One and a Half Months Later
The red cocoon, nestled in a protective circle of dragons, began to emit faint cracks of light. The once-still dragons stirred uneasily, their eyes glowing with curiosity and caution. A low hum filled the air as the cocoon pulsated, sending ripples of energy across the barren landscape. Smoke and steam hissed from the cracks as they widened, the cocoon splitting open like a fragile shell.
From within emerged Hecate.
Her form was graceful yet trembling, as though she were relearning how to stand. Her usual confidence was replaced by an unsettling vulnerability. The black dress she wore, adorned with shimmering gems that seemed to mirror the night sky, clung to her form as if alive. It shifted with the faintest breeze, exuding an aura of power and mystery.
But something was clearly wrong.
Hecate's steps faltered, her balance unsteady as she swayed like someone intoxicated. She blinked rapidly, her pupils dilating as though struggling to focus. Her hands trembled, and her breathing was uneven. The overwhelming sensation of magic coursing through her body was alien—unnatural. It flowed along pathways she hadn't known existed, branching and spiraling in complex patterns beyond her understanding.
Her usual control over her magic felt shattered, replaced by a wild and unfamiliar power. She clenched her fists, attempting to channel the magic into something recognizable, something stable. But the moment she tried, it recoiled like a rebellious tide, slipping through her grasp and coursing in directions she couldn't predict.
The dragons surrounding her reacted to the change with a mix of reverence and apprehension.
The largest among them, a Singetail, bellowed a low, rumbling roar, signaling the others to maintain their distance. The Crimson Goregutter sniffed the air, its massive nostrils flaring as it recognized the shift in Hecate's aura. Even the Death Song, with its hauntingly beautiful hum, seemed subdued, sensing that something unprecedented had awakened within her.
They watched in silence as their mistress struggled to steady herself, their keen instincts warning them that interfering might do more harm than good.
---
The Grimoire Activates
In her disoriented state, Hecate's instincts took over. Desperate to ground herself, she reached for the one constant in her arsenal: her spatial grimoire. Without even realizing it, she called upon it, her magic surging wildly into the artifact.
The grimoire responded immediately, as if attuned to her chaotic state. Its ethereal pages glowed with an otherworldly light, and ancient runes danced across its surface. It was as though the book itself had been waiting for this exact moment.
The air around Hecate warped, a shimmering distortion rippling outward like heatwaves. A gate materialized before her—a swirling vortex of light and shadow, its edges crackling with raw energy.
Her dragons roared in alarm, their voices filled with concern, but Hecate barely heard them. Her body moved on instinct, her feet carrying her toward the gate even as her mind screamed for her to stop.
The moment her foot crossed the threshold, the gate swallowed her whole. It closed with a deafening crack, the residual energy leaving the air heavy and charged.
The dragons were left behind, their mistress gone in an instant. They prowled around the area where the gate had stood, their unease palpable. The Singetail let out another roar, this one sharper, almost demanding, as though calling for her return. The Death Song sang a mournful tune, its melody echoing across the barren land.
But Hecate was already gone.
-----
In the Gryffindor common room, the Marauders were huddled in their usual corner, their expressions unusually serious.
"Anything about Hecate?" James Potter asked, his voice laced with concern as he ran a hand through his messy hair. "It's been more than a month, and she's still nowhere to be found."
"Maybe she dropped out," Peter Pettigrew suggested timidly, his eyes darting nervously to the others.
"Impossible," Sirius Black cut in sharply, his tone leaving no room for argument. "Why would she? She was thriving here."
"There has to be a reason," James added, frowning. "She's not the type to just disappear."
Remus Lupin, quieter than usual, spoke up, his voice thoughtful. "Didn't you notice how the professors have been glossing over her absence? It's like they already knew she wouldn't be here."
The others exchanged uneasy glances. Remus' observation made sense, and it only deepened the mystery.
"Talking amongst ourselves won't get us anywhere," Sirius said, standing abruptly. "Let's ask McGonagall. She's bound to know something."
"She's probably in her office," James agreed, his resolve strengthening.
The group nodded in unison, and with that, the Marauders set off for the Transfiguration professor's office, their curiosity and worry driving them forward.
