Harry Potter: Dragonborn comes

The Arrival of Them P2

Several young people stepped out of the portal that opened as if they were simply arriving home, chatting casually and ignoring the stares of everyone present.

"Hey! Do you all think the same as me? I'm sure that old man was Akatosh!" said a young man who emerged carrying a huge backpack and wearing an ancient suit of armor everyone recognized instantly.

"Seriously? Are you an idiot? Obviously, it was him," replied another young man who came out behind him, a gigantic sword strapped to his back and an expression of absolute exhaustion.

"Hey! I didn't finish eating my lunch! But that lady and her children were nice people," announced a cheerful blonde girl with straight hair as she trotted behind them. Suddenly, she put on a face of indignation. "Wait! What if the pretty granny was Mara? I never asked for her autograph!"

"The lady in the forest was very pretty… and kind of… mature," commented another young man with a mischievous smile as he elbowed the tallest of them, who was absentmindedly playing with two axes as if all of this bored him.

"Hey…? I think they use people as weapons here," said the smallest girl, emerging last while everyone turned to look at her in confusion.

"What are you talking about? We just arrived," replied the largest woman in the group with an exasperated sigh.

"Well, they threw this at me," the little girl explained as she pulled a man through the portal, who clutched his head with a groan.

When she finally dragged him out, everyone held their breath: it was Sirius, his gaze dazed, a lock of hair hanging over his eyes.

"They threw an old man at you?" asked the young man dressed like a mage, in a tone that hovered between sarcasm and genuine surprise. "Just leave him there," he added indifferently.

"Wait, wait!" Sirius exclaimed, raising his hands as the girl looked ready to push him back into the vortex. "I didn't mean to attack you! I fell in by accident!"

"Mm? How do you fall into a portal?" the girl asked, her voice curious.

"They pushed me!" Sirius blurted quickly, while all the young people stared at him in such perfect silence that it made his skin crawl. Sirius Black—the man who feared nothing… well, maybe dementors.

"Whatever," muttered the red-haired young man impatiently. "We can use him to find the master."

It was then that all of them realized dozens of eyes were watching them with the same bewilderment and an almost reverent hush.

"Mm…? Why do we always end up surrounded by weird people every time they send us somewhere else?" complained one of them as he looked around and saw all the wands aimed at them.

"Hey!" the little girl suddenly piped up, releasing Sirius as if he were nothing. "I think it smells like Dad."

"Are you a dog or something?" sighed the one who seemed to be the jester of the group, right before getting a sharp smack on the head from the oldest woman.

Then, without warning, four of the young strangers vanished in the blink of an eye, as if the air itself had swallowed them. The surge of magic they left behind made several wizards raise their wands instinctively.

They reappeared in different corners of the hall with such brutal speed that not even Moody's magical eye could track them fully. It was as if they had become living shadows gliding through the wreckage of battle.

Each one landed beside fallen enemies, heaps of smoldering ash, and half-burned skeletons that cracked under their boots.

The young woman clad like an assassin, with black plates and a ragged cloak that seemed to drink in the light, crouched beside the mangled bodies of four Death Eaters who hadn't managed to escape. Her eyes gleamed with a faint crimson glow as she inspected the remains.

Meanwhile, the blonde girl and the smallest one stood motionless, their gaze fixed on Hermione for reasons no one could comprehend. The tension grew so thick it seemed to have its own weight.

"…It seems we finally arrived," murmured the assassin, her voice cold as she straightened with the composure of someone who never doubted her purpose. She ran a gloved hand over one of the corpses, brushing away a trace of ash. "This… is the master's spell."

"Wheee!" the littlest one suddenly squealed, jumping with joy, a stark contrast to the gravity that had filled the hall.

"So then…" said another of the young men, slowly tightening a pair of gloves that shimmered with golden light whenever he flexed his fingers. He lifted his gaze to the wizards watching them, his eyes filled with a determination so pure it made the air prickle. "Are you… friends or enemies of our father—Einar?"

His voice rang out in the absolute silence of the hall, like a challenge only a madman or a hero would dare ignore. For a moment, no one moved. The air itself seemed to tremble with the certainty that the answer could ignite a battle even more devastating than the one they had just survived.

Meanwhile, every member of the Order of the Phoenix and all the students present stood in utter shock. No one could find words. No one—except for a single person, the only one who had heard firsthand the story of these young strangers standing before them.

