"Ugh... Arghhh!"
Harry clutched his head, collapsing to his knees in agony. Searing flames erupted from between his fingers and his wide-open eyes!
"Harry?!" Ron's eyes nearly popped out of his head. He lunged forward, desperate to help his best friend. "What's wrong—hiss! Hot! That's bloody hot!"
—It was Death!
Ethan's gaze sharpened. Shadows surged around him, and in a blur, he appeared at Harry's side. He reached out, pinning Harry's head firmly with one hand as a calm yet monumental torrent of magic flowed into the boy.
He spoke, his voice low and commanding:
"Don't hold it back. Let it explode! Only by devouring the invader can you find permanent peace!"
Whether Harry actually heard Ethan's words was unclear.
"Ugh—ARRGGHHH!!!"
Harry's head snapped back, releasing a roar thick with pain and fury!
The fire in his eyes intensified, spewing out like molten meteorites. The surrounding students screamed, scrambling backward as the flames hit the ground, instantly vaporizing the thick snow and scorching a blackened crater into the earth.
[NO—!]
Accompanied by a faint, ethereal howl of indignation, Harry went limp. He collapsed into the snow with a dull thud, gasping for air.
The fierce flames in his eyes gradually flickered out. He was drenched in cold sweat, looking as if he'd just been hauled out of a lake.
For some reason... Harry had a premonition. It felt as though the visions that had been tormenting him for so long would never return. He had been reborn through the fire; in that moment, he had become the master of those hallucinations!
"Well done, Harry."
A voice, as rich and elegant as aged red wine, drifted down from above.
Immediately after, a cool wave of magic poured into his brain, soothing the lingering heat. Harry strained to look up, catching sight of that terrifying vortex-patterned mask. He opened his mouth, his voice raspy:
"What... what did you put in my head?"
"Professor Norn" raised a single finger to his mask, speaking with a mysterious, playful tilt to his head:
"I installed a masterpiece of Great Art that turns you into a humanoid mobile artillery turret. No need to thank me, Harry."
Harry promptly face-planted back into the snow, unwilling to face the reality that he had apparently changed species after a quick nap. Under the influence of that cooling magic, the throbbing pain in his head began to recede.
...Wait, wasn't Ethan actually [Mr. Lamp]?
The visions were under his control too, weren't they? Why would he go through the trouble of tripping Harry up just to save him? Was this another one of Ethan's inexplicable hobbies... no, sorry, another "Performance Art" piece?
Before they could catch their breath, a sound shattered the air.
"ROAARRRR—!!"
An earth-shaking bellow erupted from the clearing!
Whoosh!
The snow on the nearby trees was shaken loose, falling in a white, powdery mist. The students looked up in horror to see the White Dragon. It was breathing heavily, its slitted pupils constricted to pinpricks. It lowered its body, crouching low and staring them down with murderous intent.
It looked exactly like a predator defending its territory from invaders!
"Blimey! The dragon's stressed out!"
Hagrid's face was the color of ash. He scrambled forward, desperately grabbing at the dragon's protruding snout, trying to force it to calm down.
"Shh—shh now—there's a good lad! No one's gonna hurt yeh, don't be scared—AH!"
The White Dragon gave an impatient flick of its head, sending the massive Hagrid flying like a stray chicken. He crashed into a nearby tree, buried up to his neck in snow, looking thoroughly dazed.
"Grrr...!"
The dragon growled, inching closer to the frozen students. Its eyes trembled as if clouded by shadows of the past, flickering with a mixture of fear and rage. Its five claws dug deep into the frozen earth, and its scarred muscles surged, ready to pounce.
Hagrid choked out: "Run! RUN for it—!!"
With that shout, the students snapped out of their trance. Like a pack of starving ghouls racing for the Great Hall at lunch, they scattered in every direction, screaming their heads off.
Ron wailed, "Merlin's beard! I knew Hagrid's class was gonna end in a disaster!"
"Wait!" Hermione suddenly cried out, skidding to a halt. She looked back. "Harry... Harry's still there!"
Harry, still reeling from the shock to his system, remained paralyzed on the ground. But standing before him like an immovable fortress was...
Their Defense Against the Dark Arts professor, Ann Norn.
"Good grief."
Ethan watched the blood-red maw rushing toward him and narrowed his eyes behind the mask. In his lowered hand, he gripped a length of shimmering white spinal bone.
