I am getting slowly disheartened by the lack of response. I am loving this story so far, but of course I am quite biased, and would love to hear outside input. Like I said, constructive criticism is greatly appreciated, reviews are welcome, cherished even… I hope you like this new chapter.

Chapter 3 – I Am a Great Many Things

Larry Pinkerton had lived beside James Potter for the past five years. He was a respectable author, having written books on everything from rudimentary Potions to advance wand lore. The young man next to him was a Jack of all Trades. He could brew, transfigure, charm and hex with the best of them. He had a quicksilver wit. It was unfortunate that he was not human. Now, Larry had never held the same convictions that others did about those who were not of human heritage. He enjoyed James' company, and had since the first day the young man had moved in.

James and Larry shared a larger country home that had been split into two separate houses. James lived upstairs and Larry lived downstairs. There was a staircase that James could access from inside the house that, if either of them required, would make it possible for the reptilian wizard to never come in contact with Larry.

Larry was well aware that James was a fervent experimenter. He had blown so many things up over the past few years that it was almost endearing to hear a small boom from upstairs. It nearly always meant that James had come up with something awesome. As it were, though, he was also aware that some of James' experiments could be dangerous. James and Larry had an agreement in place. After an experiment, if James did not visit Larry within five hours, it was likely an emergency and Larry should call James' father, Harry.

Harry paid for James' place. James could not own property, much to Harry's chagrin. Harry and his wife, Ginny, had been embroiled for years in battles that would revoke the restrictions put on 'half-breeds' including werewolves, vampires that lived within their society, those of mixed heritage, and James. They were met with staunch refusal from many sides of society, especially those who remembered Fenrir Greyback and his army of werewolves that had single-handedly doubled the population of werewolves in England shortly after the fall of Voldemort.

It had been four-and-a-half hours since Larry had heard the deafening boom upstairs. It was quite possibly the loudest one to date, and had rattled the entire house. He had his mobile phone in his hand, his leg jiggling nervously. It had never taken James this long to come down, even including the time that he had been blown clean out of the window and had fallen into the rosebushes below and had been out cold for two hours.

He dialed the number in the phone, listening to the soft purring rings on the other end.

"Auror Potter,"

"Hello, Mr. Potter. This is Larry Pinkerton, James' housemate," Larry said, on edge to be speaking to such an important man.

"Ah, Larry! James speaks very highly of you when he's over. I hope he isn't still accidentally setting fire to the curtains!" Harry said with a laugh. Larry returned the laugh nervously.

"No, Auror Potter. Nothing of the sort. Ah...how to begin. You must know that James has fantastic ability to wield and twist magic..." Larry started.

"Aye, that I do. My boy is on the forefront of magical developments, many of which society greatly uses even if they do want to keep him out of society," Harry replied quietly.

"Well, sir...James and I have an agreement of sorts. I am his backup. I've never had to exercise the power before. He has told me if there is ever a time that I hear an explosion, and do not hear from him for five hours, then I am to contact you," Larry said, talking quickly. There was a pause on the other end of the line.

"You haven't heard from him in five hours?" Harry asked, an edge to his voice.

"Well, it's actually only been four and some change..." Larry returned. Harry cursed over the phone, his voice faraway as though he'd taken the phone away from his mouth.

"I'll be there momentarily. Stand by," Harry said with authority, and there was silence. The phone had been hung up.

It was only about ten minutes before there was a knock on Larry's front door. When Larry answered the knock he found Harry Potter standing at his door, dressed in full Auror regalia and toting two assistant Aurors.

Harry Potter had only gotten more intimidating over the years. The unruly black hair made him look dangerous, like he had just stepped out of a battle at all times. His signature circular glasses had been replaced with magical contact lenses that made it unnecessary to wear spectacles and gave him a few advantages in a fight. He was lean and muscular, and the leather armor of the Auror department was very flattering on him, as was the crimson color of his Captain's robes.

"Mr.- Ah, Auror Potter," Larry said softly.

"I haven't a key for James' door, and if I know my son I won't be able to break the enchantments anyway," Harry said.

"Of course! We have a key to each other's door," Larry said, reaching up and grabbing a small gold key from a nail by the door. He handed it to Harry, who nodded his thanks and turned around, walking to the stairs that led up to James' flat.

"Auror Potter...may I come with you? James is a good lad. I would like to see if he's okay..." Larry said. Harry turned back, his brilliant green eyes searching for something in Larry's soft brown eyes.

"Stay behind us. If we tell you to get back, get back. My son is brilliant, but some of the things he messes around with are dangerous,"

Larry nodded enthusiastically, and followed behind the other two Aurors as the three went upstairs. Harry opened the door slowly, coughing at the acrid smell of smoke and burnt metal. He drew his wand and began to clear the air, looking around as he did. A small purse was hung on a peg by the door, along with two outer robes. The purse easily belonged to Draca Malfoy, James' friend from Hogwarts.

