Chronicles of a Dragon Sorcerer

Disclaimer/Plot/Author's Note/Added Information: SEE FIRST CHAPTER

Dedication: I'd like to dedicate this story to all my true friends and fans who, even after all these years, still manage to enjoy my work and respect my style for what it truly is, namely mine: my recommended reads are The Boy with the Dragon Spirit by DZ2, Saviour of Magic by Colt01, Dragon on Ice by Triple D aka Dark Demon, There Be Dragons Harry by Scioneeris, Just A Touch of Kleptomania by Quatermass, Harry Potter and the Revival of Soul Magic and Harry Potter: Birth of Technomancy by AlphaPheonix, Silver Tongue by Shadow Hidden By the Moon, Harry Potter and the Elemental Magik by NoexcusesNoapologiesNoregrets and Dark Lord Potter by loverofeevee

Key Pairings: Harmony; Neville/Ginny; Ron/Luna;

Other Pairings: To be determined

Normal Speech

'Thoughts'

'Bonds/Mental Speech'

/Parseltongue/

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HOWEVER: What you're about to read is all-new stuff and not just taken from the original draft of this story, so…enjoy;

"I…I don't know…I think I'll go and take a walk," answered Harry, moving to the end of his bed before, unlocking his trunk, he surprised Neville when he moved to retrieve his Father's Invisibility Cloak before he added, "Clear my head a little."

"You don't need that to do that, Harry," Neville told him, earning a shrug from Harry.

"I have the gift, why not use it?"

Chapter 8: A Taste of Vengeance

'Hogwarts by night; she really is beautiful.'

Such was Harry's thought as he walked along the corridors of the school, taking his sweet time in a bid to allow himself some time to clear his head after what had just happened in Gryffindor Tower. To aid him, Harry created a small cushion of air beneath the soles of his feet, which he used to keep the sounds of his footsteps muffled even as he walked beneath his Father's Cloak.

'My Father's Cloak…'

Even after the interesting, life-changing tale told by Xenophilius, Harry still couldn't believe he was actually holding something that had belonged to his Father, though that wasn't nearly as surprising as the fact that it had been kept in the hands of the Headmaster since that dark night.

Why was the question Harry wanted to ask, though the revelation of the Deathly Hallows and their potential connection to Harry himself seemed to distract the young sorcerer from said question. Now, however, back in the halls of Hogwarts, walking in shadow and darkness through the dimly-lit corridor, Harry had a chance to recall his thoughts about the not-so-anonymous benefactor from Christmas.

'Why would Professor Dumbledore be holding onto this?' wondered Harry, stopping near a lone suit of armour as he heard footsteps approaching.

Pushing himself against the wall, at least as far as he could in the hopes of staying invisible and undetected by whoever was coming, Harry clamped his lips together, masking his breathing while his mind continued reeling from the many questions he had unanswered. 'Does he know I'm a Dragon Sorcerer? Could that be why he kept this from me? I mean, when I touched it…the power I felt…it was more than I felt back when I got my wand from Ollivander; it was warm, but cold…wet, but dry…like it was meant to be mine, but it hadn't been until now…why?'

As he thought on his curiosity, as well as a small sense of worry and dread that seemed to come with it, Harry looked up suddenly as he heard the footsteps drawing closer; pressing himself against the wall once more, the young Gryffindor frowned with curiosity when he saw Professor Quirrell appear around the corner.

The turban-wearing teacher seemed pale and shaky while his eyes were red and heavily-bloodshot, with so many black rings around them that he could have put a raccoon to shame. His robes seemed to be hanging off of him and, as Harry looked closer, he thought he saw several deep scratch marks along both the man's wrists, though they soon became lost beneath the folds of his robes.

Then there was his ridiculous-looking purple turban: before that night, Harry wouldn't have thought it was possible, but the stench from the dark-coloured headwear was stronger than usual. Instead of something akin to garlic, the turban's thick, cloyingly-pungent stench brought up images of disembowelled, rotted fish that had been left out in the sun too long, mixed with the odour of a backed-up sewer that hadn't been treated for years.

It took every ounce of Harry's resolve not to throw up as he watched Quirrell skitter away, occasionally looking back while, as he passed Harry, the young boy frowned as he heard Quirrell muttering, "M-M-Master…it…too soon…too risky…I mustn't…he'll know…he'll come for us!"

/Silence!/

Suddenly, for reasons he didn't quite understand, Harry's blood ran colder than cold as he heard a deathly-cold tone of voice respond to Quirrell, causing the usually-skittish man to whimper and twitch, like he was experiencing a nasty tick or waking from a terrible nightmare, before Harry's whole body shuddered when he heard the voice again.

/You have been a good servant, Quirinus, but events have changed…if I do not seize this chance now, the boy will be too strong for me to corrupt and break. And I cannot advance my plans if I am but a parasite…so, we MUST seize this chance and claim the Stone…or all is lost! Now MOVE!/

'What in Merlin's name?' wondered Harry, swallowing hard as he watched Quirrell make his way along the corridor, heading towards the Grand Staircase, which implied he was heading for another floor.

When he did so, Harry felt like he was suddenly torn between two paths: on one hand, he understood this much: obviously, Quirrell was up to something and, whoever or whatever that voice had been, they were pulling his strings and making him seek out some kind of Stone, which would allow something to happen.

Something concerning a boy…and, as much as he didn't want to think about it, Harry had a very strong, unavoidable, un-ignorable instinct that told him one thing.

The boy Quirrell was meant to corrupt

It was him!

But that led to the other path: what was he meant to do with this information? Go to a teacher?

