Chapter Text
Harry hummed, carefully scraping long pieces of the hawthorn tree's bark, tucking them into linen bags. Once he had enough and had packed the pouches away—he was always careful never to over-harvest—Harry continued on.
Harry arrived in the next glade soon enough, swinging down from Hedwig and hitching her to one of the trees. He pulled out his tools, crouching down in the wood sorrel and methodically beginning to clip. Harry quickly finished, turning back to Hedwig to secure the bundles in his saddlebags.
As Harry was fastening the last strap, Hedwig startled, her weight lurching. The suddenness of the movement pushed Harry backward, and he would have fallen if not for his last minute hold on the saddle. Harry righted himself, reaching to smooth a hand down Hedwig's flank.
"Hey, girl, you're alright." Harry glanced around the clearing, looking for any sign of what had spooked Hedwig. She was older and a very solid horse, well accustomed to the children attempting to climb over her. Even when riding in the forest, she hadn't been so startled in years.
Harry kept a wary eye as he continued his soothing murmurs and strokes while checking the saddle and his bags, making sure nothing had come out of place. Hedwig settled after a few minutes, though her nostrils were still flared, her ears flicking around. Harry couldn't see anything, but he trusted his girl's instincts, and it was near enough time to head home anyway.
Harry untied Hedwig, pulling himself up into the saddle. He guided her back to the faintly worn path that wound through the trees—he was fairly certain he was the only one regularly using it—and set off at a light trot.
Hedwig calmed further, and Harry relaxed, though kept his awareness on the forest around him. Hedwig had probably sensed a nearby predator nearby, though most of the larger ones in the area didn't tend to bother humans, and hardly ever came near horses.
Harry fell into the rhythm of Hedwig's movements, and his attention to his surroundings began waning as they neared the last large field to cross before the final stretch of forest. Hedwig flew across the grassy knoll, heading for the space between two large pine trees.
The sound came from nowhere—one moment, all was calm, and the next there was an enormous roar from above and behind Harry. His head whipped around even as Hedwig screamed, and he gaped at what could only be a dragon, gleaming black scales and bright crimson eyes, swooping down.
As the dragon's talons extended, Harry pulled his feet from the stirrups and shoved himself sideways. In her terror, Hedwig did not seem to notice him falling off her back, and Harry was glad to see she kept running towards the treeline.
He yelled as he fell, hoping to draw the beast's attention, but was sharply cut off when he landed hard on the ground, his body rolling. As Harry felt intense heat nearing, his forehead smashed against a rock, and he instantly lost consciousness.
*****
Harry awoke with his head in agony, struggling just to open his eyes. It was a useless effort, anyhow, as everything was fuzzy. He was warm, too warm, feeling suffocated, and Harry's energy was quickly sapped, lulling him back to sleep.
*****
When Harry next came to, the pain had thankfully lessened, though he could tell he probably had a nasty lump on his forehead. Opening his eyes still took a good deal of effort.
His surroundings were clearer, and Harry carefully looked. He was in some sort of alcove in a larger cavern, but the light was quite dim and he couldn't see much beyond his immediate area.
Harry hadn't remembered the last time he regained consciousness, otherwise he perhaps would have forced himself not to succumb to the warmth he was blanketed in. But now he could recall the horrible moment of the roar and and breath of the dragon above him, when he'd decided to push himself off Hedwig in hopes of distracting the beast.
His heart thumped as he thought of his sweet mare, and he dearly hoped Hedwig had made it safely back to his cottage. Ron usually stopped by often enough and would have found her by now if she had. He would look after her. Harry couldn't bring himself to dwell on the alternatives.
Not having seen or heard any movement, Harry pushed himself to a seated position, his hands feeling the soft fabric he'd been laying upon. Upon inspection, it wasn't really a proper bed, more a collection of items piled together. His fingers ran over what he was fairly sure was a noblewoman's dress, and he shuddered to think how it had got here. Most of the fabric pile seemed rather old and worn, as though it had been here quite some time.
Harry had only ever heard ridiculous rumours about a dragon that lived in the area. His godfather had especially liked sharing the story about how in his grandfather's day, Hogsmeade would sacrifice a maiden every year to appease the dragon, until the village elder, Dumbledore, had put a stop to it. Sirius always said since the dragon hadn't been satisfied for so long, it could swoop down upon them any day.
Still, there had never been any credible stories, and anyone who supposedly had seen the dragon was long dead now. Dragons were supposed to be long extinct now, anyhow.
Looking around, Harry wondered whether Sirius's story had some element of truth. Had the dragon mistaken Harry for a maiden? His shaking fingers reached for his hair, which he did keep quite long. It had come loose from his usual braid, and was hopelessly tangled from his fall.