The other two robes were not James', because they didn't have holes cut into the back to make place for wings. Harry picked up one of them. It was plain but of very good quality. Shit. Sirius was going to have a cow that Orion was over here again messing around with James' experiments.

Sirius had returned from behind the Veil two weeks to the day after Voldemort had been defeated. He wouldn't talk about his time in the land of the dead, nor did he seem adversely affected by it. When asked how he had gotten out, he simply said it hadn't been his time, and had been allowed to step back into life. He had been declared innocent and been given gold by the Ministry for his lost years in Azkaban. Sirius had turned and immediately split the money amongst several charities and his friend Remus.

Remus had survived the Final Battle where Nymphadora had not. He had awoken holding her cold hand along with the rest of the dead. It had changed him. He tried to be strong for his son, Teddy, but he had taken to the drink not long after her death. Teddy stayed with Andromeda most of the time, and had adopted her as his mother in the absence of his grief-broken father. Remus had gotten involved in a one-night stand that had left him with another son, particularly because the woman had dropped the newborn werecub off on Remus' doorstep and told him if he didn't want the lad to let him freeze.

Remus' paternal instincts had woken again, and both his boys lived with him now. Romulus had been in James' year at Hogwarts and was a brilliant, shy lad like his father.

"Look, Potter," said one of the other Aurors, holding up a silver hair he had plucked from the collar of the other robe.

"Phelan Greyback," Harry stated. The Auror growled softly, having had a run-in with the boy's father that had taken his partner years before.

"There are four people that are involved in this. Come," Harry said, moving towards the back of the flat where James kept his laboratory. Magic was heavy in the air, cloying and tingly. Harry could not help the way his hair stood on end and literally crackled with the static magic in the air, and it put him ill at ease. He approached the door to the lab, gently testing the knob with his fingers before grasping it and pushing it open.

The lab looked like a warzone. There were parchments, broken glass and various broken and twisted instruments strewn all over the table and countertops. The magic in the air was so thick that Harry's eyes started to water a bit. A sparkle of silver caught his eye and he advanced carefully, kicking a few bits of litter aside. He slipped his wand back inside his sleeve and knelt down, examining where a few bits of silver were melted against the floor.

But there was something about this silver. It glittered brilliantly even though the floor around it was filthy and burnt. It was seductive and beautiful, even just the few shards that littered the floor. His eyes were glued to the shimmering metal as his hand started to reach out to touch it. Just to touch it…

"Captain Potter!" One of the other Auror's exclaimed, seeing a dazed look on the man's face. Harry came back to himself with the exclamation, and scowled at the almost rookie mistake.

"Mithril," he stated calmly. "Exceedingly rare and beautiful. Hauntingly beautiful and tricky to deal with," he said, glancing across the floor. There were several streaks of glittering sand nearby as well, but Harry made no attempt to touch that.

A small glare caught his eye and he reached forward and picked up the small item. It was the size of a small coin, rounded and solid black, but it changed to a dark opalescent color as the light hit it. Harry inhaled sharply and a sick feeling settled into his stomach. How often had he found these little things around the house? How often had they been strewn in the shower, stuck to towels, tangled in the carpet?

Dragon scales. James' scales. They fell out from time to time, that much was true. But Harry felt a heavy, stinging feeling in his eyes as he saw the jagged edge of this one. This one had not fallen out. It had been ripped from James' body. By the size and shape of it he could guess it had come from the tail. The scales of his wings were much smaller.

James often used his tail as someone would another arm. He had often climbed the trees in the backyard using his tail for balance and reach. It had saved him from a nasty fall once, grasping the branch before he could fall head-first to the ground.

"Oh James. My boy….my son. What have you gotten yourself into?"

James meditated in the center of the cell, his tail swishing languidly across the stone floor. There were bones strewn in the corner of the dreary cell, and James supposed that they were the previous occupants. Wherever he had landed was not a friendly place – that much was obvious. They had not said anything about his appearance, which was both interesting and strange. People who he had never met tended to be extremely suspicious of him. They thought he would steal their virgins and take their treasure.

Virgins were overrated. To weepy and clingy for his tastes. And gold…well he had plenty of that in his family now didn't he? His father was Harry The-Guy-Who-Wouldn't-Die Potter. He had not wanted for anything in his childhood.

He only vaguely remembered the incident that had left him looking like a circus freak. He remembered pain. He remembered pain so great that he had begged for it to end. As a three year old he had wanted to die. When he had been rescued, his father had come bursting into the building like a dark, avenging angel. There had been only one wizard in the room with James at the time, and he had fallen to a cutting curse to the throat.

He remembered his father setting eyes on him and then falling to his knees, weeping loudly. He had been afraid to touch James. James remembered trying to say something to his father, only to lean forward and barf on the floor. His vomit had been so acidic it had eaten a pit in the floor.

