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Chapter Twenty: So This Is What Dragon-Slaying Is Really Like
These islands were home to countless magical creatures, the most dangerous of them being dragons. And this time, Lockhart and the others were here to slay one—legally.
The island's caretaker, Martin, was delighted to see them. Visitors were rare.
"Finally—living people! Welcome, welcome!" Martin laughed loudly.
Martin and his family lived on the island to watch over the dragons, but clearly there was no room to house guests. Lockhart's group set up their own tents.
After reading the Ministry's documentation, Martin whistled.
"Oh, you're here to kill a dragon? Merlin's beard—just one? I wish you'd kill every single one so my family and I could finally go home and live a peaceful life."
"It's a pity we can't," Ollivander said, giving him a sympathetic look. "We all know how dangerous your family's work is. You have our gratitude."
Martin waved a hand. "Ah, never mind that. When are you planning to start?"
"As soon as possible—tomorrow," Ollivander replied.
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Dragon Briefing
"All right," Martin began, "let me give a quick introduction. This island has over a dozen dragons, all of them Hebridean Blacks—common, but vicious. Apart from the professional search team, everyone else should stay close to the campsite for the next few days."
He gave Lockhart a meaningful glance.
"Some of you might be powerful or adventurous, but dragons are no joke. And since you've only got permission to kill one, I hope no one decides to wander off on their own."
The leader of the hunting team added,
"After we locate the target, we'll still need to sweep the surrounding area. If the dragon calls for help and another one happens to be nearby, things could turn very nasty."
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Contrary to the dashing adventures in his books, Lockhart spent several days doing absolutely nothing—just waiting in a tent near Martin's home for the search team's daily updates. If not for a certain devoted female fan keeping him company, he might have died of boredom.
The search team eventually located a few dragons.
—One female in mating season: off-limits.
—One too young.
—And finally, one suitable for hunting.
"Let's get started!" Lockhart said eagerly.
"Lead the way!" the hunters mounted their brooms.
"What exactly do we need to do?" Lockhart asked. "I've dealt with plenty of dragons before, of course, but I don't know the best way to kill one while preserving the materials."
"Gideroy, you just supervise," Tonks said dryly. "Leave the actual killing to the professionals."
"Tonks, you know, when I'm adventuring, I'm not used to having such a strong team beside me."
"Miss Tonks is right, Mr Lockhart. Just watch. We're being paid for this," the hunters assured him.
"All right then," Lockhart sighed. "I'll simply admire your performance."
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The operation would begin the following day—the area had to be checked thoroughly to ensure no other dragons were within call. After dinner, Tonks slipped into Lockhart's tent again.
"Gidero, once this is done, we'll finally get to go home. Any plans?"
"Maybe I'll go to the Quidditch World Cup. I can probably ask someone for a ticket."
"You watch Quidditch? How boring! I thought you were going to start another adventure."
"Ahem… I'm getting old."
"Old? You're not even thirty! Pathetic." Tonks scoffed.
"If you're not going adventuring, I'll go back to my Auror training."
She stepped out of the tent. "Goodnight."
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The Hunt
The next day after lunch, the patrol confirmed the area was clear.
The hunting team roasted a deer.
The smell was irresistible—even to a dragon.
With a thunderous ROAR, the Hebridean Black emerged from its lair.
The man handling the roast flung the deer into the air, guiding it with a spell straight toward the ambush point.
The dragon lunged, swallowed it whole, licked its jaws—
That moment, the trap snapped shut.
A towering tree burst to life, its branches stretching like claws. Vines whipped forward, coiling around the dragon and slamming it to the ground.
The enraged beast inhaled, flames gathering in its throat—
but two wizards fired powerful Glacius spells simultaneously, one into its mouth, the other at its throat.
Heat and frost collided in a violent explosion. A blast of white mist erupted; the dragon's jaw burst open, and its throat froze solid.
The dragon roared, struggling fiercely, snapping vines—
A Swamp Charm bloomed beneath it. The ground turned to sucking mud, swallowing its legs. The harder it struggled, the deeper it sank.
Half-buried, wings flailing helplessly, the dragon could neither launch nor flee.
"Mountain Moving Spell!" shouted the team.
Dozens of iron blocks and stones rose into the air and hurled themselves at the dragon like meteors.
The dragon's cries shook the sky—desperate, pleading for help.
Lockhart winced.
"Why not use the Killing Curse? Isn't this too much trouble?"
Tonks stared at him.
"Gidero, don't ask such beginner questions. You, of all people—the second wizard in history to survive a Killing Curse—should know this. The power of Avada Kedavra depends entirely on the caster. Humans are fragile, so it kills us. Dragons aren't. Their bodies and magic resistance are far too strong. Unless you cast dozens of Killing Curses at once, it barely works—and doing that ruins the quality of the corpse."
An elderly member of the International Wandmaking Committee added,
"Most importantly, letting the dragon thrash before death churns its magic through its veins. Makes for far stronger wand cores."
The dragon's skull finally shattered under an iron block.
Its body trembled, its strength failing. After calling for help and receiving none, the mighty creature closed its eyes—resigned, helpless.
"Move! Collect the body and get out!"
Lockhart's face twitched.
That's it?
The "epic three-day chase and battle" from his books must look ridiculous to these professionals.
He truly did nothing but stand and watch. Under the team's practiced hands, the dragon was swiftly dismembered, packed, and sealed into a spatial kit.
As the roars of other dragons echoed across the island and massive shapes rose into the sky, everyone leapt onto their brooms.
"Withdraw!"
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