Night fell over the sanctuary, a gentle silver gleam brushing over the remains of the icy battlefield. Within the main cavern, laughter bounced off the crystal walls. Dragons chirped, growled, and rustled their wings above and around the crowd of Vikings celebrating survival. Stoick raised a mug, Gobber was already a little tipsy, Hiccup and Astrid were wrapped in a rare moment of unguarded peace.
But Petunia had slipped out, letting the noise fade behind her like a dream she had no business staying in.
She stood beneath the arch of an icy overhang near the cliff's edge, a place the moonlight hit just right — lonely, quiet, and perfect for the secrets she carried.
A familiar blue screen shimmered into reality before her.
---
[Main Mission successfully completed]
Objective: Protect the last two Bewilderbeasts in this scenario.
REWARDS:
— 5,000 Coins
— Dragonification
— ???
— ???
PENALTY:
— Return to Home Scenario
— Increased Restrictions in the Next Scenario Missions
---
[5,000 Coins added to inventory.]
[Skill unlocked: Dragonification — You can shift parts of your body into dragon-like forms, greatly enhancing strength, durability, and elemental potential.]
[Frost Axe (Grade A+): A weapon laced with frost essence. Inflicts frostbite with every cut. Ideal for crowd control and ice channeling.]
[Unknown Egg acquired — Status: Dormant. Method of hatching unknown.]
[Return to Home Scenario in 15 minutes.]
---
As she scanned the list, Petunia's eyes narrowed — not out of dissatisfaction, but calculation. She wasn't particularly surprised. She had played her part. Kept the beasts safe. Didn't lose control.
But the weight of that last line — "Return to Home Scenario" — tightened her grip on the panel, her fingers ghosting over it before slowly dropping.
A soft shuffle of footsteps behind her.
She didn't turn.
"You planning to ghost me again?"
Vald's voice. Close, hesitant… quieter than usual.
Petunia let out a half-sigh, more annoyed by her own hesitation than his presence.
"You weren't supposed to notice."
She didn't look back. Her tone? Flat.She wasn't here to say goodbye.
Vald chuckled, but it was hollow. "You're leaving, huh?"
"...Yes." Crisp. Detached. No room for sentiment.
There was a beat.
"Can I—"
"No."
Another beat.
Vald laughed again, nervous, choked. "Hah... reminds me of when we first met. You shut me down the same way—didn't even let me finish."
"...."
"But this time it hurts more."
Silence fell between them like a blade. Then Petunia stepped forward, her boots crunching softly against the frost.
She didn't see it coming—Vald's hand caught hers. Not violently. But with urgency, with a strength he hadn't dared use before. He spun her toward him, placing her hand over his chest, right where his heart pounded like a war drum.
"Look at me!"
She did. Out of surprise. Out of memory.
"Don't leave me," he whispered. "You're... you're family. My only family. Don't leave me, please."
Petunia's expression cracked, ever so slightly. Her jaw clenched. Her eyes flicked up to his, like someone standing in the middle of a thunderstorm, refusing to admit they were soaking wet.
"Vald..."
"You took the dragons, right? Send me where you sent them! I can do anything—I can learn, I can fight. Am I just a follower to you? A servant? A mission sidekick?"
His voice broke at the edges. "...Don't leave me alone."
The commotion of their scene had drawn others. Valka watched from a distance with solemn understanding, holding Hiccup back with a soft shake of her head. Astrid glanced at Stoick, concern shadowing her face.
Petunia stared at Vald. Her lips parted slightly.
And then — [Fourth Wall Skill is shaking]
A flash.
A scream.
A memory — a little girl clutching her arm, sobbing:
> "Don't leave me—sister—please…"
The roar inside her was deafening.
A surge of rage. Grief. Frustration. Her body reacted before she could stop it.
Dragonification activated.
Twin horns pierced through her s dark hair. Scales shimmered across her jaw. Her fangs bared. Wind howled around her like a storm given form.
She swatted Vald away with a feral growl, her claws crackling with unstable energy.
"Back off! Huff... Huff... I said I can't."
Her voice trembled — not with fear, but barely controlled fury.
"Even if I could, I wouldn't bring you! You're too weak to survive where I come from!"
Vald stumbled back, stunned by her sudden transformation. His eyes wide. His hands trembling.
And then...
Her form began to fade.
First at the fingertips. Then her feet. She was being pulled back. Time was up.
