The trio sat on the rooftop terrace, a gentle breeze rustling the fabric of their robes as they sipped tea. The view stretched out before them like a painting come to life, the bustling city below alive with a harmonious blend of magic and modernity. Minerva leaned back in her chair, occasionally taking a sip from her cup, her sharp eyes observing everything with quiet curiosity. Dumbledore, however, sat with a furrowed brow, deep in thought, as if turning over a puzzle in his mind.
"I have been meaning to ask," he began, his voice breaking the tranquil silence.
"What is it, dear?" Cercy replied in a tone so lighthearted and maternal that it made Dumbledore feel, for the briefest moment, like a young boy under the watchful eye of an elder. Minerva raised an eyebrow at the subtle condescension but chose not to interrupt, instead looking between the two.
Dumbledore cleared his throat. "How do you know me? I mean, you clearly know me—you've dropped enough hints for me to catch on."
Cercy chuckled softly, setting down her teacup with deliberate grace. She looked at him as though he were an amusing child caught asking the obvious. "Hohoho, I feel a tiny bit of agitation in you, my boy. Very well, I'll spell the beans, as you people say."
Minerva nearly choked on her tea at the phrase but quickly composed herself. Dumbledore leaned forward slightly, his eyes sharp and focused. "Please do. From what I understand so far, your people do not leave this realm. Or is it that you venture out secretly to gather information?"
Cercy waved her hand dismissively, her expression growing more playful. "Hold your horses and let me speak, will you? As I already mentioned, I am Cercy of House Lucentis, the House of Vision. Our family is known for our abilities to see the past, present, and future. Of course," she added, her tone turning slightly dramatic, "peering into the past or the future comes at a cost—tasking, even draining. It chips away at one's longevity, which is why we use such powers sparingly."
She paused to sip her tea, as if savoring the suspense. "However, seeing the present is a far simpler endeavor. It merely requires mental and magical exertion—nothing a talented Lucentis like myself can't handle."
Minerva tilted her head, intrigued but skeptical. "So, you're saying you've been… watching him this whole time?"
Cercy's blue eyes twinkled mischievously. "Patience, dear. Let me tell it properly. You see, even as a child, I was considered quite the prodigy in my family. I could see farther, clearer, and with greater precision than anyone else. Naturally, I garnered a lot of attention. I was the pride of my house, but…" She sighed dramatically, her hand resting over her heart. "I was lonely. That big house, filled with adoration and expectation, felt suffocating. I was bored to death!"
Minerva blinked, taken aback by the sudden vulnerability. Even Dumbledore seemed momentarily disarmed.
"So," Cercy continued, her tone lightening, "I took up a little hobby: watching the lives of people in the outside world. It was entertaining, like a live-action story unfolding before my very eyes. I watched great wizards rise and fall, watched them live their lives in ways I could only imagine."
Her expression softened, and her gaze turned to Dumbledore. "And then, one day, a little Albus Dumbledore was born. I don't know why, but I had the strangest feeling that watching you grow would be… interesting."
Dumbledore stiffened, his eyes narrowing slightly. Cercy's lips curled into a fond smile as she leaned forward, her voice dropping to a more intimate tone. "I watched you take your first steps, saw the spark of magic in your eyes when you learned your first spell. I saw you laugh, cry, struggle, and triumph. I saw you fall in love with that disaster of a boy—oh, how tragic and beautiful that was. I watched you grieve, regret, and ultimately forgive. You were like the protagonist in a story, my little boy."
Her hand reached out, brushing against his wrinkled cheek. Her touch was gentle, almost reverent, as if she were handling a fragile memory. "How time has aged you," she whispered, her blue eyes shimmering with something that felt both maternal and wistful. "You were a bright star in a vast sky. I couldn't look away."
Dumbledore's mouth opened as if to speak, but no words came out. He sat frozen, his mind reeling from the revelation. Minerva, however, was less restrained.
"That's crazy!" she exclaimed, her voice filled with disbelief. "You're crazy!"
