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Chapter 12: Punishment from the Fire Dragon
September 3rd, 1986.
7:00 a.m.
Clear skies.
According to the Eastern calendar, it was the year of Bingyin, the month of Bingshen, the day of Gengxu, and the hour of Chen.
The ruling star deity for this moment was the Azure Dragon, a sign traditionally associated with misfortune.
Of course, foreigners had no understanding of such things.
A public Thestral-drawn carriage departed from the station near Swan Sea in Wales, heading toward London.
Seated inside the carriage was a member of House Grey—
Swan Grey, also known as Siwang.
He clutched a wooden box tightly against his chest.
The box had been enchanted with a Weight-Reduction Charm; otherwise, the sheer number of Galleons inside would have crushed the old man's fragile bones.
Once it left the post station, the carriage rose higher and higher, vanishing into the clouds.
This was currently the safest mode of transport in the wizarding world—
almost impossible to intercept.
In all of history, there had been fewer than five recorded cases of Thestral carriages being robbed.
And who were the people capable of intercepting them?
Gellert Grindelwald.
Lord Voldemort.
And… a fire dragon.
Thestrals could fly at astonishing altitudes, far beyond the reach of broomsticks. Ordinary wizards simply couldn't keep up.
Besides—this was the heart of England.
Who could possibly intercept a Thestral carriage here?
…Right?
Swan Grey gazed out of the window.
The weather was decent—cloudy, but not enough to rain.
Even inside a carriage, flying through rain was unpleasant.
He stroked the box in his arms, then sighed softly, as though caressing a lover's skin.
"Oh, King Galleon," he crooned quietly,
"you are truly enchanting."
Public Thestral carriages had no drivers. The Thestrals knew the routes instinctively and would deliver their passengers punctually to their destination—
the Thestral Stagecoach platform in Diagon Alley.
Otherwise, Swan Grey would never have dared attempt something so reckless.
He was over seventy years old, after all.
He still had a sense of shame.
"You sing beautifully."
A young girl's voice suddenly came from outside the carriage.
"If I remember correctly, sir… your name is Swan Grey?"
Swan Grey stiffened.
He spun around at once and looked out of the carriage window—
There was nothing there.
Five seconds later—
Crack.
A figure appeared directly opposite him inside the carriage.
"Good morning, diligent old man, Siwang."
Swan Grey's pupils shrank.
He recognised her immediately.
Hydra Lestrange.
His former young mistress.
Now the fugitive hunted by House Grey.
Rumour had it that Northon Grey and Daniel Grey had both died because of this little girl.
Don't underestimate her just because she's a Squib, the clan head had warned.
She's dangerous.
Swan Grey straightened instantly, every nerve on edge.
"Why, isn't this Miss Lestrange?" he said, forcing a smile as he bowed.
"Good morning, Your Highness."
Hydra accepted his courtesy with a gentle smile.
If not for the wand clenched tightly in Swan Grey's hand beneath the box, one might have thought they were master and servant on excellent terms.
"Siwang," Hydra said lightly,
"if I remember correctly, you were already serving our family back when my great-grandfather moved from Germany to England."
She tilted her head thoughtfully.
"You were in charge of our potion plantations in Wales, weren't you?"
Swan Grey smiled and nodded.
"Young Miss has an excellent memory. That's correct. I have served the Lestrange family for fifty years."
"Good," Hydra replied calmly.
"Then it's rather unfortunate that the plantation you manage has seen declining yields for fifteen consecutive years."
"Last year's income was less than a third of its peak."
She looked at him.
"Do you have an explanation?"
Swan Grey shook his head.
"There's no need to explain, Miss. I believe this is simply the reward House Grey deserves for its efforts."
He lifted the wooden box slightly.
The Galleons inside clinked and rang.
The sound was… delightful.
Hydra's eyes narrowed unconsciously.
Yes… that sound.
Truly enchanting.
Swan Grey spoke warmly, like a kindly grandfather addressing his granddaughter.
"But seeing that you are all alone now, and rather lonely, I'll take the liberty of gifting you this entire box of Galleons."
Hydra laughed softly.
"These Galleons belonged to my family in the first place. Isn't it a bit excessive for you to give them back to me?"
Swan Grey shook his head.
"Who they belonged to doesn't matter. I'm giving them to you now."
The moment he finished speaking, he hurled the box toward her—
—and raised his wand at the same time.
