1.4 When Harry met Suze
1.4.1 Ill Omens
Magorian raised his gaze to the stars overhead, currently occluded by dark clouds beyond the boughs of the Black Woods, known to the human inhabitants of Hogwarts as the Forbidden Forest. The elderly chief of the Black Woods Clan of centaurs was currently very worried.
A hand's worth of moons had passed since the last grave omen, and now the Great Wyrm had been seen flying over the forest. The ancients' calendar, passed down through their oral histories, claimed that there were to be another four hands' worth of summers before these events were to come to pass, and Magorian had expected to grow old and travel to the final hunting grounds before then, leaving the problem to his sons. Why had this happened now?
Either something had changed, or something was very, very wrong.
At least the Great Wyrm wasn't lairing in the forest; that was the one saving grace of this situation. Magorian dreaded to think what it might mean for the Clan if that came to pass. They had enough trouble with the spider menace, and even at their best, his clan could not fight a Great Wyrm. There was precious little that could, and most of those things would be even worse news for the Clan.
If the worst came to pass, the secret histories claimed that it might become necessary to sacrifice fillies to appease the wrath of the Great Wyrm, and it was not like the Black Woods Clan had a surfeit of them. Even his eldest son, Bane, had only three wives!
What was to become of them?
His eyes returned steadfastly to the skies overhead, searching for a break in the clouds and the insight the stars could bring.
1.4.2 Inadequate rumors
It was inevitable; lock a group of several hundred children and teenagers in a relatively confined area for months on end, and gossip lines will quickly develop, allowing rumors to resonate through the group, growing stranger with each reverberation.
The current topic of choice was, and had been for more than a week, exactly what was distracting so many of their professors. Snape, Madame Hooch, Hagrid, Madame Pomfrey, even McGonagall, now, and there were some rumors that Flitwick and Vector might have something brewing that might or might not be related.
Older, but still fresh, topics included what exactly had caused that scorched spot near the postern gate and why Snape's hair was no longer greasy.
With each repetition, the stories grew more and more outlandish, sprouting conspiracy theories left and right. More enterprising individuals attempted to tie the various rumors together into a single interrelated whole. Some even tried to tie in those shockingly nasty smells wafting in periodically from the Forbidden Forest. The theories had gotten quite outrageous after a few days.
In an unusual twist compared to the usual course of such things, none of the outrageous conspiracy theories could hold a candle to the even more outrageous truth.
1.4.3 Reflections after a month
Albus and the three Heads of House had once again gathered for a discussion of the developments concerning their resident dragon — over stiff drinks of course. Things relating to young Harry tended to make more sense when ever-so-slightly buzzed.
This time, they were joined by the fourth Head, Professor Sprout, Madams Hooch and Pomfrey, and the young Professor Septima Vector, necessitating a change in venue from Albus' office to a little used, but still very well-appointed, staff conference room; the crowd had gotten to be a little much for the cozy sitting area in his office. The dragon of the hour was, to the best of their knowledge, peacefully sleeping in Hagrid's barn under the supervision of the gamekeeper himself.
As Flitwick again passed around drinks, this time shots of some sort of liqueur which looked for all the world like a perfect window into the starry night sky, Albus called the meeting to order. "So, now that you've all had a chance to play dragon-sitter, what does everyone think of young Harry?"
Snape grimaced, sniffing curiously at the unfamiliar drink, "I could wish that he was a slower reader and somewhat quieter. I suppose I should be grateful that the wretched lizard never asks the same question more than once."
"Severus," Minerva chided, "The boy is polite, respectful, intelligent, and friendly. What is your problem with him?"
"A bastard with exactly the same voice as that wretched lizard tormented me through my seven years as a student in this institution; that dratted dragon sounds entirely too much like his sire for my comfort!"
Having concluded his inspection of his glass, results apparently to his satisfaction, the potions master took a sip of the concoction. "If not for his voice," Snape allowed, "I might find his company… tolerable, but all too often I feel that I am in the same room as a young, dragon-shaped James bloody Potter."
"Ah… I see." The reply was voiced by Flitwick, but every professor old enough to remember Harry's father nodded in agreement. The man James had become had been good and decent, but during his childhood… "That is a disturbing image, indeed."
After a suitable pause for everyone to down a shot and refill their glasses in an effort to put said disturbing image out of their minds, Albus continued, "Well, does anyone else have an opinion on the dragon-shaped Boy-Who-Lived?"
"I must say, that I have never encountered another creature quite so hungry," Minerva began. "By Hagrid's commentary, the laddie eats more than the giant squid and whatever new three-headed monstrosity he's been raising under the name of 'Fluffy', combined. I confess, I have no idea where the boy puts it all."
"Indeed," Snape agreed. "Never had I thought to encounter a creature able to devour a whole bubotuber without ill effect, and I had thought that such a creature then asking for more would be an impossibility."
"I hadn't realized there was anything he couldn't eat." Flitwick said.
"He dislikes the flavor of wood," Snape helpfully volunteered, "and it seems that certain muggle plastics give him the runs."
Flitwick snorted, "You are a very strange man, Severus. You dislike the boy, and at the same time you seem almost fascinated by him."