Petunia blinked. Something bright popped up before Vald, hovering like a predatory invitation.
---
[The ABYSSAL BLACK FLAME DRAGON offers you a sponsorship contract.]
[Will you become his Incarnation?]
[Yes/ No]
---
Petunia's eyes went wide.
"NO!"
Her voice boomed through the sanctuary, carried by the wind itself.
"REFUSE IT! I SAID REF—"
[YES SELECTED.]
The panel faded.
So did she.
Vald stood frozen, his hand still raised, tears trailing down his cheek — but now his eyes shimmered with a faint crimson glow.
Behind him, the Abyssal Dragon's laughter echoed faintly in the air.
----------
[Status Panel – Updated]
[Name: Petunia Targaryen / Evans**]**
[Age: 54**]**
[Constellation Sponsor: NONE**]**
[Private Attributes:]
— Dragonic Warlock (Myth)
— Doekabe-like (Unique)
[Exclusive Skills:]
— Weather Manipulation → Lv.10
— Transfiguration Magic → Lv.2
— Enchantment Magic → Lv.2
— Potioneering → Lv.2
— Mind Magic → Lv.3
— Mystic Cat Footwork → Lv.10
— Deceitful Mouth → Lv.7
— Axemanship → Lv.10
— Cold Resistance → Lv.9
— Lightning Resistance → Lv.9
[Stigma:] None
[Overall Stats:]
— Stamina: Lv.15
— Strength: Lv.15
— Agility: Lv.15
— Magic Power: Lv.30
[Balance:11,500 Coins]
----------
The gentle rhythmic clatter of the Hogwarts Express had become background noise. James was mid-story—likely some exaggerated prank on a Slytherin student —while Sirius laughed along, sharp and bright. Remus chuckled quietly from his seat, one hand curled around a book he'd long since stopped reading.
But Petunia didn't hear any of it.
She sat still, her posture unusually stiff, gaze locked dead ahead. Her hands rested neatly in her lap, but her knuckles were white from the tightness of her grip. Her lips were pressed into a razor-thin line, and under her right eye, a small vein pulsed, ticking like a bomb about to detonate.
There was no amusement on her face. No dry sarcasm. No calculated indifference.
There was only fury.
Not the explosive kind James or Sirius would ignite in a hallway scuffle—this was something deeper. Cold. Heavy.
Like she'd swallowed a storm and it refused to settle.
It was Remus who noticed first.
He'd seen her tired before. Even irritated. Petunia Targaryen was rarely cheerful per se, but her air of distant superiority had always kept her anchored, cool-headed. A wall, always firmly in place.
But now… the wall had cracks.
He turned to her fully, brows furrowed. "Are you oka—"
SKKKREEEECH!
The train shrieked against the rails as it pulled into the station, cutting his question short. The sudden stop jolted everyone in the compartment.
Petunia moved.
Without a word.
No sarcasm. No farewell. No glance backward.
She stood, grabbed her bag with sharp, purposeful grace, and walked out the compartment door as if it had personally offended her. Her cloak swayed behind her, shoulders squared, head high—not in pride, but restraint.
Her back was rigid—too rigid.
Like a coiled spring held in by sheer will.
James leaned into the doorway, blinking. "Hey—not even a goodbye?!"
Sirius raised an eyebrow, baffled. "What's with her?"
Remus didn't answer.
He kept staring at the door she'd exited from, his smile long gone. There was a wrinkle of concern between his brows, the book forgotten on his lap. He'd seen the way she walked—like she was running from something she couldn't outrun, something clawing just beneath her skin.
Not grief.
Not sadness.
Rage.
And it wasn't directed at them.
But Gods help whoever it was meant for.
-------
Petunia walked briskly through the thinning crowd, the late afternoon sun bleeding gold through the grey London haze. The train station's clamor faded behind her, replaced by the clipped rhythm of her boots on concrete and the faint hum of passing cabs. Her cloak—disguised today as a wool coat—whipped slightly in the breeze, but she didn't bother adjusting it.
Her mind was a cacophony, but her face betrayed nothing.
---
—Petunia's POV—
Why am I angry?
The question echoed with a bitter note of curiosity, like a scholar examining a venomous plant.
Is it because Vald defied me? Or because I didn't want him to be an incarnation to a constellation?
She scoffed internally. Vald. That impudent little whelp with his soft eyes and burning loyalty. He wasn't useful. Not really.
He was more of a burden than anything.