---
Outside McGonagall's Office
As they reached the door to Professor McGonagall's office, they hesitated.
"Do we knock, or—?" Peter began, but Sirius motioned for silence.
"Let's see if she's in first," Sirius whispered.
They crouched by the door, their heads stacking comically on top of each other as they peeked through the small crack. McGonagall was seated at her desk, her quill scratching furiously against parchment.
"Right, now we knock," James whispered. He raised his hand to rap on the door, but before he could, something extraordinary happened.
A sudden, shimmering light filled the room, accompanied by a faint hum of energy. The Marauders froze, their eyes widening in astonishment as they watched a figure materialize out of thin air.
It was a girl, crumpling to the ground in a heap. Her dress was stunning—a black fabric adorned with shimmering gems that seemed to mirror the night sky itself. The sight was otherworldly, almost ethereal, and it sent a shiver through the onlookers.
McGonagall leaped to her feet, her usual composure shattering. She rushed to the figure on the floor, kneeling beside her.
"Hecate Targaryen!" McGonagall exclaimed, her voice filled with alarm. "What happened?!"
She leaned closer, examining the girl's pale, unconscious face. The Marauders strained their necks for a better look, and that's when they noticed something odd.
"She has silver hair," Sirius whispered, his brows furrowing.
"But Hecate has black hair," James added, confused.
The professor's next words snapped them out of their daze.
"Somebody outside—call the medic!" McGonagall shouted, panic creeping into her voice before she corrected herself. "No, I'll take her to the Hospital Wing myself."
Without hesitation, she conjured a stretcher with a flick of her wand and gently levitated Hecate onto it.
Still processing what they'd just seen, the Marauders stumbled back from the door as McGonagall exited her office, the unconscious Hecate floating before her. She moved quickly, her lips pressed into a thin line as she disappeared down the corridor toward the Hospital Wing.
"Did that just—?" Peter began, but Sirius cut him off.
"Did you see her hair?" Sirius muttered, his voice unusually serious.
"Yeah," James said, nodding. "It was silver."
"What happened to her?" Peter asked, his voice trembling.
James shook his head, his mind racing. "I don't know, but I intend to find out. Come on!"
Ignoring their own shock, the Marauders hurried off to follow McGonagall.
---
Meanwhile, McGonagall burst into the Hospital Wing, where Madam Pomfrey was already tending to a student with a minor injury. The matron's eyes widened as she saw the unconscious girl floating beside the professor.
"Minerva, what happened?" Madam Pomfrey asked, quickly clearing a bed.
"She just appeared in my office," McGonagall said, her voice tight with worry. "Fainted immediately. I don't know what's wrong with her, but it's Hecate Targaryen."
"Hecate?" Madam Pomfrey said, startled. "But—her hair..."
"Yes, it's silver," McGonagall said grimly. "I don't know what's happened to her, but we need to figure it out."
As Madam Pomfrey began her examination, McGonagall stepped back, her expression a mix of confusion and determination.
In the Hospital Wing
Madam Pomfrey was leaning over Hecate, her brow furrowed in concentration as her wand emitted a faint, diagnostic glow. The girl's pulse was steady, but her magic felt... different, chaotic, as if it were swirling in unfamiliar patterns.
Then, without warning, something stirred at Hecate's waist. A flash of movement caught Pomfrey's eye, and before she could react, a creature sprang forth, uncoiling itself like a ribbon unfurling.
The beast was breathtakingly strange.
Its body was serpentine and elegant, its silvery scales glinting like polished metal under the warm light of the infirmary. The tips of its limbs and head were streaked with black and red, giving it an almost flame-like appearance. Four clawed limbs extended from its body, each tipped with razor-sharp talons that clinked softly against the floor as it landed briefly before floating effortlessly back into the air.
Its purple eyes gleamed with intelligence and wariness as it locked gazes with Madam Pomfrey. Horns jutted from the lower side of its head, curving inward like the arcs of a crescent moon. Despite its lack of wings, the creature hovered in the air with an eerie ease, defying logic as if gravity were merely a suggestion.