"His body is extraordinary, a marvel of materials science and magic! His stomach juices have proven their ability to dissolve anything I have been able to test them against, even glass. I have no idea how he manages to avoid digesting his own internal workings. His bioalchemy seems to be based on iron and copper, with trace amounts of a host of other materials almost never seen in living organisms. His skeleton is composed mostly of aluminum, though I confess I do not recognize the manner in which it is alloyed and structured. What's more, despite drinking water in copious quantity, he retains almost none of it! The processes which support his continued existence take place in a molten iron substrate rather than an aqueous one; his bioalchemy resembles nothing so much as a furnace, burning tremendous amounts of hydrocarbons to heat and melt the metals that he ingests. It is as if he were a living machine! A being built not of flesh and blood, but rather living metal."
Snape took a moment to pause before snorting, himself. "I am certain that once you discover something about the dratted lizard which revolutionizes your own field you will be similarly excitable."
"He is a fascinating case," Poppy spoke up for the first time. "While Severus' description of his bioalchemy is accurate as far as it goes, the greater function of his body is amazing in its own right. He has flight organs arrayed beside his spine that work similarly to a broom, but do not push on the ambient magical field in the same manner. His reflexes are so quick I had to work with Filius to create a diagnostic spell capable of accurately measuring them. There is that marvel of a digestive system that Severus described, of course," Poppy nodded to the man in question, "but then there is his skin as well. The boy is able to maintain an internal temperature hot enough to glow white, yet his skin is barely warmer than human norm. Truly remarkable!"
"Do you have any idea how that flight enchantment works?" Flitwick asked, intrigued. All known forms of magical flight relied on ambient magic to work. It was the primary reason wizards had never traveled to the moon. "It might be another interesting topic to pursue."
"It might be," she allowed, "yet it remains a mystery at this time. I'll be happy to supply my measurements so far." The school Healer's expression twisted slightly, "There is one consideration, however, that must be addressed soon — the boy will need to learn occlumency sometime within the next few years."
This was unexpected enough that the room went silent for a moment, before Albus asked the question, "For heaven's sake, why?"
Occlumency was an advanced topic for a reason, its benefits were myriad, ranging from defense against mental intrusion to truly spectacular emotional control and near-perfect recall. However, teaching it to the young was always problematic — both because of the subject's difficulty and the hazards involved. For every successful student, there were three that came out of the training as emotionally stunted wrecks.
Albus sometimes wondered if that was why so many of his students from the darker families went so consistently and horribly wrong.
"I am sure you are aware of the cross-species fertility of highly-magical creatures?" Poppy looked about hopefully, but, finding only blank looks at the apparent non-sequitur, she continued, "Rubeus would be able to explain it if he were here."
She sighed before continuing with the air of a teacher delivering a remedial lecture. "Magic enhances biological function in general; that is why we live so much longer than muggles do. That rule also holds true for our various parts, magic makes them work better at whatever it is they are intended to do; it makes eyes see better, livers filter blood better, stomachs digest food better, and so on."
The Healer sighed, clearly irritated at having to explain what she felt was very, very basic magical biology. "That also holds true for reproductive organs and the gametes they produce. That is, for instance, the reason that veela reproduce almost exclusively with wizards despite the spotty history between our two races. Despite her near-human genetics, a veela's association with fire leaves her body temperature high enough to sterilize a non-magical man's contribution, making such couplings fruitless. A wizard's magic will overcome this."
Poppy took a sip from her glass, fortifying herself to continue. "Taken to the extreme, it is a property that experimental breeders have been taking advantage of for centuries. Many of the more… creative magical species owe their origins to breeding two dissimilar but highly magical species together. Despite the normally incompatible biology, enough magical strength will get the job done anyway and make something new. Breeders sometimes help the process along with spells, but for creatures of sufficient strength, they are not strictly necessary. The more power involved, the looser the requirements for successful breeding become."
"Mr. Potter has more than enough magic to make those requirements very loose indeed," the Healer sighed, "and therein lies the problem."
"How so, Poppy?" Dumbledore asked, white brow furrowed. "So far, all I can see is a good reassurance that Mr. Potter need not be lonely even if he fails to find any others of his species."
"Magic enhances everything, not just fertility," she replied, as if that should be enough explanation.
"And…?" he prompted.
"And male gametes are motile, Albus," Poppy said flatly. "They can move under their own power and, in this instance, are magically enhanced to an utterly absurd degree. Do the math."
Albus and his other colleagues did the math.
"Oh, dear," Albus summed things up quite well, as the rest of the room remained silent, contemplating the implications. "So, occlumency, you say?"
"Well in advance of puberty," Poppy confirmed. "One of the side benefits of occlumency is tight control over the body's autonomic functions, which should prevent any problems. To be honest, it might turn out to be unnecessary in the end, as this is all guesswork — I am feeling about in the dark here, after all — but the stakes are too high to run the risk."
The room fell silent for a time at that, the scale of the potential problem percolating through their thoughts.
"That…" Filius paused for a moment to collect himself, "that is rather overwhelming, isn't it?"
"Hundreds of them!" Snape gulped down the rest of his drink. "Merlin, there'd be hundreds of the blasted lizards, and they'd probably all sound like James bloody Potter, too. It would be a damned nightmare!"
"Perhaps so, yet it is a disaster that should be easy enough to head off," Albus cut off further discussion. "I shall begin his occlumency training forthwith, and it will require no further concern. What else do we have to report?"
