HP: Dragon's Coffin

Inside the timeless grandeur of the Aetherial Dimensional Mirror, Ladon thrived in a way that could only be described as extraordinary. The three years passed in a blur of relentless study, rigorous training, and profound discovery. Each day was filled with a purpose that transcended the limits of the ordinary, and Ladon rose to meet every challenge, his determination unwavering.

The Draconic Language and Runes, once cryptic and overwhelming, became second nature to him. He could now weave spells with the precision of a master, the runes glowing with power as they bent the very fabric of reality to his will. His mastery of these ancient symbols laid the foundation for his next great endeavor—Celestial Magic Arts.

Studying the stars, their alignments, and the cosmic forces they represented became his obsession for over a year. He spent countless nights within the mirrored realm's observatory, mapping constellations and unraveling the mysteries of the universe. His knowledge of celestial magic combined seamlessly with his command of draconic runes, allowing him to cast potent spells that drew upon the power of the cosmos. It was during this time that Ladon developed his own signature technique, one that wove together the stars' energies and the ancient runes into breathtaking displays of power.

Yet, his talents did not end with magic. The art of Snake Dancer Swordsmanship, a style renowned for its fluidity and precision, captivated him. This ancient Egyptian martial art, named for its serpentine movements, required both grace and strength. Ladon excelled, his natural aptitude for swordsmanship shining as he mastered complex sequences and strikes. The sword became an extension of himself, his movements so swift and precise that they seemed almost like a dance.

Amidst his magical and physical training, Ladon didn't neglect his promise to his mother. His Muggle Studies were as thorough as his magical ones. He delved into advanced mathematics, dissected the principles of economics, explored geography, and sharpened his language arts skills. He also studied social studies, gaining an understanding of history, politics, and human behavior. He envisioned the pride in his mother's eyes when he returned with a wealth of knowledge that bridged the magical and non-magical worlds.

Herbology and magical creatures became his moments of respite. Wandering the enchanted gardens of the archives, Ladon cultivated rare plants and learned to brew potent potions. His fascination with magical creatures grew, leading him to care for and even befriend several beings within the mirrored dimension. He learned their habits, their languages, and their roles within the magical ecosystem.

As the final year approached, Ladon had transformed into someone beyond what anyone could have imagined. His once-small hands now wielded the sword with deadly grace. His eyes, glowing with the knowledge of the stars, held the confidence of someone who had traversed the boundaries of his own potential. The clock given by Asclepius glimmered softly, reminding him that his time in the dimensional space was nearing its end.

On the eve of his departure, Ladon stood in the heart of the mirrored archives, surrounded by the vast knowledge he had absorbed. He gazed up at the swirling galaxy painted on the ceiling, feeling a deep connection to the universe and all its mysteries. The pocket watch ticked softly in his hand, its flame steady and bright.

"I hope Mother will be proud," he murmured to himself, a small smile tugging at his lips. His heart swelled with a mixture of excitement and anticipation. He was ready—ready to return to the real world and prove to his family, and himself, that he was worthy of the legacy he had inherited.

Meanwhile, in the three years Ladon was in the Aetherial Dimensional Mirror, tragedy struck. This tragedy will cause a boy to go on a path that will lead him to be called the Cold-blooded Prince, Serpent's Kin, Venom to Purity, and many other names in all of wizard history.

{🐉}

Flashback: A Month Before Ladon's Return

The marketplace bustled with life, the air thick with the chatter of men and women bartering over fresh produce and enchanted goods. Hyacinth moved through the crowd with quiet purpose, her basket in one hand and Zebley, the Ophiuchus house elf, trailing at her side. It was a familiar routine, one she had performed countless times, blending into the mundane rhythms of the town. She preferred it that way—unassuming and unnoticed. But today, fate had other plans.