They'd want to know how he knew it and what he was doing out of his dorm after hours, let alone how he knew from overhearing a teacher say something and, as much as he wanted to believe it was the right thing, Harry knew he couldn't reveal his Father's Cloak to the wrong ears.

They might confiscate it, have him sent to the Ministry or…who knows what?

This left just one option.

He would have to go and stop Quirrell…and whoever was pulling his strings, all by himself.

'I just hope I can,' thought Harry, silencing his breath and his steps again as he moved to follow Quirrell.

CDS

The sound of a cry of absolute fear, disbelief, alarm and strangely-magical influences tore Albus Dumbledore out of his own sleep.

The fact that such a cry had come from his oldest and dearest of friends was alarming enough, but add in the fact that there was only one reason such a cry would be made in the first place and Albus knew this was not the time for nonsensical quips or happy-go-lucky attitudes.

Changing into a fresh set of robes as quickly as he could, the Headmaster returned to his office, just in time to see a truly awe-inspiring sight.

His aforementioned dear friend, Fawkes the Phoenix, was alight with the same all-consuming fire he would normally use to transport himself from one place to another, or to burst into flames come his Burning Day.

However, what made Dumbledore stare in awe, disbelief and a small amount of worry was the fact that, instead of normal-coloured flames, Fawkes' body had become a living embodiment of the elemental force of fire itself, his once-beautiful, young-looking body now consumed and transformed into a winged apparition made of gold-coloured fire.

As the fire grew in force, Albus' eyes widened when he saw two darkest-red eyes appear in the head of the fiery apparition, as well as a beak and, to the old man's disbelief, not two, not four, but six large, beautiful-looking golden-fire-forged wings, all of which spread out as far as they would go, bathing the office, the portraits of the past Headmasters and even the Sorting Hat in its radiance, making the whole room glow with golden-coloured light that bathed everywhere in pure light and warmth. (1)

While the apparition grew to a size far greater than Fawkes himself had been, Albus gulped as he whispered, "You…you sense it, don't you, old friend? That's the only reason you would take on this form again…after all these years."

Opening its fiery beak, the large firebird of a creature let out a powerful song of warmth, but also alarm and dread, mixed with a sensation that seemed to fill every part of Dumbledore's body with strength, hope and life.

"I understand," said the old man, a note of sorrow, as well as regret lacing his words as he drew the Elder Wand from his robe before, looking to the Sorting Hat, he asked, "He's making his move, isn't he?"

"After what happened at Christmas, can you blame him?" asked the Hat, a modicum of amusement in its words while the aged relic offered a thin smile as he added, "But you must wait until the moment has come before you reveal your true intentions to him, Albus. What is about to happen has been foreseen by greater forces than you or I; those forces gave me a glimpse of this when I sorted your protégé and now, free from the ties that bind him to his past, the puzzle must be completed if he is to grasp and master the Greater Magic bestowed onto him."

Here, Fawkes' new form let out another cry, filling the air with song while his screech also seemed to bathe the entire room in magic, creating an atmosphere that made Dumbledore's blood rush with awe, intimidation, hope and dread.

At the same time, a small, blackened circle suddenly started forming in the centre of Fawkes' chest, the centre of the circle filled with a second light, which was a bright, warm shade of red that grew and shrank, almost like someone or something was breathing into it.

As it did so, the Sorting Hat chuckled as he addressed Albus once more;

"And it looks like your old friend wishes to help you help him…what is it you always say, my old custodian? Use it well…"

CDS

In Gryffindor Tower, Neville snapped his eyes open just as suddenly as Dumbledore had done as he felt a shift in the magic of the Earth and, through that, the magic of the Forest that gave him his class.

Lying on his bed, Neville looked down at his right hand as a strange, ominous tickling sensation brushed along its back, but when he looked at his hand, the only thing he saw was a small, familiar forest-green glow that took on the shape of an unusual, but equally-familiar five-pointed star. As the star appeared on his hand, however, Neville frowned when he saw each part of the five outer segments of the star glowing a different colour.

One red, one blue, one yellow, one green and one, much to his bewilderment, a pure shade of white.

As for the central pentagram at the heart of the star, that part shone with pure-golden light that seemed to bleed out into the lines of the star around it, creating an unusual, but enchanting vision of a mark.

Barely five seconds after appearing in full, however, the star vanished, leaving nothing more than a small y-shaped tattoo on Neville's wrist, which was the same shade of forest-green as his glow.

'What was that all about?' wondered Neville, looking over to the empty bed in his dormitory as he added, 'Harry…could this have anything to do with you and…and the power you'll one day master, I wonder?'

With no answers, Neville clenched his hand tightly while he lay there, wide awake, for a good long while.

Never once losing focus of the hope that his mind was thinking about even as he slowly, eventually, drifted back off to sleep;

'Whatever it is…I hope you're going to be okay…because Mum would kill me if I let anything happen to you.'

CDS

In Longbottom Hall, Alice Longbottom stared in absolute disbelief, as she went to put her own head down for a goodnight's sleep, when she saw the same star as her son's appear on her hand, leaving the same y-shaped marking on her wrist once it faded.

Unlike Neville, however, Alice felt worry, pain and sadness fill her as she stared at the picture next to her, which had been taken before the boys returned to school, showing her son and his best friend – and her new ward – standing shoulder-to-shoulder, showing the reforming of an old alliance in a whole new light.

"Harry…" whispered Alice, tears of worry forming in her eyes as she whispered to the night;

"Please…whatever you're about to do…for everyone's sake, especially yours, please…make the right choice…"

CDS

In an oddly-shaped house in Devon, a certain blonde giggled suddenly as she was broken from her own sleep by a similar tickling feeling to the one that Neville and Alice both felt.