"Harry's been coming along nicely with his flying lessons," Madam Hooch volunteered, eager to change the subject, "though he is still a tad clumsy. The boy's very considerate like you mentioned, Minerva," the flight instructor nodded to her senior, "but those wings! I've seen him accidentally swipe through a tree trunk as thick as my waist, and the boy barely noticed until the top fell on him. Was damn funny to see!" she chuckled at the memory. "Still, even without magic, that boy could tear through half the wizarding world on physical strength alone. Kind of awe-inspiring really."
Taking her cue from Rolanda, Minerva decided to give a status report on her instruction. Hopefully it would draw the conversation back onto more comfortable terrain. "He's been coming along nicely in transfiguration, as well. Harry has, just today, managed to change himself into a child-sized dragon. He cannot yet maintain it for more than a few minutes, but it is excellent progress. I expect he'll manage a human form by the end of next month. The boy is an eager and capable student — I truly look forward to having him in my classes in a few years."
"That is a theme I expect will continue, ad nauseum, in the coming years," Snape offered. "He seems to have an eidetic memory. Once I realized that he had read every book in my collection, I quizzed him on the contents and have done so several times since. I must say that if he were to sit his Potions OWL tomorrow, he would score a perfect O on the theory section. I confess I am looking forward to discovering just what he can do on the practical side of things with all that theory stuffed into his oversized skull."
"I think we all are eager to discover that." Sprout spoke up again, eager to get in on the potential academic prize, despite her absence during the dragon's initial retrieval. Someone had had to stay at the school in case of emergency, after all.
"I simply wish that he were a little less… annoying." Snape spoke up again after a moment's silence.
"You almost sound as if you are afraid of the boy, Severus," Minerva commented.
"Can anyone here honestly declare themselves completely unafraid of the blasted reptile?"
No one replied, prompting Snape to smirk before continuing, "I suspect that only Rubeus could honestly answer in the affirmative."
"…indeed." Albus spoke, "Though I must say that his, ah, lack of awareness of his own potential for mayhem is simultaneously a little disturbing and heartening."
"How so?" Snape asked, sounding curious.
"Well, I suspect the fact that he hasn't realized he could lay waste to a large portion of the surrounding area implies that he has little inclination to lay waste to much of anything," the elderly man replied.
"True enough," McGonagall allowed. "For the most part, his behavior reminds me of nothing more than my own son when he was young."
"A typical small boy in the body of a dragon — my nightmare is complete," Snape groaned. "I do hope we survive his childhood."
"Yes, sixteen tons of boisterous child is more than a little intimidating," Poppy agreed.
The staff settled into a companionable silence for a moment while savoring their alcohol.
"What sort of drink is this anyway, Albus?" Filius spoke up; he had been wondering since Albus had handed him the bottle to pour.
Albus smiled, "Ah, it is a creation of an old friend of mine who makes such brews as a hobby. He calls this one Starry Night, certainly not a terribly creative name, but that's no crime, and I think the taste makes up for it." He chuckled, "Since we seem to be making a habit of these meetings, I have decided to introduce you to some new forms of drink. Especially you, Minerva." The proud Scotswoman had been looking at her glass askance all night. "I know you would never drink anything other than single malt if I don't push."
"Not even water, had I my way," said proud Scotswoman agreed easily.
Sprout spoke up again, enthusiastically, "Oh! That sounds lovely! I do some brewing of my own, you know. Perhaps I could bring something next meeting?"
"I'm sure we would all be most appreciative, Pomona. We will eagerly look forward to sampling your efforts!" The old man continued, "Speaking of comestibles, Severus, how goes your investigation into the conditions in Mr. Potter's stomach?" It was a topic of some interest, after the reasoning outlined in their first meeting.
"It is slow going," Snape admitted, sounding not at all discouraged. His eyes gleaming with the enthusiasm of a great painter in front of his canvas, the potions master continued. "I am currently attempting to recreate the material of which his stomach lining is composed so that I might craft a vessel sturdy enough to hold for more than a few moments at the relevant conditions. I believe I am quite close, now."
"Good, good. Keep us apprised, Severus."
With that, the meeting settled back down for a moment before the young arithmancy professor, Septima, spoke up again. "Oh, I almost forgot to mention!" At her colleagues' encouraging looks she continued, "Filius approached me about improved diagnostic spells for Madame Pomfrey after her current set failed to determine Mr. Potter's magical strength." She nodded to the two persons so named. "I wasn't able to help at the time, but it later occurred to me that I could try a different approach for determining Mr. Potter's magical strength — or at least a rough estimate of it — using aura size."
She took another sip of her Starry Night. "As you know, aura is not normally used to measure magical strength because it is not a very sensitive measure. Albus' aura, for instance, would fill perhaps three-quarters of this room, were it visible, while a particularly weak new first year's might fill a quarter of the room. Not much difference in aura size for a tremendous difference in strength. I thought it could at least give us a range to tune a more sensitive measure around. Turning aura detection spells on Mr. Potter, however, revealed that his aura is not detectable from any distance less than ten miles, for the simple reason that his aura blankets everything within that distance."
"What!" It was difficult to determine who had spoken, as it seemed to be a general consensus among the rest of the staff.
