~How To Train Your Dragon~
Written by
Hadrian James Potter, Horrendous Haddock, Hiccup the Fourth
Dragon. A word that symbolises extreme danger and destruction; an enormous fire-breathing monster that causes nothing but pain and death. That is what our fathers taught us, what our mothers used as a mean to tame unruly children. Perhaps, if I have grown in similar situation, this book wouldn't even be written, as I would blindly believe everything other witches and wizards said.
But that couldn't be farther from the truth.
As it is, despite the name of this book, you can't exactly tame a dragon- just like you can't tame a human. Because that's 'what' a dragon is; it's not a heartless monster, but an intelligent, gentle creature- a being with a soul, and feelings, just like mine or yours.
I am writing this book with a hope, that all wizards and witches will look past the wrong beliefs that are spread on these kind souls, and that it will help them to find a lifelong friend. Because to my experience, there is nothing like to have a dragon companion.
There is nothing like it, to win a dragon's heart.
This book is not a manual, but collection of my experiences; my memoirs, my own life-story. It is difficult to write a simple instruction how to deal with these beautiful creatures, as each individual is its own person, and should be treated as such. I am hoping that my story will help you to learn how to approach them, and know how to act and react. And perhaps, to teach you far more about dragons, then you ever dreamed of.
This tale starts at the early point of my life, where I met my best friend- my brother in all but blood. A young Night Fury (species named by my ancestor, commonly known as Northern Darkwing to magical community), which I named Toothless...
Chapter 1.
Harry had hoped that once he had started attending 'school' –the big building he passed by each time he was let out of the house- that everything would change for better. He imagined what it must have looked like inside: a warm coloured room, bright and welcoming, smiling faces he saw only on pictures, warm and friendly. Certainly, the children that flocked the outside playground always laughed, running around and chasing each other with a happiness etched in their beaming faces. He used to huddle behind the large metal fence and watch them, imagining for a moment that he was running among them. He always envisioned it- climbing the monkey bars and going down the slide, with his friends waiting for him at the bottom, and then they would laugh and joke and chase each other- perhaps even mock-battling, with branches for swords, just like King Arthur's Knights of the Round Table.
It gave him something to look forward to, and he anticipated the day eagerly, like a normal boy being excited for Christmas (not that he could compare it, as he was a bad boy, so Father Christmas never brought him anything).
The reality... it was not as glorious as he hoped. Sure, the room was bright- and once could say welcoming too, with all the cartoon animals and prettily illustrated books available to the newcomers. That was true enough to what he envisioned. Trying to make friends was a bit harder.
He had approached few- being quite bold and courageous, as a knight should be, in his humble opinion- and even managed to get some talking to him, and agreeing to play with him when the break started. Harry was nearly ecstatic- this was a first time he could play with kids his age, and he was nearly floating with happiness.
Until that happiness as fast as an air from a punctured balloon when Dudley, angry and jealous that Harry made friends faster than he- as no-one tried to approach the pig-like whining boy- stood up and immediately pushed and hit each of the children that even tried to talk his dark-haired cousin, and his cruel words chased away everyone who came near in the future. And nothing Harry did helped- if only, it made the other children ignore him, or- to further save themselves from Dudley's wrath- they taunted him and sneered at him, making the boy flinch in hurt and retreat.
And so it was with his heart bleeding, and his dreams crushed under Dudley's heavy foot, that Harry decided to do something very, very stupid:
He tackled his cousin with a tearful scream and started to scratch and bite every bit of bare skin he could find.
Dudley's terrified squealing could be heard by their new teacher who had to use every bit of his strength to tear ballistic Harry from his much large and snivelling cousin, and then promptly bring him to the principal's office, while calling home.
It was only Petunia's hidden rage in her eyes as she stared at him in distaste when she picked him up- as the principal stated carefully that perhaps it was for the best to have Harry come home for the remainder of the day- that the young child felt fear grip his insides, and it fully sank in what happened. And he knew that if there was any way for him to find friends, he lost that chance when he proved to be a 'maniacal brute', as his Aunt screeched at him behind the closed door of the Number Four, spanking him so hard that he couldn't even sit on his cot when she locked him in his cupboard.
He spent hours there, sobbing soundlessly to the hard mattress, knowing that he only had himself to blame for all that happened, even if Dudley started. An assumption that proved to be true when he was let out of the cupboard the next day, and all the children stayed clear away from him, afraid that he will turn on them.
