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It wasn’t the first time that Harry had considered his entrance into the magical world of wizarding Britain a mistake.
The first time had been a mere handful of hours after Hagrid had charged into the dilapidated shack on the rock, with all the social ineptitude of a bull in a China shop. His initial impression of the wizarding society had been a dingy tavern that reeked of sweat, beer, and brimmed with the thunderous murmur that came with a crowd trying half-heartedly to be politely hushed through the haze of alcohol. And failing miserably.
That murmur had abruptly detonated into a cacophony of nonsensical percussion the moment that Hagrid had announced his name to the entire pub, and after choking down the hysterical panic that any eleven-year-old would face being rushed at by a crowd, Harry had been forced to shake hand after hand. All covered in grime, sweat, sticky residue from what he now knew to be butterbeer, and Merlin knows what else. One woman in particular had nearly cleaved his hand in two with her talon-like nails, tiny beads of scarlet rising from angry lines left in her wake.
Hagrid had only intervened after displaying him on a silver platter to Mr-Possessed-By-Attempted-Child-Murderer, by which Harry was staring into space and thus failing to notice the patently apparent false stutter that the man wore. Looking back on it, as much as Harry adored the half-giant, Hagrid was either as thick as dragon hide or as blind as a newborn were-wolf.
In fact, looking back on much of his life in the wizarding world, that was the first time that Harry could pinpoint the feelings of apprehension and regret. He’d gone to Gringotts, half aware of the breathtaking sights surrounding him and partially listening to the petrifying goblin who took him to what he now knew to be his trust vault. Harry had been so overwhelmed that much of his trip into Diagon Alley was a blur aside from the deteriorating crater in his stomach, which had promised that his pristine world, his paradise, wouldn’t be as gilded as pledged. That taste of the public in the Leaky Cauldron had been a taste of what to expect in the future. And Harry, at the time, had been introduced to the taste of bitter bile on his tongue that would trail after him like a loyal dog, so long as he remained involved in the magical world.
The acrid flavour had followed, perpetually on his tastebuds.
When he encountered Fluffy behind a ‘locked’ door.
When he illegally exported Noberta to clean up an adult’s mess.
When he watched a unicorn be killed and fed from.
When he conquered the trial to trap him and the deranged spirit of his attempted murderer.
All before he turned twelve.
When the entire school, teachers included, turned their backs on him for speaking an obscure language.
When he was hexed in the halls and used as a scapegoat.
When his friend was left as a helpless statue, despite the cure available to be imported.
When he had to fight the teen spirit of his attempted murderer, save his best friend’s sister, and kill a familiar turned insane.
When a phoenix had to cry in his wound to save his life.
When he faced the man responsible, completely unrepentant for nearly killing five children.
All before he turned thirteen.
When the assumed traitor of his deceased parents broke out of the infamously impenetrable prison.
When he inflated his aunt.
When the presumed betrayer of his parents came after him.
When his friend was taken to the shrieking shack.
When the supposed defector of his parents turned out to be innocent.
When his friend’s pet rat turned out to be a concealed murderer, who had slept in the dormitory of teenage boys.
When the first defence professor to not try to kill him nearly killed him.
When his dreams of not returning to No. 4 were dangled before him before being torn away.
All before he turned fourteen.
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Now, Harry was fourteen, and the taste of regret had never been more intense, more overwhelming on his tongue. He was perched on the edge of an uncomfortable wooden stool, in a lilac canvas tent that did nothing to deafen the roar of the audience outside. His miniature Hungarian Horntail was curled up in the palm of his left hand, purring contentedly under the ministrations of his right index finger and utterly oblivious to the warring expression marring Harry’s face. Krum had vanished to face the Chinese Fireball a few moments ago, leaving Harry alone to stew and violently mutter curses under his breath.
“Stupid tournament, stupid adults with their stupid egos.”
The Horntail blew a plume of smoke from its nostrils, almost in agreement with him. Harry decided right then and there that if he survived this, he was keeping the tiny dragon, Dumbledore be damned. The miniature Horntail was a far better conversationalist than his fair-weather-friends at the moment.
