Harry had never seen such a magnificent dragon—and that was saying something. He'd seen red dragons, blue dragons, green dragons, bronze dragons, black dragons, void dragons, proto-dragons, storm dragons… the list went on. He'd encountered far too many dragons to count, but the one standing before him was different.
She was breathtaking.
If a newborn Norwegian Ridgeback resembled a small lizard, even a fully grown Ragehorn hadn't entirely shed that reptilian form—just scaled up so massively that the comparison felt absurd. But now, things were different.
Sharp, translucent, icy-blue spines cascaded along Ragehorn's neck. Her head had elongated, not gaunt but robust, brimming with a vitality Harry had once described to her. Ragehorn's body had transcended the innate limitations of a Norwegian Ridgeback. During the Ascension ritual, her own will had profoundly shaped her transformed state. The most striking change was her new pair of forelimbs—her wings no longer doubled as front legs. The tips of her wings, once tipped with dragon claws, now ended in glistening, razor-sharp ice spikes.
Her overall size was staggering, twice that of even the eldest Norwegian Ridgebacks. The valley clearing where they stood seemed almost too small to contain her. The soul-piercing chill that had once tormented her was gone, as if it had never existed—but Ragehorn knew better. She could still feel the cold, woven into her skin, her bones, her very core.
It no longer hurt her.
To Ragehorn, that icy chill was now a comfort, something she'd mastered as naturally as breathing. She wielded it effortlessly, as instinctive as drawing breath. After all, who could be harmed by their own breath?
"Well?" Harry asked, eyeing the reborn Ragehorn with admiration. "What do you think?"
"…Roar."
Hearing Harry's question, Ragehorn opened her mouth to respond, but instead, a burst of snow erupted from her throat, blanketing Harry head to toe in a personal blizzard, turning him into a snowman.
Harry: "…"
"Roar—ROAR—Hahaha! [Elemental Tongue]"
Seeing Harry's plight, Ragehorn froze for a moment before throwing her head back in laughter. Her initial dragon roars gave way to a clear, resonant laugh in the Elemental Tongue.
"You can speak!" Harry exclaimed, shaking the snow off his clothes. "And in the Elemental Tongue! Try again, Ragehorn!"
Ragehorn didn't immediately catch on, but at Harry's urging, she tried again in the Elemental Tongue: "Harry?"
No learning required—just intent. The Elemental Tongue was a natural gift for elementals, and Ragehorn, at her core, was no longer a dragon but an elemental being.
"That's me!" Harry said, thrilled. "Not bad! What about other languages? English?"
Ragehorn strained, her throat catching, but no English words came. Harry wasn't disappointed, though. Speech itself was a massive leap, and with time, she could learn English or any other language. Going from zero to one was the real breakthrough.
Still a young dragon at heart, Ragehorn was like a child with a new toy, eagerly testing her newfound powers. It didn't take long for the valley, which had begun to warm, to succumb to an icy catastrophe. Ragehorn summoned a blizzard that swept through the entire valley, and she gleefully shaped ice into various sculptures.
Harry initially watched her antics with fond amusement, but his expression soon turned to horror. He watched as Ragehorn's massive dragon form shattered into countless ice fragments, becoming a swirling ice storm that streaked across the sky before reforming atop a distant cliff.
She was part of the landscape itself—existing here, existing there. Ice was her flesh, snow her blood… Was this right?
Harry wasn't sure anymore. Something felt off.
He racked his brain, trying to recall what his green dragon friend had said. No matter how guardian dragons or proto-dragons mutated, aside from storm dragons created directly as elemental beings, even ascended dragons retained some flesh and blood. But Ragehorn? She was pure elemental.
It didn't add up.
Smacking his lips, Harry realized this had ventured into uncharted territory, even for an experienced shaman like him. For safety's sake, he called down Ragehorn—who was gleefully turning the Mulgore weather in his suitcase world from a blazing summer to a stormy, snow-filled gloom—and insisted on a thorough examination.
The report? Perfectly healthy—for an elemental being.
Her power was immense. Harry estimated Ragehorn could easily unleash a frost storm capable of freezing the entire Scottish Highlands into a frozen kingdom. In Azeroth, she might not rival Neptulon the Tidehunter, but she was at least on par with a water elemental duke.
In the wizarding world, Ragehorn was practically invincible. No wizard's spell or Muggle bomb could defeat her—she lacked a fixed form, able to dissolve into pure ice or water elements at will.
By all accounts, Ragehorn could no longer be called a dragon.
"So, can Ragehorn go outside now?" Hagrid asked, panting.
"Theoretically, yes," Harry replied, thoughtful. "The Ministry's dragon restrictions apply to dragons, but Ragehorn's an elemental being now—or something entirely new. There's no law for elemental beings yet, so she's unrestricted."
