28th June 1994
Ministry of Magic
The Ministry of Magic was embracing its usual late-afternoon brand of pandemonium. Interdepartntal mos dive-bombed through the air like aggressive origami geese, interns sprinted between lifts with the frantic energy of cornered puffskeins, and a small fire smoldered rrily in the Magical Patents Office — an entirely ordinary occurrence. Over in Misuse of Muggle Artefacts, soone was loudly insisting that enchanting a traffic cara into a sneakoscope had seed like a good idea at the ti.
Then the alarms scread.
A piercing wail knifed through the Auror Office, rattling windowpanes and spines alike. In the Magic Detection Ward, the enormous bronze map of the United Kingdom bolted to the far wall blazed scarlet. A massive red orb pulsed over the Scottish Highlands, throbbing like a wounded star, its surface flaring brighter with each passing heartbeat.
Alia Bones strode into the ward like a summoned storm.
"Report!" she barked.
A clerk — who looked one tremor away from bolting — swallowed and stamred, "Five minutes ago, a massive magical energy surge occurred in the Scottish Highlands. Energy levels… they're still rising!"
"Magnitude?"
The poor man blanched. "C-Category 5, ma'am."
A horrified murmur rippled through the ward.
Category 5 ant full-grown dragons, ancient wards cracking, or the sort of magical catastrophes that made insurance goblins weep.
Alia's jaw locked. "Location?"
The clerk pointed at the throbbing red sphere. "West of Caithness. Uninhabited ridge. No settlents."
"Good." She spun on her heel. "Assemble three teams. Full dragonhide. Ergency loadouts."
The Auror Office didn't need the order twice.
Within minutes, the floor trembled beneath a thunder of boots. Three strike squads ford in tight formation, each led by a senior Auror: Kingsley Shacklebolt, John Dawlish, and Andrew Carter.
Alia swept past them, voice sharp as a blade.
"Teams Alpha, Bravo, Delta — we deploy on my signal. Expect a Class-Red entity. Dragon-level. Unknown disposition."
Andrew Carter said nothing, but a cold, tight unease coiled in his chest. Ben had not co ho for the sumr with Rachel, claiming he had business at Hogwarts. Now, barely a week later, an unprecedented magical phenonon was erupting not far from the castle.
Coincidence? His instincts — the sa ones that had helped him survive a decade of fieldwork — whispered otherwise.
He gripped his wand a little bit tighter.
The teams were seconds away from departure when movent darkened the entrance to the Auror Office.
Three black-robed figures glided in, silent as falling ash.
Unspeakables.
Saul Croaker led them, tall and grave, followed by Broderick Bode and Elton Elderberry, their cloaks humming with enchantnts that suggested "classified" before anyone even asked.
Croaker didn't bother with greetings.
"The Departnt of Mysteries will be joining this operation."
Alia's eyebrow twitched — a tiny, deadly motion.
"With respect, Croaker, this falls under the jurisdiction of the DMLE."
Croaker t her glare with the calm of soone who'd seen too much and filed all of it under Highly Confidential.
"Not anymore. What you're dealing with is not rely magical. It is anomalous. And anomalies fall under the purview of our Departnt."
Much as Alia wanted to hex the man into next Tuesday, the law — annoyingly — was on his side. The Departnt of Mysteries had the legal equivalent of a royal flush when it ca to dealing with...well, mysteries.
"Fine," she bit out. "But field command stays with us."
Croaker inclined his head. "Agreed."
They were about to move when a gasp tore through the ward behind them.
The bronze map flared brighter — a violent, searing crimson.
The clerk stared, stricken.
"Ma'am… it's not Category 5 anymore."
The orb ballooned, glowing with the intensity of a star on the verge of collapse.
"Director…" the clerk whispered, "it's gone off the chart."
For a mont, nobody breathed.
Alia snapped down her visor. "We move. Now."
The strike force stord into the Atrium. Amid the towering fireplaces and the echo of boots on polished stone, wands were drawn, gear checked, nerves steeled.
On Alia's signal, with a synchronized series of sharp cracks, the full Auror strike teams — along with all three Unspeakables — vanished from the Ministry Atrium—
---
The Scottish Highlands
—and appeared atop a windswept, desolate ridge in the depths of the Scottish Highlands.
The instant the strike force materialized, every one of them stiffened. The air itself thrumd. Magic hung thick and heavy, vibrating through the atmosphere like the aftermath of an electrical storm — the sort you'd only walk into if you were fond of danger and tal headgear.
Alia's eyes narrowed.
"Aurors — spread out and run full scans."
More than a dozen wands flicked out in a synchronized sweep, sending arcs of detection magic rippling across the rocky slope. But instead of flowing outward smoothly, the spells warped — bending away from the epicenter, sputtering, recoiling like startled animals.