Looking down at her hand, Luna saw the same star shape appear on the back of her left hand – unlike Neville and Alice, who felt their stars appear on their right hands – but, unlike Neville and Alice, the outline of her star, which was filled with the same six colours as theirs, started out a pure, bright shade of silver that merged with the gold as it appeared at the heart of her star.

Once the star faded, however, all that remained was a small, but perfectly-formed silver circle on her wrist.

"So…" whispered Luna, still laughing through the air of mystique she felt as she cradled her marked wrist, "He's finally complete."

As she rubbed at her marked wrist, Luna brushed a lock of her hair away from her eyes before she looked up to the ceiling of her room, her eyes glazing over in their sockets as though she was in a trance.

Though that didn't stop her voice growing thick with mystique and all manner of emotions as she spoke to the darkness above her;

"Now Harry…will you suffer the same fate He did…or are you strong enough to pass the Final Test?"

CDS

'The third-floor corridor? What could he want here? And what about that dog?'

Suffice to say, Harry was more than a little surprised, as well as more than a little confused, to find his tailing of Professor Quirrell had led him to the so-called forbidden corridor, which was somewhere he'd personally hoped he'd never have to see again after what had happened the last time.

As he stood outside the door, which was ajar, indicating Quirrell had already gone on ahead, Harry shivered as he heard the low, snuffling growls of the monstrous three-headed dog – or Cerberus, as he'd discovered was the real name of said beast – coming from the other side, though when he heard them, Harry felt curiosity rear its head as he heard soft, but deep growls and breaths coming from beyond the door.

'That's weird; it almost sounds like it's…' thought Harry, swallowing hard as he edged his way through the door, revealing the Cerberus, which was exactly what Harry guessed it was doing. 'Snoring!'

To his surprise, the great beast was indeed fast asleep, all six of its eyes and three of its heads lowered and closed while one of the giant dog's legs twitched, as though it was dreaming.

About what, Harry didn't even want to begin to guess, but as he stared at the sight, he couldn't help but smile; for a big dog that had come from the Gates of Hell, which would have probably disembowelled him on the spot, if not used him and thought of him as nothing more than an appetiser, it was kind of cute when it was asleep.

Swallowing down his nerves, Harry peeled off his cloak, a part of him suspecting it'd be useless against the three-headed beast's bellowing snores and gale-force breaths, before he set it down by the door. As it did so, his eyes narrowed when he noticed a small, golden harp was set next to the beast's head on its right-hand side; as he looked at the harp, Harry heard soft music fill the air, which surprised him even more as he looked back to the sleeping giant of a dog.

'Huh,' thought Harry, letting out a soft scoff as he wondered, 'What do you know? It looks like music really does soothe the savage beast…but if Fido here is sleeping like a baby puppy, where did Quirrell go?'

Flashback Start

"You don't use your eyes, do you? Didn't you see what it was standing on?"

"I wasn't looking at its feet! I was a bit preoccupied with its heads…or maybe you didn't notice. There were three!"

"It was standing on a trapdoor. Which means, it wasn't there by accident: it's guarding something."

Flashback End

Suddenly, as the earlier argument between his best friends came back to him, Harry let his eyes scan the floor, namely the area around the giant dog's paws: sure enough, as Hermione had noticed, there was a trapdoor beneath one of the Cerberus' paws, though it was half-covered by said paw, which meant Harry would have to be very careful moving it.

If he woke the dog…

Taking a slow, shaky breath, hoping with all hope that the colossal canine wouldn't wake up anytime soon, Harry drew his wand before, aiming it at the dog's paw, he whispered under his breath, "Wingardium Leviosa."

Admittedly, even Harry knew he could have used the air, or even the earth, to move the large dog's paw, but with who-knows-what standing between him and Quirrell, he didn't want to risk losing too much strength, especially with so little elemental aid to work with that might restore his strength later-on.

Carefully, he levitated the Cerberus' paw out of the way of the trapdoor, setting it down gently before, moving to the door, Harry slid the latch open, allowing the door to open below him. The first thing he noticed was that it was very dark below; there was very little light, save for the small shaft that shone down from the trapdoor, while there wasn't any sign of Quirrell or anything else below, which wasn't very appealing at all.

'There must be other trials,' thought Harry, swallowing hard before he mused, 'The other teachers, maybe? But who would have put a Cerberus in the school to protect this place?'

Even as he thought on it, Harry snorted under his breath before he whispered, "Hagrid, of course…so that means there'll be other trials and, if the Headmaster set these up, he'll have asked the Heads of House for the main help…so, that's Sprout, which means something Herbology-related, Flitwick, which means Charms, McGonagall, which means Transfiguration and, finally, Snape…so I'd better be prepared for a Potions test."

Suddenly, as he thought on his realisations, Harry felt the air around him growing very cold while, at the same time, the hairs on the back of his neck prickled while, from somewhere above him, he felt something warm, foul-smelling and wet drip down his face.

'Oh…' thought Harry, wiping the wetness from his face before he gulped, 'Please tell me that's not what I think it is.'

Even as he pulled his hand away, Harry realised it too late.

The harp had stopped playing…and now, the only thing he heard was a growl; one of warning, protective desires and carnivorous intent.

Without thinking about anything, save the thought that he had no choice in the matter, Harry pushed himself forwards and fell down into the darkness, just as a loud trio of barks and snarls echoed from overhead. As he fell into the darkness, Harry looked up once to see a pair of snapping jaws try and reclaim him through the hole, but to no avail.

This meant there was nowhere else for Harry to go.

Except down!

