The Tenth Weasley - CH - 89

The sun hung low over the snowcapped peaks of the Durmstrang mountains, casting a golden hue over the icy cliffs as seven Dragon Class students approached the edge of a wide, naturally formed cave. Its entrance was carved out of black rock, shaped eerily like the open jaws of a monstrous beast. Mist curled around its mouth like smoke, and the shadows within were thick, impenetrable.

Victor Krum and Sonja flanked Harry as they stood at the threshold. The rest of the group—Eryk, Marek, Ingrid, and the French student Louis Cartier—stood a few paces behind. Though they were among the most elite of Durmstrang’s students, a silent tension had overtaken them all. The cave reeked of magic, old and dangerous, and the claw marks on the surrounding stone told stories best left unspoken.

"We sure this is the place?" Eryk asked, his voice barely above a whisper.

Harry nodded. He could feel it in his bones—the pulse of something ancient and powerful. His wand was already in his hand, tip glowing faintly with a detection charm. "Yes. Something’s alive in there."

Victor gave a sharp nod, gripping his wand tighter. "Let’s keep our formation. We go in quiet. No stupid moves."

"Especially no flashing cameras," Sonja added sharply, glaring at Louis.

The French wizard gave an apologetic smile. "I simply wanted to document—"

"No documentation until we know we’re not going to be barbecued," Victor snapped.

The seven crept into the cave. The deeper they went, the colder it became—not from lack of sun, but from an unnatural chill that seeped into their bones. The walls were lined with long gouges, marks from talons larger than a grown man’s arm. Bones—some animal, some far more disturbing—lay scattered at the periphery of their path.

Whispers echoed in the shadows—wind curling through narrow cracks, or perhaps something else. Every now and then, the stone beneath their feet trembled slightly, as though the earth itself was holding its breath.

Then came the sound—slow, deliberate breathing, deep as thunder.

Everyone froze.

Sonja leaned closer to Harry, whispering, "That’s no wind."

Harry nodded silently, stepping ahead. The others reluctantly followed. Ingrid muttered protective charms under her breath while Marek kept his wand trained on the darkness ahead.

Suddenly, a low moo echoed through the cavern. Everyone turned to see a cow—real, alive, and inexplicably inside a dragon cave—ambling toward them. It blinked, slow and vacant, its hooves oddly quiet against the stone.

"What in Merlin’s name—?" Ingrid began.

Harry narrowed his eyes. The cow’s movement was too smooth, its behavior too calm. With a flick of his wand, he cast, "Finite Incantatem!"

The cow stopped mid-step. Its form shimmered, flickered—and collapsed into a massive grey boulder with faint runes carved into its side.

"A transfiguration," Harry murmured. "A recent one."

Victor's brows drew tight. "Poachers?"

Harry didn’t answer. He raised his wand higher and moved deeper into the cave.

The inner chamber yawned before them—a massive hollow in the earth, its roof lost in darkness above. The smell hit them like a physical blow: burnt meat, blood, and scorched stone. And in the center of the chamber, slumped and broken, was the dragon.

It was huge—larger than any of them had seen, scales a glistening deep green marred by streaks of dried blood. Its left eye was swollen shut, and thick iron chains dug cruelly into its limbs, pinning it to the ground like a captured god. Its breathing was ragged, each exhale sending a puff of smoke curling into the cold air.

Louis gasped. "Mon dieu..."

"Don’t get closer," Harry warned sharply, holding out a hand. He stepped forward, slowly, cautiously, reading the scene.

"This doesn’t make sense," Sonja said. "Poachers kill dragons. They don’t leave them alive."

"They didn’t come for the adult," Harry said softly. He gestured toward the side wall where large shattered shells lay—the remnants of dragon eggs, ivory and gold fragments glinting in the light. "They came for the hatchlings."

Ingrid stared. "But… how do you know they left recently?"

Harry turned to her, pointing toward the transfigured boulder. "That cow wasn’t real. Transfiguration of that level doesn’t last long—only a few hours unless you’re Dumbledore. They were here not long before us. Maybe still nearby."

Victor clenched his fists. "Then we go after them."

Louis raised his camera again, but Harry lowered it gently. "No more photos. Not until we secure the hatchling. If they hear us, we’ll lose the trail."

"Should we free the dragon?" Marek asked.

Harry glanced back at the beast. Its remaining eye cracked open, glowing with a golden, feral fury. Its chains trembled as its muscles flexed. "No. If we free it now, it'll think we’re the poachers. It might kill us before we can explain. And if we don’t get its hatchling back, it could rampage through the whole island."

Ingrid nodded slowly. "So we get the hatchlings first. Then come back."

Harry looked to each of them. "This is our mission now. Poachers or not, they won’t get far carrying a baby dragons. Let’s find them."

Victor smiled, the fire of challenge in his eyes. "We’re Dragon Class. We don’t run from fire."

Louis stuffed his camera into his bag reluctantly. "Let’s bring that hatchling home."

With one last look at the chained dragon—its eye now watching them with a flicker of awareness—the group turned and hurried back toward the light. Their wands were drawn, their breaths sharp with purpose.

The hunt had begun.


The wind howled through the forest trees as the seven Dragon Class students rushed out of the cave, the urgency in their steps echoing the seriousness of their mission. The discovery of the chained and injured dragon, separated from its hatchlings, had shaken them to their core. There was no doubt now — poachers had invaded the island.

Louis Cartier panted as he ran beside the others. “Someone had to have known the dragon was here. This isn’t a coincidence,” he said breathlessly. “You don’t just stumble across a nesting dragon in a remote mountain cave.”

