The melee in the sky raged on into the next day, showing no sign of winding down.
Under normal circumstances, a dragon can end a fight with other Magical Creatures with just a single blast of dragon fire—its primary form of attack.
But when facing other fire dragons, this ability is far less effective. Dragons are naturally resistant to dragon fire, a trait inherent to their kind. Unless the difference in power between opponents is extreme, a single blast of dragon fire will only leave a small mark on the other dragon's scales.
With their thick blood, durable scales, and lost primary attack ability, the dragons in the sky were now relying on endurance and raw fighting instincts, locked in a grueling struggle. For some, like the Swedish Short-Snout from before, this battle style was a disadvantage. Lacking the stamina and skill for such prolonged combat, it was among the first group of dragons to fall.
Of course, though the dragons appeared unharmed despite scratching and biting each other, the brutal nature of their fight was unmistakable. Anyone foolish enough to join the fray would likely be shredded in seconds. Even the toughest Troll wouldn't last more than a few moments against them, let alone witches and wizards.
As dawn approached, Newt was visibly struggling. He swayed where he stood, his fatigue evident. In his youth, Newt had circled the globe with his suitcase, often going without sleep for days on end. But that had been fifty or sixty years ago; staying up this long was an ordeal for him now, near a century old. He'd already downed two bottles of Awakening Potion to keep going, but even that was barely enough.
As he reached for a third bottle, Kyle swiftly snatched it from his hand. Awakening Potion was effective, but it wasn't something to drink like water. And each dose only forced alertness—the more one consumed, the worse the crash afterward.
"Who knows when this will end? Why don't you rest for a bit?" Kyle suggested, pocketing the potion bottle. "Leave the rest to me."
Newt glanced up at the ongoing battle in the sky, hesitating. But after a moment, he nodded, accepting Kyle's suggestion. He could barely stay on his feet any longer.
"Even though our spot here is relatively safe, be careful," Newt advised. "If things get dangerous, get out of here right away… I remember you have a ring that allows you to Apparate."
Satisfied that he'd conveyed his concerns, Newt opened his suitcase. Inside was a small, cozy bed, perfect for a quick rest. After he disappeared into the case, Kyle closed it, lifted it gently, and continued observing the intense fight unfolding above.
...
It was destined to be a long, uneventful process.
Newt finally woke up midway through the next day, allowing Kyle to take his turn to rest. The cycle continued, from night to day and back again, until the early morning of the third day, when the fierce melee in the sky began to die down. The dragons, exhausted and battered, could barely stay airborne, drifting unsteadily as if they'd been drinking bad wine. Their once fierce flames had dwindled to faint embers, signaling a temporary truce.
Once the last Hungarian Horntail quieted, Newt led Kyle back to the field. Before long, the other dragon keepers returned as well, most of them too drained to say a word before collapsing into sleep. The Dragon Reserve had set up tents nearby for temporary accommodations, conveniently located next to the dining area.
Kyle, curious, stepped into the tent labeled "Newt Scamander." Inside, he found a surprisingly spacious, three-bedroom setup with a bathroom and a small kitchen. The furnishings were a bit old-fashioned but clean, with no trace of mustiness.
Since he and Newt had taken turns resting, Kyle wasn't tired just yet. He settled at the table, ready to sort through their harvest from the past few days. Newt had mentioned earlier that the reserve wouldn't question what they collected—an unspoken understanding of sorts.
Kyle opened his Mokeskin pouch, unloading his haul onto the table piece by piece. First, he pulled out two large bags of dragon teeth and scales. The quality varied, with some pieces intact and others badly damaged, but he hadn't had time to be picky during the collection, so he simply piled them in the corner. Then, he lifted a large, dark red bottle onto the table with a heavy thud—it contained nearly a pint of dragon's blood.
In Diagon Alley, a tiny vial of dragon's blood went for about twelve Galleons. Kyle's bottle, by comparison, held enough to fill thirty of those vials. After three days of work, or technically two, he estimated they had gathered items worth about 360 Galleons—an impressive haul, even split between two people. Just this bottle alone held more value than Mr. Weasley's monthly salary.
"Oh… is that all dragon blood?" Newt, just entering the tent, immediately noticed the bottle on the table.
"That's right," Kyle replied, then added with a slight frown, "But there are at least three types of dragon blood in here. Will that be an issue?"
"As long as there's no Peruvian Vipertooth in the mix, it should be fine," Newt assured him. "Vipertooth blood has toxins."
"Good," Kyle sighed in relief. He'd been careful to avoid the Peruvian Vipertooth's green-tinted blood, which had a sharp, distinct odor that made it easy to identify.
"Oh, by the way," Newt said, gesturing toward the tent entrance, "I noticed that Lochneal seemed to be buying materials like these, and his prices are fairly reasonable. If you're interested in selling, you could check with him."
Lochneal, the professor from Beauxbatons? Kyle considered it but decided against it. He didn't need Galleons at the moment, and he knew he could use these materials himself for alchemy items and potions. The most important part was that they were pure and unadulterated.
Kyle took out another bottle, pouring half of the dragon's blood for Newt.
Newt accepted it with a grateful smile. Dragon blood, when diluted, could be used to enhance tonics for magical creatures, immediately upgrading a tonic's quality from ordinary to premium. For Newt, with his suitcase of creatures, dragon blood was a prized ingredient.
Newt, however, had no use for the other collected items and left them all to Kyle. Kyle spent over half an hour sorting through the damaged materials, and by evening, he'd packed up a large bag to sell to Professor Lochneal of Beauxbatons. The sale brought him 30 Galleons—not a huge sum, but better than nothing.
Kyle had originally thought that Lochneal might turn down the damaged goods, but the professor seemed to have no hesitation about accepting anything dragon-related.
"You're at Hogwarts, so you might not know…" Lochneal handed Kyle the thirty Galleons with a smile. "We teach alchemy at Beauxbatons, and for beginners, we don't use high-quality materials. These will do nicely."
He also mentioned that if Kyle ever came across more substandard items, he'd buy them by weight at the same price, no questions asked.
Kyle nodded in agreement, though the conversation left him with a lingering thought—wondering if Professor Snape might be sourcing his Potions ingredients at a discount somewhere, too.