---
A Protective Guardian
The creature hissed, a low, guttural sound that made the air feel colder. Madam Pomfrey instinctively took a step back, her wand still poised, though she hadn't yet cast a spell.
Above Hecate, the beast floated protectively, its long tail coiled around her midsection as though shielding her from unseen threats. Occasionally, it dipped its head, its forked tongue flicking out to gently lick the dried blood that clung to her pale cheeks, its actions more nurturing than feral.
"What in Merlin's name..." McGonagall whispered, her voice tight with shock.
Seeing Madam Pomfrey's hesitation, McGonagall stepped forward, her wand raised. The creature immediately turned its attention to her, its teeth bared in a warning snarl.
"I'll immobilize it," McGonagall said firmly, though her voice betrayed a hint of unease. She flicked her wand, ready to cast a spell, but before she could utter the incantation, the creature opened its mouth wide.
A blast of ice shot forth, freezing the floor between them and forcing the two women to step back quickly to avoid slipping.
The beast roared, a deep, reverberating sound that filled the infirmary. It settled atop Hecate's chest, its claws digging lightly into the fabric of her gown as it glared at the two witches.
---
McGonagall's sharp mind was already racing. The creature wasn't attacking outright—it was protecting. Still, its magic was powerful and dangerous, and she knew they needed help.
"Let's wait for Dumbledore," she said, lowering her wand but keeping it at the ready. "Fortunately, Newt Scamander is still at the castle. He might be able to help us identify and calm this beast."
Madam Pomfrey nodded, though her lips were pressed into a thin line. She glanced at the frozen patch of floor, her concern growing.
---
Unbeknownst to the two women, the Marauders were hiding under the infirmary beds, their mouths agape as they took in the scene.
"Merlin's beard," James whispered, his voice barely audible. "What is that thing?"
"Looks like something straight out of a nightmare," Sirius muttered, his usually confident demeanor shaken.
"Not a nightmare—an aquatic dragon," Remus corrected quietly, his eyes glued to the creature. "Look at its horns, its build... It's built for water, but it's flying without wings. That's not natural."
Peter shivered. "Why is it licking her? And what happened to her hair? It's silver now."
"I don't know, but did you hear McGonagall?" James hissed, his tone urgent. "She called her Hecate! That's her!"
"But she looks so... different," Sirius said, his voice hushed but awed. "She's glowing, almost."
---
The creature seemed to sense the tension in the room. Its purple eyes darted between McGonagall and Madam Pomfrey, then briefly glanced toward the hiding Marauders. It let out another low growl, as if warning them all to stay back.
Every so often, it would nudge Hecate gently with its snout, its actions oddly tender. It curled itself tighter around her, its protective stance unwavering.
---
Moments later, the doors to the infirmary swung open, and Albus Dumbledore entered, his presence commanding yet calm. Behind him was Newt Scamander, his wide-eyed curiosity immediately honing in on the creature.
"Ah," Dumbledore said, his eyes twinkling despite the seriousness of the situation. "It seems Miss Targaryen has brought us quite the surprise."
Newt stepped forward, his expression a mixture of awe and excitement. "Absolutely fascinating. This is no ordinary dragon—it's a hybrid. Possibly an experimental breed. Look at those horns, the limb structure... Yes, this is remarkable."
"Can you calm it, Newt?" McGonagall asked, her tone tense.
"I can try," Newt replied, his voice steady as he crouched low, making himself less threatening to the creature. He extended a hand, speaking softly. "Easy now, beautiful. No one's here to hurt her—or you."
The creature tilted its head, its sharp gaze locking onto Newt. It didn't growl, but it didn't move either.
As Newt began his careful approach, the Marauders held their breath, too captivated—and terrified—to look away.
Newt's Careful Approach
Newt Scamander moved with deliberate gentleness, his movements slow and calculated. The little dragon hovered above Hecate, its purple eyes watching his every step. It hissed softly, then raised its head to spew another thin plume of ice, not aiming to harm but making its intentions clear: Do not come closer until she wakes.
Newt paused, his hands raised in a gesture of peace. "You're a clever one," he murmured, his voice filled with quiet admiration. "You understand more than most creatures your size. I won't force anything."
