Theo watched the flame in his palm flow and twist at a thought.
In the books, Dumbledore had showcased fire more than once—the most unforgettable being that apocalyptic Fire-God's Path. It looked like a fusion of Transfiguration and flame magic, and its power was monstrous. In his duel with Voldemort, both of them had shaped fire as if it were clay.
At that level, weaving Transfiguration into other branches wasn't flair—it was fundamentals.
Theo, even with Seven-Apertures Heart backing his learning, was still far from that league. Under normal circumstances—and ignoring any future rewards—it would take him a long time to reach it.
But with Smooth-Fire, At-Will, he might have a shortcut—at least in the domain of flame.
The ember in his hand began to fade. He flicked his staff.
"Incendio."
This time, the spell felt effortless, and the output was plainly stronger. Yet the moment the fire burst forth, it behaved like a river yanked by gravity and slid back into Theo's palm, where it coiled into serpents and dragons, reshaping at his whim.
From a distance, it did look a little like the way Dumbledore and Voldemort played with fire.
Theo shook his head, unsatisfied.
"Looks the part, but it's just shape. Parlour tricks. If I only want damage, I could just throw the flame as is."
"Those two made their Transfigured fire hit harder than standard charms… so what am I missing?"
Possibilities flickered through his mind before a hypothesis settled.
"The shape isn't the key; density is. Transfiguration lets the fire pack—makes it tighter, meaner."
"Think of Fiendfyre: the monsters inside it are fire compressed into form, so the bits that congeal hit much harder than the loose tongues around them."
"So—what if I do the same? Make my fire condense."
He gave the blaze in his palm a silent order.
"Coalesce."
The roaring flame responded at once, pulling inward as if a fist clenched around it. The volume shrank; the heat concentrated. Its colour shifted from red to orange-gold, then to a glare edging toward white.
By the time an Incendio's worth of fire had compacted to a fist-sized orb, the temperature felt nearly doubled.
For the first time, even Theo's Copper Skin & Iron Bones registered a prickle of threat. He might shrug off common water and mundane flame, but this little sun was inching past "mundane." It wouldn't kill him—but it would hurt.
Drop that on a troll and you'd burn a fist-wide tunnel through the brute.
Theo finally smiled. "Fireball. Now that's a wizard's proper side-arm. A wizard who can't lob fireballs is living an incomplete life."
He wasn't done.
Wind and fire were a natural pair in any world. What would Windriding plus Smooth-Fire, At-Will look like together?
Wind feeds fire; fire sharpens wind. The result should spike multiplicatively. He was still a long way from a true Fire-God's Path, but as a trump card?
Absolutely.
He was just about to try when his brow creased. Faint clamour drifted from far off—and the floor… trembled?
From deep underground, like an echo through bedrock, came something that could only be described as a dragon's distant roar.
Theo's head snapped toward the sound.
"That direction is—Gringotts?!"
In the original timeline, Voldemort (riding Quirrell) slipped into Gringotts a month earlier—and it hadn't shaken the street. But a month ago Theo had brow-beaten goblins in public; Gringotts had since tightened security, convinced a dangerous wizard was probing them.
"Has Voldemort been waiting—and picked the last days before term?"
Theo's nose wrinkled. Even without Windriding, a sour, rancid reek rode the breeze—rot, and something meaner beneath it.
He strode from the workroom. Mr Ollivander, pale and rattled, was already at the door.
"What's happening?" Theo asked.
"Someone's breaking into Gringotts!" Ollivander's voice shook. "And it isn't just that—there are hordes of Inferi near the bank. A sweetshop down the lane is running a promotion—crowded with witches and wizards, children among them. They're surrounded by those bloodthirsty constructs!"
"This is coordinated—the intruder wants the Ministry's Aurors fixed in place!"
"Merlin help us—who could be this depraved?!"
Theo's pupils knifed to pinpoints.
A sweetshop promotion? Hermione had… gone to queue for lemonade.
"We're farther from the commotion here—quickly, Theo, I'll get you out—" Ollivander began.
The rest died in his throat. A pressure rolled off Theo—metallic gold-bronze light filmed his skin, and the air itself seemed to bow. The old wand-maker felt, with sudden clarity, that he was standing beside something older and larger than a dragon.
"Master Ollivander," Theo said quietly, "protect yourself."
"My friend's out there. I'm going to get her."
He was gone between heartbeats.
Copper sinew unshackled; his speed snapped past human. Windriding turned the air from drag to current; rooftiles blurred under his feet as he arrowed toward the white-marble bank.
From a block away he could already see them: scores—no, hundreds—of lurching dead swarming the avenues around Gringotts.
Cold light slid across Theo's eyes. He drove harder, a dark streak racing along the roofline toward the storm.
◇ I'll be dropping one bonus chapters for every 10 reviews. comment
◇ One bonus chapter will be released for every 100 Power Stones.
◇ You can read 50 chapter ahead on P@treon if you're interested:
patreon.com/StrawHatStudios