Septima nodded. "I had much the same reaction, so I attempted the determine just how much power was involved in producing such an extensive aura, and, well, I'd appreciate it if someone would double-check my calculations, but they seem to indicate that Harry currently contains more magical energy than has passed through the Hogwarts warding scheme in the last thousand years. As we pointed out before, the kid seems quite content to behave himself, so I'm not worried about him turning that power on anyone undeserving, but it concerns me that he obtained that power through whatever incident occurred at Avebury."
She continued, visibly distressed. "I've not worked out just what that much power could do — aside from transforming an eight-year-old wizard into some kind of super-dragon hatchling, of course — but, I figured it could probably be pretty scary." On seeing the expressions on her colleagues' faces, Septima's voice turned sheepish. "And, well… I thought it was important that you know?"
The silence in the room after that report was deafening. That was a chilling pronouncement. The scale of the magical phenomenon that was Harry Potter had already boggled the mind, but this was something else again!
What would this new wrinkle bring with it?
It would seem certain research projects required more urgent handling. Priorities would need to shift…
…Pomona would need to break out the good stuff for their next meeting.
"For future reference, Septima," Albus' calm tone finally broke the stunned silence, "That sort of news should generally be reported at the beginning of the meeting."
1.4.4 Contemplations on the meaning of life
As the various dragon-sitters were sitting down to discuss their findings, the subject of their discussion was decidedly less asleep than they believed.
Like many large predators, dragons tend to be rather shockingly still by default. Harry's normal personality tended to keep him moving, but when his mind was occupied, his deeper instincts took over. As Harry had sat down in the large barn behind Hagrid's hut for a good think, it was perhaps understandable that his deeply-thinking pose had been mistaken for a deeply-sleeping one.
Harry had quickly come to the conclusion that the sorts of dragons written about in the various books he had managed to get his claws on through the assistance of Mr. Dumbledore's various glowy friends were not the same sort of dragon he was. It was pretty obvious, since they didn't eat metal and they couldn't talk.
This was a problem.
Turning into a dragon was the best thing Harry could remember happening to him, and he wanted to make sure he did it right by being the best dragon he could be! Doing anything less smacked of ingratitude.
Right now, though, Harry had no idea what it was that dragons like him were supposed to do. Were he human, he could look to his friends at Hogwarts for examples of what to do, but he was not. Who knew if good-human things to do were the same as good-dragon things?
He certainly didn't!
Attempting to address this lack, Harry had managed to talk Professor McGonagall into getting him some books that the non-glowy people had written on dragons to see if they had any ideas, though she insisted on dismissing the books as 'muggle fantasies'. Harry wasn't sure why she was so dismissive because they had lots of ideas and lots of different dragons to read about. They also seemed like a better choice than the ones the glowy people wrote about, since the not-glowy ones were about dragons that knights went after, and Harry was pretty sure he was that sort of dragon.
Was there something about people who glowed a bit that kept them from getting the right idea about dragons? Dragons seemed like pretty simple stuff to him, but maybe that was just because he was a dragon. Madame Pomfrey had been telling him about 'perspective' and 'point-of-view', and this sounded like it might be one of those things. He'd have to have another think on that later.
The different stories covered lots and lots of different kinds of dragons. He was sure they'd help him out somehow, but — none of them really fit right.
So, Harry had ultimately decided he'd have to figure it out himself. They might not be right in everything, but all those not-glowy-person fantasy things had to come from somewhere, right? Maybe they got bits right here and there. So, he'd read those books Professor McGonagall had given him carefully – he took notes on his findings and everything! – and he'd found some themes that seemed to be common to dragons that could talk.
Dragons who can talk needed to have a lair, and it should have treasures in it and preferably some damsels. Harry wasn't quite sure what the whole thing with damsels was, but the stories that mentioned them made it seem like they were really important.
Almost every one of the books — aside from those he had discarded because they didn't seem to be about the same sort of dragon he was — made it very clear that knights were out to get dragons, and he'd recently learned the whole 'slay' thing meant making the dragon dead, which sounded really nasty. As soon as he'd figured out what that was all about, Harry had resolved to flame any knights that seemed like they were out to get him, hard. He'd also keep an eye on those armor things around the castle, they seemed entirely too knight-like for comfort.
The thing that really bothered him was that the stories always made dragons out to be the baddies. He'd only found a couple that didn't, and they were pretty obviously not about the same sort of dragon he was. It was kind of sad.
How much of it was real, and how much was made up? Harry didn't know, but he did know that he was determined to do this being-a-dragon thing right!
He was going to be the best dragon ever!
And so, for the first steps down that path, he needed a lair, he needed treasures, and he needed damsels. Harry wasn't sure where to get any of them, but he figured he needed the lair first. He'd need the lair so he had a place to put the treasures and damsels anyway when he figured out how to get them. The problem was where to find a lair that knights couldn't get into.
After a bit more thinking, Harry resolved to ask Hagrid. Hagrid knew lots about dragons, and he knew where everything was around the castle and all sorts of other awesome stuff. He was sure to know where Harry could get a lair that knights couldn't get into!
He also needed to let the world know that dragons were the goodies, not the knights. Everyone would be better off if they weren't so confused about that.
He'd have to talk to the people that wrote all those stories and let them know what dragons were really like, once he figured that out himself. It was only right to help them out, since they'd helped him with the stories.
It was about this point that Hagrid walked in to check on his charge.
"Evenin', Harry," Hagrid said, stomping into the barn.