The dragon lowered its head slightly, as if to acknowledge his words. It shifted its focus back to Hecate, nuzzling her gently before letting out a low, guttural growl that seemed to say, She's mine to protect.
Dumbledore, standing behind Newt, observed the scene with his usual calm but keenly analytical gaze.
Acknowledging the dragon's protective stance, Dumbledore turned to Madam Pomfrey, his voice measured but inquisitive. "Poppy, I trust you've had a chance to examine Miss Targaryen. What have you discovered?"
Madam Pomfrey, still holding her wand in one hand, glanced toward Hecate's unconscious form and gave a slight nod. "I couldn't perform a full diagnostic. The dragon has made it clear it won't tolerate me getting too close. However..." She paused, collecting her thoughts. "Her magic—it's unlike anything I've ever encountered."
Dumbledore's eyebrows rose slightly, though his expression remained calm. "In what way?"
Madam Pomfrey shook her head, her tone tinged with disbelief. "The way it flows through her body—it doesn't behave like normal wizarding magic. It's... restless, almost sentient. The sensation it gives off is entirely foreign, almost primal, as if it belongs to something beyond our understanding of magical structures."
Madam Pomfrey hesitated, glancing briefly at the dragon before continuing. "I also noticed something peculiar about her physical condition. Her bones..." She took a breath, her professional demeanor faltering slightly. "Her bones have been healed from what I can only describe as multiple fractures. Almost every major bone in her body bears signs of recent breaks and subsequent magical healing. The fractures were extensive, yet her body shows no external scarring. It's as if she endured an incredible amount of physical trauma and then repaired herself almost perfectly."
Dumbledore's expression grew graver. "And the blood?"
"That's the other strange part." Pomfrey gestured toward the faint streaks of dried blood still clinging to Hecate's skin. "There are no visible wounds. Either she healed herself entirely, or the blood isn't hers to begin with."
Dumbledore tapped a finger to his chin, his mind clearly working through the implications. "Fascinating... and troubling."
Madam Pomfrey squared her shoulders, her voice taking on a more authoritative tone. "Headmaster, I must ask—what exactly is happening with this girl? She vanishes for over a month, returns looking entirely different, and now she's accompanied by a creature no one has seen before. The students will talk. The staff will ask questions."
Dumbledore gave her a reassuring smile, though his eyes betrayed the weight of his thoughts. "Miss Targaryen's situation is... complicated," he said, choosing his words carefully. "She is no ordinary student, as I'm sure you've already realized. There are forces at play here that extend far beyond the walls of Hogwarts."
He turned to Newt, who was still observing the dragon. "Newt, I assume you've noticed the bond between them?"
Newt nodded, his expression thoughtful. "It's undeniable. The creature sees her as its mother—or at least its primary protector. It's rare to see such loyalty in a newly hatched magical being. Whatever she endured, this little one has been with her through it."
Dumbledore's smile returned, softer this time. "Then perhaps it's best if we let them remain together. The creature will protect her while she recovers, and we will ensure that neither of them is disturbed."
Beneath the hospital beds, the Marauders were struggling to process everything they had just heard.
"Did she really break all her bones?" james whispered.
Remus, always the most analytical, whispered, "Did you hear what Madam Pomfrey said about her magic? It's different. That's not normal. Not even for witches like her."
Sirius was silent, his eyes fixed on Hecate's still form. The protective dragon hovering above her only made her seem more untouchable, more... otherworldly.
"What does Dumbledore mean by 'forces beyond Hogwarts'?" he finally asked, his voice low. "What's she involved in that we don't know about?"
None of them had an answer.
---
Turning back to Madam Pomfrey, Dumbledore's tone grew decisive. "For now, let us focus on Miss Targaryen's recovery. Keep this situation contained to only those who need to know. Her return must be handled delicately, for her sake as well as the safety of everyone around her."
Madam Pomfrey nodded, though her unease remained evident. "Of course, Headmaster."
As Dumbledore stepped forward to take one last look at Hecate and her dragon, he whispered under his breath, so softly that only Newt could hear: "The stars have shifted, Newt. I fear we are witnessing the birth of something extraordinary—and perilous."