Dudley clearly played the victim well, as it seemed that he had made four new friends, and the other children weren't as wary of him now- mainly because they ignored Harry, so Dudley had no reason to pick on them.
As for Harry himself, the school turned to be another form of suffering. His classmates were afraid of him, thanks to the uneven number of kids in class he was always alone- even when they should have been split to pairs for work- and his teacher was always watching him with suspicion, his word always harsh with an undertone of warning each time he told the young boy to do something.
And there was nothing Harry could change about it.
H
Attending school was hell- that was what Harry thought to himself after the first few months. And the number of detentions he got was rapidly growing, as his homework was abysmal, his reading was horrendous (he repeatedly told the teacher that he can't see what was written on the board, but that in turn only had the teacher snap at him, while the class laughed) and in turn his written work was decidedly the worst of all, taking the spot even before Dudley, even though his cousin's work was just as bad.
His classmates called him 'Dim-eyed Harry', or 'Dump Head', and they laughed and pointed, and it took all of Harry's willpower not to break down in tears, even though he wanted to.
School also introduced him to another form of suffering:
Bullies.
Namely his cousin, Dudley's best friend Piers Polkiss, along with a three other boys: Dennis, Gordon and Malcolm. They also introduced the small dark-haired boy to their new game-
Harry Hunting.
And if he thought that school was hell before, it couldn't compare to the pure torture he was living through the hands of his classmates.
H
When the school nurse send him home with a note, that he appeared to be short-sighted and therefore needs glasses, Harry hoped that everything will get better- even though the glasses Aunt Petunia picked for him were ugly and not at nice on his face, making him look even worse than before (but he finally saw what he really looked like, and that the scar he had on his forehead was shaped like lightning, and wasn't that cool?) – but he had entered the classroom with a firm belief that now that he had glasses, the children and his teacher will know that he wasn't being stupid on purpose, and even if their taunts won't completely disappear, the situation will get better.
He thought that until his teacher took one look at him and started laughing- his classmates immediately joining.
Harry never felt so humiliated- and it got so bad that he actually run away from the room, out of the school, and he just run as fast as he could, not stopping even as his legs hurt and each breath burned deep in his lungs.
It took until it was dark for him to return to Privet drive, where his Uncle yelled at him, but Harry took it with a pained heart and hopeless expression on his face, not even being able to sleep when they locked him for the night, spending hours in the darkness as he dreaded what might await him the next day.
H
Their male teacher was gone- Harry never bothered to remember his name, as the man was nothing but horrible to him- and there was a pretty, but stern-looking lady instead. She told them that their teacher was reassigned to another class, offering no explanation why, before focusing on the lesson.
(Harry later heard that someone noticed his tear-stained face as he fled from the school, and the investigation of the matter uncovered clear unprofessionalism that caused the principal to actually sack the man)
All in all, while it did nothing to cut down the bullying outside the class, Mrs. Hill- as was their new teacher called- did not tolerate such thing while in class, and each cruel taunt or snicker at his expense was swiftly punished. On one hand, it was relief, as Harry was finally able to focus on his work. Yet, on the other hand, the children's distaste for him only grew, and they barely tolerated him when the lesson ended.
And so it was that Harry started to spend his breaks not outside on the playground, but inside the classroom, with only books for company.
It wasn't so bad, considering- but it was a lonely experience, and Harry could do nothing but bear it silently.
With the school taking up most of the day, Harry was left wandering the streets after. The Dursleys, as hateful as they were of his misbehaving, and always founding the smallest of excuses to punish him, did not particularly care for his presence- in fact they were overjoyed when he wasn't around at all.
Something that Harry took advantage of quite thoroughly.
The inhabitants of Surrey pay him no mind, becoming quite used to him wandering around, even if they were wary, as the tale of him being unhinged spread like a fire. It was only luck that he was allowed in library, as the lady there was always nose deep in a book every time he entered- a safe haven when he wanted to get warm or escape Dudley, as the porky boy avoided knowledge as plague.
There wasn't much to do in the library than just read a book. And there weren't many books that Harry was able to read and understand fully, as he was still five years old and some things were just beyond him, even though he tried his best. But he could look at pictures if not anything, and that's what he did- sprawled on a chair as he leafed through a book on survival, memorizing the drawn instructions for how to create a fire, or how to make a shelter. Or even how to catch a fish, or make a simple trap.
It looked not only interesting, but also very useful- and it was something that Harry decided to put to a use, when his hunger grew so bad that he was feeling faint on his feet.