A sigh curled in her chest, one she refused to let slip from her lips.
I trained him.
She had. Personally.
Taught him Axemanship. The Mystic Cat Footwork Technique—against her better judgment.
And what does he do? He goes and defies me. Directly.
It must be that.
It must be because he butted heads with me, because he dared to stand where I drew a line and crossed it like a petulant child.
Let's forget about him.
---
The moment that thought slid into her mind like a cold blade, reality twisted slightly.
> [Fourth Wall Skill is taking control again.]
[ Abyssal Black Flame Dragon snickers at you.]
[ Abyssal Black Flame Dragon says that since you refused his sponsorship, he took your disciple instead.]
Her eye twitched. She didn't break stride.
She stopped only to flip open her interface with a graceful, two-finger flick. A luminescent screen hovered beside her head, invisible to any onlookers—had there been any brave enough to meet her gaze.
She read the notification.
Then she smirked.
A sharp, cold thing.
"Hah," she said under her breath, biting her lower lip in sardonic amusement.
"Boo-fucking-hoo. As if I'd care about a trivial matter like that."
Her voice dripped with venomous nonchalance—the kind only someone deeply wounded and refusing to acknowledge it could wield.
Her tone turned thoughtful, almost lazily academic as she tapped a few things into the interface.
"Although…" she murmured, eyes glinting beneath her lashes,
"I didn't know that signing a sponsorship with a scenario resident was even plausible in my Channel. That's… interesting. And problematic."
A snap of her fingers.
Like a judge delivering a sentence.
> [This clearly breaches Channel Contract Protocol.]
[Abyssal Black Flame Dragon is [SUSPENDED] from [#36677Channel] indefinitely until further notice.]
Another notification popped up, the interface glitching slightly—like something on the other side didn't want to go quietly.
> [ Abyssal Black Flame Dragon says that if you suspend him, you'll never have a way to observe your disciple.]
Her shoes clicked to a stop near the curb.
"I don't have a disciple to begin with."
It came out sharp. Final.
> [ Abyssal Black Flame Dragon says he could compensate you for the breach instead.]
She rolled her eyes, stretching her neck with an exaggerated pop. Her fangs—not yet retracted from her earlier rage—glinted for a moment.
"No need. There's a queue of constellations lined up to enter my channel anyway. You're nothing special. Never were."
[ding!]
> [Abyssal Black Flame Dragon has been suspended.]
Petunia exhaled softly. There was no satisfaction in it.
The ache behind her eyes hadn't gone away.
She lifted her hand and flagged a cab with elegant disinterest.
The yellow car screeched gently to a halt, and she slid into the back seat, crossing her legs with a slow grace.
"To the General Register Office, please."
Her voice was low, composed, even regal.
But her hands were clenched tightly in her lap.
As the cab rolled through the streets of London, grey buildings and overcast skies blurring past the window, the air inside the vehicle was thick with silence. Petunia sat with an impassive expression, arms folded, legs crossed, her long coat trailing down like a curtain of midnight. Her eyes, however, never stopped calculating, analyzing—searching.
Then—
> [ding!]
[Congratulations on the first Constellation–Incarnation sponsorship successfully conducted within your channel.]
[REWARD UNLOCKED: Exclusive Skill —[Avatar]]
→ Create clones according to the skill holder's imagination.
→ Each clone differs in depth, personality, and lifespan depending on the memories used in the crafting process.
→ To create a clone, the user must invest a memory—emotional strength enhances its realism.
→ If a clone dies by anyone other than the original creator, all embedded memories and any collected by the clone are lost permanently, with no method of retrieval.]
[System encourages Host to seek out and restore more of its Fragments to unlock greater rewards.]
The blue text shimmered for a moment across her interface, almost celebratory.
Petunia leaned back slowly in the cab seat, one gloved finger raised to tap against her lips.
"Hm."
Her gaze narrowed.
"Now this… this is useful."
"Clones crafted from my memories…" she whispered, her voice thick with curiosity and veiled glee.
Her mind raced with possibilities.
"Exponential reduction of effort," she said aloud to herself with a smile.
"Less dirty work for me."
But then her eyes darkened ever so slightly.
The cost.
If a clone died—especially one created from something intimate or vital—the memory and everything it learned would vanish. Forever. No retrieval, no second chances.
"Hmph. So be it," she muttered.
She had memories to spare. Some she'd be grateful to be rid of.
The cab turned a sharp corner as the General Register Office came into view.