Hagrid was a very good stomper, made the ground go clump and everything. That seemed like something Harry would have to learn too — valuable life skill, stomping. Harry resolved to get Hagrid to give him stomping lessons someday.
"Hi Hagrid! There's something I wanted to ask you about…"
1.4.5 Harry goes house hunting
"… he wants what?" Dumbledore asked, perplexed.
"Harry says he's wantin' a lair," Hagrid repeated. "Says he needs it t' be somethin' he called 'knight-proof'. I 'spect he's lookin' fer a place t' make home; 'bout time fer the little feller, I'd say. There's a good place up inter the crags behind the forest, big cave with 'bout a hunnert-foot drop out the front an' plenty o' space up top. One o' the burns feedin' inter the loch runs outta it, too. Least that's what Madame Hooch says, she had a look 'bout a few years back. I ain't never been up there."
"That would be a good idea." Madame Pomfrey, who took the health of her young charge seriously and had been discussing her concerns about his lack of exercise beforehand, spoke up. "The poor boy needs more space to move around, and the cliffs are out of sight of the castle."
"Hmm, I must concur," Albus allowed. "Rubeus, if you and Madame Hooch could show him the cave during his next flying lesson? I suppose it is close enough that his tutors could visit the cave if it meets with young Harry's approval."
1.4.6 A hairy realtor
"I've found yer a lair, Harry," Hagrid said.
The young dragon had been dozing off before that statement, but the words immediately revitalized him.
"Really?" Harry was up and bouncing about, an action that involved all six of his limbs and his tail. Oddly enough, his head remained rock solid the whole time, gaze focused unerringly on his friend's face. If said friend were anyone other than Hagrid, he would have been rather unsettlingly reminded of a snake focusing on a mouse as its body coiled in preparation for a strike. Since said friend was Hagrid, he didn't find the reminder unsettling at all. "Ooh! Ooh! Where? Where? Can we go see? Is it knight-proof? Where is it? What's it like?"
"Easy there, Harry." Hagrid chuckled. "'S 'round the back o' the forest, up in the crags. Big cave, lots o' space fer ya t' stretch out an' move 'round, and no way inter it but flyin'. How 'bout we check it out t'night?"
"Ooh, that sounds amazing!"
"I'm glad the idea fills you with enthusiasm." Madame Hooch had entered the barn after Hagrid. "Well, then, let's go!" She was not eager to delay their departure any more than necessary.
After all, a dragon the size of a small bus bouncing excitedly is a disturbing sight.
At least, it is for people who aren't Hagrid.
1.4.7 New digs
Sunlight hitting his eyes gradually brought Harry out of sleep.
For a moment, he didn't know where he was. It wasn't the barn or the Dursleys' garage, and it certainly wasn't his old cupboard where he stayed before he turned into a dragon. There was sunlight streaming in from an opening in front of him, and he seemed to be resting on a rough rock floor. Where was he?
He opened his eyes to have a look around, and then he remembered the wonderful lair that his friends had found for him!
It was situated about halfway up a cliff, with the mouth shielded by an overhang. The lip was about a hundred feet off the ground, and there was about another hundred feet of cliff face above. The cave opened to the west with a view straight up the glen which climbed up to the moors and off to the sea. About half that view was taken up by the neighboring bluff to the southwest, whose light gray stone was currently reflecting the sunlight which had awakened him. The cliffs extended to the sides all the way around forming an isolated table-land separated from the rest of the plateau to the north by another steep-sided glen.
There was a stream running by his side through the cave — it was called a 'burn', he remembered Hagrid saying, though he didn't know why a stream would burn. The water flowed out of a crack in the wall in the back of the cave, travelled through the trench it had worn into the floor toward the cave opening, and Harry could hear the water splash merrily on the rocks far below. Madame Hooch had said something about an artesian flow, which he had gathered was a fancy way of saying the water ran uphill underground before coming out in the cave and acting normal again.
He'd have to learn more about that; it seemed like a funny thing for water to do.
Anyway, the mouth of the cave was big enough for him to take off easily, and there was a huge hollow space about fifty feet or so back from the lip which he could use to sleep in and store treasures! And, best of all, the young dragon could see absolutely no way that knights could possibly sneak in.
He had slept, and he was now feeling just a mite peckish, but the elves couldn't hear him out here so far from the castle. How was he going to get food?
Harry thought about that for a while, admiring his new lair in the meantime. Boy, that rock did look really good right now — he wondered what it would taste like. So, Harry tried it, taking a dragon-sized bite out of the wall of his new lair.
As he chewed his newly discovered food source, he realized two things. One, rock was not very filling, tasty, but he didn't think he'd ever get full on it; and two, despite the disappointing meal, he had just made his lair one bite bigger than it was before! The sheer bigness of it was already awesome, but Harry realized he could make it bigger any time he wanted.
That was amazing!
He could expand it to hold more treasures and damsels, and for when he got bigger, and if he wanted to make a library for all the books he wanted to get, and to make a potions laboratory, and whatever else he wanted! There was a whole mountain there, so he'd have all the space he'd ever need! The lair his friends had given him could get as big as he needed it to.
He made such great friends since he became a dragon!
