louis pulled out his camera and took a few more photos from the side. The sight was breathtaking—three baby dragons nuzzling their massive, chained mother while students of Dunstrang, cloaked in ash and grime, worked tirelessly to heal her.

"I wish I had one of me in the picture," Louis muttered with a small grin.

"I’ll take it," said Harry, holding out a hand. Louis hesitated, then handed over the enchanted camera.

"Careful, it's Muggle-made but enchanted for magical exposure. Don’t drop it."

"You’re talking to the boy who fought a Basilisk," Harry smirked. "I think I can handle a camera."

Louis stepped into the frame, assisting Ingrid as she applied salve along the dragon's neck. Harry snapped the photo as a soft beam of light entered the cave through a crack in the ceiling, illuminating the entire group like a portrait from a legendary tale.

It took nearly an hour, but the dragon’s worst wounds were finally mended. The bleeding stopped, bruises faded, and the gash on her leg was sealed by a glowing poultice.

Harry stepped closer, careful not to make sudden movements. “Here goes nothing,” he whispered.

With slow, steady steps, he reached the dragon’s massive head. The Aurors tensed. Even Sonja inhaled sharply. The dragon's golden eyes locked onto his.

Harry extended a hand and gently placed it on her snout.

Nothing happened. No roar, no swipe. Only a slow, rumbling breath.

He stroked her scales. "You're safe now."

“Brave or foolish,” Sonja muttered, shaking her head. “Only Harry would pet a mother dragon.”

“I learned from Charlie,” Harry said over his shoulder. “No sudden movements. And don’t smell like fear. Dragons hate that.”

The mother dragon curled protectively around her hatchlings, nudging them closer under her wing. It was a sign. Trust, perhaps, or simply exhaustion.

Harry turned to the others. “Let’s go. Our work is done here.”

The students gathered their packs, said a few soft farewells to the hatchlings—who chirped and flapped in response—and filed out of the cave, the Aurors at the rear, keeping an eye on the dragon.

As they emerged into the fading sunlight, Marek whispered, “I can't believe we did all that.”

“Yeah,” Sonja grinned. “And we’re not even going to get detention for it.”

They all laughed, some with exhaustion, some with pride. With their mission complete and the dragons safe, the seven students and the two Aurors began their return trek to Durmstrang.

And behind them, deep within the black-rock cave, the mother dragon let out a soft, contented growl, her hatchlings safe in her embrace at last.