Chapter Thirteen

Refrains

Rhiain paused for a moment after the sun dipped below the top of the mountains. Tessaies had curled up around her eggs and went to sleep early, the exercise of magic having taken a good bit more from her than anyone had expected. She was the eldest of them all too, and while she could easily command more draconic magic than the others it still took a toll as she exercised that command. Soon Rhiain would turn in all well since her eggs were in good shape and it was more or less quiet on the grounds. She could hear the students doing something in one of the towers that sounded a bit raucous, but as it had been some time since she had interacted with any humans of that age she didn't know now what was considered quiet and what was considered out-of-hand.

The recent conversation that she had with the straw haired girl, Moon Girl, had been about music – of course. Somehow the girl had picked that as a conversation starter instead of screaming and dashing out of her reach as Rhiain had expected. It was the confusion imparted from the action of the girl conversing with her that make her stop on the way to the meeting in the clearing. It didn't help that there was just enough things that made sense to the Welsh Green in with all the other things that made her head hurt trying to figure out.

It didn't seem to bother the Moon Girl one bit. It helped when she sang a soothing lullaby in Welsh, but backwards? That was more or less when the disarray started.

The comment that 'her left was Rhiain's right and therefore the music would be correspondingly backwards, otherwise everything else was already backwards as she sang it and doing that this way made it forwards' didn't help. The dragon was still trying make that come out right in her mind. The girl had seemed so confident in her assertation, too.

The knowing looks after the meeting that the Speaker had been giving her also didn't help the headache. The scamp.

Aside from that, music was one of the things that she gravitated to. It had a soothing quality to her and Rhiain had always enjoyed it. She wasn't as old as the other dragons, so she didn't have as much exposure to what they had experienced. Still, she kept an ear always cocked toward a melody no matter where she was or how she felt. By now, she had an impressive mental list of things and was looking forward to finding out more to add to it.

She heard something playing a little way off with a rhythm that was steady and fairly fast. It sounded like something Annika would have been trying to dance to in the snow. That thought was arrested for a moment as she remembered some of the spasmodic jerking around she saw the children do earlier to similar music. Rhiain hoped that if Annika tried it she was a good way from her eggs. It wouldn't surprise her if the Short-Snout fell on her face again.

It also wouldn't surprise her if Quiangya made a snide comment about it but Annika ignored it. Not for the first time, Rhiain wondered how Tessaies kept herself from getting grey scales. From the furtive way she saw the one Tessaies called lángoló haj sneak into her nest with something under his arm that sloshed around in its container, she had a good idea.

Maybe she could get him to find her some Swellies. She had developed a taste for that recently and Quiangya couldn't pronounce where it was from, either. Neither could Annika despite more than a few attempts and Tessaies didn't even try. The Mother Eminence had merely rolled her eyes when she heard Rhiain casually rattle off the name "Llanfairpwllgwyngyllgogerychwyrndrobwllllantysiliogogogoch" without a missed beat.

Her thoughts were redirected back to the music, and she found herself tapping a talon. Whatever it was, it was catchy. She found herself humming the chorus and decided 'why not?'

|:-:|

"Forge, do you hear that?"

"Hear what, Gred? It's a little loud in here."

George grabbed his twin's arm and shuffled him into the fifth year dorms. Away from the pulsating music, Fred listened. He looked at his brother with an odd look.

"That?"

"That. Someone's singing the chorus and it's not coming from Gryffindor Tower."

"But from where?"

"No idea. Let's look out the window – it sounds like it coming from outside."

They looked out the window and just stared for a moment.

"Gred, do you see what I see?"

"Forge, if you see a large dragon singing along and kind of swaying from side to side, then I have to say yes."

The translation charm was working perfectly, and the Twins had no little amount of shock to find out that whatever formality of voice Rhiain used and sounded like while speaking, her singing voice was smooth and easily followed the melody. They watched for a moment before turning to each other.

"Gred, are you pondering what I'm pondering?"

George looked at him with a distinct air of calculation and a grin.

"Gee, I don't know, Forge, but where are we going to find wheat for the house-elves' porridge at this hour?"

Fred laughed.

"Good one. No, we should find a willing Muggleborn that knows a lot and can get us music." They grinned at each other. There was one name that popped up right away. "Do you think dragons know how to read sheet music?"

