It was the beginning of March, snow has already melted away, and the winds battered the stone walls of Hogwarts like a siege engine.
Inside the abandoned classroom, the air was heavy, vibrating with high magical density.
Alister stood before the granite workstation. His eyes were red-rimmed from sleeplessness, but his hands were steady as rock. The Elder Mandrake leaf sat heavy and swollen under his tongue—a sixty-day companion that now tasted of raw electricity.
This was it. Attempt One Hundred. The Final Brew.
The cauldron before him didn't contain a soup; it contained a singularity. The Base Elixir he had brewed weeks ago sat shimmering in the center. Now, he had to introduce the catalysts that would define his soul's shape.
Alister reached for the first vial.
Silver Dew. He uncorked it. The liquid was thick and crimson-silver, collected from the deepest parts of the Forbidden Forest during the lunar eclipse. It was the ultimate stabilizer for chaotic transformation magic. He poured it in.
Hiss.
The potion turned a violent violet. The cauldron shook. Alister clamped his hands on the rim, pumping pure mana into the vessel to keep it from exploding.
Dragon Scale & Powdered Heartstring. He picked up the crushed remains of a Hungarian Horntail's scale and the heartstring of a deceased dragon. He sprinkled them into the vortex.
Roar.
A phantom sound of a dragon's screech echoed in the room. The potion darkened to a pitch black, bubbling with tar-like viscosity. This was the physical anchor—the durability of a beast.
Ground Phoenix Tear Crystal. The counter-balance. He dropped the sparkling dust into the tar. Instantly, the darkness shattered. The potion cleared, turning transparent like water, but boiling with a fierce, internal heat. This was the safety net—the rebirth essence that would prevent his body from burning out.
Finally. The Key.
Alister drew a silver knife. He sliced the tip of his thumb. One Drop of Blood.
He held his hand over the cauldron. A single red drop fell.
Drip.
The moment it hit the surface, the room went silent. The bubbling stopped. The liquid froze in place, then began to glow.
It wasn't a flat light. It was a swirling, three-dimensional galaxy trapped in a silver fluid. It pulsed with a heartbeat—thump-thump, thump-thump—that matched Alister's own.
A wide, almost manic smile stretched across his face, straining the muscles of his jaw where the Elder Mandrake leaf lay hidden. His eyes reflected the violet lightning outside window, burning with a feverish intensity.
Alister held the crystal vial up to the light of the simulated storm flashing above him looking at simulation results of system.
[Ritual Success Rate: 70%]
[Consequence of Failure: Total Biological Collapse / Soul Dissipation.]
A normal wizard would be trembling. A sane wizard would pour it down the drain. Three out of ten times, this potion wouldn't make him a legend; it would turn him into a puddle of magical gore.
But Alister didn't tremble.
His wide smile stretched even more.
"Seventy percent," he thought, corking the vial with a solid thud. "I like those odds. Nothing happens with hundred percent certainty."
He shoved the vial into his inner pocket, extinguished the lights in the Room with a snap of his fingers, and stepped out into the dark corridor.
The castle was asleep, but the sky was awake. Thunder rattled the portraits on the walls, making the painted figures cower in their frames.
Alister moved.
He moved in perfect sync with the storm. When the thunder crashed, his boots hit the stone floor, the sound swallowed by the roar of the heavens. When the lightning flashed, turning the hallway blindingly white, he froze in the shadows of the alcoves, invisible to the naked eye.
He bypassed the sleeping portrait of the Fat Lady. He slipped past the patrolling Mrs. Norris, whose yellow eyes were too busy watching the rain lash against the windows.
Alister slipped out of the castle side doors, the oak groaning against the wind, and sprinted across the sodden grounds. He moved faster than a student should be able to, his Physique stat propelling him through the mud, a blur in the darkness.
He bypassed Hagrid's hut. He bypassed the initial tree line. He ran past the path they had taken to the Thestral herd, diving deeper into the Forbidden Forest than any student had dared to go in a century.
Here, the trees were ancient and twisted, their roots thick as boas. The canopy usually blocked out the sky, but tonight, the storm was so violent that the lightning tore through the leaves, illuminating the forest floor in strobe-light flashes of violet and white.
He didn't stop until he reached a natural clearing, a jagged scar in the forest where nothing grew. The ground was scorched, blackened obsidian rock that hummed with latent geothermal and magical energy.
"This is it," Alister spoke over the roar of the thunder.
With his wand acting as a magical chisel, he began to carve runes violently into the rock floor. Stone chips flew past his cheek, but he didn't blink.
A normal Animagus ritual was delicate. It required a single, precise lightning strike to catalyze the potion—a spark to start the engine.
"One strike isn't enough," he muttered, his eyes glowing with the reflection of the arcs above. "To house a Legend... I need the whole damn storm."
He carved the final rune—a complex, spiral sigil of his own design: The Void Siphon.