H
It was actually harder that it seemed in the books.
There was a small forest-like park in the neighbourhood that was situated near a nameless river. Harry had no way of knowing if there were any rabbits he could catch in a snare- not that he had any rope to actually make such trap- so he decided that fishing was way to go. The riverbank was not steep, and the river itself was quite shallow, enough that he could see silvery flashes of scales, as the fish swam by, seemingly unconcerned of Harry's intent to catch them.
A state that they had every right to be in, as every time Harry grabbed for one, they just sneaked right under his tiny fingers, making him cry out..
The first time it happened, the boy pushed past it, writing it off to his inexperience, and quickly assured himself that it would change soon.
The second time made him bite his lip in disappointment, and his eyes harden in determination.
The third and fourth time had him falter slightly, before steeling his resolve again.
But as the number of tries grew, and his fingers slowly started to numb from the cold water, he just started to think: I can't do it. It was impossible. And yet he still tried, again and again, because even if he didn't believe in his skills anymore he was desperate to keep going-
And his hands closed over something slippery and the shock of the sensation had him throw his hands over his head-
And then there was fish, flopping and trashing in panic on the grassy ground.
Harry stared at it, his breath seemingly gone. And then he jumped to his feet, elated and not really knowing what to do. He had done it.
He had done it!
He jumped at the fish like a starving animal, pinning the creature to the ground while he feverishly- and with a slightly crazed look in his eyes- thought what to do with it. He needed fire. But, looking around, there were no stones to make spark with, and no dry wood, as it had rained earlier and everything was still slightly damp. He paused and eyed the fish speculatively.
He could eat it raw, he supposed.
That was what the Jap-Japanese people did right? He remembered his Uncle complain about it one day, as he returned from Japanese restaurant, that all they served was a stinky raw fish. His stomach churned at the thought- and then grumbled in hunger, making him whimper slightly- and suddenly the raw fish looked more than appetizing.
The fish stopped twitching now, even if it still gasped for breath- and that made Harry feel a bit guilty, and at loss how to kill it, even though it made him feel a bit ill. But he knew that right now it was kill or suffer situation, and if he had to murder a fish to survive, he will do it.
Stumbling back to the river, he weakly grasped a smooth stone from the bank, big enough to use it as a weapon, before returning to the silvery fish. He felt very cold, chills running up his spine as he stared down at the creature, feeling numb and slightly detached- and swung his hand hard, closing his eyes at the last possible second before the stone made a contact with the fish's head.
There was a wet crunch and Harry gasped, the stone slipping from his fingers as he stumbled away slightly, now looking at a very still fish. Its mouth stayed open, its gills didn't even twitch.
It was very much dead.
The boy whimpered and his breath heaved slightly, and for a moment he felt like he will be sick- but the feeling passed, and so he just rubbed his stinging eyes, few tears running down his cheeks. It was like watching through another set of eyes, when he picked up the fish and went back to the river to wash it thoroughly, getting rid of as much of a slime and dirt as he could. He knew what he will have to do next, seeing as he had no knife to cut the fish apart.
Sitting down on a log, he looked at the fish mournfully, his stomach once again churning, both from disgust and painful hunger.
For a second, a thought flashed through his head. He could just leave the fish here. It's not like he didn't suffer from hunger before-
But he had caught it. He killed it. Was that all for nothing?
So steeling himself, the boy closed his eyes and brought the fish to his mouth, preparing to bite and swallow no matter how nasty it would taste-
A rustle of a nearby bush had him jump up, the fish once again falling to the ground. He tensed and waited, holding back breath in alarm. What was that? A bird, a stray dog? Was it dangerous? A predator trying to steal Harry's fish for itself? The boy scowled, faint snarl on his lips as his eyes unknowingly flashed green. He hoped not.
Suddenly it seemed like his body was aware of everything that went around him as he crouched down, his gaze suddenly alert and focused, and moved closer to the rustling bush. His heart was hammering in his chest, but Harry was prepared to defend his catch- he spent so much effort on it, went through too much, to just give it up. Picking up the rock as he got closer, he raised it above his head, preparing to swing or throw, whatever seemed to be best-
And blinked when two large green eyes stared at him from the shadows, pupils slit in fear, a tiny black creature quivering among the leaves.
Harry slowly lowered the stone, before placing it back on the ground. A cat?
"...'Ere kitty," he cooed softly, his voice slightly hoarse as it was quite a while since the last time he spoke. He offered a bare palm, the hand shaking slightly from the scare he got. "Here, kitty, don' be afraid.."
