Chapter 8:

Harold and Damien stared up at the massive red dragon. Unmoving, they watched as it came closer. In future days, they would have already moved, taking up defensive positions or running, but they were not as paranoid or reactive as they would be when they would graduate from the Magus school in the future.

As it roared down at them, Harold and Damien turned to each other and with wide eyes, Damien muttered softly, "Crap," and Harry replied, "Run!"

With a shout, they turned around and ran like the angel of death was on their heels. They ran towards the castle, trying to desperately outrun the dragon. When they reached the huge doors of the castle, they paused looking back. Surprisingly, the dragon was further than they expected, but it was still close. Drawing their wands, they turned to the wooden doors and with a spell blasted them open.

Turning around, they jumped back as the great dragon's head poked its way into the doorway. Harold started firing off curses like no tomorrow.

Damien was a little cooler headed. He started conjuring iron walls and blasting them at the dragon.

Harold had regained his sense and was doing the same. After a while, the dragon as so bloodied, it backed off a little and Harold and Damien pounced. With a combined effort, they created a huge wall of iron and set it at the door. They started spelling it shut. A few minutes later, all they could hear was dragon banging its had against the wall and roaring in pain.

With a sigh, they turned around and faced the enormous hall they were in. It was filled with cobwebs and dust, but Harold could still make out giant Greek columns, with paintings of famous artists faded but still worth a thousand galleons.

There were giant shelves full of books and golden plaques. Hung on the walls were tapestries, depicting battles and campaigns by great captains of the ancient world, like Alexander the Great, Hannibal and Julius Caesar and Napoleon.

The ceiling was faded golden, holding a huge painting of an aristocratic man. In his hand was a great sword, made of a strange glittering metal. On it was written: Ad Victoriam.

Harold absent-mindedly translated the phrase into 'to victory'. Running his eyes across the room once more, he spotted a shelf full of books. Walking quickly towards the shelf, he spotted a small black book, wedged between two books on mind magic.

With thin fingers, he managed to pull out the book. It had no title, just a date: 1807- 1898.

Opening the book, he saw thin black handwriting covering the whole page. There was no space that wasn't covered with writing.

Peering into the book, Harold managed to make out the words 'feared' and 'greatest magic of the entire world'.

Sighing, Harold pocketed the book. Turing around, he saw Damien was standing in front of a statue of Alexander the Great. Walking over to him, he saw Damien's worshiping expression.

"Like his work?" asked Harold with a small smile.

"Like his work, Harold?" asked Damien, turning to him. "My father is about three thousand years old. He was a general of Alexander during his conquests. He was turned by Alexander."

"Alexander was a vampire?" asked Harold, astonished.

"How do think he was so fast in his conquests. He was already four thousand years old by the time he decided to pretend to be the son of Phillip II.

"He wanted to be the conqueror of the world. He wanted to be in history. And I can tell you that he didn't die by malaria in Babylon. My father killed him."

"What?" said Harold, astonished. "Your father killed Alexander?"

"Yes, reluctantly, but yes, he did kill him." Replied Damien. "He was convinced that Alexander would kill him when the generals were back in Alexandria."

"Was it true?" asked Harold.

"No." replied Damien simply.

Staring all around them, they saw many other famous generals.

Harold spotted one that immediately caught his attention: Julius Caesar.

Walked over to his statue, he looked at the plaque:

Julius Caesar, Unknown – 44 BC: He was the conqueror of Gaul. He subdued the Italian peninsula in only sixty days, he defeated Pompey with but half of Pompey's total forces. He was the lover of Cleopatra the queen of Egypt. He was the man who set the foundation for Augustus to build the Roman Empire. He was the best captain of antiquity. He was Julius Caesar.

He heard Damien come up behind him.

Turning to him, he said, "Now, that's a true conqueror."

Smiling, Damien just shook his head and turned away.

Harold was about to turn too, but saw a book wedged beside the statue. Reaching out with thin fingers, he pried the book out of the tight space. Reading the cover, he saw that it was in Latin. Quickly translating it, he whispered out loud, "The magic of war: by Julius Caesar."

Gasping lightly, he opened the book. Inside were lines and lines full of equations and spells of mass scale destruction.

Harold grasped the book like it was his life. This was like a find of a life!

"Harold, we should be figuring out how to get to the school now." Called Damien, who had been examining a deadly looking sword.

Harold turned around, sighing at the missed opportunity at looking at the book more carefully. Pocketing the book, he replied, "I guess we should."