“I know right!” Harry abruptly stood to pace, his shoulders rolling under the uncomfortably taut Gryffindor battle robes, “I didn’t even want to be a part of this! But noooo! I, someone who isn’t even legally allowed to have sex yet, have to face an enormous fucking dragon!”
Harry’s feet involuntarily halted mid pace as a notion struck him with all the force of a bludger.
Under his breath, Harry murmured, “Fuck, I’m gonna die a virgin, aren’t I?” A sharp giggle burst past his lips, “I can picture the headlines now ‘Young Virgin Harry Potter dies to dragon – avid Witch Weekly readers devastated!’”
He took a breath to continue his rant, anything to distract from his impending doom. That breath quickly stuttered into a choked yelp and a small coughing fit as the toy death lizard in his palm began to gnaw on the fleshy part of his thumb with its needle-like teeth. Tiny droplets of crimson beaded on his calloused skin, only to be wiped away by a tongue that felt like fine grain sandpaper. Harry couldn’t decide whether to wince at the stinging from the fangs or laugh at the tickling from the tongue.
“He-ey stop that!” He wedged his index finger beneath the chin of the Horntail, blocking it from his thumb, only for it to puff up in indignation and start to nibble on the cuticle of that finger.
“I said stooooop.” He frowned, a prickling making itself known in the back of his throat, not too dissimilar from the sensation in his finger, “~Stop, naughty dragon.~”
The little lizard peeped, dropping and disregarding the finger it had once been exceptionally invested in, to mutely gaze at Harry with an unnervingly intense focus. Its amber eyes shone with something a tad too intelligent for the lizard to merely be a piece of transfiguration work, and Harry tried to determine what had caused such a reaction.
“~What? Now you stop?~” Harry mused, a shadow of an amused smirk dancing along his face, “~You were so feisty before, what changed?~”
“…weird soft-skinned…speaks funny.”
The smirk vanished from Harry’s face as the blood drained from his cheeks, leaving him paler that he had been when told he would face a dragon. Fuck, he’d started to speak Parseltongue again.
The bile in his mouth thickened as Harry realised what he’d done. After witnessing firsthand the ostracization received due to the ability to speak to snakes, Harry had sworn never to speak the language of the snakes (reptiles?) again, lest he lose everything once more. Thank Merlin that nobody had been around to witness that particular mistake.
The Horntail nuzzled into his palm, its tongue leaving trails of slobber, “Silly soft-skinned…scared of…own tongue.”
“~I am not!~” Harry refused, but the Horntail merely snorted a puff of smoke out its nostrils with more sass that some humans Harry knew, before starting to shimmer hazily.
A pang reverberated in his chest as the dragon faded away, flickering in and out of existence. Of course, Harry wasn’t able to keep the damned lizard. Despite its size, it was still technically a dragon. Noberta had been a similar issue, tiny but lethal.
“Stupid tournament, stupid adults with their stupid egos.” Harry exhaled as the horn sounded and his heart leapt to his throat, turning to the flap of the tent, “Stupid dragons, stupid tongues-” he glanced at his thumb, a fleshy pink from the dragon’s attention, “-with their stupid attitudes.”.
Pulling at the collar of his uniform and fidgeting with the bumps on his wand, Harry gingerly pushed the thin canvas of the tent aside. Instantly, he was assaulted by the heckling and ear-splitting thunder of the crowd as he stepped out, boots crunching on the scorched gravel of the arena. Forcing himself to swallow the terror around the lump in his throat, Harry hurriedly ceased ogling the mass of people that had gathered to witness his demise and turned his attention to the executor chained to the centre of the arena. Because that’s what she was, who she was to him. The being to finally end his bitter life.
Despite befriending the miniature Horntail in the tent and searching it for any obvious weaknesses, much to its very vocal displeasure, Harry hadn’t truly prepared himself for the size of her. Sure, he’d seen her when ten wizards from the dragon reserve had struggled to take her down, but that had been at night, with only the glow from her fire to illuminate her stature. Now, in broad daylight, her deep obsidian scales did not melt into the night, permitting Harry to observe her full size. Even from slightly far away, Harry could tell that he would be able to fit inside her maw without an issue. Truly, it was a curse to be his size.