Cercy burst into laughter, leaning back in her chair with a carefree air. "Hohoho! Perhaps I am," she admitted, a sly smile playing on her lips.
Minerva turned to Dumbledore, expecting him to refute the claims or demand an explanation, but he remained silent, his expression unreadable. For a moment, she thought she saw something flicker in his eyes—something like nostalgia, or perhaps sorrow.
Finally, Cercy spoke again, her tone teasing but not unkind. "Oh, don't look so serious, Albus. Life is meant to be lived, after all. And you, my dear, have lived quite a life. But there is still much left for you to do."
Dumbledore's hand trembled slightly as he lifted his teacup, taking a long sip. When he finally spoke, his voice was soft, almost contemplative. "And you've been watching this whole time?"
Cercy nodded, her smile widening. "Every step of the way. And trust me, it's been worth every moment."
Minerva shook her head, still trying to wrap her mind around the bizarre and intimate nature of the revelation. Dumbledore, on the other hand, seemed to accept it, his posture relaxing slightly as if the weight of her words had settled over him like a familiar cloak.
The breeze picked up again, carrying with it the scent of flowers from the palace gardens below. For a long while, none of them spoke, the silence filled only with the sound of the bustling city below and the occasional roar of a dragon soaring through the sky.
Dumbledore leaned back in his chair, taking a slow sip of his tea. "Right, let's change the subject, shall we?" he said, his tone carefully measured, not wanting to dwell on the peculiar revelations about Cercy's omniscient hobby. "Hecate. How is her magic? Did she inherit the abilities of her family, or is she more of a mage—or perhaps, both?"
Cercy's gaze shifted from playful to contemplative, her expression softening as she looked into the distance. "Do you know," she began, her voice quieter now, "what made the Targaryen family the leaders of all the other families?"
Dumbledore straightened slightly, intrigued by the change in tone. Minerva, ever the eager Gryffindor, leaned forward in her seat, her curiosity palpable.
"It's their overwhelming power," Cercy continued, her eyes meeting Dumbledore's with a spark of pride. "The Targaryens are unique among us high humans. They are the only family capable of manifesting more than one ability within a single bloodline. And these abilities, no matter how diverse, are not diluted—they are as strong as, or even stronger than, the abilities of any ducal family."
Minerva's brow furrowed, her curiosity getting the better of her. "What kind of abilities are we talking about here?" she asked, unable to contain herself any longer.
Cercy chuckled at the younger witch's enthusiasm. "Ah, it differs from one generation to another," she explained, gesturing with her hand as if painting a picture. "Every Targaryen manifests their gifts differently, often influenced by their temperament, their environment, and even their ambitions. But there is one ability—one singular power—that resurfaces in every generation without fail."
Before she could say more, the distant yet unmistakable sound of a dragon's roar echoed across the city. The trio turned their heads in unison, their eyes scanning the horizon where a massive dragon soared above the skyscrapers, its wings casting long shadows over the bustling streets below.
Cercy's lips curved into a proud smile. "Controlling dragons," she said, her voice filled with reverence. "Or, more accurately, dragons choosing to serve them. For reasons we do not fully understand, dragons are inherently drawn to the Targaryens. It is not a bond of dominance but one of mutual respect and love. The dragons willingly lend their power, their strength, and their loyalty."
Minerva's eyes widened as she watched another dragon, this one smaller and sleeker, land gracefully on a rooftop. Its scales shimmered like molten silver, catching the light of the sun. "That's incredible," she murmured. "But… why? What makes the Targaryens so special?"
Cercy leaned back in her chair, her expression turning wistful. "It is said," she began, "that the Targaryens share a fragment of an ancient bond, one that ties their magic to the very essence of dragons. Some scholars believe it's rooted in their ancestry, that their bloodline carries traces of a primordial pact made long before our time. Others think it's simply a quirk of evolution, a result of their magic adapting to the environment they thrived in. Whatever the reason, it is undeniable—the dragons see the Targaryens not as masters, but as equals."