He had been sick for weeks as his body healed and grew accustomed to this new form. All the while Harry had Healers and curse-breakers trying to return his son to his previous form. But when they finally told Harry that James could not be cured, Harry had taken a new approach. He had embraced his son's new form. When James woke in the night screeching like a wild animal, Harry had merely held him and stroked his head as Ginny sang him back to sleep. When he would sneeze and set the curtains on fire, Harry would merely put them out and leave, returning later with new ones. He would always wink and tell James he hadn't liked those ones, either.

When James had been found in the backyard gnawing at a squirrel he had caught, Harry had taken to giving his son rare bits of meat during the day to stay his lust for it.

The Potters had decided not to have any more children. Not yet, anyway. James had needed them so much after the incident that it would have been unkind to remove attention from him.

"Ugly, innit?"

James' golden eyes opened as the voice spoke, and he saw several of the beasts of this land standing in front of his cell, looking at him with twisted amusement.

"Aye. Looks like the back end of a warg!" Another exclaimed. James grinned, showing his fangs in the light.

"I'd rather look like the back end of a warg than the front end of your mother," he stated. The beasts howled with amusement as the one who had spoken growled at him, revealing jagged teeth. James' grin became more of a snarl, his teeth parting so that his own fangs glinted dully.

"Watch yer mouth, Man-beast! The Master is interested in you. It may be the only reason yer alive," it replied.

"Shut yer mouth, Tulg! You don't go about talking of the Master's business! By the fires of the Mountain!" another exclaimed.

"You shut yer own mouth, you filthy excuse fer an orc!" Tulg snapped. The two went head-to-head, snarling like two animals vying for dominance. James stood to his feet, approaching the cell door.

"Gentlemen, gentlemen….calm yourselves. No need to argue over me. I couldn't give two fucks what your Master thinks," he said cheekily.

"Good to know," Another…orc, was it?...came forward. "We'll be sure to tell him of your opinion,"

It was a week before he heard from them. He was given no food and little water. He had, of course, transfigured some water from the bones around him to supplement. It was not good water. It tasted dry and dead, but it slaked his thirst. The hunger was painful and all-consuming. It was awakening deep animal instincts in him. He didn't like it. No matter what he looked like on the inside, he still had the grace and sentience of a human, and he had never liked his baser instincts.

The last time he had felt so in touch with the dragon was the first time he had seen spilled blood. Cuts and scrapes were one thing, and had always made him feel slightly giddy, but the first week in Potions when one of his classmates had cut open her hand with the knife had nearly been his undoing. The scent of the blood, warm and full of life…

It had taken three other students to hold him, and twenty minutes to calm him after she had left. His fellow students had been much more understanding than the professor. The man had hated him from that moment on.

He heard footsteps and raised his head when an orc appeared at his cell door with a key. The scent of raw meat hit him before the orc pulled out a large flank of some animal, still glistening with blood. The orc watched as James' slitted pupils narrowed, becoming little more than black lines against the gold iris.

"Does it want the meat?" the orc asked cruelly, sniffing at the bloody meat. James stood slowly and stepped towards the gate. His lips glistened with saliva at the smell of the blood. The orc moved back as James reached the door. His fingers curled around the bars and he pressed his face against the metal. Then he grinned.

"Alohomora," he said, and the orc heard the click of a lock. The cell door was thrown open and James pounced, wrenching the meat from the orc and giving it a blinding punch to the face. It careened backwards and struck the ground hard as James ripped into the meat. He got several glorious mouthfuls before he took off running, still holding the flank in his hand. Point me, exit! He thought out desperately. A small spark of magic came to life in front of him and he followed it.

He ran right through a hall of orc warriors, not pausing for a moment as they yelled in surprise and gave chase. He discarded the mostly clean bone as he ran, finally emerging into what he assumed was the main room of this place. The orcs giving chase emerged from the hallway, took one look to the right, and immediately retreated back into the hallway.

"I must admit intrigue,"

James skidded to a halt and turned to see a figure sitting on a grotesque throne of twisted stone and bone. It was the same armored figure that had 'welcomed' him on his awakening. He was still a-splendor in his black armor, but the helmet had been removed.

His hair was black as pitch, streaked with white in places. He had a broad face, smooth and cold as stone and twisted into a sneer. His eyebrows were thick and arched, lending a villainous air to his expression. But his eyes….oh, his eyes.

There were like fire, burning with red and orange and yellow in a swirling haze of black magic that left James feeling winded. Or perhaps it was the dash through the fortress.

"You escaped my dungeon. You led my orcs on a merry chase through my halls. You reek of magic…" he trailed off, his nostrils flaring. "Who are you?"