Gingerly, he also felt around his forehead, which was indeed swollen, and had a freshly scabbed wound, which did not yet seem infected. Harry rummaged through his pockets, lamenting that all his harvest had been in the saddlebags.
Harry did find some sprigs of sage and fennel from his own garden tucked into his cloak. He quickly pulled the leaves off, mashing them together until he had a poultice. Harry carefully spread it over the wound, tracing first Algiz and then Uruz. The effect would likely be weak, but should hopefully stave off infection.
Harry finally clambered to his feet, the numerous bruises littering his body making themselves known. He briefly checked to make sure he didn't have any other serious wounds, and let out a relieved breath when he found only shallow scrapes.
As Harry crept into the larger cavern, he found it was still quite warm, though not as overwhelmingly so. Harry hoped that was a sign the dragon was not close by. There was an immediately downward incline, and Harry had to crouch to so that he didn't tumble. It was an agonising half hour or so until he finally reached the floor of the cave, moving quietly even while his body protested his movements.
Harry picked his way along until he reached another nearly enclosed smaller cave, though much larger than the alcove he'd woken up in. He slowly peeked around the corner, and sucked in a breath when he saw what was inside.
The room was filled with enormous crowns, tiaras, and diadems of many different styles. Several seemed like they weren't even of this continent, similar in design to art that Harry had only ever seen in Sirius's collection from his travels.
Harry backed away from the room, and moved on to the next one, which was similarly filled, but with glittering jewellery, large chunky necklaces and rings. The one after that was piled with encrusted metal cups. It was slowly dawning on Harry that either this dragon was very old, or somehow was able to travel quite far without ever being spotted to collect items for its hoard. Or perhaps even both. He was fairly certain there were not this many precious objects in the entire country.
Harry kept on, expecting more precious gems and metals, and was quite surprised to find the next room filled with books and scrolls. Unable to help himself, he wandered among the piles. Harry could read and write decently enough, but he'd never seen such thick texts. Most were in languages and scripts he did not even recognise—one scroll seemed to be entirely symbols of animals and objects.
Harry wondered why the dragon had collected texts. Could the dragon read? Harry nearly giggled, imagining enormous eyes straining to read a tiny little book.
He slipped from the room, continuing on. It was quite a while before he reached the next smaller cave, long enough that Harry became aware of how thirsty he was. He wet his throat, deciding he was not yet desperate enough to drink the liquid beading on the damp cavern walls.
Harry did not bother to check around the corner before stepping into the next room, and sorely regretted it when he was confronted not with any sort of collection of objects, but what were clearly human remains.
They were all skeletal, some still with shreds of fabric around them. It looked as though the bodies had been simply tossed in here, as the remains were all jumbled together in a heap. Harry fervently hoped these poor people had already been dead. He was no stranger to bones, having used them in treatments, but he'd never seen so many all at once. Harry was both fascinated and a bit sick, his pulse rabbiting.
"I have been looking for the final piece for my collection for a very long time."
Harry spun around at the booming, hissing, voice, instinctively backing away when faced with the dripping maw and one of the fiery eyes of the dragon. This close, he could see that the black scales had a sickly green tinge. The dragon's head filled the space leading to the room, its snout moving until it was only a few feet from Harry. He stumbled, a bone noisily clattering underfoot.
"None of them were right, in the end." The dragon's eye flicked behind Harry, at the pile of bones. "Such disappointments, all of them."
Harry swallowed hard a few times before opening his mouth.
"Why… why am I here?" He wanted to ask how he could even understand the dragon, and what it meant by disappointments, but feared he'd not like either answer.
The red slit-pupil eye contracted, focusing back on Harry. The dragon let out a puff of rancid air, which blew over Harry and left him feeling for a moment as though his skin was on fire.
"I have been watching you for quite a while, Harry Potter."
The dragon huffed again, withdrawing its snout until it was no longer visible. The creak of rocks shifting against each other sounded loudly, before a strange magical pulse rushed through the room, causing Harry to fully fall. He landed on a few bones, snapping them, and Harry winced in both apology and from the sting.
"Hmmmm."
Harry raised his eyes from his freshly scraped palms, expecting to once more see the dragon's head hovering over him. He was shocked into utter stillness when he saw a man instead.
Well, not quite a man, Harry realised, as his gaze remained stuck. There were black scales running up the sides of his neck and his glittering eyes looked exactly like the dragon's. Extremely long and sharp canines protruded from his mouth, over his bottom lip. Harry ducked his head, flushing.
"I have been waiting so long."
The man stepped closer and before Harry could react, had scooped him up into his arms, one around his back and the other under Harry's knees. Heat immediately surrounded Harry, and he made a noise of protest, attempting to wriggle from the man's hold.
"Shhhhh. Rest now, my precious."
Harry felt something blistering hot graze his forehead, right on his wound, and his eyes immediately became heavy, darkness encroaching once more.