Disclaimer:
Harry Potter and all of its characters belong to J.K. Rowling.
I own nothing but the original characters I make.
"Dialogue"
'Thoughts'
-Author notes-
Chapter 130: Went Too Far
Harry rose into the air, his staff glowing with an intense light. The inversion of the Levitation Charm carried him higher and higher, and the wind howled past his ears.
Below him, the maze shrank to a green blur, and above him, the dragon grew larger with each passing second.
It was as magnificent as it was terrifying. An adult red dragon with scales that gleamed like molten metal.
The rider on its back was already turning toward him and raising his enchanted rifle.
Harry did not give him time to aim.
He raised Excalibur with both hands, gripping the hilt so tightly that his knuckles went white. He poured his magic into the sacred blade. This time, it was not a trickle, but a massive flood. The golden runes blazed until they were almost white, and the sword hummed with power, vibrating in his grip.
Excalibur could enhance whatever amount of magic he channeled through its blade, and this was the first time he dared to pour so much.
Without hesitation, he swung Excalibur in a vertical slash.
It formed a precise line that went from the dragon's snout to the base of its tail. The golden wave of force shot from the sword like a beam of light, so bright it left an afterimage burned into Harry's eyes.
The dragon did not even have time to roar or produce a few fire embers.
The wave cut through its scales, flesh, and bones as if they were made of paper. The beast's body split cleanly in two, the halves tumbling apart midair.
Blood and viscera rained down on the Quidditch pitch.
The rider was thrown from his seat and plummeted toward the ground with a short, startled cry.
Harry dove after him.
The soldier tried to raise his rifle, but he was falling too fast, his body tumbling end over end. Harry caught up to him in seconds. He grabbed the rider by the collar of his uniform and slammed Excalibur through his chest.
The soldier was dead before he hit the ground.
Harry landed hard, rolling to absorb the impact. His shoulder screamed in protest. His magic felt drained, stretched thin. But he forced himself to his feet.
He looked around.
The Quidditch pitch was a war zone. The eastern stands were nothing but splinters and ash. The western stands had been partially transfigured into a crude barricade, behind which Professor McGonagall was directing a group of older students to help the wounded.
Madam Pomfrey ran from body to body, her wand a blur of diagnostic spells.
Smoke rose from a dozen different fires. In just a matter of minutes, this had gone from a cheerful scene to a battleground.
And in the center of it all, Morgan fought the last dragon.
She was a whirlwind of silver light and black cloth. Her staff, the Sceptrum Noctis, shone like a small moon.
The dragon lunged at her, jaws open wide enough to swallow a horse. Morgan leaped over its head, landed on its snout, and drove her staff into its eye.
The beast roared, thrashing wildly. Its tail whipped toward her, but Dumbledore intercepted it.
The old wizard appeared seemingly from nowhere, his wand tracing a complex pattern in the air. A wall of conjured crystal erupted between the dragon's tail and Morgan, absorbing the impact. The crystal shattered, but the tail had been deflected.
Morgan used the distraction. She ran up the dragon's snout, across its skull, and jumped onto the rider's back.
The soldier turned, drawing a black knife. Morgan caught his wrist, snapped it, and drove her staff through his chest.
The rider crumbled to dust.
Morgan leaped off the dragon's back as the beast, now free of its master's control, began to calm. Its remaining eye blinked slowly. It looked at Morgan, then at the burning pitch, then at the students huddled behind the barricade.
Morgan walked up to it and placed a hand on its snout.
"Subsisto Cor," she said softly.
The dragon's heart stopped, and soon after, the beast collapsed onto its side, shaking the ground.
Morgan turned away from the corpse and walked toward Harry. Her robes were torn. Her face was streaked with soot and black blood. Her left arm hung at an angle that suggested it had been broken and hastily healed. But her amber eyes were steady.
"You're late," she said. "This is the third one I've killed."
Harry let out a breath that was almost a laugh. "I got held up by Mordred."
Morgan's expression flickered. "Mordred is here?! Is he…?"
"He is gone now… I made sure of it." Harry looked around at the destruction. "What about the others? The students?"
"I don't know… my attention was somewhere else. But by the looks of things… there are probably a few deaths." Morgan's voice was flat, but he could hear the anger beneath it. "The professors must have gotten most of them out of the way, but not all."
Harry closed his eyes. He had known the Argent Flame was ruthless. He had not expected them to attack a school full of children. "They really went too far this time."
"Yes," Morgan agreed. "It means we cannot wait any longer. We have t—"
Before Harry could respond, a burst of colorful sparks erupted from the far end of the maze. Red and green and gold, shooting into the night sky like fireworks.
The Triwizard Cup had been claimed.
Harry watched the sparks fade. "The tournament is over." This meant that he had upheld his part of the contract with the Goblet. Now he was finally free.
They stood in silence for a moment, surrounded by smoke and fire and the cries of the wounded.
Then Harry turned to her. His green eyes were hard, colder than she had ever seen them.
"We're done waiting," he said. "Lundy Island… tomorrow."
Morgan nodded. "Tomorrow."
Behind them, Dumbledore approached, his purple robes singed, his face grave. He looked at Harry, then at Morgan, then at the sword still glowing in Harry's hand.
"I take it," Dumbledore said slowly, "that this changes your plans."
Harry met the old wizard's eyes. "The Argent Flame attacked children, Albus. They attacked your school." He gripped Excalibur tighter. "We are going to end this. Tomorrow… one way or another."