Now he just needed treasures and damsels and his become-an-awesome-dragon plan would be well underway. He was pretty sure he knew where to get treasures, they were supposed to be at the end of rainbows, and he'd seen one of those just the other day out over the water — water which he could see from his new Lair, and wasn't that cool? He'd made sure to memorize where it had ended, one end on the sea and one end on the mountain, and Harry thought it would be a great idea to go give those places a good looking-over later that day once he'd made sure his Lair was all set.
1.4.8 The leading lady arrives
They had drawn lots to decide; it was the only fair way to go about it.
The worst case had come to pass for the centaurs of the Black Woods Clan, and the Great Wyrm had taken up residence in the forest. Worse yet, it laired above their most defensible campsite between the river and the Grey Cliffs.
There was no help for it; they would have to sacrifice a daughter to appease the Great Wyrm. The Clan could not afford another conflict on top of the ongoing war with the spider plague, much less a conflict with a Great Wyrm. That would be hopeless under even the best of circumstances.
When Bane, Magorian's eldest surviving son and heir, drew the shortest straw, he wept without shame.
It was a terrible duty, yet it was necessary nonetheless. If they didn't do it, they'd all be dead.
Proper dead.
So, at midnight, the warriors of the Clan, led by Bane himself, selected the fairest of his daughters, dressed her in her finest soft furs and linens, bound her wrists with silk rope, and led her to the edge of a clearing that laid within sight of the cave where the Great Wyrm laired.
And there, each stallion sadly glancing behind, they left her, one end of the rope tied about her wrists, and the other to a fallen tree.
There was no choice; the Great Wyrm had to be appeased, or they all died.
No choice at all.
1.4.9 When Harry met Suze
A new day dawned brightly at Harry's lair, the sun was shining, the breeze was blowing, and the sky was blue. As the young dragon awoke, stretching widely, he once again marveled at the sheer space inside his lair, for when a young dragon stretched widely, he stretched very widely indeed. After spending most of his life cooped up, first in the cupboard, and later in the garage and then the barn, the ability to move freely was a coveted luxury for Harry.
It was a great day to be alive!
The boy bounded to the mouth of his lair. His Lair! His home, he was master of all he surveyed! What a wonderful feeling! He looked out over the landscape in wonder. Harry felt he could see past the edge of the world from here. The foothills to his left blocked off the view of the castle and Hogsmeade from here, and the rest of his mountain blocked off the closest town. The only trace of mankind was a single distant fishing boat and rail line. The rail was empty at the moment, but he could still hear the echoing growl of the morning train to Mallaig. It must have just passed out of sight. The rest of it, though, empty forest and moor until the water began, and then open blue off to the Isle of Skye beyond. And it was all his; he had found his home, and it was just lovely!
As his admiring gaze pulled back from the distant mountains across the sound and turned to much closer forest, Harry noticed something odd. Down there, just on the other side of the river, something was moving, something in greens, browns, and greys.
Harry looked closer, and he realized that he couldn't work out what he was looking at. He needed a better vantage point.
So, he spread his wings and glided down to the forest floor some distance from whatever it was. He approached all sneaky-sneaky, because it had looked kind of horse-shaped; Harry wasn't sure if it was a knight.
Nosing his way through the greenery, carefully avoiding making any crashing sounds, he slowly realized that what he was seeing was some kind of lady.
She was dressed up in all green, brown and grey, was tied up, and had most of a horse where her legs should be.
Harry frowned a bit, trying to work out why she was tied up and had horse instead of legs.
He wasn't sure about the horsey bit, 'cause the stories always had knights riding horses, but the stories didn't say anything about the knights and horses actually being stuck together.
Trying to get more information, Harry sniffed at the wind. He wasn't sure how much good it would do, since he didn't know what knights smelled like yet. Harry figured knights would probably smell like metal and person. She smelled of horse and person; he wasn't sure if knights would smell of horse and person too. The young dragon thought for a moment, she didn't look like she was wearing shining armor, but she might be wearing it under the furs and leather stuff he could see. But then he'd smell metal, the boy reasoned, that meant she probably wasn't wearing shining armor.
And if she wasn't wearing shining armor, then she probably wasn't a knight!
That established, Harry took a closer look at the horsey-lady. Her not-horse bits, pretty much all of a lady except legs, were dressed in some sort of cloth. It looked kind of like those fancy napkins Aunt Petunia used for special guests, but thicker, and it didn't smell the same. There were added-on fur bits and leather belts in not-belt places that seemed to keep the rest of her clothes from moving around much. The horsey bits, which were pretty much everything of a horse except its head and neck, 'cause that was where the lady's middle started, weren't wearing anything. Her wrists were tied behind her back with some sort of rope that looked a lot like milky-white plastic, and that rope was tied to a tree on the other end.
Suddenly, it clicked. A lady tied up outside a dragon's lair — this was just like that story with the damsel and that dragon that lived in the sea! Well, she wasn't naked like the one in the story, but he guessed it was kind of cold out, so that made sense. He'd never really understood that part of the story anyway. Harry nodded decisively. The lady with horse instead of legs was a damsel, and that made the question of what to do obvious.
"Grr, grr, GRR. I'm a big fearsome dragon, and you're a damsel, so I'm going to carry you off to my lair, grr!" He declared, stepping out of the undergrowth. He wished he had gotten those stomping lessons from Hagrid already. Harry wanted to do this right, and it just didn't seem proper that the ground wasn't shaking from his every step. He hoped the horsey-lady wasn't disappointed.