Unbeknownst to Hyacinth, a group of pureblood purists lingered in the shadows, their sharp eyes fixed on her. Whispers of unrest had emboldened them, and rumors had reached their ears—rumors of a woman who had consorted with Lucius Malfoy and bore his illegitimate child. To them, Hyacinth was a stain on their pureblood ideals, an affront that needed to be erased.

"Is that her?" one of them muttered, his eyes narrowing as he watched her pay for a bundle of herbs. "The witch who birthed the Malfoy bastard?"

"She's unregistered," another hissed. "A disgrace to magic. She doesn't deserve to live."

The group exchanged nods, their hatred palpable. They didn't confront her in the crowded market—no, their cruelty was more calculated than that. Instead, they followed her, keeping a safe distance as she and Zebley made their way back to the estate.

Hyacinth, ever vigilant, felt the hairs on the back of her neck prick up as they neared the manor grounds. "Zebley," she whispered, her voice low, "stay close. Something feels wrong."

Zebley nodded, her large, expressive eyes darting nervously around. "Yes, Mistress. Zebley feels it too."

The attack came just as they reached the gate. Spells erupted from the shadows, green and red streaks of light tearing through the air. Hyacinth spun around, her instincts sharp, but the purists were already closing in.

"Run, Mistress!" Zebley cried, stepping in front of her. The tiny house elf raised her hands, casting powerful defensive charms that deflected the initial onslaught. The air crackled with magic as curses ricocheted off Zebley's shields, but the purists pressed forward, their numbers overwhelming.

"Blood traitor!" one of them snarled, his wand emitting a burst of fire that shattered Zebley's defenses. "Your kind has no place in our world!"

Hyacinth raised her hands, prepared to unleash her own sorcery, but she hesitated—her thoughts immediately going to Ladon. If I use magic, they'll know about him. They'll come for him.

That hesitation cost her. A curse struck her squarely in the chest, knocking her to the ground. Her black eyes widened in shock, not from the pain but from the realization that she would not be able to protect her son. "Ladon," she whispered, her voice barely audible.

"Mistress!" Zebley screamed, rushing to her side. Blood soaked Hyacinth's dress, her lifeless body slumping to the earth. The house elf's anguish turned to fury. With a cry, Zebley unleashed a wave of raw magic, momentarily driving the purists back. Gravely injured herself, she apparated back to the manor with Hyacinth's body in her arms, leaving the purists screaming in frustration.

The purists were relentless. They chased Zebley to the manor, their spells colliding with the estate's wards, tearing through the outer defenses. Part of the grand hall was destroyed in the attack, the sound of crumbling stone reverberating through the air. But the commotion alerted Asclepius.

The silver-eyed lord appeared at the manor gates, his presence commanding, his long black coat billowing around him. He raised a single hand, and the air seemed to still. The purists froze, their hatred faltering as they felt the weight of his power.

"You dare desecrate this place?" Asclepius's voice was low, cold, and final. With a wave of his hand, the purists disintegrated into ash, their screams silenced in an instant. The magic lingered for a moment, an oppressive force that seemed to echo with Asclepius's grief and rage.

Inside the manor, Zebley knelt beside Hyacinth's lifeless form, her small frame trembling with sobs. "Mistress… Zebley tried… Zebley failed…"

Asclepius entered, his expression stoic but his silver eyes betraying a rare flicker of emotion—grief, anger, and regret. He knelt beside Hyacinth, placing a hand on her cold cheek. "You were too kind," he murmured, his voice barely audible. "Too forgiving. They didn't deserve your mercy."

He turned to Zebley, his voice softening. "You did what you could, Zebley. She would have thanked you for your courage."

Zebley nodded through her tears, clutching Hyacinth's hand. "What about Master Ladon? He… he won't forgive us…"

Asclepius's gaze hardened. "Ladon will know the truth when the time is right. For now, we must ensure his safety." He stood, his figure towering as he began casting powerful warding spells over the estate. "The manor will be sealed. No one will harm him when he emerges."

