Hogwarts: I Am Such a Model Wizard

Chapter 343: The Dragon Brawl

Kyle finally grasped what Charlie had been talking about earlier.

A Hungarian Horntail let out a thunderous roar, spewing dragon fire that shattered the peaceful atmosphere. One by one, various fire dragons soared into the sky like kites, roaring and exhaling streams of intense fire. The dragon keepers quickly took out their Broomsticks and took off, hastily retreating from the chaos.

“Damn it, they’ve just laid their eggs!” Hollman rushed out, looking alarmed. “Why so early this time? Don’t they ever take a break?”

“Be careful, Kyle!”

Charlie stuffed the pancakes he was holding into his pocket and hopped onto his Broomstick, racing after Hollman. In seconds, the crowd around them had thinned by more than half, and the remaining onlookers wore sober expressions as they hurriedly departed.

“Let’s go,” Newt said, stepping up beside Kyle. “Do you have a Broomstick? If not, there should be some spares here.”

“Yes,” Kyle replied, pulling out his Nimbus 2000. “But where are we headed? Are we joining the others to calm the dragons down?”

Edwardus Lima, passing by, overheard and stopped, glancing at Kyle with raised eyebrows.

The young man had suggested trying to calm down a dragon?

This kid must be a Gryffindor.

“Of course not,” Newt replied with a slight chuckle and a shake of his head. “We can’t—and shouldn’t—stop the dragons from fighting. Dragons are proud creatures; if a wizard interferes, the battle will never end. It’s a necessary part of the reserve’s ecosystem.”

Kyle followed Newt as they flew deeper into the reserve, eventually stopping on a hillside overlooking the unfolding skirmish.

“So, what’s our role here?” Kyle asked.

“Quite simple. We tend to the dragons that surrender and are too injured to continue, ensuring they survive,” Newt explained, taking out three large bottles and handing them to Kyle. “These are the potions you’ll need. The instructions are on each bottle, so read them carefully to avoid mistakes.”

Kyle quickly examined the bottles. The largest was labeled, “Burns. Apply directly.” Another bottle contained Essence of Dittany, which Kyle recognized as a treatment for scratches and bites. The final bottle was labeled Sleeping Draught—an especially potent version for beasts, though not as strong as the Draught of Living Death.

While Kyle reviewed the potions, Newt kept his gaze fixed on the intense battle raging above.

Hours passed, and the sky darkened. By nightfall, the fight still showed no sign of letting up. During that time, Kyle had managed to collect two bottles of dragon’s blood, a small pouch of dragon scales, seven broken teeth, and half of a claw—remnants that had fallen from the sky. There were other scattered remains further out, but they were too far for Kyle to reach.

And he wasn’t the only one collecting.

On another distant hill, a small black dot moved swiftly, gathering dragon scales, teeth, and other valuable debris. It was a House-elf, though Kyle couldn’t tell who it belonged to. From such a distance, he could barely see its form, and even if he could, House-elves tended to look alike to him.

The skirmish stretched on from afternoon into late night. Though there were no searchlights at the Dragon Reserve, the flames from the dragons lit up the surroundings, casting an eerie glow.

About half an hour later, a light blue Swedish Short-Snout suddenly plummeted from the sky, crashing with a loud thud into the nearby forest.

“Does that mean it’s lost?” Kyle asked, taking a few steps forward to check on the fallen dragon. Before he could go far, Newt’s hand stopped him. Newt shook his head. “Not yet. Wait a bit longer.”

Just as he said that, the dragon struggled back into the air.

“We have to wait until the dragons admit defeat voluntarily or are so close to death that they lose consciousness before we can start treating them,” Newt explained. “Stay calm—this will probably be a long, tedious process.”

“But what if we come across one of those stubborn types that won’t give up?” Kyle asked, glancing at the Swedish Short-Snout, still struggling to stay aloft. It was battling an Antipodean Opaleye over a lake in a deep valley, its wings barely holding it up. The Opaleye wasn’t faring much better; nearly half of the dragon blood Kyle had collected so far had come from the two of them.

“If it doesn’t surrender, then we’ll have to wait for another opportunity,” Newt replied. “For a dragon, losing consciousness in battle is essentially admitting defeat. But that does make things trickier for us.”

Another ten minutes crawled by…

The Swedish Short-Snout finally plummeted from the sky. Its left wing hung broken, limp at its side, and a section of its tail was missing. The Antipodean Opaleye swooped down after it, pressing a claw to its own head as if attempting to tear at its own neck.

The Swedish Short-Snout let out a short, high-pitched hiss…

“It’s giving up…” Kyle started to say, but Newt was already off, moving with an agility that belied his years. The Opaleye released its grip, exhaling a burst of flame into the sky in triumph before spreading its wings and flying off.

By the time Kyle caught up, Newt was already examining the fallen dragon. As it turned out, the task was trickier than expected. The defeated dragon, irritable and nursing its wounds, was in no mood to discern whether they had come to help or harm. With a sneering huff, it sneezed a fireball that singed Newt’s hair, igniting a tree behind him.

Unfazed, Newt quickly drew his wand. “Stupefy!”

The Swedish Short-Snout’s head wobbled slightly, and though it hadn’t completely passed out, it seemed to calm down a bit.

“I’ll leave the rest to you,” Newt said, not looking back as he applied Essence of Dittany to the dragon’s neck.

Kyle sighed. So, he was just the translator here, was he? But, really, what was there to complain about? He’d been through enough similar situations that he was used to it by now. This wasn’t so different from the time he’d been tasked with handling a Demiguise or soothing an Occamy. Now, here he was, talking to a dragon.

Kyle walked over to the Swedish Short-Snout’s head and spoke a few soft words. The dragon, realizing that the human wizard understood its language, lifted its head slightly in mild surprise. But soon enough, it felt a soothing sensation from its injuries and closed its eyes with a quiet rumbling in its throat.

Hearing this sound, Newt smiled. “It’s certainly handy to have you here. Otherwise, I’d have to use calming potions to get it to settle down. Did it just thank us?”

“No…” Kyle’s mouth twisted into a grimace. “Actually, it’s cursing us for meddling, and in rather colorful language.”

Newt’s hand holding the bottle paused briefly.

“I say let it be,” Kyle muttered, irritated. “Essence of Dittany is expensive. Seems a bit of a waste to use it on him.”