On Crimson Wings.

Part 1 of The Heart of the Dragon.

Disclaimer: I do not own Harry Potter, the world or the characters. They belong to J. , with gratitude for letting us play with them. The challenge comes from GoldenSteel, with gratitude for the ideas. The only thing I could lay claim to are the story and plotline, but that just seems greedy...

Draconic Communication is indicated this way: ¤I'm a Dragon, too!¤

Chapter 11: Dancing with Dragons.

Harry stood at the base of the grand staircase,waiting patiently for his mate. Most of his friends had already arrived, sweeping past him into the company (and in Hannah and Neville's case at least, arms) of their escort. Each girl wore a beautiful gown, and although he complimented them as they passed, they could tell his attention was elsewhere, seeking a certain bushy-haired witch-Dragon.

The Grangers had apparently reacted well to the news of the Yule Ball, and that the younger Dragons would be a few days late arriving in London, and Emily had insisted on dealing with Hermione's gown. Harry had gone into one of his two packages and found what would best be called formal dragonhide. It was made of Antipodean Opal-eye hide, crafted into dress robes, and displayed his physique to advantage. The deep, dark red shade, almost mahogany, complemented his eyes.

Susan appeared at the head of the stairs, as beautiful as the others, clad in a black gown with golden trim and embroidery. She descended and was met by her date, the Durmstrang Headmaster's nephew, Nikolai. The Crimean Black. "Call me Kolya," the other wyrm had insisted when he'd been introduced. "I am here seeking a... bride. Maybe I will find her, maybe not, and Miss Bones has graciously deigned that I might keep her company at this ball."

Parsing his words, Harry had made note of Kolya's specifying where he was keeping his friend's company, and smiled. "Dance well, make her happy, and everything's fine," he said. "Make her unhappy..." he left the sentence there, allowing the foreign Dragon to fill in the blanks. Then Nikolai noticed that the trailing threat he'd assumed was not intentional, as Harry Potter's mate had just reached the top of the stairs.

Harry had seen many pretty girls tonight, and as many beautiful young women. Looking up at his beloved made him wish he had a dictionary at hand, that he might put her picture next to gorgeous, and magnificent and... Shaking himself a little, and seeing her smile, he stepped to the base of the stairs and offered his arm.

Hermione gazed down the stairs at her mate in his deep red robes. She'd wondered if her mother's gift, a marvellous gown made from her own shed hide and scales, was good enough for such an event, and her answer stood there staring at her as if the rest of the world had just... gone away. She'd never worn a dress like this before, and had been unsure. The bodice was actually part of a supple corset, though not one intended to confine and restrict as the old Victorian-era fashions were wont to do, and the skirts were a long fall of flexible leather in the bright scarlet of her mother's scales, indeed, one such scale secured them at her right hip, at the knot of a golden silk sash. There was also a cloak of sorts, of the same scarlet leather, that secured in a badge with House Potter's crest in such a manner as to leave her shoulders bare, without threatening to fall off at the slightest opportunity.

As the band struck up the first dance, the four Champions, in three couples, made their way onto the floor. As the dancing began, Harry and Hermione lost themselves in each other's eyes, and danced an eternity away.


Professor McGonagall stood guard over the punch-bowl, keeping the Weasley twins from spiking it... she hoped. As she watched her star students swirl past in the elegant moves she had taught them, she sighed. It was such a beautiful scene, the two young lovers with no eyes for aught but each other, and deeply touched her emotional Scots nature. His parents had danced like that once, at a Ministry sponsored ball that had been broken up by a Death Eater raid that, had the musicians kept playing, she was entirely certain Lily and James would not have noticed.

Still, beautiful sight or otherwise, Mister Potter, and Miss Granger for that matter, were acting differently. Their magic had... shifted, and grown so much more potent, and all the rituals she knew of that might do such a thing were very Dark magic indeed. As she had kept a discrete eye out, Filius had both researched other explanations, and quietly sounded out Pomona Sprout on Dumbledore's... reliability, or more accurately, lack of same. The Head of Hufflepuff and Herbology Mistress was often underestimated.