…

Harry ran with all his strength, his wand gripped firmly as he unleashed spells mercilessly at the Death Eaters who barely managed to shield themselves from his fury.

This time, he wasn't holding back his magic. There was no fear of hurting or killing. Icy spears and frozen stakes burst from his wand, followed by lightning bolts that lit up the corridor before striking several enemies, bringing them down with screams of agony.

Without pausing, Harry raised his free hand and conjured two spectral wolves that launched forward like arrows. In the blink of an eye, their jaws clamped down on the throats of two Death Eaters, sending them crashing to the marble floor as their blood pooled beneath them.

The others retreated, trying to regroup. But Harry was already lowering his wand toward the floor. A circle of fire ignited beneath his feet, and from the flames emerged a colossal flame atronach, barely contained. Its limbs of molten rock crackled as it roared, maddened. It was the most powerful creature Harry could summon, one he almost never dared to call upon because it was beyond his control. This time, he didn't care. If that demon burned everything, so be it.

Without waiting to witness the chaos he left behind, he kept running, his eyes locked on Bellatrix, who was already crossing into the Ministry's Floo Hall.

As he drew near, Harry grabbed the dagger from his belt. He hurled it with such force and precision that it flew faster than any curse, crossing the distance in a heartbeat and sinking into Bellatrix's leg. The scream she let out was guttural as she collapsed to her knees.

The pain twisted her demented grin into something closer to fear as she looked up. Harry advanced on her, his face blazing with fury, a spectral sword shining in his right hand and his wand steady in his left.

He raised the sword, aiming it at her throat. Bellatrix trembled, unable to decide whether to laugh or shriek.

"Do it, Potter."

The voice came from behind him, cold and laced with venom he recognized instantly. Harry spun on his heel. There stood his worst enemy. Lord Voldemort was watching him with that mocking sneer he despised so much.

"Kill her," Voldemort urged softly, taking a step forward. "Take your revenge. Do it."

Harry lifted his wand toward Voldemort without lowering the sword at Bellatrix's neck.

"The moment you do it," Voldemort continued, his whisper filling the hall like a toxic gas, "you'll understand how easy it is to snuff out a life. How magnificent that power feels. Go on… do it."

Harry didn't reply. His eyes burned, fixed on Bellatrix's face, but the rage he felt toward Voldemort was every bit as fierce.

Bellatrix shifted, a tremor running down her spine as she fumbled for her wand. It was then that Voldemort, with a simple flick of his wrist, sent a deadly bolt of energy shooting toward him.

Harry reacted on pure instinct. Instantly, he raised his wand. The dagger buried in Bellatrix tore itself free and flew at Voldemort, propelled by his telekinesis. At the same time, he dove sideways, feeling the heat of the curse rush past his cheek.

Viir emerged from his robes, landing on the polished floor. The little dragon lifted his head, eyes fixed on Voldemort as green fire gathered in his throat.

"Well…" Voldemort murmured, his tone dripping disdain. "You even brought your little pet to this dance of death."

Harry didn't bother to answer. He simply looked back at Bellatrix. It would be quicker to remove her than to keep listening to provocations. He thought with a cold clarity unlike anything he had felt before.

As he raised the sword, ready to end her, one of the fireplaces erupted in emerald flames. Out of the swirling haze stepped Dumbledore, his robes billowing in the magical wind.

"Stop, Harry," he said firmly, his voice carrying a profound sorrow. "Killing her won't bring anyone back."

Harry didn't look away.

"I'm not killing her for that. I'm killing her because she's too dangerous to keep breathing."

His voice was so calm the silence grew almost unbearable. Even Voldemort seemed to study him with new interest.

"We're at war, Headmaster," Harry continued, his tone unshaken. "And in war, there are deaths. Professor Einar told me what he had to do when he was young. And I know if I don't do this now… I'll have to do it when I go hunting the dark wizards still hiding in this country. After all… I want to be an Auror."

A wrinkle of unease creased Voldemort's forehead. It wasn't the answer he had expected.

"I heard you say that to Professor McGonagall," Dumbledore interjected, a note of pleading in his voice. "But you don't have to do this. If you kill a murderer, the number of murderers stays the same."

Harry tightened his grip on the hilt.

"That's true. But if one of those murderers disappears… there will be fewer innocents to bury."

He lifted his gaze, and his voice turned into a cutting whisper.

