The blizzard struck without warning, as if a bad-tempered giant had suddenly let out a sneeze.
One moment, the Citroën was flying smoothly over the winding southern slopes of the Alps; the next, the world was reduced to a blinding expanse of white.
Wild winds whipped ice particles against the windshield with a clattering fury.
Even with magical wipers, visibility was under five meters.
“Sacré bleu!” Fleur swore in French, her hands gripping the steering wheel so tightly her knuckles turned white.
“This isn’t a natural storm!
It’s magical turbulence!” “Watch out on the left!” Harry shouted.
A massive white shadow suddenly burst through the snowstorm.
It wasn’t rock—it was a living creature.
Its enormous membranous wings spanned fully thirty feet, covered in scales clear as ice crystals.
A long, barbed tail sliced through the air with a shrill whistle.
It looked like a giant winged lizard, or rather—a dragon frozen in ice.
“It’s a Frost Wyvern!” Fleur yanked hard on the control stick.
The Citroën climbed almost vertically, barely dodging the giant beast’s razor-sharp talons.
The wyvern let out a deafening roar.
Instead of fire, a breath of blue-white frost grazed the underside of the car.
The temperature inside plummeted instantly to freezing, and Harry felt frost coat his eyebrows.
“It’s chasing us!” Harry looked back.
Glowing, icy-blue slitted eyes glared at them through the storm, filled with hostility and agitation.
“Hold on tight!
I’m using decoy flares—” Fleur reached for a red button on the dashboard.
Right then, a voice suddenly echoed in Harry’s mind.
It wasn’t human speech, but a raspy, crackling murmur like shattering ice, thick with despair and rage.
“…Heat…
Leave the heat…
Fire-stealer…” Harry froze.
The feeling was all too familiar—the slimy, ice-cold voice he had heard in his second year facing the Basilisk.
But in front of him was a wyvern, not a snake.
“Wait!” Harry instinctively caught Fleur’s hand.
“Don’t attack!
It’s talking!” “It’s *what*?” Fleur looked at him in disbelief.
“It’s trying to turn us into popsicles and eat us!” “…Damned little bugs…
Eggs…
Cold…
Give heat or…
die…” The voice rasped again, and this time Harry heard it clearly.
It wasn’t the threat of a predator, but the wail of a mother.
Harry rolled down the window.
The gale blasted inside, but he paid it no mind.
Leaning out, he faced the pursuing beast and let out a strange, hissing sound from his throat.
To his own ears, however, it sounded like English.
“Don’t attack!
We aren’t your enemies!
What do you need?” In that instant, time seemed to stand still.
The massive Frost Wyvern folded its wings, abruptly braking in midair to hover beside the Citroën.
Its colossal head drew near the window, cold breath from its nostrils nearly freezing Harry’s face.
The savagery in its icy-blue eyes dissolved into confusion and shock.
“…Speaker?
Two-leg…
You speak the Ancient Tongue?
…You understand the hiss of ice and snow?” The wyvern’s voice sounded like two icy boulders grinding together, yet it was crystal clear to Harry.
“I’m surprised too,” Harry hissed back loudly into the gale, feeling like a madman.
“I thought I could only talk to snakes on the ground.
Do you…
do you need heat?” Inside the car, Fleur was entirely stunned.
She stared as Harry made those blood-curdling hisses at a wild wyvern, and the beast actually responded—it had even retracted the spikes on its tail.
Harry turned back, his face bright red from the cold, but his eyes wide with astonishment.
“Fleur, I think…
I think I can talk to it.
It says its eggs are freezing to death, and it mistook our engine’s heat for a fire source.” “You can speak to a wyvern?” Fleur’s eyes went wide, as if seeing Harry for the first time.
“I heard from people at your school that you’re a Parselmouth, but doesn’t Parseltongue only work on snakes?” “That’s what I thought!” Harry wiped snow and water off his face, hissed a few more phrases at the wyvern, and then translated: “It says they are the ‘cold serpents of the sky,’ the ancient dragon breed closest in blood to snakes…
or something like that.
Anyway, it needs powerful fire magic to hatch its eggs.
The recent storm is too cold, and its own body heat isn’t enough.” Harry paused, looking at Fleur.
“It’s asking if we can help.
In exchange, it’ll let us pass.” Fleur went silent for two seconds.
As a witch who had interned at Gringotts, the mental abacus in her head immediately began clicking away at high speed.
