HP: Dragon's Coffin

The following morning, Ladon awoke with the same sense of purpose that had driven him for weeks. His routine had become second nature: rise before dawn, train until his body ached and his mind throbbed, and push himself further than the day before. Today, however, was different. Today, he would learn to weave truth and lies together—a skill that could mean the difference between survival and ruin at Hogwarts.

The manor archives were quiet, the air thick with the hum of latent magic. Asclepius stood in the center of the room, his hands clasped behind his back, his silver eyes cool and calculating. Several candles flickered in the dim space, their flames casting shifting shadows along the rows of ancient tomes.

Ladon entered, his dragon-like eyes glowing faintly in the low light. He stepped forward without hesitation, his robes flowing behind him. Hesper, perched on his shoulder, stretched her wings briefly before settling down again.

"Today's lesson will test more than just your Occlumency," Asclepius began, his voice resonating through the room. "It will test your creativity, your patience, and your ability to deceive. You may find that weaving a convincing lie is more difficult than defending the truth."

Ladon inclined his head slightly. "What do you want me to do?"

Asclepius gestured to the chair in the center of the room. "Sit."

Ladon obeyed, lowering himself into the chair without a word. Hesper hopped down, watching from the table's edge as Asclepius circled the boy slowly, like a predator assessing its prey.

"The mind," Asclepius continued, "is a labyrinth of memories, emotions, and instincts. Your task today is to create a false path—a memory that feels real, sounds real, even smells real. I will try to read your thoughts. If I cannot discern the truth from the lie, you will have succeeded."

Ladon's eyes narrowed in thought as he closed them and took a steadying breath. His mind became still, the mental fortress he had built sealing itself once more. But this time, instead of blocking the intrusion, he began to weave.

The memory Ladon created unfolded in vivid detail: a summer morning at the estate. The sun was high, its warmth pleasant against his skin. The garden was alive with color—vivid reds and purples of the flowering trees swaying gently in the breeze. His mother's laughter rang out as she handed him a small basket filled with berries.

"You've picked more than me again," Hyacinth's voice was warm and full of affection. She ruffled his hair, her black eyes sparkling with amusement.

Ladon smiled in the memory, the scent of strawberries hanging in the air. He could feel the warmth of the sun, the coolness of the grass beneath his feet. It was so real, so perfect.

Asclepius raised his wand. "Legilimens."

The spell struck Ladon's mind, but instead of colliding with an unyielding wall, Asclepius slipped in—and found himself in the middle of the summer scene. He saw Hyacinth's serene smile, heard her voice, smelled the sweetness of the berries. The memory wrapped around him like a warm embrace, pulling him deeper.

Asclepius frowned. Something about it felt too perfect. He focused, sending a mental probe deeper—but the memory shifted slightly, like a mirage bending under the heat of the sun. A flicker of unease crept into his mind. This isn't real.

With a sharp exhale, Asclepius withdrew, the spell breaking as the memory dissolved like smoke. His silver eyes flickered with approval as he studied Ladon, who opened his eyes and met his gaze.

"Well done," Asclepius said, a rare note of pride in his voice. "That was… impressive."

Ladon's face remained stoic, though his chest rose and fell heavily from the mental strain. "You almost believed it."

"I did," Asclepius admitted, stepping back. "You're learning quickly, Ladon. But the lesson doesn't end here."

Ladon tilted his head slightly. "What's next?"

Asclepius's smirk returned, sharp and calculating. "The next step is holding that lie under pressure—while I try to shatter it."

Before Ladon could react, Asclepius's wand flicked again. "Legilimens!"

The familiar rush returned, but this time Asclepius attacked with brutal efficiency. He pushed harder, weaving doubt into the false memory. He twisted the sound of Hyacinth's voice, darkened the sky above the garden, introduced flickers of cold. He tried to unravel the warmth of the moment, turning it into something hollow.

But Ladon held firm.

The garden stayed bright. His mother's laughter remained warm, her touch gentle. The lie didn't break—it adapted, twisting around Asclepius's probes like vines growing around a blade. Finally, Asclepius broke the connection, his breath shallow as he stepped back.

"You're a natural," he muttered, his silver eyes gleaming with something between admiration and wariness. "You've already learned to defend and deceive in tandem. You've surpassed what most Occlumens achieve in years."

Ladon exhaled slowly, lowering his hands to his lap. "I told you," he said quietly, "I won't fail."

Asclepius's gaze softened for a moment. "No," he said. "I suppose you won't."

