The Dragon King Bloodline of Hogwarts

Chapter 4 Damon's Manuscripts

Viserys had been sitting by Daenerys's bedside all night.

He opened his eyes, and the morning light streamed in through the high window of the infirmary. Daenerys's eyelids twitched.

Viserys sat up straight. She didn't open her eyes immediately; her brows furrowed first, as if she were experiencing something bad in her dream. Then her eyelashes parted, and her purple eyes focused for a moment.

"elder brother."

She spoke High Valyrian, and Daenerys only switched back to her native language when she was most uneasy.

"I'm here," Viserys replied in the same language. "We're in a safe place."

Daenerys didn't immediately ask where she was; her gaze slowly swept over the infirmary.

"Where is that bad woman?"

"Dead," Viserys said, pausing for a moment, "the second time."

Daenerys didn't press the matter. She was three, but she already knew what death meant; her mother had died when she was born, and the dead never returned. That woman had died once and returned; Viserys said a second time, meaning she might come back. Daenerys didn't ask if she would return, because she knew her brother didn't know the answer either.

Viserys told her what had happened over the past day and night—not everything, just the part a three-year-old could understand. The wicked woman had been burned to ashes in the alley, but they too had been swallowed by the flames and fallen into an unfamiliar lake. This was another world, a magical castle, and the people inside were willing to take them in. He opened his palm, revealing runes.

"Are you still feeling unwell?"

Daenerys shook her head. "I'm just hungry."

Viserys's lips twitched slightly; it was good that she was hungry. He pulled her out of the covers; her legs were still weak and she could barely stand. He let her lean against him and handed her the bread Mrs. Pomfrey had left on the bedside table. She nibbled on it little by little.

"After we eat, I'll take you to the library. There are lots of books there."

Daenerys's eyes lit up. There were no books in their house in Braavos; Ser Darryl taught him to read using tattered copies bought by weight from secondhand bookstores. Daenerys would always come over, flipping through the unillustrated pages, asking what this word meant and that word meant. Later, Viserys saved up and bought a brand new copy of *The Handbook of the Wild Things in Westeros*, illustrated with mammoths, direwolves, and dragons. Daenerys read that book countless times.

"Are there many paintings?"

"There should be some." Viserys wasn't sure, but Hogwarts' library should have a few illustrated books.

"Are there dragons?"

"Maybe."

Daenerys stuffed the last piece of bread into her mouth, patted the crumbs off her hands, buried her face in his sleeve and rubbed it against him, then looked up.

"Walk."

Viserys helped her up and led her out of the infirmary. The corridor was deserted; Hogwarts was nearly empty during summer vacation, and most of the people in the portraits were dozing off.

Dumbledore said last night that Damon's manuscript was there, but he didn't tell him where the library was. He did it on purpose, Viserys thought, seeing if I could find it myself.

Viserys stopped before a portrait of a stout monk in Tudor robes, scooping soup from a bowl with a silver spoon. The repeated action in the painting suggested he had nothing else to do. People with nothing else to do are usually willing to talk.

"Where is the library?"

The fat monk raised his head and blinked, his cheeks flushed with the red of wine, his eyes shining with a sense that someone was finally talking to him.

"Oh! You're the child who fell into the lake last night. Silver hair, purple eyes, Merlin's beard, you really are—" He pointed to his face with a spoon, "so handsome it's unreal. You'll be very busy after school starts."

Viserys didn't reply. Whether something is good-looking or not is a bargaining chip in the court of King's Landing, but trouble in the alleys of Braavos.

"Where is the library?"

The fat monk sighed, as if facing a student who didn't understand humor.

"Third floor, turn left, walk through the corridor full of landscape paintings, the largest double door on your right. It's closed for summer vacation, what do you need it for?"

Viserys had already pulled Daenerys toward the stairs.

"Not being open during summer vacation doesn't mean you can't enter."

The library door was unlocked. The bookshelves stretched from floor to ceiling, and morning light streamed in through the high windows, filling the air with the smell of old paper and leather covers.