As Harry approached his new damsel, the thought ran through his head. Maybe damsels were some sort of treasure? If they were, then they were obviously a very important sort of treasure. The stories had always taken care to specifically name the damsels, and they never did that for the not-damsel treasures.
1.4.10 When Suze met Harry
Suze was certain she was going to die.
She'd had a bad feeling for one hand and one weeks now, a feeling that she would soon face an irrevocable change in her life, the death of her current existence and the beginning of a new one. For a centaur girl of just shy of three hands' worth of summers, that meant either death or marriage, and her father would not be presenting her to any suitors for another two summers, while the threat of death loomed constantly in the Black Woods.
As soon as her grandfather, Magorian, had grimly announced that the Great Wyrm had been sighted above the forest, Suze had known what form her doom would take. She had left it unspoken, but she was not surprised when she was chosen as the sacrifice to appease the Great Wyrm's wrath.
Her father had wept for her.
She had made her father cry! Did that mean she deserved this?
Suze did not resist when she was tied and led away to the last place she expected to ever see. This was her duty; she had been chosen to protect her family, and she would see her final duty through to the end. Death was over in a flash, but shame was eternal.
Father had said so, and Father was always right unless Grandfather said differently, and Grandfather hadn't said differently about that.
When she had seen her Father's shoulders shake, she had wanted to reach out and comfort him, but her hands were tied, so she could not. This was necessary; what needed to be done, must be done, and there was no reason to cry about it. She would do her duty. She was happy to see her father and brothers walk away from her. They would not face the same fate.
When the Great Wyrm emerged into the clearing, she held herself proud. Her Father's last words to her had been, "Be brave for me, my daughter," and she would not disappoint him on her last day.
"Grr, grr, GRR.," it said. Not a growl, it said 'grr', like a colt pretending to be ferocious. "I'm a big fearsome dragon, and you're a damsel, so I'm going to carry you off to my lair, grr!"
It sounded startlingly young.
The fine silk rope that bound her to the tree parted like dust under the beast's claws. It was woven from acromantula silk, the finest known. One strand of that silk could hold an adult stallion's full weight without even the slightest stretch, and fire was the only way the Clan knew to cut it. That rope was woven from five such strands, and those claws cut through it like freshly knapped flint through a colt's hair.
Surely, the Great Wyrm would eat her soon?
Again, she didn't resist as its mighty forepaws closed around her and lifted; to quaver would be to shame her family. This was her fate, and she would face it with dignity.
Oddly, it seemed to be holding her exceedingly gently.
Having picked her up carefully, it then proceeded to whisper out of the side of it's terrifying mouth, "Am I doing it right?"
"…what?" It was the first word she had spoken since the previous night. She hadn't quite been able to work up the nerve before.
"Well, this is the first time I've done this carrying-off thing, and I want to make sure I'm doing it right," it explained. "I'm a dragon, and I'm supposed to know about this stuff."
For a moment, Suze considered saying he was doing it wrong, she had been expecting to be eaten by now, after all, but she reconsidered. It was probably an exceedingly bad idea to say no to a dragon, she reasoned.
"I think you're doing it right," Suze said uncertainly. "I've never been carried off before either, so I'm not sure how it goes, but, well, you've done a very convincing job so far. You may need to work on your growl, though."
The dragon didn't seem at all displeased by her commentary. "Okay! I guess GRR! isn't really fierce enough. I've heard dragons should be very fierce when carrying off damsels."
"Umm, I suppose so, but well… um…" Why was the Great Wyrm asking for advice rather than eating her? This was not what she expected at all!
"Well," the dragon sounded resigned but determined, "I guess I'll just have to make it up as I go along." With that, he took off. The ground spun dizzyingly away beneath her as Suze was carried along for the ride, and then her captor landed with a bone-jarring thud in the entrance to his lair, where, to her continuing surprise, he set her down gently.
"…um, sorry, I haven't quite got landings down just yet."
As her eyes adjusted to the lower lighting of the cave, she glanced around. The entrance tunnel spread out — about six lengths in — into a hollow which was large enough to contain the Clan's entire Grand Encampment with room to spare. There were Great Wyrm-sized bite marks taken out of the cave walls in places, and a large pile of gold coins about two lengths across off slightly to one side of the space. The gold looked to have been recently retrieved from the sea, based on the barnacles and bits of seaweed covering it.
"Are you going to eat me?"
The dragon seemed rather taken aback by the question. "Um, I'm kinda not going to do that, I mean I wasn't planning to… unless you want me to?" he finished uncertainly. When she shook her head negatively, he continued, "I mean, it'd be awfully rude to eat anything that politely asked you not to, so…"
"Please don't eat me Mr. Great Wyrm!" Suze blurted out, before realizing that she spoke out of turn and covering her mouth in embarrassment.
It was about this time that another voice entered the conversation. "Good afternoon, you dratted liza… What in Merlin's name is going on here?"
A tall, thin human — she thought it was one of the wizards from the castle, but she wasn't sure; dealing with them was her Uncle Firenze's job and not for the likes of young fillies — had entered the cave using one of those flying broom thingies. The human had long black hair — meticulously cleaned, she noted — drawn back into a neat tail, a hooked nose set on a thin face, sallow skin, and voluminous black clothing which had an odd smell to it. It was the first human she had seen — she wondered how they got by with only two legs?