Kingsley frowned. "Magic's still active in the air. Not just residual — charged."
Andrew Carter didn't respond. His heartbeat had begun to thrum in his ears. He recognized the magical signature— the peculiar density, the strange resonance. He had felt it hundreds of tis before.
But never like this.
Not magnified a hundredfold.
Behind them, the Unspeakables moved with unnerving, deliberate silence.
Saul Croaker knelt, reached into his cloak, and withdrew a palm-sized instrunt that looked like a cross between a watch, a compass, and sothing that belonged in a locked drawer labeled DO NOT TOUCH UNLESS THE WORLD IS ENDING.
He tapped it once.
A low hum rolled through the clearing — then the device's arrow jerked violently, spinning in panicked circles as though trying to flee its own existence.
Alia stared.
"What in rlin's na is that?"
"Detection apparatus," Croaker said, as though that explained everything.
"For what, exactly?"
"Unrestricted magical anomalies."
"That tells nothing useful," Alia snapped.
Croaker remained serenely unbothered. The device pulsed again — so brightly the Aurors flinched away from the glare.
Broderick Bode leaned in, breath catching.
"This… this energy density shouldn't be possible."
Elderberry squinted at the reading. "That's… that's above the classification scale. Like, above-above. If the chart were a staircase, we're at the step where soone forgot to finish drawing the building."
Croaker stood abruptly.
"I have a heading."
Alia nodded curtly. "Everyone mount up."
The Aurors yanked their brooms from their magically-expanded field kits — sleek combat models reinforced for speed and maneuverability. In seconds, the entire squadron rose into the air.
"Follow Croaker's lead," Alia commanded, taking point beside him.
They shot forward, wind roaring past, clouds shredding around them as Croaker's device glowed brighter and brighter. The arrow tugged sharply east.
Kingsley's eyes narrowed behind his visor.
"This direction feels… familiar."
Andrew's stomach tightened like a fist. He didn't need to look; he knew what silhouette waited beyond the next ridge.
Dawlish spotted it first and shouted, horrified,
"Is that—?"
"Hogwarts," Kingsley said grimly.
The ancient castle rose in the distance, tall and unyielding, its silhouette a jagged crown against the horizon. The Forbidden Forest spread beneath it like a dark ocean of secrets.
Croaker slowed, angling downward.
"The reading originates here."
The squad spiraled lower. The air grew denser, thicker — magic coiling around them in invisible waves. They landed in a wide clearing deep in the forest.
Every single witch and wizard froze.
The clearing looked as though a colossus had stepped through it monts ago.
Massive prints — depressions ters wide — crushed the earth. Several trees lay snapped like matchsticks. The grass around the center was flattened in a perfect circular ripple pattern, as if sothing huge had landed with devastating force.
And the scent in the air…
Burnt pine.
Ozone.
And an undercurrent of ancient magic so potent it made Alia's teeth ache.
Croaker lifted his scanner, sweeping it through the clearing with slow, reverent motion.
This ti, the device didn't hum.
It sang.
A deep, resonant tone reverberated through the ground, vibrating through armor and bone.
Croaker's voice was barely above a whisper.
"Director Bones… the magical residue here exceeds that of a fully-grown Ukrainian Ironbelly."
Dawlish choked, "Exceeds? By how much?"
Bode checked the readings again, as if hoping they'd suddenly beco sensible.
"Rough estimate? …All of it."
Kingsley's breath left him in a slow, asured exhale.
"Whatever was here… was enormous."
Andrew stepped forward, eyes fixed on the ruined earth, dread prickling along his spine.
"And powerful. Very, very powerful."
Croaker reached into his robes with deliberate care and withdrew a small, ornate hourglass. Golden filigree curled around its delicate fra, the twin bulbs filled with shimring sand that flowed both upward and downward at once. The entire device rotated gently in his hand, as though stirred by an unseen current.
Alia's breath caught.
"A ti-turner?"
Croaker inclined his head. "One of the Departnt's field prototypes."
He held the hourglass up to the afternoon Highland light, the sands glittering in impossible motion.
"In all our recorded history," he said gravely, "from the Ministry's founding in 1707, through every fragnted pre-Ministry archive we possess… we have never docunted a magical signature of this magnitude."
Kingsley gave a low whistle. "Never?"
Croaker's expression was carved from stone.
"Never."
Andrew Carter shifted, a muscle jumping in his jaw. The magical resonance in the clearing still prickled faintly against his skin — familiar, unmistakable, and terrifyingly amplified. Ben's. But transford into sothing far beyond anything Andrew had ever felt from his son.
Croaker continued, "We cannot ignore this. And we absolutely cannot delay. Understanding the nature of this event is of paramount importance."