Dumbledore frowned slightly, his mind racing. "And Hecate?" he pressed. "Does she exhibit this bond as well?"
Cercy nodded, her smile softening. "Oh, yes. Hecate's bond with dragons is undeniable, though she may not fully understand it yet. Even as a child, when she was brought back to the capital for brief visits, the dragons would flock to her. They would perch near her, nuzzle her, protect her. It was as if they sensed her potential, even before she did."
She paused, her gaze turning more serious. "But Hecate's magic is not limited to dragons alone. She inherited the unpredictable nature of the Targaryen bloodline. Her potential is vast, her abilities as varied as they are potent. But it is also dangerous. She has the strength to wield the power of multiple families within her veins,and let's not forget the witch trait she inherited from that guy , without proper guidance…" Cercy trailed off, her expression darkening.
Dumbledore's eyes narrowed. "She could lose control."
"Yes," Cercy admitted. "Our magic is both a blessing and a curse. If not mastered, it can consume the wielder. That is why we sent her to your world, hoping she might gain perspective, discipline, and perhaps learn to balance the unique blend of powers within her."
Minerva glanced at Dumbledore, who was clearly deep in thought. "But why dragons?" she asked again, her voice tinged with wonder. "Of all the creatures in the world, why are they drawn to your family?"
Cercy smiled enigmatically. "Because dragons, my dear, are not merely beasts. They are beings of immense intelligence and emotion. They see what lies within us, beyond the surface. And what they see in the Targaryens… is kin."
Minerva scoffed, crossing her arms as she stared at the dragons soaring gracefully in the skies above. "I can't imagine those unruly beings bowing their heads to anyone," she remarked, her tone skeptical.
Cercy chuckled, a melodic sound that carried a faint undertone of superiority. "Hohoho, oh my dear, don't compare the dragons of the outside world to those here in the Targaryen kingdom," she said, waving her hand dismissively as if brushing away a silly notion. "The ones you're familiar with are wild, untamed creatures with little regard for anything but their instincts."
Minerva raised a brow, still unconvinced. "And the ones here? Are they different simply because they live in this kingdom?"
"Well…" Cercy began, her gaze drifting toward the horizon where a particularly majestic dragon—its scales a deep obsidian streaked with veins of molten gold—landed gracefully on a spire. "According to the ancient records kept in the royal library, when the Targaryen ancestors established this kingdom, they brought along only the smartest, most intelligent dragons. Those who demonstrated not just power, but wit, wisdom, and loyalty. They left the rest—the wild ones, the unruly ones—to your people in the outside world."
She smiled, her expression both proud and faintly amused. "It seems, my dear, that your world inherited the rebellious riffraff, while we retained the crème de la crème."
Dumbledore, who had been silently observing the interaction, leaned forward slightly, his curiosity piqued. "Are you suggesting that the dragons here are... domesticated?"
"Oh, not at all," Cercy replied quickly, shaking her head. "Domestication would imply servitude, wouldn't it? No, the dragons here are partners, equals. They are beings of remarkable intelligence, capable of making their own choices. They serve the Targaryens not because they are compelled to, but because they choose to. There is a profound mutual respect between them, a bond that transcends mere words."
Minerva frowned, still trying to process the idea. "And you expect me to believe that these creatures—these enormous, fire-breathing beasts—are just… docile scholars or philosophers?"
Cercy's smile grew wider, her eyes sparkling with mischief. "Oh, my dear Minerva, I never said they were docile. Dragons are fierce, passionate, and occasionally temperamental. But they are also deeply intelligent, more so than most humans or wizards give them credit for. Their loyalty is earned, not taken. And those who earn it have allies of unimaginable power."
Minerva huffed but didn't press further, her skepticism lingering despite Cercy's explanation. Dumbledore, however, looked thoughtful. "If what you say is true," he mused, "then the bond between the Targaryens and their dragons is not just a product of magic but of trust and understanding. That, I must admit, is quite remarkable."