CDS

For several long, agonising seconds, Harry plummeted down into the unknown, but just when he thought, and feared, he was going to end up falling towards that most-painful death that Dumbledore had warned them about, his eyes widened when he felt something soft, damp and strong hit him.

Wriggling into a position that would allow him to survey his surroundings, Harry's eyes widened again when he saw he'd fallen onto what looked like a plant of some sort: it was dark and very large, both of which immediately set alarm bells ringing in Harry's mind. He could also see parts of it creeping up the walls, indicating that it was firmly rooted in place.

'Like I said,' thought Harry, a part of him wondering how he was meant to get around this while he mused, 'Sprout first…but what is this plant?'

A few seconds later, he got his answer: suddenly, what could only be described as tendrils of the plant's strange form lashed out at Harry, grabbing him by the ankles before, to his alarm, he saw it wrapping itself around him, starting with his lower body and working his way up.

'Devil's Snare!' thought Harry, remembering the plant from one of his Herbology textbooks, as well as a similar, smaller plant he remembered seeing in Neville's home, which Alice had warned him about getting too close to. 'Now I see why she warned me…damn, it's like a snake…or like I'm being bandaged up by the Egyptians!'

As Harry fumbled for his wand, he winced suddenly when the vines holding him in place tightened around his body; at the same time, his movements seemed to increase the rate of bindings from the plant, which meant his waist, abdomen and, to his disdain, one of his hands was soon bound by the tendrils.

As he tried to retrieve his wand, however, Harry grunted to himself as he felt the tendril tighten its hold on his hand before, to his alarm, the hold tightened so much that a very loud snapping sound came from his hand. Given the fact he felt no pain as a result of it, Harry knew what it had to have been that snapped.

'Damn…hope someone can repair that later…but now what?'

He didn't know enough about the Earth element to try and manipulate the Snare into releasing him, and without his wand, he couldn't cast a spell.

'Come on, Harry,' thought the young sorcerer, closing his eyes for a moment, trying to block out the sight of the bindings as they reached his chest while he pleaded to himself, 'Try and remember…what just happened: it reacted to you moving faster, struggling like…like quicksand! So…so what if you relax?'

At that point, anything was worth a chance; even though he was practically talking to himself, it was true.

Taking a slow breath, Harry let his body relax, slowing his thrashing against the vines and his struggles to escape: to his own delight, as soon as he relaxed, he felt the bonds on him loosen, followed by a feeling that could only be described as sinking. Opening his eyes, Harry smiled when he saw the Devil's Snare's top-most form vanish, only to be replaced by the mulch and earth to which it was bound before, to his relief, Harry felt his body drop, allowing him to land on the ground.

When his wand landed next to him, its pieces shattered in five places, Harry frowned before, picking up the wooden pieces, he slid them into his pocket, a part of him hoping he could repair them later.

On the other hand, the Dragon Sorcerer in him reasoned that, if not, they might make a good pick-me-up should he need it.

CDS

'And, again, I call it: Flitwick.'

Smiling at how this was working out as he hoped/guessed it would, Harry looked up as he walked into the next room, which meant he found himself staring up at a mass of what looked like winged figures, all of which flitted about lazily and, in some cases, clumsily. At the other end of the room, he saw a door that obviously led to the next room, but, just like Devil's Snare, this all seemed too easy to be ignored.

Still, given the fact Quirrell was, more than likely, waiting for him at the end of it, Harry knew he couldn't waste time.

Making his way across the floor, Harry tested the door, but when he found it locked, he frowned: even Alohomora wouldn't open it, but, then again, Flitwick wasn't exactly a fool.

'So…what now?' wondered Harry, looking up to the winged things overhead; when he did so, however, his eyes narrowed when he realised something that was off. 'Hang on…those things; they can't be birds; that'd be too simple…and with a locked door…I wonder.'

Peering closer at the nearest of the flying things, Harry smirked to himself as he remarked, 'They're not birds…they're keys, which means one of them opens the door behind me, but which one?'

Once again, Harry turned to the door, though when he did so, his eyes narrowed as he noticed something about the lock: around the edges of the spot where the right key would fit, there seemed to be a series of small grooves, almost like whichever key went in the lock had been used already.

But when it had done, it had been forced into the lock, which suggested it might be somewhat-broken or damaged.

'But…again, which one?' wondered Harry, turning back to the flock overhead; for several minutes, none of which he could afford to waste right now, but he didn't have much choice, he examined the flock, eyeing each and every one of the keys as they flew overhead before, at long last, he saw it.

One of the keys had a wonky flight pattern, one of its wings dented slightly and fluttering weakly, in such a way that it might as well have been struggling to stay in the air, even as it re-joined its 'friends' in the flock: that was the right key.

'Okay,' thought Harry, his eyes staying focused on the key even as he wondered, 'So I know which key is the right one, but how on earth do I go about catching it, especially with a broken wand, no spells that I can use and hardly any idea of how I'm meant to get it from down here?'

Suddenly, as he thought on it, an idea…a truly crazy, insane, yet funny idea suddenly came to mind: it was a long shot, for certain, but given the alternative was hanging around in a room until Quirrell made his return, it was a necessary evil.

Drawing himself to his full height, Harry let his gaze lock onto the right key before, clearing his throat, he drew in a huge breath: as soon as he did so, a low laugh escaped him when he saw his hope had come true. With his massive inhalation, the key's flight pattern grew more-random and forced as it struggled against the vacuum-like force that drew it towards Harry.

However, as much as he was breathing in the air, Harry knew he had to breathe out too: keeping his eyes on the key, he exhaled, blowing out the air with a level of force that could have only been matched by a certain blue-tights-wearing superhero.