Alia crossed her arms. "Hence the ti-turner."
Croaker nodded. "We will observe the last hour. But we will not" —his gaze swept over the assembled Aurors like a blade— "interfere."
The word cracked through the clearing like a snapped wand.
"The mont we travel back, we exist outside the original causal chain. We were not present the first ti, therefore we must not participate now. Any interaction risks altering what occurred."
Elderberry added, "And 'alter' is the charitable phrasing. 'Catastrophic divergence' is the less pleasant one."
Dawlish cleared his throat. "And by… catastrophic… you an?"
Bode answered with academic cheerfulness.
"Branch reality creation. Paradox implosion. Tiline collapse. You know, the fun stuff."
A ripple of pale faces passed through the Aurors.
Croaker pressed on, his voice firm.
"No spells. No communication unless absolutely necessary. No exposure. And under no circumstance are you to approach the entity responsible."
Alia responded crisply. "Understood."
Bode's expression grew even more serious.
"Additionally — whatever was here… its senses must have been extraordinary. Possibly beyond even normal dragon paraters."
Andrew thought back to the imnse crater-like footprints, the scorched earth, the sheer force left behind.
Extraordinary felt like an understatent.
Bode continued, "If we remain in this clearing, we risk being detected even as hidden observers."
Croaker gestured sharply.
"Mount up. We relocate three kiloters west."
Brooms shot upward through the forest canopy, weaving in and out of massive tree trunks as they skimd barely above the forest floor. After a tight, silent flight, Croaker raised a hand.
"Here."
They descended into a narrow clearing ringed by towering oaks. Unlike the earlier site, this space felt untouched — quiet, cool, the moss underfoot soft and undisturbed.
Perfect for observation.
The three Unspeakables moved to the center.
Croaker knelt and placed the ti-turner gently on the ground. The golden device rested on the moss like a living artifact, humming with a faint, otherworldly resonance that prickled across the skin.
"Gather close," he instructed.
Alia stepped in first. Kingsley followed. Andrew joined them, his breath tight in his chest. The Aurors ford a tense, circular periter around the hourglass.
Croaker inhaled once.
Then he gave the ti-turner a single, precise turn.
The hourglass spun.
WHOOMPH
The world lurched.
Wind reversed direction. Leaves soared upward into branches. Sunlight flickered, dimd, brightened, dimd again — each shift perfectly reversed, as if ti itself were breathing backward. Birdsong inverted into strange, swallowing echoes. The air thickened with the peculiar weight of a world unspooling itself.
They stood in the sa clearing…
…but everything beyond their circle moved like a film winding in reverse.
Croaker's cloak rippled in the backward wind.
"No interference," he warned, his voice sounding stretched and hollow in the warped air.
---
Forbidden Forest
One hour in the past
The hourglass gave one last trembling spin, then stilled.
The world snapped back into clarity. The trees stood where they had been, the wind rustled the moss the way it should — but the sun hung slightly further east. Ti had rewound.
Croaker didn't waste a heartbeat.
"Bode. Elderberry. Concealnt protocols."
The two Unspeakables nodded and imdiately began weaving complex spells into the air. Translucent latticework spun around the group like a do of liquid glass, shimring with runes that bent light, sound, and magical presence. The forest seed to shift away from them, like reality itself politely stepped aside.
Croaker knelt and opened a reinforced case. From it, he lifted a circular pane of flawless glass mounted on an intricate bronze stand. The runes around its rim pulsed in slow sequence.
"A Spy-glass," Alia murmured, impressed despite herself.
Croaker set it on the ground.
"Focuses on any area within a five-kiloter radius. No temporal contamination."
The surface rippled once—
Then the forest clearing from earlier appeared within the glass like an aerial projection.
Empty. Quiet. Waiting.
The Aurors leaned in.
Then—
FWOOMP
A portal tore open in the center of the clearing.
Except it didn't tear — that was the terrifying part.
It unfolded, clean as silk, the edges smooth and quiet, as though space had simply decided to take a polite step sideways.
Andrew Carter froze.
He'd seen that sa portal countless tis in the last couple of years.
His heart clenched.
It was Ben's portal.
But he kept silent — professionalism, protocol, and paternal panic wrestling in his chest.
A figure stepped through.
Tall. Over six feet. Broad-shouldered. Wearing casual shirt and trousers, like soone who'd finished a gym session and was casually walking ho.
Kingsley whispered, "Who in rlin's na—?"
Dawlish breathed, "That's a man? Looks like a Greek statue tried out for the Auror Corps."
Elderberry choked. "That portal—no fracturing, no ripple distortion—no stress lines. Spatial integrity is… perfect."
Bode shook his head in open disbelief. "Impossible. Spatial folding without resonance feedback? That's decades beyond us!"