"Avada Kedavra—"
In his mind, Hydra would instinctively move to catch the box.
That brief opening—
—and the Killing Curse would strike her cleanly.
But—
The box froze mid-air.
His wand wouldn't move.
It was as though an invisible, crushing grip had seized his wrist.
The floating box slid aside, revealing Hydra's face.
She looked relaxed.
Amused, even.
One hand pointed casually at the box, guiding it gently onto the seat.
The other pointed at Swan Grey's wrist, locking it in place.
Clan Head…
Is this the "squirrel" you warned us about?
Stop joking.
"Oh dear, Mr Swan Grey," Hydra sighed.
"You're far too impatient."
She flicked her finger.
His wand tore itself free from his grasp and flew straight into her hand.
"Using Avada Kedavra so casually isn't a good habit."
"If the Ministry finds out, you'll end up in Azkaban."
She toyed with his wand idly.
"At your age… if you were thrown into Azkaban, you probably wouldn't last more than a few days, would you?"
Swan Grey's face turned ashen.
Cold sweat poured down his temples like rain.
Outside, the sea of clouds was calm and serene—
—but inside the carriage, he looked as though he had been dragged through a storm.
Though Hydra was only eleven years old, the pressure she exuded rivalled that of the former Lord Lestrange himself.
At that moment, Swan Grey felt death breathing down his neck.
She really would kill me.
Of course she would.
Who could understand Hydra's grief at losing her beloved treasure—
Little Money?
Seeing Swan Grey trembling like a quail, unable to speak, Hydra shook her head.
"To thank you for serving my family all these years," she said thoughtfully,
"I've decided not to send you to Azkaban."
She picked up the box of Galleons and casually stuffed it into the small pouch hanging at her neck.
Swan Grey froze.
Is… is she leaving?
Relief flooded him.
Go. Go quickly.
This little calamity is best gone as soon as possible.
Losing the Galleons was one thing.
At worst, the clan head would scold him.
At least his life would be spared.
"Ah."
Hydra suddenly stopped.
"You just sighed in relief."
She turned back slowly.
"Did you just sigh in relief?"
Swan Grey's heart nearly stopped.
Hydra's eyes shifted—
becoming waxy yellow, slit like a predator's.
Emerald scales crept across her exposed skin.
A snake? Swan Grey thought in terror.
He had heard that Northon Grey died from Hydra's venom.
But then—
Two pale blue-white dragon horns emerged from her forehead.
Swan Grey went completely rigid.
A Common Welsh Green Dragon.
Hydra raised her clawed hand, gripping Swan Grey's wand.
With a slight squeeze—
Crack.
The wand shattered.
Wood splintered apart, and the exposed dragon heartstring core snapped with a dull sound.
"Oh," Hydra remarked lightly.
"Dragon heartstring."
She released her grip.
The broken wood and grey-black core fell to the carriage floor.
"Well then, Mr Swan Grey," she said cheerfully,
"have a pleasant journey."
She shot upward—
smashing straight through the roof of the carriage.
The carriage lurched violently.
When it finally steadied, Swan Grey was slumped in his seat, shaking uncontrollably.
Then—
Hydra's voice drifted down from the hole above.
To Swan Grey, it sounded like the bell of the Grim Reaper.
"Oh dear. I think I've caught a cold."
"I might sneeze."
"Achoo!"
A torrent of blazing dragon fire blasted down through the roof—
severing the magical connection between the carriage and the Thestrals.
"Oh no," Hydra said mockingly.
"I'm terribly sorry, sir. I seem to have damaged the carriage."
"You do know the Levitation Charm, don't you?"
"The wand is still inside."
"Use it… or you might die."
"AAAAAA—!!"
The powerless carriage spun violently and plummeted toward the ground, vanishing from sight in seconds.
Hydra had no interest in following.
She didn't believe Swan Grey could cast wandless magic.
There was no need to see the wreckage—
—or the pile of flesh.
Meanwhile, the black, skeletal Thestrals continued flying calmly toward London.
Their orders were simple:
Reach the destination.
What happened to the carriage behind them was irrelevant.
Hydra hovered above the clouds, smiling.
That was the first carriage.
There were three more still to come.
After five seconds of free fall, she shifted back into her house-elf magical form.
Pop.
She vanished mid-air.
Today would be a disastrous day for House Grey.
And at this very moment, the ruling star was the Azure Dragon—
An omen of great misfortune.
What a coincidence.
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