The crowd had dimmed to a rumbling buzz of dissent as Harry stood, simply staring. It was only after a few moments, when the Horntail’s head swivelled to face the only person within her reach that the crowd started up once more. Yells and shouts from behind Harry, demanding him to move and give a show drew her ire, and before Harry knew it, the chains that had kept her by the nest snapped like a frayed piece of rope.
Bellowing, the mother Horntail charged at Harry, which was finally a good enough incentive for his body to get the memo and run.
“Accio. Accio!” Harry desperately reached out with his magic for his firebolt as he dived behind one of the boulders in the arena.
Mere beats later, a plume of fire crashed into the rock from behind, heating the stone and licking Harry’s skin until it turned a light salmon. Harry resolutely ignored the similar state of his thumb, and instead used the cover of the smoke that came with the eruption of flame to duck behind another mass of rocks. When the smoke settled, the Horntail huffed through her nose and slowly approached Harry’s previous hiding spot, unleashing a tremendous roar upon not finding him. Her tail lashed out furiously, bulldozing through the boulder and splitting it into a storm of stone debris with a trivial amount of effort.
Harry couldn’t help the way he stared, emerald eyes slightly glassy. That could’ve been him. What was the fucking point of him being the saviour of the wizarding world, having survived Avada Kedavra as a babe only to perish to a dragon before he could finish the job, before he could kill the bastard?
Another earth-shaking snarl drew Harry’s attention once again, and a familiar chasm opened up in his chest as he spied his firebolt hurtling towards him. That ought to have been a good thing, really. Harry knew that he could out fly the dragon, Horntail’s were built for strength not speed. Harry’s plan had depended on his ability to imitate a mosquito, whilst the Horntail flapped about, failing to squish him. But, that meant he had to get airborne unnoticed.
Given how the dragon was tracking his firebolt with obvious suspicion, Harry knew that his broom very well may be the death of him.
By now, the audience had followed the gaze of the Horntail and were yelling amongst themselves, though Harry couldn’t tell what they were yelling about. Perhaps accusations of cheating. He couldn’t really care less.
Gripping his wand in a white knuckled fist, Harry watched as his broom zipped in his direction, narrowly missing the Horntail’s agitated swipe. He sprinted out from his hiding spot, ignoring how the dragon unleashed an irate bellow and charged towards him. Harry’s focus was solely on his firebolt as he raced to meet it, raced to get in the air. His fingers scraped the smooth wood before his right hand firmly latched onto the handle, his left clamping down quickly after. His feet left the ground before he managed to swing a leg over, and Harry pretended to ignore the collective gasp that the audience let out as he swooped into a barrel roll to secure himself on the broom.
Unfortunately, it was that manoeuvre which slowed him down.
Harry cried out as his shoulder popped, his grip on his broom coming undone as a gargantuan claw swiped him off the glorified stick. His firebolt careened into the wall of the arena, splintering into hundreds of pieces, and Harry was sent hurtling through the air. He skipped across the ground a few times like a flat pebble across water, releasing a pained, hoarse yell as he finally slammed into the edge of the nest.
Vision swimming, blood thundering in his ears and the entirety of his body throbbing dully beyond the haze misting his mind, Harry was oblivious to the concerned cries of the crowd. How the dragon keepers attempted to intervene, only to be held back by the organisers. All Harry saw was the fuzzy head of the steadily approaching Horntail, all he heard was the tiny peeps and purrs from the miniscule version of the lethal creature. The head of the mother lowered to stare directly into his eyes, her familiar amber gaze searching for something. Concussed as he was, Harry blurted the first thing that came to mind.
“~Naughty Dragon.~”
The Horntail reared back an inch in what Harry assumed to be surprise. He was surprised as well, not expecting Parsel of all things to emerge from his mouth before the entire school, and the foreign schools, and the ministry people. For a beat, neither of them moved. Harry remained limp against the wall of the nest, wincing every time he tried to ajust his shoulder or his head. The mother Horntail merely observed him for a moment.
“Silly soft-skinned.”
Harry gasped as she replied, pointing an accusatory finger as he struggled to contain his hysterical laughter, “~You ass! You could understand me this entire time?~”
“Of course I can understand the serpent tongue Hatchling.” She chastised(?) him, “I have vague memories of you speaking it to me in a dream, in a weird purple nest. That’s why I didn’t fry you instantly.”