Streaks of crimson blood surged forth, spinning and weaving around the bone, rapidly condensing into a solid form.
"It seems I need to reintroduce you to your master, little dragon."
The words had barely left his lips when Ethan swung his arm upward. The blood had solidified into a massive cleaver several meters long! Like a falling guillotine, the spine of the blade slammed heavily onto the dragon's neck!
"ROAR!"
The White Dragon let out a piercing cry, its head forced violently into the ground!
A dull thud echoed through the woods. A wall of snow sprayed upward, and the sheer force of the impact made the earth tremble.
—The Dragon-Stop!
"..."
Harry propped himself up, staring blankly at the dragon's snout, which was mere inches from his face. It was so close he could see bits of meat stuck in its fangs and feel the damp, hot breath on his skin. It was terrifyingly close, yet the White Dragon couldn't move a single millimeter further.
"For an unfinished work of art, you're not half bad," the leisurely voice drifted down.
Harry looked up and saw that inhuman vortex face. In a hand clad in an elegant white glove, Ethan gripped the hilt of the giant, crimson cleaver. Droplets of blood had splattered onto his otherwise spotless suit.
Even through the mask, Harry could imagine Ethan's expression. He was surely looking down at the cowering dragon with a delighted curl to his lips. Just like he always did.
The surroundings fell into a deathly silence. Hermione and the other students had stopped running. They stood rooted to the spot, mouths agape, staring at the nonchalant figure as if he hadn't just subdued a dragon with a single blow, but had merely finished a cup of tea.
"Bloody... bloody hell, that was amazing..." Ron muttered under his breath, a hint of envy shining in his eyes. Even that creepy vortex mask looked incredibly cool in that moment.
Talk about style!
Just then, a faint sound reached them.
Crackle... crackle...
It was coming from beneath Ethan's blade. A second later, much like a cicada shedding its shell, a thick, milky-white membrane suddenly split open across the dragon's body! It slid to the ground softly, piling up like a mountain of discarded duvets.
Beneath it, brand-new scales shimmered brilliantly in the winter sun.
"ROAAARR—!"
The White Dragon threw its head back and roared again, but this time, the sound was entirely different—it lacked the previous agitation. Ethan, sensing the change, withdrew his blade.
The moment the weight was lifted, the dragon reared up!
Whoosh!
Its massive wings unfurled. The previously tattered wing membranes were now whole and supple. The scales that had been covered in old scars now bore only faint traces, appearing smooth and incredibly hard. As if showing off its rebirth to the crowd, the dragon stretched its body with wild pride, letting out series of joyful chirps and roars.
"It was just about to molt!" Hagrid cried out, staggering over from the snowbank. "No wonder it was so cranky and sensitive... I'm such a berk! I should've remembered that adult dragons molt during special cycles!"
Hagrid looked at the dragon as if it were his own successful son, his eyes brimming with emotional tears. He shouted:
"Oh—Little Whitey! That's it! Just live here, free and easy! No one's gonna hurt yeh ever again!"
"Roar!" The dragon seemed to agree.
It folded its wings and lowered its head toward Ethan, staring at him intently with its orange, vertical pupils, which had finally regained their calm.
Ethan tilted his head, thinking to himself: Does this dragon want to become my 'Art' too? Is it really being this proactive?
Suddenly, the White Dragon leaned in and nudged Ethan, using its damp snout to gently poke him. A low, rhythmic "purr" vibrated in its throat.
Hagrid gasped, "Galloping Gorgons! It's imprinted! Little Whitey, yeh've gone and found yerself a fine master!"
"...It gets thrashed and immediately turns affectionate?" Seamus couldn't help but comment. "Does this dragon have some kind of weird kink?"
Ethan raised an eyebrow behind his mask. After a pause, he reached out and gently stroked the dragon's jaw. It was cold and hard, but very smooth—quite satisfying to pet. He couldn't resist giving it a few more rubs. A faint softness flickered in his eyes.
Then, the dragon pulled back and nudged the pile of "discarded duvets" on the ground toward him.
"You're giving this to me? What a good boy," Ethan chuckled.
The moment his hand touched the "duvets," his relaxed smile froze. His pupils constricted, flashing with a sharp light!
[Congratulations! You have obtained the final material for the Golden Cup Dew: A Complete Adult Dragon Molt!]
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