Wind continued to pour over the rocky ridge, stirring the fragments of bone plates on the ground. Dark green liquid seeped into the cracks between the stones, reflecting a scatter of dim light beneath the moon. Nott stood behind Draco, his gaze fixed on Crabbe and Goyle, on the surface of their skin as its luster faded.
His lips moved without making a sound. Lowering his head, he opened his notebook and added another line beneath what he had written earlier: "The Ascension Ritual does not simply increase the recipient's total magical power. It can also rebuild the capacity for cognitive frameworks. Power is only a byproduct."
Meanwhile, two hundred kilometers away, deep within the lush beech forests of Cairngorms National Park.
The moss on the tree trunks had drunk its fill of night dew and felt sticky-soft beneath one's feet. Montague, a sixth-year Slytherin, pulled his right hand from his prey's chest cavity. Layer upon layer of enamel-like scales covered him from his abdomen to beneath his jaw. His knuckles gleamed with a cold bluish-green light, while viscous blood streamed through the gaps in his scales and pooled in a small hollow on the ground.
He counted to seven, his voice flat, like an administrator taking inventory.
Ten paces behind him, the Earth Dragon's corpse was still twitching. Its tail slapped unconsciously against the ferns, knocking down a wide swath of them. The rolled edges of its wounds were charred black, giving off the mingled stench of burnt leather and sulfur.
Montague did not look back. He submerged himself in the nearby stream. The water instantly boiled, bubbling furiously as white steam rose and blurred the outline of half his face.
"Time," he said.
Daphne Greengrass jumped down from the canopy. Her boots sank three inches into the humus