Unheeding of her thoughts, the man continued his interrogation. "From where, precisely, did you steal that gold, young man? And what is this young lady doing here?"
"Oh, hullo Mr. Snape!" The Great Wyrm seemed delighted to see this acerbic human. "I saw a rainbow yesterday, and I remembered that you were supposed to find treasure at the end of rainbows, so I remembered where the ends were, and when I checked out the one that ended in the sea, I found a really old ship that had sunk there, and there was this gold spilled all out over everything, and it was just scattered about, so I figured no one really wanted it, so I grabbed it and brought it back here. The water got kind of cold down that far, but it wasn't really a problem. And then, today, the horsey-people gave me a damsel! She was tied up outside my lair and everything; it was just like that story with the dragon that lived in the sea, you know? And anyway, now I've got treasure and a damsel, and I'm a proper dragon now! Isn't that neat?"
The human, whose name Suze could only assume was Mr. Snape, took a moment to consider that before shaking his head in dismissal. It seemed that he didn't want to know.
"I see," he said. "I have brought some new reading material for you, some of which you requested, and some provided unasked by your other tutors. I have also devised, in collaboration with Madame Pomfrey, several new diagnostic spells for use in determining the workings of your remarkable interior. If you would be willing to settle in for a little read and spare enough concentration to allow the spells to connect, I could cast the examination spells at the same time?"
"Okay!" came the Great Wyrm's cheerful reply.
"And, Mr. Potter," the man continued, "they are known as centaurs. 'Horsey-people' is unnecessarily impolite."
"Oh… sorry."
1.4.11 Suze meets Snape and finally gets an explanation
Snape cast the first of his new diagnostic spells while his draconic research subject had its nose buried deep in an arcane transfiguration manuscript written in a form of English so archaic that Snape could barely puzzle out the title. The dragon seemed to have trouble with neither the language, nor the subject matter.
If he recalled, Minerva had passed it on in response to one of the child's more complicated questions, and he seemed to find the answer as fascinating as he found nearly everything else. Snape thought the tome so dry he felt the need for a glass of water just from looking at it. As he recalled, it was that very book which turned him away from his quest to become an animagus in his youth.
As he completed the first of his diagnostic spells, the female centaur spoke up in a soft voice with a lilting accent that the usually misanthropic potions master actually found quite pleasant.
"How old is the Great Wyrm?"
"He is a little over eight years old, in your terms, a hand and three summers, if I recall."
"…so, he's just a colt?"
"Indeed." Snape confirmed absently, the bulk of his attention centered on the results of his spell.
"Hmm?" Harry looked up from his reading curiously.
"Go back to your book, wretched lizard! I am attempting to hold a civilized conversation with this fine young lady; your input is not currently required."
Suze recoiled, fully expecting the man to be torched before her eyes for his temerity. She was, therefore, quite flabbergasted by the Great Wyrm's cheerful reply. "Okay!" Followed by a return to his book.
"He is, quite frankly, a naïve child," Snape's voice was low as he spoke to the centaur girl. "And I do believe that it would be in both our best interests if you were to do your best to ensure that his inevitable maturation is a gentle one. I am certain that the reasons are self-evident."
Without waiting for a reply, he suddenly switched topics. "Ah, this is fascinating," His diagnostic spell had returned a result. "It seems that the dratted dragon's skeletal structure is composed of orichalcum — I wonder how it was grown?"
"I know that if the right parts aren't in someone's food, they won't grow proper. Isn't orichalcum really rare?" she asked. "Where does he get it from?"
Snape was pleasantly surprised, "You are quite a knowledgeable one, aren't you, young lady? Indeed, until lately the making of orichalcum was thought to be a secret lost with the makers of your kind; the only known source was the skeleton of the drake-dog. The secrets of making the substance were rediscovered by the muggles, of all creatures. They call it aluminum oxy-nitride, a term which only makes sense when one realizes that orichalcum is in fact a quite specific phlogistonic nitrate of the ignoble metal aluminum."
"Really? I didn't know that."
"Few did, until very recently. What is your name, young lady? You seem tolerably well-informed."
"I'm Suze, daughter of Bane."
"Daughter of Bane, you say? You have my commiserations." Snape returned to casting, "Now, let us see what we can see about this young man's stomach lining… hmm, a form of glass? Curious, there must be something I am missing about its structure…"
"…you want to know how the Great Wyrm's body works?"
"Indeed, young lady; indeed. I see tremendous potential in discovering the workings of his body; his stomach alone holds the potential to revolutionize potion making. The lining routinely withstands temperatures and compositions which rapidly destroy every other material I have tested. Should I succeed in determining how this is done, and further manage to reproduce it, I am confident that I will become quite remarkably famous, and more to the point, quite remarkably wealthy. Of course, I will have to share that wealth with the blasted beast, as I have it on good authority that trying to cheat a dragon is an enormously bad idea for those who prefer to continue to breathe. Quiet now, I must record these results."
"Um, Mr. Snape?"
"What is it this time, wretched lizard?"
"I, um, I've kinda got to learn how to growl better. You're a really good growler, could you show me how it works?"
Snape froze for a moment, quill still in hand, before he gave a hearty snort. "Young man, if you are quiet and allow me to write these results down, I shall see to it that you are given growling lessons by the finest growler I have ever known."
"Okay!"
