Vinson hadn't expected Professor Dumbledore to actually throw a dragon at him. This was beyond anything he could have imagined.
Still, Vinson wasn't worried. He had subdued creatures like dragons before—five years ago, in fact. His confidence remained unshaken as he glanced at Professor Kettleburn, who observed from a distance with his arms crossed and a knowing smile. Kettleburn looked entirely calm, fully aware of Vinson's true strength. He had even witnessed Vinson capture a dragon alive once.
Hagrid, on the other hand, stood nearby with a conflicted expression, torn between excitement and worry. As much as he loved dragons, he knew well that for most wizards, facing a dragon meant certain disaster.
"Ten minutes?" Vinson murmured, a smirk curling the corner of his lips. His voice was soft but carried a confidence that echoed in the tense air.
The cage vanished with a shimmer, releasing the dragon. Freed from its magical restraints, the beast twitched violently before slowly opening its molten gold eyes. It rose, towering and powerful, and surveyed its surroundings with a confused snarl.
Then, it spotted Vinson—standing closest—and let out a low, guttural roar, clearly a warning.
"You seem lively enough," Vinson chuckled, his calm eyes fixed on the dragon. He didn't step back. Instead, he stood his ground and even whistled softly at the beast.
The dragon's vertical pupils narrowed, catching the hint of provocation in Vinson's stance. It stomped the ground with a thunderous crack, claws gouging deep trenches into the earth. The grass around it blackened and withered from the intense heat radiating off its body. Thick white smoke curled from its nostrils like steam from a volcano on the verge of eruption.
"Roar—!"
With a deafening roar, the dragon spread its colossal wings wide, casting a shadow like a moving wall. It lunged forward, its enormous body nearly scraping the ground as it charged straight at Vinson. The air ignited around it, a scorching wave rushing outward. Even from afar, Dumbledore's beard fluttered in the wind stirred by the beast's heat.
Just as the dragon closed in—
"Apparate!"
Vinson's figure twisted and vanished, reappearing instantly at the dragon's flank. Even with his experience, the raw speed of the beast's assault caught him slightly off guard. A lick of flame brushed his sleeve, and he frowned, patting at the smoldering fabric with visible irritation.
"This robe is expensive," he muttered darkly, stamping out the small flames. "I'd appreciate it if you'd be more careful."
Professor Kettleburn's gaze remained locked on the arena, his face impassive, though his focus didn't waver for a second. He knew Vinson hadn't even begun to show his true strength.
Hagrid, however, could only mutter under his breath, his heart pounding. "Too dangerous… this is just too dangerous."
Angered by its missed attack, the dragon's molten eyes flared. It growled deep in its chest, and the flicker of red light in its throat signaled what every seasoned wizard recognized—fire was coming.
Vinson knew the signs as well as anyone. Dragons always telegraphed before they breathed flame.
Sure enough, the dragon's jaws snapped open, and a torrent of fire burst forth, a wave of searing heat roaring toward Vinson.
But even before the flames reached him, thick vines sprang from beneath Vinson's robes. Devil's Snare—his loyal but sometimes overeager plant—shot out and wove into a dense barrier before him.
The flames and vines collided with a blast of heat that warped the air. The Devil's Snare held firm, its tendrils twisting and wrapping tighter, forming a living shield against the dragonfire. Yet, even as it resisted, the vines began to blacken, their moist green vitality withering under the relentless heat. The air filled with the bitter stench of burning plants.
Vinson's eyes narrowed. A flicker of displeasure crossed his face as he noted the damage.
"This isn't your fight," he muttered, his voice edged with reproach. "Fire is fatal to you."
The Devil's Snare quivered, its charred tendrils trembling as if protesting its master's scolding. But Vinson was firm. With a wave of his hand, the withered vines withdrew, retreating beneath his robe like a dark tide, leaving no trace behind.
"Eldra," Vinson called silently, connecting with the tree of wisdom that dwelled within his mind. "Analyze the dragon for me—find its weakness."
Almost instantly, information flowed back.
Species: Dragon (Transfiguration)
Level: 1
Weakness: Three inches to the left of the center of the dragon's back.
Vinson's smirk deepened. So this was no real dragon—just a creature born of high-level Transfiguration magic. That explained why its flames lacked the sheer destructive power of a true dragon.
Professor Dumbledore hadn't summoned an adult dragon after all. He had crafted this beast through extraordinary spellwork—an impressive feat, but still an imitation.
The dragon, meanwhile, prepared to strike again. Its massive body lowered, muscles coiling for another deadly charge.
Vinson raised his wand.
"Incarcerous!"
Chains burst from the tip of his wand, thick and gleaming, snaking through the air like iron serpents. They struck fast and true, wrapping around the dragon's limbs, wings, and neck in an instant. The beast roared and thrashed, but the chains held firm, tightening until even its jaws were bound. The dragon's fiery breath choked back into its throat, reduced to a muffled growl.
"Behave," Vinson said coolly, stepping forward without haste. He circled around the struggling dragon, reaching the precise spot Eldra had revealed.
With measured precision, he aimed his wand at the point three inches left of center on the dragon's back. A silver-white light blazed from the tip and struck home.
The result was immediate. The dragon froze, its immense frame stiffening like a statue. Its scales, once vibrant and shimmering, dulled to a lifeless gray. The transformation spread rapidly—claws, wings, tail—until the entire beast had turned into solid stone.
With a ground-shaking crash, the petrified creature toppled over, landing like a collapsed monument.
Silence fell across the arena.
It was only after a long pause that Professor Dumbledore stepped forward, his face alight with approval. He began to clap, the sound echoing in the stillness.
"Perfect performance, Mr. Vinson," Dumbledore praised, his eyes shining with admiration.
Vinson dusted off his robes with a flick of his hand, his expression relaxed. "I must admit, Professor Dumbledore, I've never seen a Transfigured dragon executed so flawlessly. Its realism was almost indistinguishable from the real thing."
Dumbledore chuckled softly. "Indeed. Professor McGonagall and I spent considerable effort preparing this little surprise. We wanted to give you a challenge worthy of your talents."
"So… I passed the test, then?"
"Without question."
At that moment, Professor Kettleburn approached, a grin of satisfaction tugging at his lips. He clapped Vinson—no, Archer—on the shoulder.
"I knew you'd handle it. Well done, Archer."
"Thank you for the confidence, Professor," Archer replied, his tone warm.
Kettleburn waved him off with a chuckle. "Confidence? You didn't need my help."
Nearby, poor Hagrid still stood rooted to the spot, staring at the stone pillar that had once been a dragon. His mouth opened and closed wordlessly before he finally blurted out, "Wait! You mean… this wasn't a real dragon? I thought—no one told me… Merlin's beard!"
Archer couldn't help but chuckle at Hagrid's bewilderment.
Dumbledore, too, smiled fondly at Hagrid's wide-eyed shock. "No harm done, my friend. It was real enough for the test."
As the dust settled, Archer let out a slow breath, feeling the last embers of battle calm within him.
This was only the beginning—he could feel it in his bones. The tests would only grow harder from here. But that was fine. He welcomed the challenge.