Dimly, Harry recalled that the tent he started in was purple.
“~Then why attack me in the first place?~” No he did not whine, he did not.
The Horntail huffed out what could be considered a laugh and gingerly reached down with her head. Harry stiffened as he felt the smooth ivory of her teeth gently scrape the back of his neck until she found purchase and gently lifted him by the collar of his robes, scruffed like a cat.
“I had to ensure that Hatchling wasn’t like the nasty soft-skinned who locked me up with false eggs and sent their young to die.” The mother replied, gently beating her wings until she took off.
Harry yelped at he watched the ground vanish beneath his feet, with only the grip of the Horntail on his clothes stopping him from becoming a splatter on the ground. The audience was in an uproar as they watched Harry be taken away, with numerous adults scrabbling around for a solution. Harry found that he didn’t particularly care where he was going. For once, the acrid taste of bitter bile had vanished from his tongue, replaced by something warmer, sweeter.
“~False eggs?~” Harry hollered over the howl of the wind, watching with trepidation as they flew over the school and the quidditch pitch.
“Yes, one of the nicer soft-skinned did not trust the safety of our eggs and replaced them with warm false eggs. Firestrike will be fine, she wasn’t told of this until after wrong-nest fight, so she lashed out.” She swooped down, nearly brushing the canopy of the forbidden forest against Harry’s dangling feet before landing in a clearing.
The Horntail carried Harry into a cave, barren aside from a soft bedding of furs, plants, and the occasional human object. He spied a pillow and blanket in one corner that looked oddly blue and bronze. Perhaps some poor Ravenclaw had been pilfered from.
Harry peppered the dragon as he was softly set down, “~Why am I here? Where is here? Why is this here? Does anyone know this is her-~”
“Breathe, Hatchling.” The Horntail dragged over the plush blue blanket and carefully draped it over Harry, before curling around him protectively; one of her wings pulling him flush against her side and her breath tickling the back of his neck, “You are here because you are Hatchling. This is temporary-safe-nest that nice soft-skinned showed us, apparently he used to nurse other beings back to health in here and left it for our use. Only he knows of this place.”
Harry flushed at her obviously teasing tone, hiding his face in the blanket as she chuckled to herself.
“~Why do you call me that?~”, The mother hummed her confusion, “~Hatchling.~” Harry clarified.
“Because you are my Hatchling.” She replied, as if it was obvious and he were a toddler being silly, “I could smell the distress on you from a mile away, Hatchling. Those nasty soft-skins are awful at caring for their young ones, so I shall do it in their stead.”
“~But I’m human.~” Harry protested weakly, ignoring the ugly ball of hope that reared itself in his chest, the ball he hadn’t seen since Sirius.
“That won’t matter now, not anymore.” Harry froze as the Horntail behind him rumbled a soothing purr as one of her fangs the size of Harry’s forearm scraped the back of his neck once again. He couldn’t fathom her picking him up once more though, and the uncertainty of what she would do sent a small wave of terror through his petrified limbs.
“~Wait what are you-~”
“Shh Hatchling,” She cooed, “You’ll be fine. The nasty soft-skinned won’t hurt you again.”
Harry felt the tooth pierce his skin at the base of his skull, and with a cry he tried to reach behind him and dislodge the dragon. She merely grumbled in irritation that sounded a tad fond and pinned his arms in place with one of her claws, pushing the tooth deeper into his neck. A pressure began to build as she inserted the fang deeper, and Harry began to writhe as it grew uncomfortable, a presence in his head that wasn’t meant to be there. Oddly enough, he could feel no blood from the puncture, just a mild stinging that pulsed in time with the sharp feeling in his thumb.
It could’ve been minutes, could’ve been hours, but eventually the pressure in the base of his skull reached a crescendo and popped, releasing a tidal wave of exhaustion into Harry’s body. All of a sudden, his bones were too heavy to lift, his mind to fuzzy to parse through, and the comfort behind him too warm to push away. Through what felt like a lake full of water, Harry felt himself whine as a tongue laved over where the fang had been (when had she removed it?) and he grumbled as a wing tucked him beneath, blanketing him in a soothing darkness.