Wild Frost Wyverns were exceedingly rare and fiercely territorial; encounters usually ended in a fight to the death.
Gaining the friendship of one?
Or entering its lair?
There might be shed frost dragon scales—top-tier potion ingredients—companion ice crystals that served as alchemical treasures, or even…
Fleur slammed a hand onto the steering wheel, a look of almost greedy excitement breaking across her face—the thrill of adventure overwhelming her fear.
“This is about much more than just ‘passing through,’ Harry,” she said, her blue eyes sparkling.
“This is a once-in-a-lifetime opportunity!
Even Newt Scamander might not get a chance like this!
A request from a Frost Wyvern?
This is more profitable than robbing Gringotts!” She quickly adjusted the dashboard and turned the car around.
“Tell it, Harry!” Fleur exclaimed loudly.
“Tell the big guy we’ll give its eggs the finest French sauna!
Lead the way!
We’re going to its lair!” Harry shook his head helplessly at Fleur’s eager look.
Then he turned back and hissed at the giant wyvern: “Lead the way.
We’ll help you.” The Frost Wyvern let out a high-pitched cry that sounded like wind chimes—a sound of joy.
It beat its wings, turning and plunging deep into the heart of the storm.
“Follow it, Fleur.” Harry closed the window, feeling sweat on his palms.
“I think we’ve truly gone mad this time.” “If we weren’t mad, would it even be a gap year?” Fleur slammed on the gas, and the Citroën closely pursued the white phantom, disappearing deep into the Alpine blizzard.
*** Following the massive Frost Wyvern, the Citroën squeezed like a tiny blue beetle into a cavern hidden deep within a crack of an ancient glacier.
The temperature here was even lower than outside; exhaled breath instantly turned to frost particles that clattered to the floor.
At the center of the cavern lay a nest built from jagged ice and ancient rock.
Three eggs, each half as tall as a person, rested silently inside.
Their shells bore an unsettling grayish-white hue—a sign that their life force was draining away.
“It’s too cold,” Harry shivered, feeling a chill seep straight to his bones despite wearing a heavy fur cloak.
“Can they survive in temperatures like this?” “Ordinary dragon eggs would have turned to stone long ago, but these are Frost Wyvern eggs.” Fleur hopped out of the car, deftly pulling a stack of runic silver stakes and several faintly glowing crystals from her pouch.
She didn’t even need to cast Lumos; the crystals’ glow lit up her intent profile.
“Don’t just stand there, Harry.
Ask if I can approach the nest,” Fleur said without looking up, drawing complex geometric patterns on the frozen ground.
“I need to set up a Thermal Circulation Array around the eggs.
The ambient magic here is too chaotic—lighting a direct fire would crack the shells.” Harry turned and hissed at the giant beast pacing anxiously beside the nest: “We’re coming over…
to save your children…
Don’t attack.” The Frost Wyvern let out a low growl, folded its massive membranous wings, and stepped back two paces, exposing its fragile eggs.
In dragon body language, the posture signified immense trust—or desperate resignation.
Fleur stepped forward.
Her movements no longer resembled those of a dainty Beauxbatons school queen, but a precise alchemist.
She hammered the silver stakes into the permafrost, tracing golden lines through the air with her wand to connect the crystals into a perfect circular array that enveloped the three eggs.
“Listen carefully, Harry.
This part is critical.
You must translate accurately, not a word wrong.” Fleur straightened up, wiping a fine sheen of sweat from her forehead, and pointed to the largest red crystal at the center of the array.
“This array isn’t a heat source; it’s a converter.
It requires the wyvern—the mother—to channel her own magic as fuel.” Harry nodded and turned to the wyvern.
“Listen…” Harry hissed.
“We need your power…
Breathe into that circle…
Not frost, pure power.” The wyvern tilted its huge head in confusion, exhaling a puff of white vapor.
Fleur continued, “Tell her to watch the red crystal in the center.
As she channels magic, the crystal will light up.
When it turns bright red and begins to pulse, she must stop immediately.” She stared sternly at Harry.
“Emphasize this: she *must* stop.
If she keeps going, the heat will overload and cook the eggs.” Harry took a deep breath, working hard to translate these complex alchemical instructions into primitive reptilian tongue: “Into the circle…
give it your power…
Watch the red stone…” Harry pointed at the crystal.
“If it turns red…
red like blood…
and begins to throb…
stop…
You must stop…
or your children will die.” The wyvern seemed to understand.