"I am the hope of the universe. I am the answer to all living things that cry out for peace. I am protector of the innocent. I am the light in the darkness. I am truth. I am ally to good, nightmare to you!" James quoted flawlessly. The figure threw his head back and laughed, revealing the points of individually sharpened teeth. The laugh was cold, like the deep frost of winter, and made James shiver.

"An enigma! What amusement you provide, young serpent!" he chuckled, his gaze lowering again as he fixed James with fiery eyes.

"I am the Lord of Mordor, Master of Barad-dûr. I am Red Eye, the one of Dark Power. I am the Dark Lord, the Ring-maker, the Sorcerer. Iam Sauron the Deceiver, the Nightmare of the West. Hear my name and quake with fear!" he barked. Shadows swirled at the side of the throne and solidified into several tall, shadowy figures. Wraiths with black cloaks that smacked of the fear and desolation of the Dementors.

"Let me go," James snarled. Sauron stood from his throne, stepping towards James with an expression of interest on his face.

"You are mine. You trespassed in my land and you are now my prisoner. I will do with you what I see fit. Perhaps I will let the orcs pick their teeth with your bones?" he growled. With a signal of his hand the wraiths moved forward. The glided as they walked, a dangerous elegance about them. James counted eight of them, all coming towards him with arms outstretched.

James weighed his options quickly. The entrance of this place was to the far end of the hall. There was no door, and he could see the dry land of Mordor stretched out the doorway.

"By all means. If you can reach the edge of Mordor you are free to go," Sauron grinned, his pointed teeth gleaming. His expression made it clear that he believed it would not happen.

James transformed. His body melded seamlessly into the black dragon. Though he counted himself large, he was not a full-sized dragon by far. He was the size of a large horse, his back legs thick with muscle and his front legs thin and easily moved. His hands were highly limber, capable of grasping and clutching at prey and tipped with long black talons. His neck was long and slender, tipped with a triangular head that held a mouthful of razor sharp fangs. He had two large ears protruding from his head, pointed and upright like a horse's. His underbelly was thick and armored, colored a softer grey in comparison to the harsh black of his scales.

He inhaled deeply and threw a long tongue of flame at the eight wraiths. They shrieked and moved back, and James used the distraction to bolt for the door.

Sauron watched, quiet with surprise, before his lips turned up into a frightening grin. "Murazor," he said softly, and another shadow emerged beside his throne. The Witch-King stood at his Master's command. "Let him escape. I can think of greater ways to cause chaos in these lands," he said. He held his spiked gauntlet to his face and breathed deeply into his palm, forming a dark collar in his hand. "Don't let our little pet run about un-collared. They might think him a stray and put him down!" Sauron laughed, holding out the collar to the Nazgul captain.

James ran as if the hounds of hell were on his heels. He surprised the orc soldiers lingering in the land, most of which fell out of the way of the black dragon. Those that sought to impede his path were leapt over with serpentine grace. He had no idea where he was going and no way to know if he was going towards the edge of this god-forsaken land.

He risked a glance behind him, noticing that Sauron had not pursued him. He gave a dragon grin and turned back, running face first into the tall figure of Murazor, the Witch-King of Angmar. He fell back with a thud as the Witch-King shot forward, pinning his head with an armored hand and placing a booted foot on his side and pressing him into the dusty soil. James twisted and fought angrily, hissing and spitting. The other hand reached forward and snapped the collar into place.

The metal was thin but impossibly strong, and as soon as the Witch-King's grasp on James was loosened, James shot to his feet and began clawing at the collar, his screams of rage echoing in the thick, hollow air of Mordor.

"The Master wishes thee safe passage through these lands. He doth bid thee not to get into too much trouble," Murazor laughed harshly, before standing tall and watching the dragon. James had a few things to say to the wraith, and tried to turn back to tell him.

He could not. The horror set into his face and caused Murazor to laugh again as he tried repeatedly to return to his two-legged form. He could not. A sharp blow from the Witch-King's armored hand sent James clamoring to the ground, unconscious.

When he woke again, he had been disposed of like so much garbage, half-buried in dirt in a stark plain of land. He could smell the harsh, thick smell of marshes in front of him, and behind him was a mountain range, leaving him to believe that the Dark Lord wanted him dead, and had decided to do it more creatively.

Having discovered that the collar prevented him from changing back from his dragon form, James held out a clawed hand, trying to conjure magic. He was pleased when a flame floated merrily above his paw.

That spiky-headed fuck bucket may have trapped me in my dragon form, James thought angrily, but he hasn't broken me. I will find a way back into my own body, and I will find my friends, and then I will come back to this land and shit in that iron whore's boot.

Oh Jimmy! U cwazy!

Now….ten brownie points to whoever can point out the blatantly obvious reference in the story and give me the origin of it. Who knows…I may even use a lucky username in a new chapter. Every good story has filler characters and random villagers. :D

….please review?