"One way to find out. Do you remember that dragon's name?"

This time Fred frowned. He scratched the bridge of his nose as he thought.

"No, but I know who to ask."

The Twins' expressions would have frightened anyone that didn't know them.

"Harrikins!" they chorused.

|:-:|

In the common room, Harry shivered despite the warmth from the fireplace and the press of bodies. Hermione looked at him in concern.

"Harry?"

"Did you feel that?"

"Feel what?"

"That cold feeling, Hermione. Like a hundred clowns that cried out in glee and made a chaotic plan all at once."

She stared at him. The horror on her face was plain to see as her mind ticked over into the only conclusion that made sense.

"You don't mean…" Her voice was cut off.

"I do. The Twins. Merlin help us all."

"But what's going to happen?"

He thought for a moment, reviewing the feeling that had trickled down his spine a moment ago. An image bloomed in his mind and his eyes widened.

"They're going to do something with the dragons. Maybe in concert with, or prank on. Something. I don't know, but..."

"But what?"

Harry looked at Hermione and she saw the confusion and determination in his eyes.

"I don't know, but there's only one way to find out."

"Ask them?"

"Ask them. Merlin help us – it may be our only hope."

"Then we really have no choice."

She looked around and the trepidation in her eyes doubled as she realized that the Twins' presence – or lack thereof – had been missed in the general scrum.

"Harry! The Map!" she hissed.

"Good idea. Let's go."

The music thumped on and no one saw them leave in the choreographic chaos.

|:-:|

"So, Gred, what kind of music, do you think?"

"Well, shouldn't we ask her? For all we know, she can only do Gregorian chants."

They looked at Rhiain again, who had stopped to listen as the track changed and picked up the chorus quickly.

"I think she does more than that. It looks like it doesn't take long for her to pick up a piece of music and we definitely don't play Gregorian chants."

"As long as it's not Celestina Warbeck. I've had my fill of that for the rest of my life."

"Ditto."

They listened for a few more minutes.

"She's pretty good at this, you know? Who knew dragons sang like birds?"

"Sure enough."

Fred chuckled.

"What?"

"Well, we know about Mum's failed attempts to see Celestina Warbeck because the ticket prices are so high. Imagine what it would be like to have a dragon singer on tour."

"The Wizarding world would go ape."

"That they would. Say, I wonder if we can track down that translation charm somehow?"

"I don't know." George sounded doubtful. "It's a piece of Founder magic. Unless they left notes on it that survived all these centuries, you know?"

"True, but it would be something that could help a dragon tour and sing."

"You just want to have advertisements for Weasley's Wizarding Wheezes on the show bills."

"Well, yeah. Imagine the turnout!"

"Imagine all the stocking we'd have to do."

George was interrupted by the sound of the door opening. They turned to see Harry tumbling in with the Marauder's Map in his hand and Hermione following right after him. They grinned.

"Harrikins! We were just thinking about you, by name!"

Harry turned to look at Hermione. It was clear that he was communicating something to her, if his sigh meant anything.

"None of that squishy, mushy stuff, you two. How would you like to be on the ground floor of something amazing?"

The Twins waved their arms toward the open window with exaggerated flourishes. Harry raised an eyebrow over one eye and squinted the other eye at them, sure they were up to something.

Of course they were up to something. They wouldn't be the Weasley Twins if they weren't. How silly of him.

Before he or they could say anything else, there was the determined sound of a feminine throat clearing, and the boys all turned to face Hermione.

"Okay, you two. What hijinks are you planning now?"

Fred and George gasped in stereo.

"We never -"

" - would do that -"

" - of course. There's -"

" - far too many lo-jinks -"

" - to do!"

This time it was Hermione squinting at them.

"'Lo-jinks' isn't a word. What are you up to? Don't think I don't recognize that shifty look you two have perfected. Or think you've perfected."

"Of course it isn't a word. It's a philosophy! And we prefer the word 'oblique.' It has a nice sweet ring to it."

Hermione glared at them. Fred started to sweat.

"Er, Gred, maybe we're starting to go a little too far with the delectable Miss Granger," he murmured a little nervously.