Hesper meowed softly, leaping onto Ladon's lap and nuzzling against him. The boy absentmindedly stroked her fur, his dragon-like eyes thoughtful but unwavering.

"Rest now," Asclepius said after a long pause. "Tomorrow, we push further."

Ladon nodded but didn't move right away. His mind, despite the strain, was still turning, calculating, preparing.

Less than two weeks. The time was dwindling—but so was any doubt Asclepius had that Ladon was ready.

====

The room fell into a familiar silence as the intensity of the lesson faded, leaving only the crackle of the fire and the quiet hum of residual magic. Ladon sat still, his mind slowly recovering from the strain. Hesper purred contentedly in his lap, her small, warm body a silent reassurance amidst the tension.

Asclepius watched the boy for a long moment before turning toward the shelves lining the archive walls. His footsteps echoed softly as he selected a leather-bound book, its cover embossed with intricate draconic runes. He turned back, placing it gently on the table before Ladon.

"This," he began, "is Memoria: The Art of Mental Labyrinths. Written by one of the most skilled Occlumens in history—an ancestor of ours. It will help you refine your false memories further. You've mastered the foundations, but mastery requires more than instinct. It requires understanding."

Ladon's dragon-like eyes flickered to the book, his gaze narrowing as he reached out and ran his fingers over the embossed title. The texture of the runes beneath his fingertips felt almost alive, humming faintly with old magic.

"I'll read it," Ladon said simply.

Asclepius nodded. "Good." He folded his arms, his expression turning thoughtful. "You're nearly ready, but there's one final challenge you must face before you leave for Hogwarts."

Ladon's gaze sharpened. "What is it?"

Asclepius leaned forward slightly, his silver eyes gleaming. "Me. A full duel of the mind." His voice was low, almost dangerous. "No restraints. No pauses. You must learn to defend yourself against an opponent who won't hold back. Because when you leave here, neither Dumbledore nor anyone else will."

Ladon's pulse quickened, though his expression remained cold and measured. He had known this challenge was coming, but hearing it spoken aloud made it feel real—like the final step before the threshold of destiny.

"When?" Ladon asked.

"Tomorrow," Asclepius replied. "You'll have tonight to prepare your defenses and create the strongest false memory you can. One that even I can't unravel."

Ladon nodded, rising from his chair with Hesper still perched in his arms. "Then I'll be ready."

Asclepius watched him head toward the door, the faintest flicker of a smile crossing his face. "We'll see."

----

Later that evening, Ladon returned to his room, the dim glow of twilight casting long shadows across the floor. Hesper leapt onto the windowsill, staring out at the fading horizon as Ladon sat at his desk and opened Memoria: The Art of Mental Labyrinths. The pages were filled with diagrams, ancient incantations, and detailed descriptions of mental constructs designed to disorient, deceive, and protect.

Ladon read silently, his mind absorbing the knowledge like a sponge. Each technique, each word, felt like another piece of armor being forged in preparation for battle.

"The strongest mental labyrinth is one built not only on lies, but on truths intertwined. The deeper an intruder goes, the more they should feel as though they are unearthing something real."

He closed the book, his dragon-like eyes narrowing as he leaned back in his chair. He knew what he had to do.

Ladon pushed everything from his mind, closing his eyes as the stillness around him deepened. The hum of the manor faded away, replaced by the steady rhythm of his breathing. His mind, once a blank slate, began to shift and take shape.

Step one: The Foundation.

He summoned the memories that mattered most—his mother's voice, soft and soothing as she read to him beneath the ancient tree in the garden. The smell of summer roses and fresh earth. The way the sunlight filtered through the branches, creating a mosaic of golden light on the grass. Every detail had to be exact, perfect. He felt the memory bloom within him, anchoring itself deep.

But then, he twisted it.

Step two: The Pathways.

In the memory, the garden shifted from morning to twilight. The sky turned a soft purple, the air cooler. Instead of Hyacinth's voice, there was silence. Ladon stood alone in the garden now, a book in his hand. This change wasn't random—it was purposeful. If anyone tried to push deeper, they'd feel the transition as natural, not abrupt. The illusion had to flow seamlessly, like water.

The smell of berries lingered. The grass felt real beneath his feet. But he was in control now, deciding every sensory detail with precision.

Step three: The Traps.