As soon as he did so, however, the flock attacked, each one now like a scene from a Hitchcock movie as they flew down to Harry, blurring his line of sight as they protected the right key. One by one, they zipped past and around Harry, cutting into his face, arms, robes and even through his hair, the sharp edges of their metallic forms cutting into his skin while their buzzing wings drowned out everything save their attacks.

Thinking quickly, Harry did the only thing he could; gathering as much spit and mucus in his throat as he could, he hacked up, retching heavily before, spitting out the combined sputum, he drew on the power of the first of his claimed elements: Water.

To his relief, his hope worked out: as soon as he focused on the globule of spit, his elemental power took care of the rest: at the same time, his eyes shone with the blue light of the element's respective force while, unseen by Harry, his fingers did the same, just like they had done back in Gryffindor Tower, as he drew on the power of the water.

However, Harry was more-focused on using his saliva to protect him: just like he had done back on Halloween, he commanded the water to attack the keys, repelling their assaults while, at the same time, he gathered what little remained of the spittle from the Cerberus to create a second water whip, which he used to claim the correct key.

While his watery attacks did what they could to repel the flock, Harry guided the second whip through the air until, clenching his fist hard, he watched as the water solidified around the correct key, pulling it back to him in the process as though it had sent said key down the plughole.

Holding the key tight in his hand, Harry turned and, smashing the key into the lock, he threw the door open and vanished through it.

Seconds later, sounds equal to a machine-gun 21-gun salute told Harry the other keys had tried and failed to reach him before he slammed the door shut behind him.

'Mental note,' thought Harry, panting heavily from the exertion of repelling one force while trying to use another to claim his prize.

'Ask Alice about the possibility of tapping into the power of lightning…now, what's next?'

When he looked up, however, Harry's face fell when he saw exactly what the next task was.

Yes, it was McGonagall's, but the method with which she'd chosen to use for her trial was definitely not what Harry had been expecting.

A giant chessboard stood between him and Quirrell!

'Where's Ron when I need him?'

CDS

"Ch…ch…checkmate!" (2)

Puffing and panting from the exertion of having to use everything he'd observed in watching and competing against his aforementioned friend, Harry watched with a glint of success as the King finally admitted defeat, giving Harry the means to move onto the next chamber.

How he'd even managed to accomplish it on his own, he didn't know!

McGonagall's earlier remark of sheer dumb luck came to mind.

Regardless, with another trial passed, Harry was able to move onto the next room, which, as he'd guessed – and, by process of elimination – he saw was a Potions room, which meant Snape.

Tired, borderline-exhausted from the previous trials, Harry didn't know what he was meant to do to pass the man's test, but he hoped he was ready.

So, when the door suddenly slammed shut behind him, followed by a sudden burst of fire that rose up in front of Harry and behind him, practically sealing him in the room, the young Dragon Sorcerer didn't know which emotion to feel first.

Exasperation…or just plain pissed off!

'You have got to be kidding me!' thought Harry, letting out a hiss of rage as he moved towards the centre of the room, where he noticed a row of potions bottles were stored on a shelf along the wall, along with a small desk and a scrap of parchment with several words written on it.

However, as Harry looked at the flames both ahead of him and behind him, his exasperation turned into amusement as he mused, 'To hell with it! Let's see if these deadly trials expected to find themselves up against someone like me!'

Looking to the flames that led towards what he prayed was the end, as well as Quirrell and whoever might be pulling his strings, Harry drew in another heavy, deep breath, but this time, he did so with one aim.

Feeding!

To his delight, and amusement, the flames barring him from the next part of the trial flew away from the door and, as he'd hoped, they flew straight down his throat, refuelling his energy and giving him a way forwards, much to the amusement of the Dragon Sorcerer as he swallowed the fire up.

Once it was all gone, its energy now filling his belly in such a way that already sent waves of new strength and power coursing through his body, Harry made his way to the door, opening it with a boot that caused it to slam open, though not before he chuckled.

'Sorry Snape…better luck next time!'

With that, he walked into the final room, which led him down a small flight of stairs towards a large, rectangular-shaped room that was lit by flaming torches, each of which bathed the room in pure light.

And there, standing before what looked like a very old, ornate-looking mirror of some sort, was Professor Quirrell, though when he saw Harry in the mirror's reflection, his eyes widened with a mixture of surprise and what looked like fear before, to Harry's surprise, Quirrell smiled coldly as he remarked, "Mr Potter, what might you be doing out this time of night?"

"Getting a midnight snack," replied Harry, letting out a stifled burp before he added, "Guess I took a wrong turn on the way to the kitchens…anyway, what are you doing here, Professor?"

For a moment, Quirrell looked surprised, if not offended that Harry would challenge him, but as Harry looked from Quirrell to the mirror behind him, his eyes widened suddenly when a familiar, but also-unfamiliar stab of magical energy struck him. A force that he recognised from his time in Longbottom Hall, as well as three times before then, wove its way into him, causing his whole body to tremble with a sensation of unease, wariness and what could only be described as ominous desire.

Like…like a call was trying to reach out to him.

As he stared into the mirror, transfixed by what he felt inside him, as well as what it could mean, Harry saw his reflection look back at him, though as it did so, his eyes widened when the image on the glass suddenly changed.

Instead of Harry's slightly-wounded, scarred and half-awake, elementally-reenergised form, the mirror showed him an image of a large, fierce-looking black dragon, which rose up high over his head and body, filling the mirror with its radiance and its darkness at the same time. Parts of the dragon's body seemed to be made up of several small, oval-shaped stones that were many different colours, each of which seemed to brighten and dim in a way that reminded Harry of the sight of a balloon inflating and deflating as someone blew into it.