"That's brilliant!" Hagrid slapped his thigh, beaming. "I've been wantin' to take her out for ages—flyin' in this suitcase ain't exactly freedom!"
"I don't think this suitcase is small," Hermione said, glancing at the blue sky and clouds around them. "It's big enough for a dragon to fly around… well, a dragon her old size, anyway."
As she spoke, Hermione's gaze lingered on Ragehorn, struck by her crystalline, ice-blue beauty.
A dragon like that was impossible not to love.
"Hm… I thought you'd be upset about Ragehorn's change," Harry said, studying Hagrid. "I'm glad you're taking it so well."
"Why'd I be upset?" Hagrid laughed. "You've created a brand-new magical creature, Harry! It's my greatest dream! One day, I'll breed a new one meself."
"Oh, Merlin," Neville paled. No one knew Hagrid's passions better than his friends. "You just got your wand back and cleared your name, Hagrid. Please don't make something that'll land you in Azkaban."
"Oh, relax, Neville," Hagrid said dismissively. "No one cares, and Professor Calbert'll back me up."
"Professor Calbert…" Hermione's expression tightened.
Professor Calbert, the Care of Magical Creatures teacher, was even more obsessed with dangerous creatures than Hagrid. Hagrid was practically standing on the shoulders of a giant.
"Well… at least there's Professor Dumbledore," Hermione sighed, sounding far older than her years. Giving up on reining in Hagrid's enthusiasm, she turned to Harry, lowering her voice so only he could hear. "Harry? I need your help."
"What's up?" Harry asked, curious. Then Hermione opened her mouth, revealing a green leaf inside.
A Mandrake leaf.
In an instant, Harry realized what she was planning. His eyes widened—Hermione was only in her second year!
Unlike Harry, who'd faced countless trials and had considerable magical talent, Hermione was a genuine second-year student. If Professor McGonagall found out he'd set a bad example and lured a second-year into studying Animagus magic without permission, she might actually kill him.
"Are you serious?" Harry's voice trembled with rare anxiety. "Animagus magic isn't ordinary, Hermione. It demands advanced Transfiguration, and once you start the ritual, there's no turning back."
Failed Animagus transformations often left wizards neither human nor beast—grotesque and broken.
"I know, Harry," Hermione whispered. "Don't worry, I've consulted Lupin and Sirius. They started learning Animagus magic around my age—they're experienced."
"Lupin and Sirius?!" Harry's temper flared.
What was wrong with those two? Two middle-aged men who'd spent their youth causing trouble and dabbling in dangerous magic were now teaching a clueless teenager to do the same?
Was this how adults were supposed to behave?
For a moment, Harry wanted to storm over to Sirius and Lupin and show them the full force of his Tauren fist. But Hermione, sensing his thoughts, grabbed his hand.
"Don't blame them, Harry," she said nervously. "I begged them to help me. They didn't want to at first, and I made them keep it from you."
"And they agreed?" Harry ground out, already imagining how to string up those two unreliable men.
He was starting to understand how McGonagall felt when she learned he was studying Animagus magic—like watching a young fool court disaster out of ignorance.
"Because I want to help you, Harry," Hermione said, gripping his hand tighter, her voice earnest.
Her words disrupted his anger, forcing him to pause and consider what she meant.
"I don't know what you've been dealing with lately, Harry," Hermione glanced at Ron and Neville, who were excitedly circling Ragehorn with Hagrid. Her voice faltered. "But you haven't done homework with us in ages, or played wizard chess or Exploding Snap with Ron and Neville."
Harry froze, silent for a long moment.
"…I'm sorry," he sighed. "I've been… caught up with some things." He couldn't share his worries—it would only burden his friends.
"I know," Hermione said with a small smile. "You're better than all of us, Harry. More knowledgeable, more powerful. Even Professor Dumbledore considers your ideas and asks for your help. I've always believed you'll become a wizard greater than Dumbledore, doing things even he couldn't."
Harry remained quiet.
"But, um, how do I put this?" Hermione twirled a lock of her hair, looking away as she mumbled. "I'm not as clever as you, Harry. I can't learn spells as fast or create powerful new magic like you. But I'm your friend. I can't just watch you struggle alone… I want to help, even if it's just a little."
"I know my limits," she added, turning to face him. Her cheeks and neck flushed with embarrassment, her voice trembling but determined. "I know it sounds like I'm boasting, but I don't think Animagus magic is as hard as people say. I believe I can master it. And… the ritual's almost at the next stage. I need you to turn Mulgore's weather into a thunderstorm…"
Her words came in fits and starts, a stream of thoughts spilling out as if she couldn't stop herself.
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