Cercy's smile softened. "It is remarkable, isn't it? And yet, it is a burden as much as it is a gift. The dragons are not pets or tools. They are companions, demanding respect, care, and wisdom from those who would partner with them. That is why not every Targaryen forms a bond with a dragon. It is a matter of worth, not blood."
The group fell silent for a moment, watching as another dragon, this one a shimmering green with wings like translucent emeralds, flew low over the city, its shadow passing over the streets below. Its flight was graceful, its movements purposeful, and as it passed, people on the streets below looked up, smiling and waving as if greeting an old friend.
"They are magnificent," Minerva admitted quietly, her earlier skepticism giving way to a grudging admiration.
"Yes," Cercy agreed, her voice almost reverent. "Magnificent, and so much more."
--------
As the sun dipped below the horizon, painting the sky in hues of amber and violet, the trio walked through the serene paths of the royal garden. The air was fragrant with the mingling scents of exotic blooms, and the faint chirping of distant birds provided a soothing backdrop. Cercy led the way, her stride as light and purposeful as a woman decades younger, while Dumbledore and Minerva followed, their thoughts preoccupied with everything they had witnessed.
As they approached the winding road near the garden's entrance, Cercy suddenly stopped and turned to face them, her expression a curious blend of warmth and command. "Well, now that you know our dear princess has nothing to do with that brat Tom," she began, her tone sharp as a blade yet cushioned by a genteel smile, "I trust you'll support her genuinely. She has a significant role to play, after all."
Dumbledore's eyes narrowed slightly, the gears of his mind turning. "And what, pray tell, is this role you speak of?"
Cercy waved a hand dismissively. "Oh, come now, my boy. Let's not delve into prophecies and paths tonight. What I mean is simple: guide her, support her. Hecate is young and brimming with potential, but even the strongest flame needs tending to ensure it doesn't burn out or devour everything in its wake."
Dumbledore nodded slowly, though his skepticism lingered. "You speak as though you expect me to shape her destiny."
"Not shape, dear Albus," Cercy corrected with a sly smile, "but guard it. Protect her from the outside forces that would seek to exploit or destroy her. And in return…" She leaned closer, her gaze sharp and glittering, "I want you to introduce us to the nobility of your world. Represent us as an ancient family, one that has chosen this moment to emerge from the shadows."
Minerva, who had been quietly observing, frowned. "And why should Albus do that? What's to stop him from telling the world about all of this?" She gestured broadly to the kingdom around them, her tone bordering on defiant.
Cercy chuckled, her laugh light and airy but laced with an edge. "Oh, how cute. Child, I wouldn't expect you to understand, but let me clarify." She fixed her gaze on Dumbledore, her eyes glinting with an ancient wisdom that sent a shiver down his spine. "Albus, I've watched you for years. I know your principles, your struggles, your secrets. You value truth, but you also value balance. If you were to expose this place…" She paused, letting the silence linger before continuing with an unsettling calm, "...they would find nothing. This kingdom is protected by magics far beyond your comprehension, and the few fragmented memories you carry? Let's just say they could easily vanish with a flick of my wrist."
Dumbledore straightened, meeting her gaze with his own steely resolve. "You assume much, Lady Cercy."
"Do I?" Cercy's smile widened, her tone mockingly sweet. "Perhaps. But I also trust my instincts. And if I thought you were a threat, you wouldn't be standing here now, would you?" She stepped back, smoothing her dress with an air of finality. "This is a mutually beneficial arrangement, dear boy. You gain the allegiance of a powerful, ancient family. A boon in your war, no? And in return, we ensure Hecate's place in the world is secure, without unnecessary interference."
Minerva glanced between them, her jaw set but her voice measured. "And the truth? How much of it are we allowed to share?"
Cercy shrugged elegantly. "The truth is a precious thing, dear. You may share it with those you trust implicitly. But the rest of the world? They'll only need to see what you show them. Portray us as a long-lost family of immense power, one that has chosen this time to support the cause of peace and stability. A strategic ally for a noble purpose."