"It is rather late at night, and Harrikins might have worn her out today…"

The glare was multiplied. Harry eased over to the far corner as quietly as he could. Both twins were sweating now. Luckily for them, Rhiain had been paying attention more to the music and not the impending doom for the Twins, not that they were all that concerned with the possibility that she would have been able to see it with Hermione glaring at them. Rhain started to sing another song, this one something that she had heard before and rather enjoyed. It wasn't just the chorus to a new song and she was comfortable with the music.

Hermione noticed this distraction, and went to the window to follow the sound. Her gasp of surprise signaled that she was diverted from finding out what she wanted to know. The Twins wiped their foreheads in as surreptitious a manner as they could.

"Harry! Come look at this!" She sounded delighted.

So summoned, he glanced at Fred and George and followed orders. The Twins bowed him on his way rather quickly. Harry cast a look to the heavens at the sight of their obsequious bowing and scraping, knowing they were being silly on purpose.

Once he saw and heard Rhiain's singing, he forgot all about that.

It was beautiful.

The notes rang out clearly and with a power that sustained the whole song. Harry had the impression that she had the ability to sing much, much louder without distorting her song. The tune sounded a bit familiar and he wondered where he'd heard it before, and a glance at Hermione told him that she was trying to figure out the same thing. It was something barely acquainted with, yet not. It wasn't in English, as the dragons couldn't speak but the tones that Rhiain in particular could produce shimmered in the air.

Without consciously thinking about it, he pulled Hermione closer to him and wrapped his arms around her from behind. Her head slowly came back to rest against his chest as they listened to the dragon singing her heart out. One of her hands, the right one, pulled his right hand up to rest over her heart, while the left splayed over his other hand at her belly. They stood there in silence.

"Music hath charms to soothe a savage breast, to soften rocks, or bend a knotted oak," Fred quoted in an undertone to his brother as they looked at the sight of the other two lost in the singing.

"Yeah, but don't let Hermione hear you talk about her breasts," George warned, just as softly. "She'll make you pay for it, with interest."

"No kidding, my less-handsome brother. All I have to do to know that is look at what she and Luna do to Ronniekins."

They looked at the pair standing entranced at the window. There was silence from within the room for a long moment as the dragon's vocal mastery filled the empty spaces.

"Gred?"

"Yes, Forge?"

"I think now is the best time to make our daring escape."

"I couldn't agree more. Lay on, MacDuff…"

"… and let slip the pranks of… whatever the rest of it is."

They eased out of the room, and neither Harry or Hermione noticed even when Fred stubbed his toe on the way out.

|:-:|

In another part of the Castle, there was a round of bets being placed.

"I bet fifty, gentlemen. Just to open the game on a friendly note."

The tongue depressors clattered into the middle of the table, along with a round of cards being dealt. The players eyed one another and kept their cards from being seen. The interns had felt good about their changes with the new player after the drubbing Professor Flitwick had given them, but now they weren't too sure. He just played the cards he was dealt without comment.

"So what about those dragons?" Pierce asked in a sudden spurt.

"What about them?"

"Is anyone worried about them, you know, eating a student?"

"As opposed to a member of the staff?" McCoy inquired.

"It would take two to eat Hagrid."

"He'd be so happy to have a dragon pay attention to him, I doubt he'd notice."

There were a few heads nodding in agreement, since no one was quite sure exactly how true that would be. No one wanted to argue in opposition against it in any event. Conversation stilled for a moment as the players examined the hands Pierce had dealt.

They played for a few hands, the pot in the middle growing steadily each round as the smaller piles by each intern shrank.

"Another fifty," House grunted, leaning forward with a grimace. There wasn't another thing said as the cards sailed to the felt table. The fourth player hadn't joined in with the conversation much and the three interns had a good deal of trouble reading him. The pile of tongue depressors at his side had grown steadily.

In fact, he was making them nervous.

"I'm out," McCoy said, finally. "I'm only here now to see who loses the rest of their money like I did."

"Sure, sure," Pierce heckled. "You just don't want to admit you suck."

Their fourth player smirked at that and looked at the pile next to him. A good two-thirds was from McCoy. For some reason, the tongue depressors he'd purchased to play with was kept apart from the pots he'd taken. He'd never had to draw from that steadily growing pile, and it was making Pierce and House nervous.