As he finished, the runes flared to life, glowing a sickly, electric blue. They didn't repel the rain; they seemed to pull the static electricity from the air, grounding it directly into the spot where Alister stood.
The air around him began to scream. The hairs on his arms stood up. The taste of copper filled his mouth.
Alister stood up in the center of the glowing circle. He was soaked, muddy, and bleeding, but he stood against the storm looking like a king claiming his throne.
He reached into his pocket and pulled out the Animagus potion.
He looked up at the swirling vortex of clouds. A funnel was forming directly above him, drawn by the runes.
"COME ON!" Alister roared at the sky, challenging the heavens.
"COME ON!" Alister roared, the sound tearing from his throat, raw and defiant against the thunder.
He didn't hesitate. He uncorked the crystal vial and tipped his head back.
The Potion hit his tongue. It didn't taste like a potion; it tasted like he had just swallowed a liquid star—freezing cold and blindingly hot all at once. It slid down his throat like molten lead, heavy and burning, settling in his stomach with the weight of a planet.
As if insulted by his challenge, the sky ripped open.
It wasn't a single bolt. It was an orbital bombardment.
Hundreds of jagged, violet spears of lightning slammed down from the heavens in a simultaneous, deafening barrage. The forest exploded with light, shadows banished in an instant.
But they didn't hit him.
They struck the circle.
The runes Alister had carved—caught the lightning like lightning rods. The electricity didn't ground itself; it flowed along the carved channels, converging inward with a shrieking hiss of ozone.
The ground beneath Alister's feet erupted in blinding blue light. The runes pulsed, turning the obsidian rock into a grid of pure, crackling plasma. He wasn't standing on earth anymore; he was standing on the trigger of a magical bomb.
And then, the catalyst triggered.
In his mouth, the Elder Mandrake Leaf—which had been a solid lump of rubbery plant matter for sixty days—suddenly disintegrated.
It didn't crumble; it liquefied. It turned into a mouthful of cold, electric fluid that tasted of ancient magic and blood.
Alister swallowed.
The reaction was instantaneous.
Alister dropped to his knees, clutching his chest. His heart didn't just beat; it hammered against his ribs like a trapped bird, then stopped completely for a terrifying second.
Thump.
When it started again, it wasn't a human rhythm. It was slower. Deeper. Powerful enough to shake his entire frame.
BOOM... BOOM... BOOM...
His veins bulged, turning black as the Void Siphon pumped the storm's energy directly into his bloodstream. His skin began to smoke, the rain evaporating the second it touched him.
"Ignis Anima Draco Animagus"
The chant bubbled up from his throat, unbidden, distorted by a voice that was sounding less and less human.
His shadow, cast long and flickering against the trees by the rune-light, began to stretch. It didn't look like a human anymore.
Alister threw his head back and screamed, but the sound was drowned out as the runes beneath him released their charge. A pillar of pure white lightning shot upward from the ground, engulfing him completely.
Alister's vision went completely white.
Then, the white faded into a deep, visceral crimson.
He stood in a vast, endless expanse of red. There was no sky, no ground, just an infinite horizon of blood-colored mist. It was silent—a heavy, suffocating silence that pressed against his eardrums.
He rubbed his chin, looking around with a casual, almost disappointed smile.
"Damn! Did I die? I really wanted to die with a blast!!"
He checked his hands. They were translucent, glowing with a faint blue light. No body. No wand. Just pure consciousness.
"Well," he mused, kicking at the non-existent floor. "At least the afterlife is color-coordinated."
BZZZT.
A harsh, mechanical sound vibrated through his skull, shattering his nonchalance. A massive blue window materialized in the red void, larger than any he had seen before.
[Ritual Phase 3: The Domination of Will]
[Objective: Overpower the Dragon's Will. Subjugate the Spirit.]
"Ah," Alister straightened up, his eyes narrowing. "So I'm not dead."
As if responding to the System's prompt, the red mist in front of him began to boil.
A low growl started from everywhere and nowhere. It sounded like grinding tectonic plates.
From the crimson fog, a shape emerged. It was titanic. A Crimson Dragon the size of a building pushed through the mist, followed by eyes that burned like molten gold, vertical pupils fixated on the tiny speck of blue light that was Alister.
It was the concept of the Dragon—magnified by the Elder Mandrake and the Storm. Its scales were made of blackened iron, dripping with liquid fire. Its wings blocked out the red void.
It opened its mouth, revealing rows of serrated teeth, and let out a roar that didn't create sound, but a shockwave of pure Terror.
The sheer pressure of the roar slammed into Alister, forcing his spiritual form to flicker.
"You're big," Alister shouted at the beast, stepping forward against the wind of its roar. "But you're dead! You're nothing but ash and blood I bought in a shop!"
The Dragon lunged. A wave of red energy washed over Alister, trying to rewrite his mind, to replace his logic with bestial hunger.
(END OF CHAPTER)
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