Harry didn't know how long he had stood there—minutes? Hours? Time seemed to melt into the smoke curling off the dragons' breath. The roar of flames, the clash of wings against iron, the rattle of chains—all of it echoed in his chest like war drums.
He couldn't take his eyes off them.
Even caged and chained, the dragons were awe-inspiring. Creatures of ancient fury and elemental power. The flames that burst from their jaws licked the trees, scorched the earth, and lit up the night with bursts of orange and gold.
Dragon handlers—wizards in thick enchanted gear—ran from cage to cage, spraying foam from their wands, reinforcing the magical runes, repairing the reinforced bindings.
There were only three dragons… but at least thirty handlers.
Still, it barely seemed enough.
Harry turned slightly, deciding at last to head back to the castle. He'd seen enough.
But then—
A sound.
A scream.
No—not a scream. A warning cry, torn from the throat of a panicked handler.
Harry whipped around.
The ground trembled.
CLANG!
With a sound like thunder and shattering iron, the Hungarian Horntail broke free.
Its massive black wings spread like the sails of a warship. Chains clanged as they whipped around its neck and legs—still bound, but not nearly enough.
The beast had twisted with such violent force that the cage door had burst outward, its bars bent and warped. The containment runes fizzled out in a flash of dying red light.
Its throat swelled.
FWOOOSH!
A jet of fire exploded from its mouth—wide, hot, and furious.
Six dragon handlers were caught in it.
Their screams pierced the air as they were engulfed in flame. They ran blindly, stumbling, wands falling from their charred hands as they collapsed to the ground, writhing.
"NO!" Harry gasped.
Other handlers leapt into action, casting water jets, conjuring barriers, screaming for backup through enchanted mirrors. The fire licked at the underbrush, spreading fast. The clearing glowed like a furnace.
CRACK!
The Horntail's spiked tail whipped sideways.
WHUMP!
Three more handlers went flying through the air, crashing into trees like broken dolls.
Harry's heart pounded.
You can't just stand here.
He clenched his jaw, pulled off the Invisibility Cloak, and ran toward the chaos.
Harry had read it once—buried deep in one of the older textbooks from the Restricted Section, under a chapter titled "Magical Creatures and Their Elemental Properties."
"Dragonfire is not merely fire—it is magic incarnate. Tempered by the beast's blood, its flame burns hotter than hellfire, harder than any shield charm can withstand. Only the strongest shields or ancient wards can turn it aside."
He remembered the passage now as clearly as the ink on the page.
And now, he was witnessing it firsthand.
The Hungarian Horntail raised its head, its throat glowing from within like molten lava rising from the earth. Its wings spread wide. The creature let out a screech that split the air, and every wizard and witch in the area turned pale.
The dragon turned its gaze toward the fallen handlers—men and women lying broken and burned on the ground.
And worse—toward those trying to help them.
"No—" Harry whispered, breaking into a sprint.
But it was already happening.
The Horntail opened its jaws—
FWOOOOOOOOSH!
A massive cone of white-hot dragonfire erupted forward. It roared like a tidal wave of heat and death, illuminating the forest in a brilliant, terrifying glare.
The handlers screamed.
There was no time to raise any powerful shield. No chance to use fireproofing charms. Everyone—injured or not—watched in horror, understanding in that second that they were about to die.
But the fire never reached them.
WHUUUUUMP!
It slammed into something unseen.
A massive, transparent dome erupted in the middle of the chaos—glimmering faintly with golden ripples, like heatwaves off the desert.
Not even an ounce of heat passed through.
The flames curved around it, bending like wind against a mountain, dispersing harmlessly to the side.
The Horntail blinked—confused.
The handlers blinked—stunned.
"What in Merlin's—?"
"Was that a ward?"
"No… That— That was something else."
Through the smoke and the shimmering barrier, they saw a figure running forward. A boy, barely fourteen, robes fluttering in the heat wind, eyes locked on the dragon with a look of complete calm.
Harry Potter.
One of the younger handlers gasped.
"Potter—run! RUN!"
Harry didn't slow down.
"I've got this," he said, voice even, the golden dome shrinking behind him as he approached the center of the field. "Just keep the others safe."
The lead handler—a bald man with scorched armor and trembling hands—stared at him, baffled.
"Are you mad?! That's a Horntail!"
"I know," Harry said, drawing his wand.
Another blast of fire built in the dragon's throat.
The handlers flinched, ducking down over their wounded comrades.
Harry didn't.
Instead, he whispered something under his breath—something he'd only learned recently.
The Force, raw and vast, surged through his muscles, into his blood, down to his very fingertips.