The creature visibly sniffed and tensed, before crooning in a high-pitched growly way- and was that the sound cats made? He supposed so, after all Mrs. Figg's cats made all sorts of strange noises. The feline hesitated for a moment, its pupils dilating as it decided whenever to come out or not- and then slowly inched forward, crawling up from under the bushes.
Harry blinked and slowly retreated his hand. That... that was a very strange looking cat. It certainly had ears- at least something what Harry thought were ears- two, no three pairs of them even. The eyes were cat-like enough he supposed, even if it didn't have a nose of one. And no whiskers. Actually, it had no fur at all, even though it was black?
And it had wings. Wings of a bat. And tail of a lizard.
A lizard bat-cat, it was.
Harry briefly wondered if it was some horribly mutated monster that escaped from a crazy scientist's lab, and now it will eat him and soon cause terror and destruction on this neighbourhood- but as entertaining as that thought was, he knew that such things only happened in Dudley's stupid comic books (and no, he wasn't jealous, they really were stupid). So a bat-cat it was. And apparently, it wouldn't be able to eat him anyway, because as unbelievable as it sounded, it had no teeth- as Harry found out when it opened its mouth to croon at him again. Its eyes flickered to Harry's fish and the boy's heart plummeted.
"You- you are hungry."
Of course. Why else would be the strange bat-cat here? And cats ate fish, didn't they?
But Harry couldn't find it in himself to chase the creature away. Because wasn't he here by the river for the same thing? Because he was hungry? And looking at the bat-cat, it seemed strange. Not what he already saw as strange- but its eyes were big, and its paws were big too, along with round belly. It looked like a small puppy in a way. And that thought made him rear back slightly in surprise. It was a- a kitten! Albeit a very large and strange kitten, but a baby nonetheless! Harry bit his lip. He can't not help a baby.
"...I will call you Toothless," he told the kitten, before standing up and coming back to the fish, ignoring when the bat-cat flinched. He inspected the fish in dismay and then went to clean it once again, before staying at the shore, the kitten hesitantly following him.
He frowned at the fish before glancing at his new friend. Then he steeled himself and swiftly bit into the fish, ripping away a good sized chunk of its flesh, the kitten crying out as it saw.
God help him it was awful.
Grimacing and gagging at the taste, Harry was more than happy to pick the chunk from his mouth and then offer it to the bat-cat- now named Toothless- who startled and stared at it- then at Harry- before slowly, hesitatingly, gobbling the offered meat up in one gulp. It sniffed and looked up at the boy, its pupils getting rounder, as if it was in disbelief. Then it shifted closer to, its ear perking up. Harry offered the kitten a weak smile before biting another chunk, this time swallowing it himself.
Oh god it was so awful.
He gagged again and shuddered as he forced it down, the raw flesh leaving a bad after taste in his mouth- but he ignored it and bit off another chunk, offering it to Toothless again, who ate it gratefully.
Halfway through the fish Harry was feeling decidedly ill from the taste, and was quite happily decided to leave the rest of the fish to his new friend- but Toothless was, well, toothless, thus incapable of eating the thing himself- and Harry just couldn't find the heart to watch him struggle. And so he now bit off the chunks sorely for Toothless' benefit, feeding the small animal, his heart warming as the kitten nearly climbed to his lap as he nibbled at his fingers.
Soon enough the edible parts- at least, the parts Harry was willing to sink his teeth in- were gone, and the boy left the kitten chew on the remains, watching contentedly as he crooned in happiness.
He couldn't bring him back home.
If he leaves, will Toothless die? But he looked like he was living out there for some time now; and now Toothless' belly was full, so maybe if he came back tomorrow, and fed him again, he will be okay?
Harry bit his lip and gently stroked the scaly head.
"I will be back, okay?" he told the kitten, Toothless blinking and crooning "I won't let you die. Okay?"
He stood up and run away from the clearing, looking back for a moment to see his friend curl under the log, looking at him, and looking so lost-
But Harry couldn't bring Toothless home, because Uncle Vernon would surely kill him. But now he had something to look forward to- he had a responsibility, and he was determined to help Toothless survive and grow, and somehow that responsibility seemed to lift his heart. He felt strong, and felt like the day went very well-
Up until the point he vomited all over the floor in the kitchen while his Aunt screeched, because there is only so much raw fish a stomach can handle.
He needed to find a way to cook it next time.