And Petunia… smiled.
-----
London, United Kingdom – 1972
General Register Office, 2nd Floor – 2:34 PM
The click of Petunia's heels echoed through the marble hallway, sharp as a gavel. Her cloak had shifted to a more fitting Muggle ensemble—a long black trench coat over a simple grey dress, her blue purplish eyes now a modest brown thanks to a subtle glamour. To the world, she looked like an unassuming young woman she met in the streets, perhaps a government intern or a librarian. But under the layers of mundane fabric and potion effects pulsed something far more dangerous.
Objective: Build three civilian identities for three distinct purposes in the Muggle world.
Constraints: No magical surveillance. Minimal magical residue. Absolute legitimacy to the eye of any investigating authority.
---
Phase I: The Approach
Petunia approached the front desk of the General Register Office with a calm smile, a manila folder in hand, filled with forged documents—birth certificates, school transcripts, vaccination records, all produced with expert magical forgeries enhanced by runes for aging and authenticity under scrutiny.
The clerk, a middle-aged man with dull eyes and nicotine-stained fingertips, looked up with the expression of someone who had spent twenty years watching papers shuffle and coffee go cold.
Petunia tilted her head, resting one hand atop the folder , her wand between her fingers as she whispered softly:
> "Confundo."
His eyes glazed over momentarily as she tapped the edge of the folder and spoke with slow, persuasive clarity.
> "Mr. Adley, I'm here on behalf of the Home Office for a retroactive identity verification program. These are individuals born abroad with British ancestry—we're placing their records into the system. You'll process the forms now, yes?"
The man blinked a few times, confused but compliant.
> "Yes... of course. Sorry, miss. Bit of a busy day."
Phase I: Completed.
---
Phase II: The Records
Each folder had a precise identity profile:
1. Petunia Evans
Age: 12
Purpose: Cover her Hogwarts identity when operating in Muggle society (school holidays, identification, bank accounts).
Details: Born in Wiltshire, parents deceased, transferred from orphanage care, primary education completed abroad.
2. Selena Rockwood
Age: 28
Purpose: Front-facing identity for property ownership, adult-level interactions, employment contracts, bank access.
Details: Claimed to be a recently returned UK citizen from Scandinavia, carrying references from businesses abroad (disguised as foreign trade entities).
3. Jane Rockwood
Age: 29
Purpose: Contingency identity, alternate appearance with a different personality template (used when Selena needs to disappear or change tactics).
Details: Allegedly an antiques appraiser and historical researcher.
Each profile was planted into the official registry databases by charming the clerks and then subtly altering the records via spells. the fourth wall Skill blocking the Ministry to locate the person who is using magic an unauthorized location.
---
Phase III: The Paper Trail
At a back-alley office in East London, Petunia visited the National Insurance Contributions Office. Dressed as Selena Rockwood now, her appearance was shifted via Polyjuice Potion—a smart, raven-haired woman with high cheekbones and an upper-class accent she met at the general office Registery .
A young man behind the desk raised a brow at the foreign paperwork and odd requests.
No problem.
> "Obliviate."
His confusion melted into robotic efficiency as she guided his mind into believing the paperwork was authentic and government-issued. Within the hour, she held three National Insurance numbers, all recorded in the system.
---
Phase IV: Back-Up Measures
Before leaving, Petunia took extra steps to:
Cast layered Notice-Me-Not charms over her forged documents.
Place an emergency Exploding Ink Rune inside the real copies at the Register Office in case someone tried to audit them later.
Implant self-refreshing Confundus charms on two clerks and one archivist to maintain the illusion over time.
---
Phase V: Housing
3:58 PM – Outside a modest estate agency in North London
Back to her Selena Rockwood identity, Petunia hailed a cab.
> "Take me to Thornbridge Row. I'm renting a townhouse."
The estate agent, a quiet man in a sweater vest, barely blinked as she handed him a forged set of documents and filled out her rental agreement.
---
By 5:12 PM, Petunia was seated alone in her newly leased townhouse: a two-story residence with ivy-covered brick, thick velvet curtains, and three locked trunks hidden under the floorboards.
One was labeled:
> Selena R. –
Jane R. –
Evans, Petunia –
She stood in the center of the living room, her gloves off, her silver dragon-etched ring glowed as she looked around the quiet house.
She took a deep breath. A slow, content sigh.
"Phase One, complete."
"Now… let's start planting roots."