"Yes," she'd told them. "I've noticed something similar myself, and I've been keeping an eye on my little badgers because of it." Her eyes focused on her two unofficial favourites, Hannah and Susan, sweeping past in their dance partners' arms. "Burying the rivalry between Lions and Snakes would be one thing, but what's going on is blatant favouritism. The Slytherins are getting off scot free while the Gryffindors are lumped with harsher punishments than they should be, even when they are in the wrong. If you need help to set it right, I'm in." Upon being presented with the suspicions that Minerva, poppy and Filius carried about the two dragons, and what had somehow happened to Harry and Hermione, the Hard-working witch looked thoughtful.

"They have more power, tempers, and are a mite more territorial," she'd concurred. "On top of that, Hagrid has said they've been having trouble in Care of Magical Creatures, even the Skrewts seem scared of them, and cranky about it. But what I'm seeing isn't the problem. What worries me is, where is the Ministry's response to those two Welsh Reds?"

Minerva blinked. It hadn't even occurred to her to wonder about that. Now that she thought of it, Pomona was right. There was no way the Ministry would let this pass, and if they knew, which given the presence of Bagman and Crouch, was likely, unless someone could keep them quiet about it, there should be a squad of Hit-wizards and aurors standing guard or hunting the wyrms. Instead, there was nothing above and beyond what you would find at a school.

Pomona didn't leave it there, of course. Now from what you've said, those two cubs of yours are really the Welsh Reds we saw that night, and you're worried you'll have to fight them. So rather than worry, why don't we ask an expert?" Turning to where the immense form of Hagrid was dancing with the equally large Madam Maxime, they set forth to learn about Dragons...


As they spun and twirled in time with the music, Harry and Hermione quite lost track of what was going on around them. When the music finally drew to a close so that the next dance could begin, they started, jolted from their private eternity by harsh reality... that couldn't possibly be that harsh, as they were here together. Looking around, they gravitated towards the punch-bowl, fairly sure that the Weasley twins had spiked it with some concoction or other of theirs. A subtle sniff here told them that despite the Deputy Headmistress' vigilance, they'd been right. As they reached for glasses to get themselves drinks, they heard a most unwelcome voice.

"I see you're as bad as ever, Scarhead," sneered Draco Malfoy, ignoring his date's feverish attempts to shut him up. Pansy, finding her efforts in vain, dropped his arm and backed away, glancing at Malfoy's two bodyguards. The looks of stubborn determination on their faces told her she'd be wasting her time, so she walked away. "A fake ring and a two-knut Mud-blood, you must be getting close to the bottom by now. At least she's dressed in the right colour, and cleans up nice..."

Hermione saw her mate's knuckles whiten, and could feel his thoughts. "Must not kill Draco, must not kill Draco, must not kill Draco," repeated over and over as he tried to gain a semblance of control. They both knew Snape was nearby, hovering, waiting for something he could point at as justification for detentions and trouble. There were no others nearby, save Dumbledore, who would quite likely let his trusted teacher run rough-shod all over them. Draco's next words would more than likely snap Harry's fragile control...

She almost couldn't believe it when she heard her own voice saying the words. "You can hurt him a little though, Harry," she announced, "I want to go for a walk, and the sooner we deal with him, the sooner we can go."

Harry stared at her for a few moments, then grinned. "Why thank you, my love," he said with sincerity, and turned to the Malfoy heir. Hermione's words had shocked his mind into calming down. The way everything worked in this world, Draco's little scheme relied heavily on Harry not knowing the rules of his heritage. Thanks to Fangblade and the goblins (for a fee, of course), Harry had been eradicating that ignorance piece by piece. Too bad.