Dumbledore remained silent for a moment, weighing her words. Finally, he nodded, though his expression betrayed little. "Very well. But know this: if I suspect even a hint of danger to the balance of our world, I will not hesitate to act."
Cercy inclined her head graciously, though her smile never wavered. "Of course, my dear Albus. I wouldn't expect anything less." Her gaze softened slightly, a rare flicker of genuine warmth slipping through her composed exterior. "Now, let's not end this lovely evening on such a tense note. Come, let me show you the starlight garden. It's a sight you won't soon forget."
And with that, she turned, leading them deeper into the royal grounds, her presence commanding yet oddly comforting. As they followed, the weight of her words lingered in the cool night air, heavy with the promise of alliances, secrets, and an uncertain future.
------
The group had nearly reached the end of the road when they encountered Hecate, now flanked by her parents. The resemblance between them was striking; her mother radiated an aura of regality, her every movement graceful yet commanding, while her father stood tall and imposing, his calm demeanor giving off an air of quiet strength.
Cercy, as usual, was the first to speak. "Ah, I see it's time for you to leave. How unfortunate. It was such a pleasure to finally meet you two."
Dumbledore inclined his head. "Yes… it is time."
Before they could say much else, Hecate's mother stepped forward, her piercing gaze settling on Dumbledore. "Mr. Dumbledore," she began, her tone polite but serious, "would it be acceptable for you to send us a blood sample of dragons from the outside world? I'm currently conducting research on the evolutionary divergence between dragons in the outside realm and those here in the sub-dimension. Naturally, we will cover all associated costs."
Dumbledore raised an eyebrow, slightly taken aback by the straightforward request. "That won't be necessary," he said after a moment of thought. "Such a request doesn't require repayment. I'll see to it that you receive the sample."
"Excellent." The queen's expression softened, though her seriousness remained. "Thank you."
"Oh, and I almost forgot!" Cercy interjected with exaggerated cheer, clasping her hands as if remembering something trivial. "Hecate has a few duties to attend to here as the heir. She might be delayed by a month or two before returning to school. I hope that's alright?" She tilted her head, her attempt at appearing cute bordering on theatrical.
Minerva immediately opened her mouth to protest. "Excuse me, but there are rules—"
Dumbledore raised a hand, silencing her gently. He met her gaze for a brief moment before turning to Cercy. "That's fine. However, she will need to catch up with her classmates on her own. No alternate schedules will be provided for her exams or assignments."
Cercy clapped her hands together in delight. "That's perfectly fine! My little dove has an excellent brain. She'll manage just fine."
"Now that's settled, off you go!" Cercy announced with a flourish, stepping aside.
Hecate's mother approached Dumbledore once more, her voice softer now. "Professor, I'll come five days from now to collect the dragon blood sample. I trust you'll have it ready?"
Dumbledore nodded. "It will be prepared."
Minerva, still looking somewhat flustered by the abruptness of the arrangements, glanced at Hecate's father. "So… what happens now?"
He offered a faint smile, raising his hand as a shimmering, silver gate began to form before them. "Nothing for you to worry about. I'll handle it." The portal grew steadily, its edges shimmering like molten silver under moonlight.
"Spatial magic…" Dumbledore murmured to himself, clearly impressed.
Just as the portal stabilized, Cercy stepped forward one last time, her playful demeanor returning. She leaned toward Dumbledore with a mischievous glint in her eye. "Next time, you should bring your lover along. That is, if he's still alive."
Dumbledore's composure faltered for the briefest of moments. "Wait—what—"
Before he could finish, the portal shimmered, and with a rush of air, it pulled them through. The world around them blurred into a swirl of silver light before they found themselves standing back in the familiar halls of Hogwarts, leaving the enigmatic Targaryen family and their kingdom behind.
Minerva looked at Dumbledore, her expression a mix of confusion and exasperation. "What just happened?"
Dumbledore, still recovering from the whirlwind of events and Cercy's parting remark, simply shook his head. "I'm not entirely sure, but one thing is clear: we've entered into something far more complex than we first imagined."