Narrowing his eyes at the sight, Harry wondered to himself, 'What…what on earth is this mirror? Why…why does it show me this…this thing?'

'To show you your destiny…and your greatest desire…'

Suddenly, Harry visibly jumped in surprise, surprising Quirrell when he did so, as a very powerful, deep, bass voice rumbled throughout the body of the young Gryffindor sorcerer.

In front of him, Quirrell frowned before he asked, "Potter…what is it? What just happened?"

'He cannot hear me, childe,' answered the voice, earning a surprised look from Harry as the strange voice went on, 'Only you hear my words, but we do not have time to fully converse. All I will say for now is this: if you truly desire to know your strength, you will know what must be done.'

"What do you…" Harry began, but even as he did so, his eyes widened again when he suddenly felt something heavy, hard and warm drop into one of his pockets.

'You will know…' growled the strange voice, before Harry's eyes widened as the image in the mirror faded away again, revealing himself – Harry – in the reflection, and nothing else.

As Harry's eyes flicked to his pocket, he was reminded of the fact that he wasn't alone in the room when Quirrell's voice roared, "Come here, Potter…now!"

As much as he wanted to know what was going on, Harry found himself unwilling to obey; as he made his way towards the mirror, Harry's eyes caught sight of a small, unusual-looking inscription over the top of the mirror, running from one side of the frame to the other.

Erised stra ehru oyt ube cafru oyt on wohsi

Narrowing his eyes at the sight of the inscription over the top of the mirror, Harry let out a slow breath as he whispered under his breath, "I show not your face, but your heart's desire…that must be what that voice meant when it said it was showing me my greatest desire…but what could Quirrell want with it?"

As he stood next to the wounded man, Harry licked his lips nervously before he looked up when Quirrell asked him, "Tell me…what do you see?"

Staring back into the mirror, Harry saw his reflection; he also saw Quirrell, his eye twitching from the exertion of whatever or whoever was behind him making such a bold move, but other than that, he didn't see anything else.

'You will know what must be done…'

As he stared into the mirror, the words of the strange voice from before came back to him, but he didn't quite understand what they meant.

"Well?" asked Quirrell, pulling Harry back to the moment as he asked in an almost-desperate voice, "What do you see?"

'I have to lie,' thought Harry, frowning to himself while he wondered, 'Think, Harry: what would someone expect you to say?'

Even as he thought on it, his eyes widened with a mixture of hurt and surprise when the image in the mirror changed once again: this time, however, instead of the black dragon, Harry saw something else in the mirror's reflective surface.

A pair of figures, one male, one female; both of them standing on either side of him and both of them as familiar to him as his own face, especially after the gift he'd received at Christmas.

Red hair, green eyes and a solemn, but caring expression on her face.

Lily Potter nee Evans stood on Harry's left-hand side.

Next to her, a figure with darkest-black hair that was a lot like Harry's; warm, fierce dark eyes and a kind, but also-fiercely-protective air about him.

James Potter stood on Harry's right.

As Harry saw them, he gulped before he saw his Mother's lips move. "You know what you have to do…keep it safe…even from him…"

Taking a step back from the mirror, Harry saw and felt a lone tear roll down his cheek at the sight of his parents' images, so close, he could just reach out and touch them. On his other side, he saw his Father smile before, like Lily, he mouthed several words in Harry's direction, though these ones caught his attention most of all as he saw them;

"Empower the Dragon within…you know how..."

In that moment, Harry understood.

He just wished he could have stayed there forever…

To be able to look upon their likeness and know he was going to be all right…that everything was going to be all right.

But this had to be done.

"Well?" repeated Quirrell, "What is it? What do you see?"

"What I had to," replied Harry before he turned and made for the door.

As soon as he did so, however, his blood ran colder than cold while his eyes widened with horror when a deathly-cold, evil-toned voice echoed through the chamber;

"Stop him, you fool!"

Suddenly, Quirrell snapped his fingers, causing Harry to skid to a halt as he saw a wall of fire rise up in front of him, blocking his exit.

'Like this will stop me,' thought Harry, craning his neck as he added, 'Snape couldn't, so Quirrell won't…good thing I brought my appetite.'

"Let me speak to him!"

Suddenly, it was like those words were a magnet for Harry; even as he went to devour the fire again, intending to escape to a place he could put his plan into action, he turned to face Quirrell at the sound of those words, not to mention the pale, scarred man's response, "No Master…you…you are not yet strong enough!"

"I have strength enough for this…" insisted the new voice, earning an alarmed look from Harry as he turned to the mirror and the man stood in front of it.

As he did so, another friend's voice suddenly came to the forefront of his mind as he watched Quirrell slowly unravelling his turban…

Flashback Start

"Some say he died…codswallop in my opinion: nope, I reckon he's out there right now…too tired…too weak to carry on…"

Flashback End

As Harry watched Quirrell unravel his turban, the reminder of Hagrid's words, as well as the smell and the strange way he usually felt his lightning bolt scar reacting to Quirrell and not Snape as he'd first thought, all made Harry pale with horror, his plan of escape forgotten as he stared at the image of Quirrell's turban being removed.

'No…' he thought, his eyes wide and burning bright with a glare of rage, vengeance, fear and determination, 'It…it can't be…not him…not now…'

As much as Harry wanted to deny it, there was no denying the sight that greeted him when Quirrell removed the last folds of his turban: a pale, deformed face that was growing out of the back of his skull, a pair of pale, red eyes that looked right at Harry as the face seemed to pull itself out of the back of the man's skull.