He had a damn good poker face, too.

"Back to the dragons. Are you going to go talk to them?"

"I dunno. They scare the piss out of me." McCoy allowed.

"Yeah, me too, but I want to see if it's true about the Short-Snout."

"Huh?"

"Only a couple of people have tried talking to them, but they say she's a real trip to talk to but a bit of a ditz. Remember Cecily Whatsherface?" Pierce asked.

"Cecily Mereworth? The one that you got slapped by because you couldn't concentrate on her face, you mean?"

"Yeah, Whatsherface. Glorious set of…"

He was interrupted rather quickly.

"What about her?" House grimaced at the reverent look on his fellow intern's face and debated slapping him himself. Pierce had cost him a date with Cecily thanks to his boorish behavior.

"I want to know if this dragon acts like her."

"So you want to know if this dragon is going to slap you more cross-eyed if you can't look her in the face. Got it."

House would pay good Galleons to see that dragon do that, if the look on his face meant anything.

"No, but…"

"Gentlemen."

The admonishment was clear from the fourth player and they shut up.

"A hundred."

The tongue depressors rained down. Pierce's eyes followed the fall of the little colored wooden slats from the pale hand and shook his head.

"No way. I think you're bluffing."

A cocked eyebrow was his only answer and he looked at his fellow intern, who shrugged. Pierce sighed at the noncommittal response before looking at the waiting player.

"I've been following the cards and there's no way. I'll see it and raise you another hundred."

This left him almost broke since he had contributed to the earlier pots rather heavily. The raised amounts was tossed into the pot without comment, and McCoy sighed as he dealt out the last cards.

House looked at his hand and said, "Nope, I'm folding and keeping what little bit I got left."

The little bit was just under half of what he'd brought to the table and he pulled it closer in case Pierce got the bright idea of 'borrowing' some. He had a bad feeling about this game all night and played more conservatively than usual.

Everyone eyed the pot in the middle of the table. It was fairly sizable and quite disorganized, with tongue depressors sticking out every which way. The conversations over the last few rounds had covered up the fact that the bets had been more brazen than usual. Pierce had less than a quarter of what he started with. If he took this pot, he'd recoup his losses for the night.

McCoy had another pinched look on his face that was getting more common every time he played, and House had a resigned cant to his expression. Pierce was evaluating the other man sitting across from him.

"Well?"

There was a look at the pitiable stack in front of the intern, and the man tossed in another hundred without a word. Pierce looked at the size of the pot.

"Don't do it," McCoy whispered. "You still owe me for last week."

"Zip it, pal. I got this. I have a plan."

So saying, he threw in enough to cover the bet and tried not to think about the three lonely depressors left on his side of the table.

"Call!"

He threw down a full house. Triple nickles and a pair of queens.

"Beat that!"

"Very well… I will." The man's smooth baritone said.

He slowly laid down four deuces and a joker. The interns looked at it. McCoy whacked Pierce on the back of his head.

"I told you we shouldn't have played with the jokers this time, but noooooooo… you said you had a plan!"

House looked at the fourth player.

"Professor Snape, I don't know what to say."

"I do." Snape's eyes was bottomless as he sneered his reply and gathered his winnings. "Suckers. I will see you later when I want more money… gentlemen."

The door closed behind him as the interns stared after him. Soon they could hear the chink of Galleons being counted out before the tongue depressors reappeared on the table, waiting for the next game.

|:-:|

"So, we're agreed, then?"

In the Headmaster's office Madame Maxime and Igor Karkaroff, nodded in agreement with Albus Dumbledore.

"Oui, Dumbly-dorr, ze Yule Ball will proceed."

Karkaroff grunted dismissively. The others looked at him, expecting more but when he remained silent aside from another abrupt nod they looked down at the parchments in their hands.

"I do have a concern, however."

"And that would be, Albus?"

"We must avoid the appearance of the… shall we say 'less-than-virtuous.' In regard to…"

"Are you saying that my students are beasts listening only to the baser instincts, Dumbledore?"

The Highmaster of Durmstrang was standing now with fire in his eyes. Dumbledore waved him down.