Harry nodded. “Agreed. Whoever they are, they’ve been here before. They knew exactly where to go.”

“They may have been former students of Durmstrang,” Louis continued. “That would explain their knowledge of the island — and their lack of hesitation.”

Sonja scowled, brushing her auburn hair behind her ear as she jogged. “Then they’re even more dangerous. No amateur tries to poach a dragon and lives. If they came here, they came prepared… and armed.”

Victor Krum grunted, gripping the compact wand-shaped broomstick tucked into a leather holster at his side. “They had to come by sea. There’s no other way to reach this island. That means they’ll be near water — probably the closest beach or anchorage.”

“Then get to the skies, Viktor,” Harry ordered. “Find their landing point.”

Without a word, Viktor pulled out the wand-sized broomstick, tapped it with his wand, and whispered, “Engorgio.” It expanded instantly into a sleek, rune-etched broom, not built for speed but for practicality — perfect for rugged terrain and covert scouting. He mounted it and shot into the sky, disappearing through the tree canopy.

The group waited anxiously until Viktor returned fifteen minutes later, descending quickly and landing in front of them.

“Southeast of the island,” he reported. “There’s a steep path down to the sea. I saw signs of recent activity — flattened grass, a faint shimmer like a concealed vessel. I didn’t approach too close in case I alerted them.”

“They’ve anchored a ship and hidden it with magic,” Harry muttered. “But that doesn’t matter. They didn’t expect anyone to interfere, so they didn’t bother hiding their trail inland.”

He crouched low and pointed toward the underbrush. “We’ll track them the old-fashioned way. Look for footprints, snapped branches, crushed grass.”

Marek scoffed. “Like Muggles?”

“Exactly like Muggles,” Harry said firmly. “Because it works.”

Victor nodded and pulled out his wand. “Silencio calceamentum,” he incanted, charming everyone’s boots with a silencing spell to muffle their steps.

The group moved swiftly through the forest, their pace urgent but quiet, weaving between pines and over rocks. Ingrid crouched low, examining the prints they followed.

“There are at least ten sets,” she whispered. “All fresh. No more than an hour old.”

After nearly an hour of silent pursuit, the seven students slowed as the trail led them to a clearing surrounded by thick trees. There, lounging around a campfire and laughing without a care in the world, were ten wizards. Iron cages sat nearby — three of them — each holding a small, terrified dragon hatchling.

Harry’s eyes narrowed. “There they are.”

Victor, crouched beside him, counted the men. “Ten. If we don’t act now, they’ll vanish with those hatchlings.”

Sonja hissed. “We can’t afford mercy. Stunning spells won’t be enough. We go in hard.”

Harry’s expression turned cold. “We hit them fast, we hit them hard. No Expelliarmus. Aim to break bones. If they’re alive and moving, they can fight back.”

The group nodded grimly. Harry gave assignments quickly.

“Everyone pick a target. Target their dominant arm or leg. Bone-breaking curses, concussive blasts, area-effect charms. Victor, Marek, Ingrid — you three handle the flanks. Louis, you’re backup. Sonja, with me up front.”

They split off and crept around the clearing, taking their positions silently.

Then Harry raised his hand and dropped it.

“Now!” he shouted.

Spells exploded into the clearing like fireworks.

“Bombarda Maxima!”

“Fractura Manus!”

“Confringo!”

The poachers didn’t even have time to scream before six of them dropped like sacks of meat — arms shattered, legs broken, wands blown out of their hands. The remaining four leapt up and formed a tight defensive circle, conjuring shields to block incoming spells.

“Protego Totalum!” one shouted.

But it was too late — Harry was already charging forward, his wand slicing through the air.

“Glacius Vena!” he roared, sending a streak of blue light into one poacher’s chest, freezing his veins and dropping him instantly.

Victor followed suit, hurling a hex that slashed the shoulder of another poacher. The man screamed, returning fire, and a spell slammed into Victor’s shoulder, cutting through his jacket and drawing blood.

Sonja deflected a nasty hex with a shield and retaliated with a whip-like curse that cracked a poacher across the back, sending him tumbling.

Louis cried out as a red spell pierced his shoulder, knocking him back into the trees.

“Louis!” Ingrid shouted, rushing to shield him as she hurled a wave of fire toward the last standing poacher.

Harry dove, rolled, and cast a wide-range blasting curse that flattened the remaining two, breaking bones with the force of the impact.

Silence fell over the clearing. Only the whimpers of the injured poachers and the crackling fire remained.

Sonja, panting and pale, moved quickly. “I’ve got some emergency healing supplies — I’ll handle Louis and Viktor first.”

She tore open a pouch and began treating Louis’s wound with a trembling hand, murmuring healing charms as best she could. They weren’t perfect, but enough to stabilize.

“Wands?” Harry asked, and Marek nodded.

“Got them. All confiscated. No one’s doing magic here unless we allow it.”

Victor winced as Sonja wrapped his shoulder. “We need to alert the school.”

“I’ll go,” he added, struggling to his feet. “My broom — I’ll be back in ten minutes.”

Harry grabbed his arm. “Don’t push too hard. We’ve already lost enough blood.”

“I’ll live,” Victor said with a smirk, then transformed his broom and took to the skies.

The rest of the students approached the iron cages. Inside, the dragon hatchlings squealed and beat their wings helplessly.

“They’re scared,” Ingrid whispered. “But alive.”

“Let’s get them home,” Harry said. “Their mother’s waiting.”

Carefully, they levitated the cages and began their long journey back toward the mountain cave, leaving behind ten broken poachers tied in magical chains and a battlefield scattered with scorched earth and fallen branches.

They had won — but the mission wasn’t over.

Not yet.