With wide, terrified eyes, as well as an inability to move thanks to him being frozen in fear and disbelief, Harry saw the face sneer at him before the same icy, malicious tone of voice from before hissed, "Harry Potter…we meet again…"

As he stared back at the deformity, Harry's voice was barely a whisper as he named the face for who it was.

For what it was.

"Voldemort…"

"Yes," rasped the second face, a note of amusement in his words as he drawled, "See what I have become…see what I must do to survive? Live off another…a mere parasite: unicorn blood has sustained me, but it cannot give me a body of my own…but there is something that can…"

As Harry stared in alarm, almost like he was putting the final pieces into place himself, he heard Voldemort address him again;

"Something that…conveniently enough…lies in your pocket!"

'How does he know?' thought Harry, his hand subconsciously moving to his pocket even as he kept his eyes on Voldemort, 'What…what do I do?'

'Empower the Dragon within…'

Suddenly, Harry heard the words of his Father coming back to him, reminding him of his escape plan.

As he turned to fulfil it, however, making sure he kept the object as far away from the Dark Lord as he could, Voldemort's voice cut through his thoughts, "Don't be a fool! Why suffer an horrific death…when you can join me and live?"

Before he could stop himself, Harry wheeled around again, his teeth gnashed together while the light in his eyes blazed like lightning.

"NEVER!" Thundered Harry, his voice tinged with rage, fury and something akin to a real dragon's snarl as he faced the Dark Lord.

In response, Voldemort sniggered darkly before he remarked, "Ah…bravery…your parents had it too; tell me…Harry…would you like to see your Mother and Father again?"

'Empower the Dragon…'

"I will see them again," snarled Harry, his rage growing stronger at the fact that Voldemort dared to use them against him.

This, more than anything, seemed to be the last push he needed to make his next move.

As Voldemort saw Harry move his hand to his pocket, removing a blood-red stone from within it, the Dark Lord sneered, "That's it, Harry…"

With rage in his eyes, Harry lifted the Stone while Voldemort smiled coldly as he went on;

"There is no good and evil…there is only power and those too weak to seek it…"

'You know what must be done…'

"You're right," whispered Harry, holding the stone tightly in his hand as he faced Voldemort. "I do know…"

"Good boy," agreed Voldemort, nodding once – in a way that looked truly disgusting to behold – as he added, "Hand it to me, Harry…and I will give you the world…"

'Empower the Dragon…'

However, Harry just shook his head before he told Voldemort, "Not for all my past evils undone…I know what must be done…"

With that, he lifted the Stone and parted his jaws, earning an alarmed look from Voldemort.

"NO!"

A loud crunch broke through the Dark Lord's scream as Harry took a huge bite out of the stone, his eyes never leaving Voldemort's as he crunched up the Stone piece by piece, each of which filled his mouth with sensations he never knew before.

"What have you done?"

CDS

Inside Harry's 'soul/mind/core'

While Voldemort questioned Harry's choice with outrage and disbelief, the young Dragon Sorcerer felt something else take hold of him.

As he took a huge bite out of the stone, Harry felt like he was watching himself go through something more.

In his mind's eye, Harry saw himself taking one bite out of the stone, as though it was nothing more than an apple; with that first bite, Harry licked his lips in remembrance before he gasped – at least, in his mind/imagination, he did so – as he slowly felt his bone structure and facial bones shift into a new form. At the same time, the whites of his eyes bled to black while his emerald irises turned amber with a black slit pupil.

While this was going on, his mouth and nose merged together and started to grow outward: in his daydream, Harry felt his teeth shift from flat blunt human teeth to jagged and sharp dragon teeth and felt his tongue grow forked and his ears grow pointed and scaled and as suddenly as the partial transformation began, it stopped.

With the change semi-complete, Harry's new eyes locked onto the stone and his new tongue slithered out of his now draconian-like mouth and licked his now-draconian lips while, as he stared at the stone, which was now little more than a snack for him, his newly-sensitive ears picked up the stone's reaction to his new transformation and felt the stone shudder in his hand.

'Great Draco…is this thing…alive?' wondered Harry, though even as he did so, he smirked, or at least tried to as far as his transformation would allow him to, before he lifted the stone to his mouth and flicked his forked tongue out touching the stone.

To Harry's newly-attuned senses, the stone screamed out at him like a person going through a million Cruciatus Curses all at once.

However, whether he heard them or not, Harry still moaned as he licked the stone all the more while the stone screamed louder and louder.

With his tongue, he lathered the blood red, uncut stone in saliva, feeling the stone shudder from the feeling as if it was truly alive; with this thought in his mind, Harry put the stone on his tongue causing the stone to shriek out in terror while his tongue pulled the stone into his mouth.

Once again, the stone screamed out in terror as Harry closed his draconian-shifted mouth around it while he began to suck on it like a piece of candy, moving it around his mouth all the while moaning at the taste.

If he had to give it a descriptive flavour, he would have said the stone tasted of blood red apples, caramel and chocolate.

Either that or, as was the classic joke, it tasted like chicken.

"Oh, Draco! It's sooo good!" Harry moaned, opening his mouth as he began to shift the stone around in his mouth, once again only half-hearing the screams of the stone as Harry moved and pushed the stone around his mouth, actively, purposefully or, perhaps, mockingly trying to miss the stone with his sharp teeth as he wanted to savour the moment.

As weird as it was to admit it, he just knew he would be unable to do that if he actually bit into the stone, especially since his inner self knew full well that a dragon's teeth were strong enough to break diamonds.

With this feeling empowering him, Harry felt his draconic mind sear the feelings and images into his mind before, as though deciding he's had enough of the foreplay, he slowly swallowed the stone bit by bit, his predatory nature enjoying the screams that pour forth from the stone.