"No, Igor, of course not. As with you, I have responsibilities to the parents of my charges in this school. I will be informing my students that they will be expected to conform to a manner expected of gentlemen and ladies while attending. My intent in mentioning this was to come to agreement with both you and Madame Maxime," he waved the more distant hand toward the French school's Headmistress to include her in what he was saying, "and present a united front in what we expect of our collective students. Still, at the age of some of the older students, it becomes, er, necessary to remind them of that expectation."

A raised eyebrow from Maxime and a huff of annoyance from Karkaroff was the only answer to that. As there were no disagreement with what he'd said, Dumbledore took that as settled.

"When should we announce this?" the Beauxbatons headmistress inquired.

"Soon as possible," Karkaroff grunted. "Get it out of their systems, so the 'less-than-virtuous' among the students can be quashed."

The glare he gave the Hogwarts Headmaster was mighty and showed that he was still much less than impressed with the phrasing. Dumbledore ignored it with long practice.

"D'accord.That is settled, zen."

"Excellent! I will announce it tomorrow at breakfast. That will give the students time to come to terms with this wondrous event!"

"'Wondrous event,' he says. More like a cluster…" came the mutter from the side.

"Igor!"

"My apologies, Madame Maxime."

She sniffed, not believing him for a second. He didn't look particularly apologetic.

"Zen ze planning is complete for tonight?"

"They are, my dear Olympe."

"Bon. I wish to retire to my chambers now. This castle is drafty and cold."

"Of course."

Dumbledore got to his feet and tried not to think about the facts that it was easier to do many years ago and exactly how many years ago that had been. He took her large hand and escorted her to the door. They made their partings at the door, and the old wizard turned back to his other guest.

"You have other concerns, Igor?"

"I do, Albus. What is to become of those dragons?"

"Straight to the point, I see."

"Yes. I was quite astounded to learn that all four dragons are now housed on the grounds of your school. Considering the various uses of items that can be gained from a dragon and the temperament of the beasts in general, how can I be assured that my students can be kept safe? We are housed on a wooden ship, not a stone castle, and while we can sink underwater such a procedure takes time to implement."

"I can see your point, Igor. The best suggestion that I can make for you is to visit the Dragon Quarters and give them your concerns directly. They seem to enjoy having visitors, if the few amount of students that have already been there and returned would indicate."

"What?"

Dumbledore smiled.

"There is a translation charm active in that area that allows those without the Parseltongue ability to converse with the dragons as easily as you and I are doing now."

"Are you serious?"

"No, Igor, I'm Albus." The renewed glare from the other man made him drop his smile. "Er, never mind. The Founders of Hogwarts created and implemented a charm for that purpose, that allows dragons to talk to humans. It's power-intensive, so can only be used over a leyline and within a specified area. As you are aware, Salazar Slytherin was a Parselmouth and that allowed him the same ability young Mister Potter discovered – to talk to the Horntail and apparently the other breeds."

"I'm surprised he didn't get flamed, the little snot."

Dumbledore let that mutter go and continued with what he was saying.

"I've not had the opportunity to go myself – the parchmentwork of running a school never ends as I'm sure you're well aware – but I hope to visit them after breakfast. Would you like to do the same?"

Karkaroff eyed him for a moment, obviously having a mental debate in his head. Dumbledore waited to see what his decision would be.

"Part of me is quite insistent that this would be one of many bad ideas I've had over the course of my life, if not the worst. Another part is saying it isn't."

"Good! I'll see you tomorrow morning!"

Dumbledore looked at his desk regretfully, eyeing the unfinished work before looking at the other man. Karkaroff chuckled, the mean-spirited sound making the former Death Eater sound as if he was enjoying the Headmaster's expression.

"I'll leave you to your work, Dumbledore. Until tomorrow."

So saying, he got up and walked to the door. Dumbledore went with him as he'd done with Madame Maxime but paused when the other man stopped at the edge of the open door.

"Oh, and enjoy that book I left on your desk about dragons. It's charmed to stay there until you read the whole thing."

Dumbledore turned back to see a giant tome stuck to his desk with one of the stronger Durmstrang sticking charms. It covered his bowl of lemon drops and a good bit of the work he was behind on and still waiting to be done. It was of a size that some in the school called 'some light reading' and others called 'perfectly suitable as a replacement castle brick.' The laughter as the Durmstrang Highmaster left echoed down the corridor.