Memories were layered, built like concentric circles of truth and falsehood. If an intruder tried to probe further, they would meet fragments of something familiar but unsettling. He added subtle barriers disguised as memories—mundane moments like brushing dust off a bookshelf or staring into the mirror after a long day. These would draw a Legilimens in, convincing them they were gathering something insignificant.

But they would lead nowhere.

Each pathway looped back to the core memory of the twilight garden. The deeper one pressed, the more they would find themselves circling, caught in a beautiful, endless lie. It was the perfect snare—harmless enough to be convincing, but so well-crafted that even a skilled mind-reader would lose their way.

Step four: The Truth.

Every labyrinth needed an anchor—something real enough to fool even Ladon himself. He chose the memory of the last time his mother had laughed as she held his hand. That laugh, the sound of it, was pure. He didn't alter it. He let it echo faintly in the background of his mind, just enough to make the labyrinth feel alive. Real.

Ladon opened his eyes slowly, his chest rising and falling as he caught his breath. The labyrinth was complete—a masterpiece of truth, deception, and resilience. It wasn't just a defense—it was art. His mind felt heavier but sharper, like a sword newly forged and tested in fire.

He leaned back in his chair, brushing a hand through his silver hair as Hesper stretched on the windowsill, watching him silently.

"I did it," he whispered to himself, a rare flicker of pride crossing his face.

Hesper let out a soft chirp as though in agreement before fluttering down to his desk. Ladon closed the book gently, his fingers lingering on the embossed cover.

The labyrinth was a testament to his will. No one, not even Dumbledore himself, would be able to untangle it without losing themselves in the intricate dance of truth and illusion.

Tomorrow, he would face Asclepius. And this time... "I will win."

----

The next morning, the archives were shrouded in a heavy silence. The air felt charged, the tension palpable as Ladon stepped inside, his robes pristine and his expression impenetrable. Asclepius was already waiting in the center of the room, his wand held loosely in one hand.

"You've had your night to prepare," Asclepius said, his silver eyes gleaming. "Now show me what you've learned."

Ladon met his gaze without flinching. "I will."

Asclepius raised his wand, the room growing colder as his magic coiled around him like a storm. "Then let us begin."

He pointed his wand directly at Ladon. "Legilimens."

The spell struck like a lightning bolt, surging into Ladon's mind with ruthless precision. But instead of collapsing under the weight of the intrusion, Ladon's mental defenses unfurled like an intricate web.

The false memory bloomed before Asclepius's eyes—a scene of serene beauty.

Ladon was in the garden again, just as before, but this time it was twilight. The air was cool, the sky streaked with shades of violet and crimson. Hyacinth was seated beneath the ancient tree, reading aloud from a worn book of stories. Her voice was soft, melodic, carrying warmth that wrapped around everything like a protective veil.

Asclepius probed deeper, seeking the cracks, the weak points—but the memory shifted. Hyacinth's face became clearer, her black eyes meeting his as she smiled. The air smelled of roses and freshly turned soil. The weight of reality blurred.

No, Asclepius thought, pushing harder. This isn't real.

The scene shimmered—but instead of breaking, it reformed. Now Ladon was standing in the garden alone, the book in his hands. He stared up at the twilight sky, his expression calm, unreadable. The truth was interwoven with the lie, and it was impossible to tell where one ended and the other began.

Asclepius pulled back abruptly, the spell breaking. He stared at Ladon, breathing heavily. The boy's gaze met his, steady and unyielding.

"You've done it," Asclepius muttered, his voice tinged with awe. "You've created a labyrinth."

Ladon exhaled slowly, his chest rising and falling as he caught his breath. "You said I had to," he replied, his tone flat but resolute.

Asclepius nodded, a rare smile breaking across his face. "Indeed." He straightened, lowering his wand. "You've proven yourself. Even Dumbledore would struggle to see through you now."

Ladon's eyes glowed faintly. He didn't speak, but the determination in his gaze said everything.

Hesper chirped softly from her perch, as if congratulating him.

"Rest for the day," Asclepius said, stepping closer. "You've earned it. Tomorrow, we begin your final preparations for Hogwarts."

Ladon nodded, but as he turned to leave, Asclepius called after him.

"And Ladon…"

Ladon paused, glancing back.

"You've made me proud," Asclepius said, his silver eyes softening.

For a brief moment, Ladon's cold exterior cracked. A flicker of warmth crossed his face before disappearing as he nodded once and walked out, Hesper trailing after him.

Asclepius watched him go, his heart heavy but hopeful. The boy had surpassed every expectation.