Hyacinth's body was laid to rest in the garden beneath the ancient tree she had always loved, its branches swaying gently in the breeze. Asclepius stood over the grave, his hands clasped behind his back, his expression unreadable. For weeks, he wrestled with the decision of how to tell Ladon.

He stared at the glowing mirror late one night, his silver eyes reflecting its light. "You'll be strong enough to bear this, Ladon," he murmured to himself. "You have to be."

{🐉}

On the day of Ladon's return, the manor was cloaked in an unnatural stillness. The mirror's runes flared brightly as the portal opened, casting the room in an eerie blue glow. Asclepius stood waiting, his tall figure casting a long shadow against the chamber walls. Zebley, still recovering from her injuries, lingered in the corner, her head bowed, her large, mournful eyes fixed on the ground.

Ladon emerged from the mirror, his dragon-like eyes alight with confidence, his posture strong and composed. He carried the ornate pocket watch and a stack of books, clear symbols of his growth and mastery. His smile was wide and proud as he stepped into the room, his gaze seeking the one person he had yearned to see most.

"I'm back," he said, his voice filled with excitement. "Mama's going to be so proud—"

The words caught in his throat when he saw Asclepius's expression. The man's normally stoic face was heavier than usual, his silver eyes clouded with a sorrow Ladon had never seen before.

"Asclepius?" Ladon's voice wavered as he stepped closer, the smile slipping from his face. "Where's Mama?"

Asclepius hesitated, his lips pressing into a thin line as he knelt to meet Ladon's gaze. "Ladon," he began, his voice soft but heavy with the weight of the truth. "Your mother… she's gone."

The room seemed to tilt, Ladon's world crumbling with those simple words. "No," he said, shaking his head, his voice trembling. "That's not… that can't be true. She was supposed to be here. She promised."

Asclepius placed a hand on Ladon's shoulder, his grip firm yet gentle. "She was attacked, Ladon. By pureblood purists who sought to harm her because of who she was. Zebley tried to protect her, but… they outnumbered her. I arrived too late to save your mother."

"No!" Ladon's shout echoed through the chamber as tears streamed down his cheeks. "You're lying! She can't be gone! She promised she'd be here when I came back!"

The grief and rage that swirled inside him erupted in a torrent of raw, uncontrolled magic. Flames burst from his hands, licking at the walls and engulfing the shelves. Zebley screamed and scrambled to extinguish the fire, but it spread quickly, consuming an entire section of the manor.

"Ladon, stop!" Asclepius commanded, his voice cutting through the chaos. He waved his hand, quelling the flames with a surge of his own magic. The boy collapsed to his knees, his small frame shaking with sobs as the last embers faded.

"I'll kill them," Ladon whispered, his voice trembling with fury. "All of them. Every pureblood who ever hurt her. Especially him." He spat the last word with venom, his mind flashing to the father he had never known but always despised. "Lucius Malfoy. He had something to do with this—I know it."

Asclepius's silver eyes narrowed, but he said nothing. He knew better than to stoke the fire burning in Ladon's heart.

Time skip 3 years:

At night, Ladon sat alone in his room, staring blankly at the ornate pocket watch he had carried from the mirror. Its once-comforting glow now felt cold, a reminder of the time he had spent away from his mother—time he could never get back.

A sharp tapping at the window drew his attention. An owl perched on the sill, a letter tied neatly to its leg. Ladon opened the window, allowing the bird to flutter in. He untied the letter and unfolded it, the Hogwarts crest gleaming on the parchment.

"Congratulations, Mr. Ladon King," the letter began. "We are pleased to inform you of your acceptance to Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry…"

Ladon's grip on the letter tightened. He read it through, his mind already calculating what this opportunity could mean. Hogwarts would give him access to the magical world—a world where he could learn, grow, and plan. Plan his revenge.