Mrs. Pince wasn't there; it was summer vacation. But in the administrator's office sat a man Viserys had never seen before, young, around thirty years old, with dark brown hair, sorting a pile of scattered parchment by date. He looked up and saw a silver-haired boy holding a child's hand standing in the doorway.

"You are—" he stood up, "Oh, Dumbledore mentioned you. A Targaryen."

He frowned slightly when he pronounced the surname, as if he were recalling something.

"My name is Edgar Croft. I'm doing summer work organizing Mrs. Pince's collection. Targaryen... I heard that name somewhere when I was a child, in a fairy tale book."

He stood up from his chair and walked to the bookshelf, his fingers brushing against a row of gilded spines.

"That's roughly the title, 'The Knight-Errant Prince and the Crimson Dragon.' It tells the story of a silver-haired, purple-eyed prince who rides a dragon from another world to find treasure, build a castle, and eventually defeat an evil dragon named Orion. My grandmother said it was true, but my father said it was made up."

Viserys's arm tightened for a moment, and Daenerys felt it, looking up at him.

"Is that book still around?"

"It's long gone. It was borrowed and never returned, or it was never even in the collection. It's just a fairy tale." He shrugged. "What are you looking for?"

"Damn Dumbledore said that Damon Targaryen's manuscripts were here."

Croft's expression changed. The name from the fairy tale suddenly stepped down from the spine of the book and stood in front of him, with silver hair and purple eyes, leading a child with similar silver hair and purple eyes.

"...So that book wasn't made up."

He led Viserys deeper into the library. There, by the window, was a long table with a light gray document box on it. The lid was open, revealing a dozen or so sheets of parchment, their edges brittle and held together by a glass plate.

"These manuscripts have been here for a long time, and the classification labels say they're in an unknown language, possibly a variant of ancient runes." He looked at Viserys. "You can read them."

Viserys was already seated at the table, placing Daenerys on the chair beside him.

"I can understand it."

Kroft nodded, took a step back, said he wouldn't bother him, and left.

Viserys opened the document box. Damon had spent thirty years in the magical world, dissecting, comparing, and assimilating every magical system he could access—widow magic, blood magic, and even some of the Lord of Light's fire magic. The notes were categorized by topic, written in messy handwriting. The main text was written in High Valyrian, with some terminology and annotations mixed with English. Some paragraphs had been repeatedly erased, with annotations along the edges, the text getting smaller and smaller, as if he had run out of paper as he wrote.

He turned to the first page.

Korakshyu's scales are completely immune to the fire of the Hungarian Horned Bee. Speculation: The fire immunity of the Targaryen bloodline can extend to the dragons they tame, or dragons and knights share some form of protection on the level of blood magic.

He flipped through the pages and found the chapter about mana depletion. Damon had written a passage in Gauvalyrian:

A wizard's magic can slowly recover on its own after it is depleted, but bloodline magic is different. Once the fire of one's bloodline is drained, it cannot be replenished by time alone and requires a medium to restore it quickly.

Medium. Viserys's finger hovered over that word.

Dragon blood, best. Dragon bone, second best. Dragon crystal, third best. Instructions: Contact the medium with the caster's blood and guide it with a specific incantation. The incantation is short, three lines of High Valyrian.

Viserys took the dragon bone pendant from his pocket. It was grayish-white and engraved with patterns he couldn't understand, similar in style to the rune in his palm but not the same symbol. He held the pendant in his left palm and began to chant.

The first syllable warmed his palm. The third syllable followed, and the pendant scalded him briefly before settling back to warmth; something had locked him in place.

"My brother's hands are glowing."

Daenerys's voice came from the side.

Viserys looked down at his right hand; the runes on his palm flickered with a dark red flame, slowly fading into his skin and disappearing. He gently moved his fingers; the previously completely dried-up void had vanished, replaced by a shallow layer of magic—not abundant, but no longer empty.

Lady Pomfrey's potion healed his damaged body, but the dragon bone awakened something else entirely.