The dragon released its second torrent of fire.
And this time, Harry raised one hand—not his wand.
SHOOOM!
Another barrier formed. Not of magic. Not of wand-light. But of will—the Force itself, condensed into an unbreakable shield of energy.
The dragonfire crashed into it, but didn't pass through. It roared and pushed and twisted—but the barrier held, bending the fire back into the earth.
Everyone—every handler, every injured wizard, even the dragon itself—froze in stunned silence.
Harry stepped forward again.
Closer.
The Horntail growled.
Its wings beat the air.
Its tail swiped against the ground, tearing huge furrows into the earth.
Harry's voice cut through the tension.
"Stop."
He didn't shout. He didn't cast.
He just… spoke.
But the command carried weight.
The dragon hesitated.
Another step.
"You're angry. You're in pain. You're afraid."
The handlers behind him stared in confusion. Was he talking to the Horntail?
"You were taken. Caged. Shackled. You want to burn everything in sight."
The dragon snarled, one wing twitching, another growl bubbling in its throat.
"But not everyone here hurt you," Harry said softly. "Some of them are just trying to keep you alive."
The Horntail stopped moving.
Its eyes narrowed… but it wasn't charging anymore.
The massive wings lowered slightly. Its head dipped, its nostrils flaring as it took a long breath.
"Good," Harry whispered, stepping even closer. "Let them fix the wounds. Let them take the chains off. Or fight me."
Silence.
Not a sound.
Then—
The dragon snorted, releasing a puff of black smoke from its nostrils. Its body, still bristling with tension, began to ease slightly. It lowered itself back onto its haunches, still wary, still watching—but no longer attacking.
The remaining handlers stepped forward slowly, eyes wide in disbelief.
"He calmed it down," one murmured.
"He talked to it—like a dragon whisperer or something."
"No… Not just that. That barrier—that wasn't possible."
Harry finally turned back to them.
"Reinforce the chains. Add runes to the spikes, not the cuffs. Stop hurting it when it struggles."
The lead handler stepped forward.
"You're fourteen."
"True," Harry muttered. "But I couldn't just watch people burn."
A pause. Then the man gave a small, slow nod.
"…You saved their lives."
Harry looked over at the scorched handlers now being treated with healing charms. Some were already speaking. Others moaning in pain—but alive.
"Yeah. I did."
And with that, Harry turned around and disappeared into the shadows of the Forbidden Forest—his cloak swirling behind him, the Force still humming in his veins.
The warmth of the Gryffindor common room was a sharp contrast to the chaos of the forest.
Crackling firelight danced along the stone walls, illuminating the scattered chessboards, open textbooks, and half-finished essays lying forgotten around the room. A few students still lingered near the hearth, whispering quietly under their breath, but Harry barely noticed them.
He slipped in through the portrait hole, his invisibility cloak tucked under his arm, and made his way silently to the corner armchair beside the window. The sun had long dipped below the horizon, and the moon cast pale shadows over the darkened grounds. The Forbidden Forest loomed in the distance—calm and quiet, hiding the fire and fury that had just occurred within.
He sat down heavily.
Only now did his body begin to register the fatigue. His hands were trembling. His heartbeat still hadn't settled. And in his ears, he could still hear the dragon's roar echoing like thunder.
Harry closed his eyes and breathed in deep.
What happened back there?
He hadn't spoken to the dragon. Not really. He hadn't used any spell, no spellbook trick or magical chant. There was no ancient dragon tongue, no Parseltongue mimicry, nothing from the Hogwarts curriculum that could explain what he'd done.
Yet, the Horntail had obeyed him.
Yielded.
Listened.
But why?
His eyes opened again, sharp and focused.
"It was a Force ability," he whispered.
It had to be.
It was control.
Not through strength.
Through will.
The Horntail had fought, clawed, burned, and rampaged. But when Harry's mind touched it—when he'd focused, when he'd pushed his thoughts outward—it had stopped.
He hadn't spoken to it.
He had reached into it.
The realization hit him like a cold gust of wind.
"That wasn't just calming a creature," he muttered to himself. "That was… manipulation. Mind control."
His mouth went dry.
If he could do that to a dragon—a creature feared across the magical world for its resistance to spells and enchantments—what else could he do it to?
People?
Wizards?
Ministers?
The thought was dizzying.
And dangerous.
Harry sat back and stared at the fire in the common room, watching it flicker and crackle. No one was paying him any attention now. They didn't know what had happened. They didn't know what he was thinking.
But he did.
"I have to master it," he whispered under his breath. "I have to understand it. Before it understands me."
Because a power like this—uncontrolled—could burn far more than dragon fire ever could.