"Draco Abraxus Malfoy, Scion of House Malfoy, I find your words to my affianced offensive, your manners lacking, and your face more appropriate to the south end of a north-bound goat." Shocked silence hit the Hall as all motion halted and all eyes came to bear on the Crimson Couple and the Slytherin trio. "Standing as the Head of the Ancient and Noble House of Potter, I, Harry James Potter, declare you craven and coward. You run around like a little dog, yapping at anyone you see, to convince yourself that you are better. You are pale, pathetic, and I will waste no more time on a jealous little boy." With that, he turned his back on Draco, who in this setting could either swallow the insult (but that would have been intelligent) or challenge Harry to a duel... where Harry got to choose the method of resolution.

"Diffindo!" Or he could be abysmally stupid and attack while Harry's back was turned.

"Capere Incantatum!" Much as Hermione had done with Ron's magic when he tried to curse her, Harry caught Draco's spell in a web of crimson chains, providing himself with evidence against the shame of Slytherin (not so much for the attempt as for the failure) that couldn't be denied, but it meant little if the Malfoy scion had time to clear his wand...

Even as the shocked Draco began to stutter the incantation to another spell, Harry held out his left hand (his right being busy holding the blond's first spell, and cried "Expelliarmus!"

As Draco's wand left his hand and sailed towards Harry's, Snape stepped forward and grabbed the brat's right hand, intent on disposing of the spell he was holding in that odd-looking stasis that he recalled from the few times James Potter had used it. Unfortunately, this brought him in contact with Harry's signet, and with the loud snap! of an electrical discharge, the greasy-haired Potions master was hurled backwards, struggling to his feet he found his way to Harry blocked by Flitwick, who despite, or perhaps because of, his small stature, was one of the most formidable duellists he'd ever met. He was left with no recourse as McGonagall stepped forward to take charge, and glanced toward the Headmaster... who had a lemon drop in each cheek and a happily blitzed expression on his face. No help there...

"Craven, coward and honourless!" Harry was yelling at Draco. "For your assault, I request restitution, or retribution. Your call." While the last words weren't, strictly speaking, part of the protocols, no-one called him on it.

"MISTER POTTER!" McGonagall called, to get his attention. Although she had seen everything, she had to follow certain guidelines, or this problem would vanish under the rug. "What is going on?"

"Hermione was insulted by Draco, so I called him on it," he said. "By the protocols I used, he could either swallow it and walk, or challenge me to a duel. Instead, he tried to curse me from behind. The Head of an Ancient and Noble, who'd just informed of that fact. Then... Professor Snape stepped in and grabbed my hand as I was defending myself, and found that he shouldn't lay his hands on one who holds more power over his House than he does."

"Impossible," sneered the disguised Grey, "I am in charge of Slytherin House, Potter, not some jumped-up half-blood with delusions of grandeur. It is my place to dictate the punishments for your accusations."

"Severus. Hush." Professor McGonagall was abrupt. "You can be over-ridden by three people, all of whom are in this room. As the Deputy to the Headmaster, I can negate or reverse your choices, but as Headmaster, Albus is one step above me."

Before Snape could get too full of himself, and even as he drew breath to rant at, and deliver a punishment to, Harry, she continued. "Fortunately, not even Albus can over-ride the judgement of His Grace, the heir to one of the Founders, the Duke of Slytherin."

As the Potions teacher leaned in to examine the ring Harry displayed to him, which he was not happy to recognise as authentic, his nostrils flared, and he caught the scent of sulphur, sea salt and broomstick polish, overlaying the basic scent of... a Great Dragon...

Straightening he glared at Potter. It was impossible. The Potters had no wyrms in their ancestry, let alone the Welsh Reds, and Lily Evans had been part of a very muggle family with no draconic blood as well. Surreptitious sniffing again, he caught the Granger chit's scent... another one! The female! This was bad... if they discovered him, he could be in big trouble. Even half-grown they were twice his size, and they could wield magic... Potter hadn't even drawn his wand... and to top it all off, they were mated, if not fully yet, a matter of time... all his effort to get certain laws repealed as unnecessary through Dumbledore as the Chief Warlock would now go to helping Potter and Granger, and because their scents were stronger here, a result of his little 'chess-games' and keeping a low profile, they could, and most likely had, claimed domain.