Croaker leaned closer, eyes narrowing.
"A seamless portal."
His voice held sothing rare — genuine awe.
But then a new complication arose:
The man's face was blurred.
Not shadowed. Not turned away. Not out of focus due to distance.
Blurred.
Like reality itself refused to draw his features.
"What in the—?" Dawlish breathed.
Kingsley frowned. "Is that a malfunction?"
Croaker adjusted the Spy-glass, twisting its runes.
"Enhance resolution."
Nothing changed.
He flicked another control.
Still blurred.
He tapped the glass sharply with his wand.
The blur remained — stubborn, absolute, almost mocking.
"This should be impossible," Bode said slowly. "Spy-glasses pierce glamours, invisibility fields, even mild temporal displacent."
Elderberry added, "It would take either a Tier-7 concealnt charm"—he paused, then grimaced—"or… interference from sothing outside our temporal layer."
Alia turned sharply. "Outside our what?"
Elderberry opened his mouth.
Croaker raised a hand.
"Not now."
Andrew stood silent. The universe could scramble every pixel on that projection — but a father knows his son. The posture, the gait, the habitual way the man flexed his hands when excited…
But the sudden height?
The sculpted physique?
That… was new.
---
anwhile (In Another Reality)
A small wooden cabin floated serenely in a pocket dinsion between worlds.
Inside, the Old Man — the one who had reincarnated Ben with a wave, a grin, and absolutely zero disclairs — rocked in his favourite chair, sipping his Antimatter Latte.
He glanced at a hovering projection of Croaker violently shaking a Spy-glass.
He whistled innocently.
"Oops."
He turned the page of his newspaper, where the headline read:
TI-LORDS ASK AGAIN: PLEASE STOP DDLING WITH YOUR CHOSEN REINCARNATE.
He shrugged.
"What can I say? I am fond of that boy."
---
Back in the Forbidden Forest
The blurred figure in the Spy-glass shifted.
A faint glow rose from his skin.
Soft at first.
Then brighter — gold seeping outward like dawn cracking through stone.
The Aurors tensed.
"What's happening to him?" Alia demanded.
Croaker didn't answer.
The glow intensified.
Clothes strained.
Magic roared.
Light erupted from the man's limbs, spine, shoulders —
And then—
FWOOOOM
Before their stunned eyes, the man expanded — erupted — transford.
Bone reshaped.
Skin hardened.
A river of golden scales burst across the figure like molten tal solidifying in fast motion.
Wings unfurled in a blinding sweep.
A tail whipped free.
Horns spiraled upward.
Claws curved from molten-gold talons.
When the transformation completed…
A twenty-ter gold dragon stood in the clearing.
Majestic. Radiant. Terrifying.
A living sun forged in the shape of a beast.
Every Auror recoiled.
Even Croaker stumbled back, jaw slack — the closest to losing composure he had ever been.
Kingsley whispered, "By all the founders…"
Dawlish forgot how to speak English entirely.
Elderberry emitted a high-pitched squeak.
Alia could only stare.
"This… this is a tamorphosis spell?" she gasped.
Bode shook his head violently. "No spell is that seamless—no biological rewriting that smooth—this is… natural."
Andrew didn't breathe.
The dragon crouched—
—and with a titanic beat of its wings that rattled trees even through the Spy-glass—
FWHOOOOOOM
—took to the skies.
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
After due consideration, I have removed the few lines I wrote in the previous chapter. I agree with the readers who said that we co to Webnovel to escape from all the horrible business going on out there, and that we don't need another reminder of it here.
Let just say that I am not an Arican, and not likely to travel to the States anyti soon in the future. I am also not from Venezuela, Greenland, Russia, China or god forbid, North Korea. I don't have a political agenda against the US or its people, don't give a shit about Arican Republicans or Democrats, and don't care a whiff about US Immigration policy.
I am however, a human being capable of empathy, with reasonable ntal faculties.
I watched the video of the shooting of Renee Good on YouTube. I wasn't even looking for it, just ca across it. I heard the ICE agent say "Fucking bitch" after he fired three lethal shots. I saw the agent walk away—not limp away—walk away after the shooting. I saw ICE agents prevent a physician from providing ergency dical care to the victim after the shooting.
I felt angry, and I felt like I had to say sothing.
I doubt Renee Good was the embodint of human perfection — none of us are. And yes, she should not have tried to drive off—that was stupid. And her wife probably escalated the situation needlessly with all her yelling.
However, I don't think the woman should have been denied dical care after being fatally incapacitated, in the few precious monts when her life might have been saved. No matter the circumstances, everyone (except rapists and child molesters) deserves the least amount of kindness and compassion as fellow human beings.
That's all I have to say.
If you find my words opinionated or offensive, then please, feel free to leave.
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