He was warm, his body somehow didn’t hurt anymore, and a presence in his mind was enthusiastically humming at the presence of the Horntail his Mama around him, buzzing with safety.
Was it really such a revelation that Harry fell asleep?
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Harry had been in the cave for about three days, and he’d spent most of his time in there sleeping. The Horntail was no longer merely a dragon to him, but instead, his mind refused to acknowledge her as anything but his Mama, and for the first time in Harry’s life, he knew what a Mother’s affection felt like.
His body had undergone a few changes to establish him as a dragon-kin instead of a soft-skinned, namely being the pair of horns, scaled wings and spiked tail now adorning his body, the same shade of obsidian as his Mama’s scales. A dusting of the same scales had also now appeared all over his scarred figure, further alienating him from the soft-skinned, as well as sharp claws and slitted pupils in his eyes. Throughout the changes, Harry’s Mama had been there, hydrating him, feeding him, soothing him, warming him. For the first time, Harry had gone to bed with a full stomach, no pains, and with the loving eyes of a being who cared for him watching over him. Who cares that she was a dragon? Not him.
“Hatchling, what are you doing?” His Mama asked with mirth soaking her tone.
“~Hunting.~” Harry replied, staring intently at his Mama’s tail, which was swishing through the air.
“You are hunting my tail?”
“~Yes!~” Harry leapt at the offending limb, only to miss and go sailing into a pile of furs.
He emerged spluttering, spitting clumps of fluff from his mouth and glaring at his Mama, who was watching him with blatant delight.
“~Mama~” Harry whined, eyes pleading for her to help him.
With a fond huff his Mama ambled over to him, picking him up by the scruff of his neck and depositing him in her embrace once again. Instantly, she began to groom the fluff off him, ignoring Harry’s dramatic claims of betrayal, and within a few moments, her Hatchling was limp, curled up next to her.
Harry was floating on clouds, his mind humming a content -safe-safe-Mama-warm-
His Mama churred in reply, a soothing -Hatchling-Mine-Safe-Mine-
Of course, that peace was momentarily disrupted by the one soft-skinned who knew of their location.
“Harry? Harry!”
A soft-skinned stood at the mouth of their cave, with fire-hair and milk-skin that felt vaguely familiar to Harry, but alas, the cognitive ability of recognition was hampered by the pure bliss of his Mama’s attention. He still perked his head up at the sound of his name though, enabling the soft-skinned to see the new additions to his head and his blown pupils.
“Merlin girl, what in Morgana did you do to him?” The fire-hair approached gradually, clawless hands raised in the air. Harry’s Mama huffed in indignation at the idea of harming her Hatchling, and the Fire-hair’s eyebrows steadily rose as he spoke again, “You know I’ve got a horde of angry people demanding to know if Harry’s alright, and where he is, right? He can’t stay here, girl.”
Harry warbled in fear, shrinking back into the hiding space that was his Mama’s wings.
“Wait no Harry!” Harry listened intently as the fire-hair cursed under his breath, and seemed to argue with his Mama, before to his utter horror, her wing lifted up.
“~Mama!~” Harry hissed in betrayal.
“Hush Hatchling. He just wished to ensure your safety.” Her voice grew devious, “I won’t object if you wish to scare him though, for invading our temporary-safe-nest.”
“Harry, are you alright?” Abruptly, the fire-hair was stood right before him, with kind blue eyes and dirt-speckled soft-skin.
Harry made no attempt to reply, instead reaching out and dragging the fire-hair into the furnace that was his Mama’s hold. The flailing and panic that followed was hilarious, even more so when the fire-hair was subjected to one of his Mama’s baths.
In the end, Harry did have to return to the castle, but not without his Mama, and not without the fire-hair being subjected to hours of play hunting. It was decided that his Mama would remain in the forbidden forest until Harry graduated, where they would both head to Romania with the fire-hair, and his Mama could introduce him to her eggs and her mate. As for the rest of the school year, his fair-weather-friends had been scared off by his Mama in favour of the two bone-blonds, the dreamy and the peacock, and his bond to his Mama overrode the contract to the tournament.
The Dark Lord never rose again, and Dumb-door was installed at the Janus-Thickery ward for the rest of his miserable life.
Harry couldn’t particularly care less about that though, he had his Mama and that was all that really mattered.