Slowly lowering its head, it opened its jaws wide.
This time, no lethal frost erupted; instead, a visible torrent of pale-blue magic gently enveloped the entire magic array.
*Hummm—* The array on the ground chimed with a deep resonance.
The dim runes lit up one by one, converting the wild, primal magic into a gentle, steady heat wave that enveloped the three eggs.
Frost melted from the grayish-white shell surfaces, revealing a crystal-clear blue tint beneath, bright as polished sapphires.
Harry stared fixedly at the central crystal.
It shifted from dull to light pink, then to deep crimson.
The moment it began to flicker rapidly— “Stop!” Harry roared.
“That’s enough!” The wyvern snapped its jaws shut, severing the stream of magic.
A dead silence fell over the cave, broken only by the quiet hum of the array maintaining a steady temperature.
Beneath the red glow, the three eggs appeared translucent, revealing tiny curled silhouettes squirming faintly inside.
Just then, Harry heard a sound.
It wasn’t the howling wind outside, nor the wyvern’s breathing.
It was a faint, tender, barely formed consciousness echoing directly in the depths of his mind.
It wasn’t clear speech, but a ripple of emotion that translated roughly to: “…Warm…
Mama…
Warm…” Then, that faint awareness seemed to sense Harry’s presence.
“…Thank you…
Speaker…
Thank you…” Harry froze.
He stared blankly at the eggs, feeling a swell of warmth behind his eyes—a warmth far more real than any magic array.
It was the voice of life.
Not born for prophecies, not meant to die for wars, but the purest expression of gratitude born simply from warmth.
Suddenly, he felt that all the turbulence, the bitter cold, and even his wretched car sickness along the way were entirely worth it.
“They’re going to make it.” Fleur checked the array’s readings and let out a long breath, a tired yet brilliant smile gracing her face.
“This setup can hold for three months—more than enough time for them to hatch.” The massive Frost Wyvern lay crouched on the ground, no longer a terrifying monster, but an exhausted mother.
It gently touched the back of Harry’s hand with its huge snout—cold, but entirely devoid of hostility.
Then, it turned and swept away a pile of loose stone behind the nest with its tail.
Revealing its stash of treasure.
Not Gold Galleons, but ancient treasures buried in the glacier for millennia: lost wands left by ancient wizards, unpolished sapphires as big as fists, and a mountain of precious, naturally shed Frost Wyvern scales.
Fleur’s eyes widened instantly.
As a former Gringotts intern, she could calculate at a single glance how much this pile would fetch on the Paris black market—enough to buy a villa with a swimming pool and swap the Citroën’s engine for pure gold.
The wyvern let out a low rumble, nudging the hoard toward them, signaling that they could take whatever they pleased.
Fleur was about to step forward when Harry reached out to stop her.
“No.” “Harry?” Fleur looked at him in confusion.
“Do you have any idea how much a single scale is worth?
That’s—” “I said no.” Harry’s voice was quiet, yet immensely firm.
He looked at the three gently quivering eggs, the tender “thank you” still echoing in his mind.
“We didn’t come here for this.” Harry turned away, not sparing another glance at the treasure that could drive any wizard mad.
“We came to save lives.
If we take payment, it turns into a transaction.
And this shouldn’t be a transaction.” He looked at Fleur, his green eyes gleaming strikingly in the dim cavern.
“You said this gap year was about finding out who we really are.
I think I know who I am now.” “I’m not a bounty hunter.” Fleur froze.
She looked at Harry, then at the treasure, and finally at the wyvern gently shielding its eggs.
A few seconds later, she smiled in relief, shrugged, and slipped her wand back into her holster at her waist.
“All right, Saint Harry.” She ruffled his hair with a hint of helplessness, but far more pride.
“If you say so…
then let’s just pretend we were terrible philanthropists who took a loss.” She turned toward the Citroën, her back looking as regal and confident as a queen’s.
“Let’s go, Harry.
Drive us out of here before I change my mind.” Harry gave the wyvern one final nod and hissed, “Goodbye.
May they hatch safely.” No hesitation, and not taking a single dragon scale.
The blue Citroën roared to life once more, disappearing out the snowy entrance.
They left the treasure trove empty-handed, but leaning back in the passenger seat, listening to the roar of the engine, Harry felt richer than if he owned all of Gringotts.
Because he had heard the most beautiful sound in the world.