The days passed like shadows creeping over the manor, the once vibrant halls now filled with an oppressive silence. Ladon moved through the estate with precision and purpose, his youthful energy replaced by the calculated movements of someone far older than his years. His dragon-like eyes glowed faintly even in the dimmest light, their intensity a constant reminder of the power and loss that defined him.

Asclepius observed him from the shadows, his sharp silver eyes narrowing as he considered the boy's transformation. Ladon was no longer the curious, eager child who had stepped into the Aetherial Dimensional Mirror three years ago. He had returned as something entirely different—colder, sharper, and far more dangerous.

'Those eyes,' Asclepius mused, his fingers lightly tapping the arm of his chair as he sat in his study. The faint flicker of the candlelight illuminated the ancient texts scattered across his desk, one open to a page on concealment runes. 'I will have to teach him a concealment spell… No, that would be too fragile. It must be something more permanent. A draconic rune for concealment, carved onto his body. That will ensure even the likes of Albus Dumbledore cannot detect it, let alone break it.'

He leaned back, a faint, dry chuckle escaping his lips as memories flickered in his mind—memories of a time long past, when the world was simpler, and four young witches and wizards dreamed of creating a school. "Time certainly flies," he muttered, his voice low and filled with a mix of nostalgia and bitterness. "Godric, Rowena, Helga, Salazar… you were all so determined to leave your mark on the world. And now that boy, Dumbledore, sits as the headmaster of your legacy."

Asclepius stood, his long coat trailing behind him as he crossed the room to retrieve an ancient tome bound in blackened leather. The draconic runes on its cover glowed faintly under his touch, the text opening to a page on concealment magic. He scanned the page, his sharp mind already formulating the exact rune he would carve into Ladon's skin.

Later that evening, Ladon stood in the center of the grand hall, his expression stoic as Asclepius approached. The boy's posture was rigid, his hands clasped behind his back, his dragon-like eyes glowing faintly in the dim light.

"I will teach you one final lesson before you leave for Hogwarts," Asclepius said, his voice calm yet firm. He held up the ancient tome, its runes glowing faintly. "Your eyes are a gift, Ladon, but they are also a curse. They reveal too much of what you are, of who you are. You must learn to hide them."

Ladon's gaze didn't waver. "How?"

"I will inscribe a draconic rune onto your body," Asclepius explained. "It will conceal your eyes' true nature, masking their glow and their power. No one—not even Albus Dumbledore—will be able to break the concealment."

Ladon nodded, his voice monotone. "Do it."

Asclepius motioned for him to remove his shirt, and Ladon complied without hesitation. The boy's young frame was lean and strong, a testament to the years he had spent training within the mirror. Asclepius placed a hand on Ladon's chest, murmuring an incantation in the draconic tongue. The rune began to take shape, glowing red-hot as it etched itself into Ladon's skin just above his heart.

Ladon winced but didn't flinch, his expression unchanging even as the rune burned into him. When the glow subsided, the rune faded to a faint, silvery mark, barely visible against his skin.

"It is done," Asclepius said, stepping back to admire his work. "Your eyes will appear normal to anyone who looks at you. The only way they will see their true form is if you allow it."

Ladon's voice was flat as he pulled his shirt back on. "Thank you."

Asclepius studied him for a long moment, his sharp silver eyes searching for any trace of the boy who had once laughed and smiled so easily. But that boy was gone, replaced by someone colder, harder, and unyielding.

"Remember this, Ladon," Asclepius said, his voice low. "Your power is a double-edged sword. It can protect you, but it can also destroy you if you let it consume you. Keep your purpose clear, and never let your anger blind you."

Ladon nodded, his face as stoic as ever. "I won't let it consume me. But I will make them pay. All of them."

Asclepius didn't respond, his expression unreadable as he watched the boy turn and walk away. The rune on Ladon's chest glimmered faintly, a symbol of the concealment he now carried—not just of his eyes, but of the storm brewing within him.