With one last powerful gulp, Harry swallowed the stone whole.

With a satisfied slurp, like a cheesy monster from a kid's cartoon, he reached up, feeling his neck slightly bulge as the stone was slowly, tauntingly pushed deeper into his body.

After only a few moments, Harry felt the stone enter his stomach, causing him to sigh with contentment whilst he rubs his stomach.

Inside him, somehow, he can hear the stone scream out in immense terror as his stomach gurgles and slowly digests the stone extremely slowly.

Satisfied with a level of fullness…of wholeness he's never felt before, Harry groaned as he felt his draconian instincts telling him he will slowly digest the stone for years if not centuries.

But, in the end, it will become part of him regardless.

And when it does, he will become…powerful!

Suddenly, Harry felt a strange feeling in his stomach; as he tried to figure it out, he felt a pressure rise up from his stomach.

Before he could stop himself, Harry opened his mouth as the pressure explodes across his tongue causing Harry to belch out the air, part of which turned into a roar that shook him to his very core.

To Harry, the moment was, while it was the best moment of his young life, he was only sorry that it would also bring slight shame in the sense that he was too young to truly enjoy the moment as it should have been enjoyed.

But, for now, the only thing that mattered was that he'd known what had to be done.

And now, it was done.

The Stone was part of him now.

Whatever came next…well, he'd have the strength to face it.

The point was…he'd won! (3)

CDS

On the outside, Harry patted his digesting stomach in response to the rush of power that flowed through him before, licking his lips, he looked up at the absolutely shellshocked Voldemort.

"You still want it?" asked Harry, unaware of an ominous rumbling stirring around his feet as he snarled, "Then why don't you come and take it?"

"Kill him!" Thundered Voldemort, though as Quirrell lunged at Harry, intent on strangling him – much to his stupidity – the rumbling beneath Harry turned into the true force that had been unleashed that night.

As Quirrell drew closer, a great burst of raw energy, more-powerful than any other recorded before it, magically or otherwise, suddenly exploded from beneath Harry. As it did so, what could only be described as an aurora of multi-coloured energy, each of which seemed to cross and criss-cross over each other constantly, like flies buzzing in a swarm, surrounded the young sorcerer, cloaking him in a veil of sheer power.

As for the burst, it blasted itself outwards in a shockwave of pure magic, which shook the hidden chamber to its foundations while, at the same time, the blast wave shattered the torches along the walls, caused great fissures to open in the floor and ceiling and, to Quirrell's horror, it tore through his body, leaving nothing but ashes and a skeleton that disintegrated before it hit the floor.

As for Voldemort, his dark essence was, unfortunately, forcefully ejected from Quirrell's body in such a manner that his ear-piercing, shrill scream tore through the forbidden corridor for a long time to come.

In a final display of the sheer power unleashed within Harry, the shockwave-like spectrum of colours and energy exploded outwards, shattering the Mirror of Erised and turning it to ashes in seconds.

At the centre of the blast, enveloped in his rainbow of colour, power, magic and fury, Harry James Potter opened his eyes with a loud, bone-jarring roar of ecstasy, empowerment on a level that was on par with the divines themselves and sheer-force victory, dominance and power.

But when he opened his eyes, he also revealed his eyes;

Eyes that were no longer emerald-green or tinged with some colour or another.

Instead, two bright, silver draconian eyes, with slit pupils that were pure gold in their colouring, looked up to the heavens themselves as Harry roared, his scream so primal that every inch of Hogwarts trembled with the aftershocks.

With his roar echoing through the chamber, Harry's voice carried with it, a scream of pure joy, delight and zenith-level dominance over all;

"This power…is…MINE! I dare any to even try and take it from me!"

"Does that include me, Harry?"

Spinning on the spot, Harry's eyes shone with dark amusement as he saw Albus Dumbledore standing there, his eyes filled with a mixture of awe, surprise and a hint of worry and fear as he stared at the glowing youth standing before him.

"However, I feel I must ask you, my boy: shouldn't you be in bed?"

Chapter 8 and, phew, this was a trial to write and keep my promise of a reasonable-length chapter, but…anyway: Harry's gone through some kind of power boost, but now, he seems unstoppable…unless Dumbledore can do something, but what?

What can he possibly hope to say or do to bring Harry back to the boy we know and love?

Keep Reading to Find Out

Next Chapter: Fully-empowered by the true power of the Dragon Sorcerer inside him, Harry faces off against Dumbledore himself, but the old man doesn't seem willing to do anything to actually harm Harry: so then, what's he up to?

Please Read and Review

AN: Harry's 'Supernova' form

Also, in case anyone's wondering, the end bit with Harry going seriously OP and uber-dominant was inspired by the anime Fairy Tail when the lead character, Natsu, eats a material called 'Ether-Nano/Etherion' so if you don't know it, look it up: trust me, it's epic!

AN (1)

Fawkes' new form is based on the appearance of the Winged Dragon of Ra in its phoenix form; WHY it took on said form…keep reading to find out;

AN (2)

Admittedly, I don't know the first thing about chess, so unless I can skim it, I decide to skip over it altogether and get to the checkmate: how it happened…well, I leave that to your imagination;

AN (3)

As it says, this particular part of the scene happened 'inside' Harry, as in within his mind or his 'soul plane' if you will: it was written, in part, by my good friend Winged Seer Wolf, who opted to help me with this, but our ideas clashed, so we came to a compromise;

Anyway, what happened in this part of the scene is not what happened in the chamber between Voldemort screaming NO and Harry asking if he still wanted it; think of it as a 'dream/fantasy' scene within the scene itself, if you like;

Weird? Maybe, but that's the fun of Fanfiction