"Remember what she and her companions did to Neville's parents. Remember the horror they left in that family."

Bellatrix seized the moment. Her fingers closed around her wand. With a shriek, she fired a bolt of dark energy. Harry leapt aside, feeling the impact shatter tiles where he'd been standing a heartbeat before.

"Viir."

Harry's voice rang out like a strike of steel. The little dragon turned, drew in a deep breath, and unleashed a torrent of green fire. The curse hit Bellatrix squarely. Her eyes widened in one last glint of madness before her body collapsed, motionless.

Dumbledore closed his eyes for an instant, breathing with deep sorrow. When he looked again, Voldemort was watching Harry with a perverse gleam of curiosity.

Then he raised his wand, and the battle began anew.

Harry spun in a swift, lethal movement. From his wand burst a lightning bolt that tore through the air with a crack, aimed straight at Voldemort's chest.

"Protego!" Voldemort exclaimed clearly, lifting his wand in a gesture almost lazy. A shimmering barrier erupted around him, catching the electric blast with a violent hiss.

But Harry didn't stop. With another sweep, his wand traced an arc, and a rain of ice spears materialized above his enemy, falling like a deadly storm.

"Truly magnificent…" Voldemort remarked, his tone dripping with an irritating fascination. While he conjured another defense, his eyes flicked for a moment toward Dumbledore, who stood at the far end of the hall, wand raised. "Wordless spells. And each more lethal than the last."

Harry glared at him, unflinching.

"Leave him," he ordered firmly, his wand never wavering from Voldemort.

Dumbledore hesitated, the spell half-formed at his fingertips, and met Harry's gaze. At last, he slowly lowered his arm in silence.

"Viir."

The dragon responded at once. His wings spread wide with a dull thud, and a torrent of green fire poured from his jaws, lighting the shattered columns as it surged toward Voldemort.

With a faint flicker, Voldemort vanished from his spot and appeared behind Harry, so close his cold breath grazed the back of his neck.

"Avada…"

He didn't get the chance to finish. Without even turning, Harry raised his wand in a precise motion and brought it down sharply.

A whirlwind of ice erupted around him. The freezing vortex spun out in every direction, forcing Voldemort to recoil with a sneer of contempt as his outstretched hand frosted over.

Viir dove from above, unleashing another blast of green flame. Voldemort disappeared again in a dark shimmer, reappearing farther away as the marble floor cracked under the heat.

Harry seized the opening. He lifted his wand high over his head, his eyes blazing with unshakable resolve. A storm of lightning crashed down from some unseen height onto Voldemort, like an echo of Einar's spells.

"Protego Maxima!" Voldemort roared. A translucent shield flared into existence with a deep, resonant hum, blocking each searing bolt as Viir swept back overhead in another pass.

"Do you really think a mere pet can harm me?" Voldemort mocked, his twisted smile returning.

With a flick of his wrist, he aimed at the hall's shattered windows. The glass exploded in a roar of shards spinning through the air like clear daggers. Viir maneuvered gracefully between them, his green fire interrupted. Even so, one of the larger fragments struck his side. It couldn't pierce his scales, but the impact sent him spiraling down toward Harry.

Harry reached out and caught him against his chest, shielding the dragon as another curse streaked across the hall. Without wasting a heartbeat, he struck the floor with his wand, and a wall of ice erupted in front of them like a barricade.

"Are you all right, Viir?" Harry asked in a tense murmur.

The little dragon shook himself with a snort of indignation.

The answer was cut short by the explosion of the ice barrier, which shattered as another spell hit with brutal force. Harry rolled to the side just in time, feeling the heat tear across his robes.

Voldemort stepped forward, his silhouette framed by flames and frost.

"Is that all, Potter?" he inquired with a cruel, unhurried calm.

With a sharp snap of his wand, the floor beneath Harry cracked open. From the fractures burst thick black vines like coiled ropes, wrapping around his legs and chest, pinning him in place.

As Voldemort raised his arm, ready for the finishing blow, his eyes glimmered with sick delight.

Harry glared up at him with such pure, untempered rage that, for an instant, it seemed the air itself was vibrating.

It was then that Dumbledore could no longer stand by. He stepped forward and raised his wand with a resolute gesture.

The colossal statues flanking the hall stirred to life, their stone gazes ignited by an ancient fire. Voldemort slowly turned his attention away from Harry, his smile fading.

For the first time, his expression turned serious.