Once, Rowan Mercer had looked down on the dragons of the wizarding world.
They were smaller. Simpler. Compared to the ancient dragons of Fairy Tail, they felt like winged reptiles pretending to be legends. But after forging and integrating a dragon crystal from a true dark wyrm, his perspective shifted. Power was power. Even a modest gain was still a gain.
These dragons might be crude, but they were dragons all the same. Ten different species, ten distinct traits. If he refined crystals from each and fused their strengths together, the result would inevitably reinforce his body and enhance his flame. More importantly, it would compensate for the weaknesses of the primordial dark dragon he had already absorbed.
That ancient wyrm had been terrifyingly strong, but it lacked wings.
If Rowan succeeded in becoming an Animagus and transformed into that form, he would become a grounded dragon. He could conjure wings with magic, of course, but a golden dragon sprouting pristine white angel wings would look absurd. Worse, it would feel wrong.
By integrating the traits of this world's ten fire dragons, his future transformation could become something new. Not a creature bound to Morgoth's design, but a hybrid dragon beyond that origin. That distinction mattered. A being created by Morgoth could be suppressed by him. A new dragon, forged from multiple lineages, would not submit so easily.
Ideally, Rowan would still obtain a dragon crystal from the Fairy Tail world before completing his Animagus ritual. That would make his transformation the strongest dragon form across all worlds he knew. But even without that, this plan was worth pursuing.
By the time he returned from Hagrid's hut, the sky had dimmed. After eating in the Great Hall, he headed back to the Slytherin dormitories, only to find the common room unusually lively. The reason soon became clear.
A new notice had gone up.
Before Halloween, third-year students and above would be allowed to visit Hogsmeade on Saturdays.
Hogwarts was a magical school. Hogsmeade was a magical village. The only all-wizard settlement in Britain, filled with enchanted shops and wizarding pubs, second only to Diagon Alley in bustle. Entry required permission slips for most students, but Rowan had no such restrictions. Dumbledore had already granted him freedom to leave the castle at will.
That weekend, after informing the headmaster, Rowan unfolded his wings and rose into the air.
The Dementors guarding the perimeter stirred, then recoiled as holy light washed off him. They scattered without daring to interfere.
With a Time-Turner, two days became four. The Animagus ritual alone would take nearly two months, perhaps longer. But four days per weekend was more than enough time to gather what he needed.
There was, however, one miscalculation.
Rowan had assumed that if the weather failed him, he could simply conjure a thunderstorm to complete the Animagus ritual. Dumbledore quickly corrected that assumption. Artificial storms did not work. Others had tried. All had failed.
Animagus transformation was ritual magic, tied to natural law rather than raw power. It responded to the world itself. Like many forms of ancient magic, it was slow, demanding, and stubbornly resistant to shortcuts. That was why it had fallen out of favor.
Fortunately, Britain was generous with rain and lightning. He would have his storm soon enough.
Once beyond the castle's anti-apparition boundary, Rowan vanished.
An hour later, he reappeared above the Hebrides off the western coast of Scotland.
The Hebridean Black was the closest dragon species to Hogwarts, making it the obvious first target.
"There," he murmured.
Sweeping the islands from above, he quickly detected a massive Muggle-Repelling Charm enveloping one of them. Wherever dragons roamed, wizard guards followed, hiding their presence and preventing accidents. The Hebridean Blacks, according to Hagrid, had been watched over by the MacFusty clan for centuries.
Invisible under a Disillusionment Charm, Rowan descended.
Below him, black dragons wheeled through the air, their scales rough and dark, ridged spines sharp as blades. Their bat-like wings beat heavily, arrow-tipped tails slicing the wind. Violet eyes gleamed with predatory intelligence. At full length, nine meters.
Rowan smiled faintly.
He grew to thirty.
Still unseen, he shot downward, seized the neck of an adult dragon as it tore into a wild ox, and dragged it with him.
"Mirror World."
At his gesture, both vanished into the inverted realm.
There, Rowan ended the fight in moments. Three blows crushed the dragon's skull. He etched the familiar array into the ground and began the refinement.
Back in the real world, the dragon's dying roar drew a guard wizard by Apparition. Finding nothing but empty sky, the man scratched his head, puzzled, then left.
As long as no Muggles wandered in and the dragons stayed on their island, deaths among the beasts were not unusual. The guards were watchers, not researchers.
And Rowan Mercer had just claimed his first prize.