That wasn’t any normal bark.
It was a raw, terrified scream—high-pitched, trembling, like the dog had just seen something from its worst nightmare.
All three of them froze.
“The sheep!” Lucas jumped up.
That was their herding dog.
Lucas had never heard him sound like this.
Not even against wolves or circling golden eagles.
The brave collie always roared and warned.
He had never sounded this scared.
Another agonized howl split the air, louder this time.
“Trouble,” Finlay growled, snatching up the double-barreled shotgun that had turned solid again.
The three of them bolted outside.
Finlay moved surprisingly fast for his age, charging ahead and shoving fresh shells into the gun as he ran.
Lucas grabbed a pitchfork and muttered to Professor Sprout while they ran, “Thanks for not calling me out earlier.”
“Calling you out on what?” she asked, keeping pace.
“The magical farm thing.
You mentioned the Statute of Secrecy.
Wizards have to stay hidden from Muggles, right?
So me talking about a world-famous magical farm was never going to happen.”
Lucas was breathing hard.
“But Grandpa’s eighty-four and stubborn as hell.
He needed a harmless white lie.
I also know getting him a tour of Hogwarts is a long shot—”
He never finished the sentence.
They crested the hill and the scene hit them like a gut punch.
The sheep were scattering in blind panic, some stumbling and tumbling down the slope.
In the middle of the chaos, the herding dog’s fur stood on end as he backed away, whimpering.
High overhead, something huge was circling, casting a massive shadow.
It was enormous.
Black.
Bat-like wings spread like storm clouds, each beat whipping up a gale.
A long, sinuous neck.
A savage head.
A row of sharp spinal ridges.
A whip-thin tail cracked like thunder.
A creature that should only exist in fairy tales.
A dragon.
“Dragon!” Professor Sprout gasped.
Specifically, a full-grown Hebridean Black over thirty feet long.
It was starving.
Its huge violet slit-pupils were locked on the panicked flock.
Before any of them could react, the beast folded its wings and dropped like a meteor.
BOOM.
The hillside shook.
Turf and dirt exploded upward along with the screams of black-faced sheep.
A massive crater appeared.
The dragon unfurled its wings, standing over several crushed sheep.
It lowered its head, tore open a belly, and lifted a mouthful of soft organs.
Blood streamed between its razor teeth.
Its long, powerful tail lashed once—CRACK—cutting another sheep clean in half.
Guts spilled everywhere.
The herding dog let out a terrified whine and collapsed, tail tucked.
Finlay McGregor, who had been leading the charge, stopped dead.
The horror was too much for an eighty-four-year-old Muggle.
“Back!
Lucas, get back!” Professor Sprout yanked Lucas behind her and stepped forward, wand raised.
“This is an extremely dangerous creature—run!”
But the dragon had already spotted them.
Its long neck swung around, violet eyes narrowing.
It opened its bloody maw and let out a rasping roar.
Professor Sprout’s face went white.
She knew this wasn’t normal behavior for a Hebridean Black.
Even when starving and snatching livestock, they usually grabbed and flew off.
They didn’t land and butcher prey right in front of humans.
And they definitely didn’t attack a wand-wielding witch.
No time to wonder why.
She fired the first spell that came to mind.
The dragon reared up, wings flaring, and charged like a runaway train.
“Conjunctivitis!”
A blinding burst of light shot from her wand straight at its eyes.
That was when they saw it—a deep, ugly gash across the middle of the dragon’s left wing, still oozing blood.
The next second the dragon whipped its neck around.
The spell slammed into its jaw in a shower of sparks, barely leaving a scratch on the black scales.
Damn it.
If that had been Minerva or Filius it wouldn’t have missed.
But my plants aren’t here!
“No!” Professor Sprout cried as the beast stretched its neck, wings spread, barreling toward them like a thundering locomotive.
Her wand lit up with brilliant blue light—but someone was faster.
Lucas McGregor.
The instant he saw the raging black dragon, shock hit him hard.
Then it vanished.
In its place, his heart hammered like war drums.
Blood roared in his ears and surged through his veins.
Every inch of him vibrated with excitement, red hair trembling like living flames.
A real dragon.
The creature from every legend he’d ever heard.
Just hours ago Professor Sprout had opened the door to the wizarding world.
Now one of its most mythical beasts stood right in front of him, larger than life.
I already died once.
Death doesn’t scare me anymore.
Every second of this life is a gift.
I’m fighting a dragon alongside a witch.
I’m protecting my grandpa and saving my flock.
Lucas’s arm moved with lightning speed.
He ripped the shotgun from Finlay’s hands.
Click-clack.
Shell chambered.
Safety off.
Half-crouch, shoulder the gun, sight picture—three points in line.
BANG!
The shotgun roared across the valley.
Twelve-gauge buckshot tore from the muzzle in a burst of flame.
Eight .36-inch 000 buck pellets slammed straight into the massive wound on the dragon’s left wing.
Gun smoke and a red mist of dragon blood exploded into the air.