It took the Headmaster twenty minutes of futility to realize that the standard finite and finite incantatem wasn't going to work, since it was cast in a different language and spelled to resist those specific spells. He didn't want to break his desk by overpowering his spell and resigned himself to working around the huge book for now.

Above him, Fawkes snickered at him hard enough to rock his perch around a bit. Dumbledore shot him a dirty look and got on with his work. He was going to have to pay the man back somehow for his prank or enlist some help.

The grin on his face at the thought of having a quiet word with the Weasley Twins lasted only as long as it took him to realize that he'd been on his last bowl of lemon drops. He couldn't get to the bowl, thanks to that blasted book!

|:-:|

Deep in the Castle, the house-elves stopped what they were doing to listen to the dragon singing. The older elves had their own oral histories that they taught to the younger ones to be passed on through the years. A few of those stories had dragons in them, mostly warnings to stay away. One or two came down to the present-day elves from the time of the Founders but they were not sure whether time had distorted the histories. Those mentioned singing dragons, too, and had always been discounted as more mythology that actual facts. The sound filtering into the lower parts of the Castle set aside for the elves to do their work and the living areas had called those historical doubts themselves into doubts of their own.

It was hard to argue with the presence of an adult dragon singing away like there was no tomorrow.

Several elves wiped away tears as they did their work, others simply stopped and listened. The crew chiefs didn't say anything about the falloff in productivity as they weren't being all that efficient themselves. They had been listening pretty hard as well.

|:-:|

"Charlie? You hear that?"

"Yeah, Malcolm. Dragon song."

"Ever hear it before?"

"Once. It was the most haunting thing I've ever heard, and I've heard my mother screaming at my brothers for messing up a prank on Ginny. It got her instead."

A moment of silence to digest that.

"Er… what happened?"

"They were trying to get Ginny's knickers to shrink by keying onto a lock of hair and using that to sympathetically resonate with the bits of skin we all slough off during the course of the day. Same body, right? Hair, skin, nails, all the same? Bill wasn't home then since he was off in Egypt doing his work, so he didn't have any hair caught up in the shower drain."

Malcolm covered his mouth, waiting to hear the ending.

"Mum was the last one in the shower that day and the twins didn't realize that."

"Oh, damn! What happened?"

"Dad didn't realize anything had happened and we heard him say something about knowing what to get her for Christmas. He slept in the shed for the next three nights."

They listened to Rhiain sing, Malcolm chuckling at the thought of the Twins' prank misfiring.

"Ready for tomorrow?"

"Yeah. You?"

"If I listen to more of this, I'll sleep pretty good tonight. I didn't know she sang."

"Me either."

|:-:|

It took a little time for Rhiain to finish her songs. Except for the Gryffindors that couldn't hear her for their own partying, most of the castle listened to the dragon's music. Fawkes nodded his head in time with the various melodies that the Welsh Green performed, and the Hat actually seemed content. The Ravenclaws put away their books and listened, some even falling asleep on their common room couches and at their desks. The Hufflepuffs put away their snacks and assignments, and cocked a collective ear toward the music. The Slytherins, two in particular, put away their letters and other things.

Professor Snape raised an eyebrow. He wasn't too pleased to hear about the dragons setting up camp here when he heard about it. Potter was showing off again, he thought, then dismissed the tired old refrain. He admitted to himself in the privacy of his quarters that even for the boy's adventures, this was a bit much and there had to be more to it. The First Task fiasco had started him thinking about it.

In the meantime, he would listen to the dragon music. It was actually relaxing, and there hadn't been an opportunity for him to truly relax in a long time. Maybe he could make a discreet inquiry to whichever dragon that was later.

Besides, he was the Head of Slytherin House and Salazar had contributed to the translation charm. He wanted to know more about it. He hadn't been almost sorted into Ravenclaw long ago for nothing.

]-=-[

At some point while I was snoring my head off dreaming of dragons, this story broke 600 followers. Thank you!

Quick note: I realize that Igor Karkaroff, according to Pottermore/Wizarding World and other wikis has the title "Headmaster," and not "Highmaster." However, having heard this used in the fourth film by Dumbledore it stuck with me and helps to more easily differentiate between the three heads of schools while writing.