The cold of the dungeons no longer bothered Harry.
He moved through the ancient stone corridors with a purpose, his footsteps echoing faintly as he passed through the entrance to the long-forgotten Chamber of Secrets. The massive serpentine door responded to his silent command, slithering open as if recognizing its true master. The moment he stepped in, the dim green glow of enchanted orbs lit the pathway, casting eerie shadows across the carved serpents that adorned the walls.
He descended slowly into the main hall, the center of the Chamber, which no longer felt like a tomb of secrets, but something else entirely.
A workshop.
A hidden temple of knowledge.
And right there, where the basilisk's corpse had once been, now rested a strange half-rebuilt ship—the alien starcraft of Salazar Slytherin, its jagged, sharp design now smoothed and reinforced with various scavenged parts. It didn't look like it belonged in this world—and it didn't.
"Master Harry, sir!"
Harry smiled as Dobby popped into existence, his ears flapping with excitement. The little elf wore a bizarre patchwork vest made of duct tape, enchanted wiring, and what looked suspiciously like a Muggle toaster strapped to his back.
"Dobby's been fixing the panels! The flux inverter works now—Dobby used bits from a Muggle telly and a van! Dobby even found a replacement core battery from something called a 'aeroplane.'"
Harry grinned. "You've outdone yourself again, Dobby. How's the ship?"
"Purring like a Chimera kitten, sir!" Dobby beamed proudly.
Harry stepped toward the altar-like pedestal where the holocron of Salazar Slytherin lay—its crimson light swirling inside like a living storm. He placed his hand on the pyramid-shaped artifact, and the room seemed to hum as ancient Sith runes glowed on the ground.
The air shimmered.
And from the holocron, the translucent form of Salazar Slytherin emerged—tall, commanding, with eyes like molten emerald fire and a beard that flickered like smoke.
"You have returned, apprentice," the image said, voice dripping with authority. "And your power has grown."
"I did something new," Harry replied, his eyes narrowing with curiosity. "There was a dragon… I did not slay it. I bent its will. I have controlled a mind that even magic fears."
Salazar's projection smiled faintly. "That is the nature of the Force when wielded by one with true instinct. You have begun to awaken your domination abilities—abilities beyond what wizards call Legilimency."
Harry frowned. "So it's stronger than Legilimency?"
"Stronger?" Salazar scoffed, stepping forward, his image towering above the boy. "Legilimency is a whisper. Mind Control through the Force is a command. Wizards dig through thoughts like pickpockets. Sith walk into your mind and take everything from you."
Harry swallowed, remembering the weight of the Horntail's thoughts… its instincts, its rage, its fear… all bending around his own.
Salazar continued, "The Jedi use this power for deceit. They called it the Mind Trick. They'd wave their hand and say, 'You will let us pass.' And the weak-minded obeyed."
"They used it to steal children," he added, sneering. "Force-sensitive infants were taken from crying mothers who suddenly changed their minds… against their will. Jedi brainwashed entire populations under the banner of peace."
"And the Sith?" Harry asked quietly.
"The Sith do not hide behind morality," Salazar said. "They do not ask—they take. The Sith's control goes deeper. They shatter the mind's barriers. They extract memories. They implant suggestions. They turn rivals into puppets."
Harry flinched.
"Do you disapprove?" Salazar asked sharply.
"I… I don't know," Harry admitted. "It felt wrong and right at the same time. I saved lives—but I didn't ask the dragon's permission."
"Do you ask permission to cast a Shield Charm? Or to defend your life?" Salazar challenged. "Power is neither good nor evil. It is the will behind it that determines its purpose."
Harry slowly nodded. "So how do I master it?"
The holocron's glow intensified, and the chamber walls pulsed with an eerie rhythm. Salazar's voice dropped into a cold, sharp whisper.
"Then listen well, apprentice. To control another's mind, you must first control your own. You must learn to silence emotion… or use it. Fear, anger, pain—these are keys, not chains."
Harry's breathing deepened. His mind sharpened.
"Lesson One," Salazar intoned. "Still the noise. Reach out with your mind—not to speak, but to grasp. Find the flame in another's thoughts. Focus. And crush it gently."
A serpent statue behind Harry began to tremble, and the candles dimmed.
"You must resist temptation. If you dominate too harshly, you risk shattering the mind. But hesitate, and you will fail to control. Balance, Harry. That is your path forward."
Harry stepped back from the holocron, heart pounding. He looked around at the walls of the chamber—walls that had once felt cold and dead.
Now they whispered secrets.
Powerful ones.
And in the center of it all, he stood—chosen, ready, and just a little afraid.