With the other wyrms here, it would not be wise to set out into open provocation and manipulation, even were it not for a vast discrepancy: They breathed fire, while he could only spit venom... that they were immune to... It was as if someone had stepped up, scattered his game of chess, and proceeded to lay down some vast and complicated game that moved pieces that weren't people assigned ranks based on how they acted, but miniature versions of the real thing with rules crafted to represent their traits, rather than shoe-horning them into a limited set of powers... like in chess...

Muttering under his breath, not even bothering to appeal to the Headmaster, Severus Snape retreated from the Hall.


Once Draco, his wand and frozen spell turned over to the Deputy Headmistress, was led from the Great Hall, and as McGonagall called for the band to strike up the music once more, Harry took Hermione's hand in his own and led the way into the gardens. As they wandered through the hedges and beds, he kept a careful ear and eye out for others. As Hermione was about to speak, they reached a secluded area, and he halted her questions before they got going with a kiss. "Mine," he whispered against her ear, a delicious buzz that did wonderful things to her insides. "It's time."

As the two of them shed their human forms, they nuzzled their cheeks and horns together. As their scales poured over their bodies, they tasted the fire in each other's eyes. As their tails sprang from the confinement of their human shapes, they twined them together, spread their wings and launched into the sky.

Watching them go, unobserved under a paranoid number of concealing, silencing and odourless charms, Voldemort's agent gasped. This was something his master had to know at once...

As the Dragons soared, higher and higher, they were displayed against the moon, and a large black dog paused in his journey, so near its end, and shivered. As they came together in flight, they called to each other, and the music far below ceased, even as Dragon's song, rarer by far than that of a phoenix, echoed across the valley. As they met in love, coming together in the most intimate of ways, sheathing him in her, they plunged through the clouds, and all the people below saw them, sated, parting mere feet from the lake's surface, and gaining altitude in a spiralling dance, come together again. This time, as they fell towards the lake, two sets of wings spread as one and they raced towards the castle... and vanished...


No-one could find Harry or Hermione that night, not even Fred and George, who took advantage of their access to Harry's trunk to snatch a look at the Marauder's Map, before sealing it back up again. It wasn't too hard for them to figure out where the two young Dragons would be, but none of them wanted to go after them, and even more, none of them could. Getting into the Chamber took a Parselmouth, and Harry and Hermione were the only such at Hogwarts. They must have finished the opening into their weyr, and warded it well. The Ball had been a roaring success, with all who attended having a grand time, and it was the start of more than a few new relationships.


Dumbledore stared at the list of those remaining for the Yule holidays. This was his third time through, and he still couldn't find where Harry had hidden his name. He was thinking about signing this for him, but he only had an hour, and while Harry's scrawl was barely legible at times, it was also highly difficult to forge... drat it.

Snape sat staring at a chess board and tried to scheme. He kept running into a wall. If he moved a Knight, he had this image of Harry moving a group of Welsh archers in to pepper the piece with arrows. And what bothered him most was that he and Potter were using the same board to play entirely different games... and Potter was winning...

Voldemort's agent swallowed his latest dose of Polyjuice potion, picked up the letter he'd written, and prayed that the Dark Lord would forgive the manner he'd addressed it in. Bringing up the name 'Tom Riddle' almost always resulted in a dose of Cruciatus Curse...

Madam Pomfrey, Madam Bones, and the three remaining Heads of House sat together, staring down at the collected literature that Hagrid had recommended. It was quite the pile, consisting of no less than a dozen books, yet it was the one on top of the pile that held their interest most. Scale and Sorcery: A guide to the Great Dragons, by one Matthew George Potter, a distant ancestor of the very wizard they were concerned about. As the carriages rattled away to deliver the children to the Express, Minerva looked up at her friends. "I have come to a devastating conclusion..." she began.


