A/N: Quidditch League Season Four – Seeker (Wasps) – Prompt:
There are non-humans galore in Harry Potter, but they're often overlooked or take the back seat. That's just not fair, though, is it? Creatures deserve love, too! So, this round they get the spotlight. There are eight creatures listed below. Each member of the team must choose one - no double claims - as a prompt. You will be writing from the point of view of the creature you choose: Dragon
Water writhed and splashed far below her. Gentle white bumps foamed across the surface, marking territory in tiny clouds that broke and spread as soon as they were formed.
It was so very far below her; she could not remember the last time she had seen such a thing.
She beat her wings and relished the sensation of the wind gently buffeting against the translucent, veiny skin. Small gashes and tears pinched and stung in the cold wind, but she was used to pain. And this pain meant freedom.
She had thought that perhaps there were tiny creatures on her back before. But the creatures had been gentle, so unlike any other tiny creature she knew, that she had paid them no mind and let them sit there while she breathed in the fresh air and sang her freedom to the world. And when they had toppled off and let her move onward without a backward glance, their hands free from the sharpness and the sounds that she knew meant pain and fear and anguish, she let the memory of them drift from her mind until all she thought of was home.
She rose higher still, above the clouds where the rain became dew and closed her eyes to the harshness of the sun. She breathed in the scent of her surroundings, singing softly under her breath so that she knew there was no danger in her path. The sky was clear, and she flew onward until the light on her eyelids fell gently away and was replaced by the pale hue of the moonlight.
She opened her eyes and flew below the clouds. She was still far from home, but although her sense of time had become distorted in the many thousand days she had spent below the surface, she knew in her heart that her world had changed. She knew that her home may no longer wait for her.
She flew down lower, skimming the surface of the darkened sea, and peered below the waves for the first sign of the life she knew would be teeming there. Her breath huffed, warm and quiet in the still air as she adjusted her wings into a gentle glide. There were shadows below the waves. First one, too large for her interests, and then another and another, becoming smaller until the finned predators gave way to the prey – one seemingly large shadow that shimmered and moved its many hundred bodies in the silver light.
She lifted her tail and dove beneath the water.
The finned predators fled in fear. Their living memories were short when compared to hers, but still long enough to know the shape of the winged beast that parted the waves like air. She grasped her prey in teeth and claws, rose above the waves once more, and flew on.
As she swallowed the tiny fish – morsels until she could land and strengthen her long dormant hunting skills – she beat her wings more strongly at the reminder that once again, a creature knew her face and knew fear. No more would the tiny creatures rattle their sticks and breathe fire and pain upon her. No more would they spit her name as one spits the name of a sickened animal. No more would the name 'dragon' be less than what it deserved.
A shape emerged from the darkened sky; a jagged peak, tall like the tallest tree and wide like a lake. She knew it well. Her eyes gleamed as she adjusted her course and opened her mouth to keen a song of homecoming.
She waited, flying ever on. Time passed. The isle grew larger, closer. She cried again, her voice louder than before.
There was no answer. She beat her wings faster, harder, straining them against the fatigue that threatened to send her collapsing into the murky darkness below. Her back ached, the sinewy fibers of her wings cramping from the cold and unfamiliar use.
The mountain loomed. Her cry hitched in her mouth, catching on breath that warmed instinctively, her mind crying danger, danger, danger. The peak had changed. The proudest point, the softest landing, had crumbled below.
Time could not crumble that peak. Only anger. Hot, painful anger. Stamping feet, gnashing jaws, fighting. Fighting and cages and fire, fire that did nothing against new magic that shouldn't threaten the old, but did all the same.
But she had not fought on that peak. They had taken her below, in her cave, where she huddled around new life that tumbled and hopped and squeaked with bold fascination at all the wonders of the world.
She roared, fire lighting her path and sending shadows skittering along the rocky path she knew so well. The mountain grew, and she landed upon its shores, stumbling on the soft sand. She clawed her way up the side, searching for signs of life amongst the cold rock.
Wind howled in the cracks of the peak, but no one answered her call. She scrabbled her way higher still, reaching the top and moaning at the sight that awaited her there. Fire, scorching the earth. Long streaks of charcoal caressed the rock, but were overtaken by a dozen small burns and cracks: small blasts of power from magic sticks.
She threw back her head and howled. But there was no time; she didn't know for sure. She raced down the summit and into the hidden cave, its entrance kept secret by dips and valleys.
They had waited for her there. She could feel their pain, their loss. But the tiny, coloured blasts of power covered the walls and the once comforting warmth of her cave was still and empty.
She had returned, but the many thousand days had stolen more from her than long hunts and lazy flights across the shimmering sea.
She turned her back on the moonlight opening and curled in upon herself. The cave, long silent, filled once more with the slow sound of her breath and the soft keening of dragon song.