As the train powered southwards, Hermione nuzzled into Harry's side, and focused on a book that Jin had given them. The Chinese wyrm had been at the Ball with Bryn as his escort, and the book, written in the draconic runes that looked like they were made by claws (probably not too far off, actually), was a primer of sorts to help them learn some games that were typically draconic. After all, Quidditch might be too dangerous for the other players if you were a multi-tonne apex predator. Harry was reading it as well, and the two were enduring some mild ribbing from their friends about their possible activities after they'd vanished.

Draco looked into their compartment through the door, but also looked down at the bracer that he'd had forced over his arm. Some auror was monitoring him with it, given legal excuse by the Slytherin's assault on 'His Grace' (not that Draco believed it for a moment) which mean that his father wouldn't be sharing any secrets with him this year. He glared through the glass in the door, but left before he could do anything his father might hear of.

Ron was absent, due to sitting in a Ministry holding cell, blaming his predicament on Potter and Granger. Ginny was on the train, but considerably nervous about going home. Her father had written to her, asking if she knew why her mother and brother were in adjacent cells at the Ministry. She'd asked Fred and George for advice, and wound up telling her dad that the problem wasn't something to put in a letter, and that she 'd be home soon, and he would get the full story then. "PS, Daddy," she'd finished the letter with, "you may want to have Bill and Charlie around when we do."


Kings' Cross Station was crowded as always, and it didn't make it easier to deal with for their heightened senses. The smells alone were overwhelming, and separating anything meaningful from the surrounding noise was nigh on impossible. Sight was the only sense the two young dragons could rely on, and the Grangers were waiting for them. It was the work of moments to locate them, and minutes to cross the floor to meet them. Outside the station proved much quieter, and the adults helped the teens load their trunks into the car.

"Thanks for this, Doctors Granger," said Harry. "I'm grateful that you're letting me stay at your place for now."

"Think nothing of it," Emily said as they settled into their seats for the drive home. "And I'm Emily, and He's David, or we'll have to call you Lord Potter or your Grace for the rest of the holidays."

The trip back through London's streets was uneventful, but Harry had never seen the area through which they now travelled, and had his eyes glued to the view, unabashedly gawking at the scenery. The he felt it, deep within him, a slight shudder, one that Hermione echoed. Their instincts were telling them they were in another's domain, and they both looked up at Emily Granger, smiling back at them.

"That," she said, in the manner of a lecture, "is the feeling of another's domain. There is always a tension when you are outside your own, but that shudder is an awareness that where you are belongs to another. In this case, luckily, me. Although I wouldn't argue the point with lawyers."

Their meal that night was orca, and although it was good, it didn't have the same texture or sweet succulence as shark did. David stuck to sausages with mashed potato... the classic bangers-and-mash... rather than the exotic meats of his family.

"Alright you two, it's time to rest. Tomorrow we go to my weyr, and I start teaching you what I can," Emily ordered. "Of course, you'll have to show me what you've managed to piece together..."


Their lessons were oddly easy, and with the awareness that this was not their domain, neither of the adolescent wyrms felt the urge to do more than snuggle and nuzzle. Of course, their most important lessons were what they were capable of.

"We are the Welsh Reds," Emily told them. "We are the symbol of the land, and the greatest of the Great Dragons. We are fire given form, and touch on each element in our own ways. We ride the wind, and feel it hold us firm as we fly. We lair in the earth, and craft our weyrs of stone. We seek our favoured food from the sea, and are sustained as easily by water as air. But most important, we are Fire. It's not just our breath, it's our nature, and it cannot harm us, any more than one fire can burn another. Some few of us can go beyond even that, and shape the fires to our will, summoning or banishing it at a whim... We are considered royalty by other Dragons, and there are those who believe we were the first of our kind."

They spent as much time learning of other wyrms as they did their own kind, and before they knew it, the New Year had passed, and they once more returned to Hogwarts, a little more aware of what they were.